The calendar date 6/6/6 has occurred once a century for the past 2,000 years, and on none of those days did Satan emerge from the underworld. In fact, there was a whole beastly year, 666 AD, in which (apparently) very little hellish mayhem happened. However, this coming Tuesday is the first time the number of the beast (according to the Bible's Book of Revelations) has come up on the historical odometer since the invention of that ever-important tool of Satan: metal. With this in mind, I do not hesitate to assert that wherever the most bitchin' solo goes down, the fastest blast beat pumps, and the largest swirly bang sprays an arc of sweat, Satan himself will come to harvest the souls of his metal worshipers. Where will you be?
For a full 6/6/6-immersion experience, your best bet is to check out Panzer God's CD release show at Lola's Room. Event host Hive, who puts on an industrial night every Sunday at Lola's, describes PG as "fast out of the gates of hell." There will also be Satanic Bible trivia hosted by a goat priest.
"What's more Satanic than dark heavy metal and video games?" asks Anthony Ramos of Ground Kontrol, which will host local math-metal group Cells and show gore-fest movies in addition to the adult arcade's usual digital devils' playground. This event treads dangerously close to a Halloween party, but Ramos says a lack of costumes and hokey activities ensures that "it's not going to be pretending to be dark; it's going to be dark."
If you are dying to dress in costume and get silly, the Fez will let you into its industrial/goth DJ dance party for free, if you're a believable devil or demon.
Rounding out the Rose City's metal offerings is the only all-ages option (you know, other than burning a pentagram into a church's lawn or something): Carcass-influenced thrash-death-metal locals World of Lies at Loveland.
All of these shows add up to the best night for live hardcore music in recent Portland memory. In fact, 6/6/6 mania is so out of control that Food Hole called off a celebration it had been planning for months. The big cheese at the Old Town club, Bennett Yankey, told WW in an email that there are "some really great lineups [he'd] rather not 'compete' against."
What if metal ain't your steeze, and you don't want this once-in-a-lifetime holiday to pass unmarked? I would recommend consulting a Ouija board. If it spells out "oi," that means the dark lord is directing you to Sabala's to see British punk legends the Business. You'd be wise not to miss openers Secret Army, a relatively new local oi! supergroup made up of members of All Out, Beerzone and the Escaped.
If the board spells "bush," you'll know that the fallen angel requires your presence at Towne Lounge's new queer night, Meat Department, where Madame Mujahadeen will lead some sort of interactive combination exorcism-coup against the Prez.
Finally, if the Ouija board produces gibberish, you should probably just head over to Dante's, where I Can Lick Any SOB in the House will be playing while a Satan in the crowd poses with patrons for photos and conspiracy theorist Clyde Lewis feeds your paranoia between sets. Leadman Mike D's got the holiday spirit: "[We're] going to play [our] ass off like it's the apocalypse," he says, "because it might be the fucking end, man."