"Eat pussy 'til your fucking jaw breaks off!" Those were the final words Superjoint Ritual frontman (and Pantera singer) Phil Anselmo imparted to a large bullpen of a bro-fest at Graceland last week after his band tore through a mix of thrash, grindcore, and hardcore metal, having already wound up his fanatical young soldiers like he'd dosed them with a batch of government-grade speed. I don't know how much pussy was to be had at the end of Superjoint's abrasive set, as the crowd seemed more interested in rumbling like cavemen than perfecting the art of bone-busting sex, but the intensity and energy of the music left everyone sweat-drenched and satisfied anyway--or at least I hope that was the case, as I heard scalpers were asking for up to $60 a ticket to get into the sold-out show. Even before his parting words, Anselmo was a pro at working the crowd; obviously stoked on the relative intimacy Superjoint provides him compared to the stadium-sized Pantera audiences, he talked about how good it was to be closer to his people than the usual "15 foot separations," and joked about one song with an especially coarse blastbeat as being his "MTV hit." Even with Hank Williams III on bass, the band may not be an MTV favorite any time soon, but Superjoint's impressive fan base could probably give a shit about who's on television anyway.

For those seeking a little less Conan the Barbarian bravado (but just as assertive a thrash/hardcore angle), Teen Cthulhu are giving Seattle a final farewell this week as their members move on to other projects (one being Doomsday 1999). They're celebrating the termination of five years of growling, heavy, doomy-crazed metal with a show at the Vera Project on Friday, September 19, with Akimbo (whose awesome new album drops next month), Wormwood (who have a great limited-edition picture-disc out with Cthulhu), Reno's Iron Lung, and San Francisco's Nigel Peppercock.

Those looking for a little less bark--but who still want the bite--Giant Robot magazine is celebrating its 30th issue with a party/art show also on the 19th at 562 First Ave S, Suite 401. The event mixes the laptop/electro/turntable crowd (DJs from Fourthcity Weekly and ROBO.trash) with live synth punks Tyco Party and the newly formed (but quickly growing on this city for their entertaining live performances) the Warm Jets, among others. Should be a great party--and best of all, it's free.

At another free event, Lucky Strike's private booze cruise last week brought Princess Superstar out for a night of DJing on choppy waters. Dressed in shorts over silver spandex, Superstar kicked off her set by mashing up Nirvana with Fischerspooner and rocked the boat until it was time for champagne and fireworks (after which I saw one naughty guest get so worked up she smashed out a ceiling tile.) Ahoy drunkies!

San Francisco has spawned a ton of brainy music freaks, but last week I think I found one of my favorite new comic geniuses: E-Zee Tiger. The one-man band is an experience all fans of Lightning Bolt/Friends Forever/25 Suaves should jump on ASAP; it fits nicely in that clan of noisy, misbehaved, feedback-rich rock. Live, Tiger (AKA Anthony Petrovic) creates songs like no other musician I've witnessed. Surrounded by more equipment than most fully populated bands, Tiger began a recent set at the Crocodile by playing a riff on his guitar, looping the sound, setting up a bass line and looping that, pushing some other buttons and adding a layer of delayed noise, looping his vocals, and then playing drums live and singing over the whole cacophony to punch out a fully formed song. It was pure adrenalized madness, with a humorous edge added by Tiger's deadpan between-song banter ("I'm really drunk... I've been drinking all day"; "In Portland, they have strippers at breakfast. That's cool"). After playing a couple tracks that were doused in delay and feedback, Tiger switched to hiphop for his finale, using a turntable to set up a beat and calling for all San Francisco bike messengers to join him on stage (since the show was part of the weekend's Cycle Messenger World Championships). Three guys heeded the plea; two pantomimed playing bass and guitar like they were hair-metal gods, while the third mumbled some raps into the mic. At the end of the show, even Tiger didn't forget the pussy, telling the crowd members their call-and-response job that night was to yell, at his signal, "Why are you wearing those pussy-ass pants?"

jennifer@thestranger.com