October 11 2025 The Hall, Little Rock Arkansas
This Saturday we took the drive out to Little Rock, Arkansas — just a few hours down the road, nothing too wild. But by the time we rolled up, the place was already chaos. The line wrapped around the building like a snake, and every parking spot within shouting distance was long gone. We ended up ditching the car down the street and hoofing it to the back of the line, running on that classic “right on time to still be late” energy. Twenty sweaty minutes later, we finally made it inside.
First thing we see? The Cannibal Corpse merch line — holy hell, I’m talking shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back, all the way across the venue. Total human traffic jam. We took one look and, hit up the smaller vendors instead at the moment, and of course, still managed to blow through half our cash. The merch itself is some of the best we’ve seen in a while so it’s definitely worth emptying our wallets for. Luckily at the end of the night we were able to snag some of the badass cannibal corpse merch that we were eyeing up the whole night.
First out was the Italian death metal band Fulci — the perfect appetizer for the carnage to come. And trust me, they did not disappoint. From the jump, it was a full-on assault: scratchy, guttural vocals that rattled your ribcage, riffs that chewed through the speakers, and drums that hit like a concrete mixer in overdrive. The whole thing felt like getting punched in the chest in the best possible way.
But the real madness? Their fan base. These maniacs were on another level — swinging fists outside the pit, jumping on random people like it was some kind of full-contact sport. It was absolute chaos. At one point, I swear I saw someone projectile vomit onto another concertgoer. Like, how are you already that drunk? The show hadn’t even hit second gear yet.
Fulci brought that grimy, underground energy that makes you question your life choices — but in the most metal way imaginable. It was filthy, loud, and everything a death metal opener should be.
Next up was Full of Hell, and judging by the crowd’s reaction, you’d think these guys were leading a cult instead of a band. The energy shifted the second they hit the stage — it wasn’t hype, it was hysteria. People were losing their minds before the first note even dropped.
And then they started playing. Calling their sound “loud” doesn’t do it justice — it was like standing inside a jet engine that’s being exorcised. The vocalist, Dylan Walker, didn’t even sound human. More like some shrieking cryptid dragged out of a swamp and handed a microphone. His voice hit that pitch that makes your teeth vibrate — god help you if you didn’t have earplugs. A goddamn banshee in street clothes.
Their set tore through the venue like a wildfire. The crowd responded instantly — a massive circle pit erupted, swallowing anyone dumb enough to stand too close. You could feel the floor flexing under the weight of it all, bodies colliding, chaos spreading like static. Full of Hell brought noise, filth, and pure adrenaline — and the crowd ate it up like they’d been starving for it.
And then — Municipal Waste. Oh my god. These guys are everything you could ever want from a thrash band: pure chaos, party hair, and a middle finger raised to anyone taking life too seriously. They rolled out like a tornado made of denim and bad decisions, and I mean that in the most loving way possible.
Yeah, I’ll admit it — I’m biased as hell. I was so hyped to finally see them live. The second they hit the stage, I was screaming, grinning like an idiot, and maybe (just maybe) shed a tear. Don’t judge me. I’m a sucker for the dad metal, party-core, hair-thrash blend — the kind of music that smells like beer, sweat, and nostalgia. It’s beautiful.
Their set was everything you’d hope for — loud, wild, and packed with that tongue-in-cheek “we’re here to party” energy. The stage was decked out with these massive cans of “radioactive waste,” and halfway through, these decomposing ghouls started crawling out of them. It was disgusting and perfect. The whole thing felt like a metal house party gone nuclear.
I’m so damn glad I got to see them in person. Municipal Waste doesn’t just play music — they throw a riot with instruments. If you’re ever looking for a band that guarantees a good time, this is it. Grab a beer, duck for flying elbows, and join the party.
Now, Adam will tell you—I have a weird fascination with Corpsegrinder’s neck. Like, seriously, that thing defies the laws of human anatomy. The dude has the strongest neck in the world. It has to be, right? The way he locks in and whips through those rotations—absolute madness. And seeing him in person? Unreal. The man looks like he could flip a car just for a laugh on a Sunday afternoon. But okay, okay—I should probably talk about the performance itself.
When I say shit got weird, I mean shit got weird. Within the first few songs, I watched a girl get carried out by five security guards—arms and legs each held like she was mid-prison break. Then, out of nowhere, someone I can only describe as “the human pink highlighter” projectile vomited across the floor and bolted straight into the crowd. And if that wasn’t enough, there was this elderly paramedic, maybe pushing eighty, sprinting around trying to find her. Dude was out there like it was an episode of Cops: Metal Edition.
At one point, he escorted some wasted guy outside to sit down, clearly thinking the crisis was over—only for the guy to sneak right back in the second his back was turned. The paramedic reemerged a few minutes later, looking around like, where the hell did he go? All of this was happening in real-time, during Cannibal Corpse’s set, which somehow made it ten times funnier. The chaos around us felt like part of the show.
And speaking of chaos—let’s talk about the pit. I’ve seen plenty of mosh pits, but this one was a whole different species. It wasn’t a circle pit anymore; it was a living, breathing organism made of fists, elbows, sweat, and pure rage. I saw spit flying, punches landing, and people jumping in with zero hesitation. The pit swallowed nearly the entire venue—it was like a tornado of metalheads.
Meanwhile, Corpsegrinder’s guttural vocals were echoing through the room, shaking the floorboards, the walls, and probably a few souls loose in the process. Every riff hit like a shockwave, and you could feel the sound physically vibrating through your chest, rattling your brain in the best possible way. It was one of those moments where you don’t just hear the music—you become part of it.
By the time their set hit its peak, it was pure sensory overload. The lights, the noise, the smell of beer and sweat, the chaos of bodies in motion—it was beautiful, disgusting, and absolutely perfect. This was Cannibal Corpse in their truest form: brutal, relentless, and completely unforgettable.
By the end of the night, we were sweaty, bruised, half-deaf, and grinning like maniacs — which honestly feels like the only correct way to leave a Cannibal Corpse show. It wasn’t just a concert; it was a survival event. Between the flying beer, human projectiles, and Corpsegrinder’s neck rotations defying centrifugal limits, I’m convinced that if you make it out alive, you’ve earned your badge of honor.
This lineup — Fulci, Full of Hell, Municipal Waste, and Cannibal Corpse — is a death metal dream team. Every band brought their own flavor of destruction: Fulci with that grimy, underground filth; Full of Hell with pure noise-fueled insanity; Municipal Waste with their beer-soaked, thrash-party energy; and then Cannibal Corpse… the final boss of it all. Each act fed off the chaos of the last, building to that monstrous crescendo that only Corpsegrinder and crew could deliver.
If this tour is rolling anywhere near your city, do yourself a favor — go. Don’t just think about it, go. Bring earplugs, a change of clothes, and maybe a will just in case, because you’re not walking out the same person you walked in as. This is the kind of tour that reminds you why metal exists in the first place — it’s loud, unfiltered, and completely alive.
Driving home that night, covered in a mix of sweat and questionable mystery fluids, we just kept saying the same thing over and over: that was insane. And that’s the beauty of it — for a few hours, it’s not about work, stress, or anything else. It’s about community, chaos, and the love of something so loud it shakes your bones.
Cannibal Corpse’s Fall 2025 Tour is everything metal should be — brutal, messy, and absolutely unforgettable. If you get the chance to experience it, don’t hesitate. Just get in the pit and let the madness take you.
MID SOUTH 