Stumbling through the streets of New York City, a sixth sense pulls me to the underground lair of Hospital Productions. Located in the basement of Jammyland Music at 60 E. Third St., the black-and-red painted pit is only accessible by ladder. Destroyed microphones, blood-stained posters, and a mutilated guitar line the walls. This is where metal music comes to die.

The store only sells obscure death and black metal albums with a side of noise. That means no Southern Lord or Hydra Head, though the latter will be ransacked here in two weeks. I needed a guide for this venture into the underworld. Dominick Fernow, the store's owner, has worked with everyone from Thurston Moore to Wolf Eyes as his alter ego Prurient. He was my Virgil, hand-picking these essential albums from 2006.

When I saw Mistress Stephanie & Her Melodic Cat for the first time last summer at the Chain Drive, it was one of those right place, right time moments. The Mistress, with her jet-black bob and bustier, was Louise Brooks with Norma Desmond’s sense of dark comedy. She ignored, berated, and sung in perfect harmony with Her Melodic Cat, stage left with a guitar, baring ass cheek and wearing a half-interested sneer as their cabaret punk was thrown out with Weimar vitriol. I desperately wanted them to play a cover of the Doors' "Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)," which is actually a cover of a Kurt Weill song, which is appropriate, as some of the set was in German. And this was at a gay leather bar.

Into the Void … With the Sword

Just as Black Sabbath plunged deep "Into the Void," knocking down the Wall of Dis with disorderly riffage, so do I now dwell in darkness with the comfort of the Southern Lord. Each week, together, we’ll traverse this realm of brimstone, fire, and all things metal.

This week, drummer Trivett Wingo, from Austin’s metal messiahs the Sword, which has been dormant for the winter, delves "Into the Void" before embarking on another West Coast crusade with Priestbird and Year Long Disaster.

ABANDON EVERY HOPE, ALL WHO ENTER HERE.

schadenfreude \SHOD-n-froy-duh\, noun: A malicious satisfaction obtained from the misfortunes of others.
The word comes from the German schaden, which means "damage," and freude, which means "joy." There’s no English equivalent for the word, which generally carries a negative connotation. However, the amalgamation of damage and joy is a perfect example of music’s therapeutic quality. One artist’s pain and failure is our existential backpat. Just watch an episode of American Idol or any of its mewling, quivering spawn, and the feeling literally oozes out of the TV.

Here, you can expect to absorb some of that ooze, the general weirdness Austin’s music scene is rumored to harbor, plus interviews, show reviews, and, if all goes as planned, a gallery of tragic band fashion during SXSW. In the meantime, this weekend is a good place to start: Basic and Finally Punk play Mohawk tonight, and Yellow Fever go on early (9pm) at the Carousel Lounge tomorrow. For a great example of this blog’s titular word, there’s Hug’s CD release for latest God Gasm at Room 710 Saturday.