Savage Master, NITE & Chariots Overdrive at Boggs Social & Supply

There’s no better omen than a Friday the 13th to hit the road in search of noise, danger, and sweaty communion, and that’s exactly what my comrade-in-debauchery and I did. Destination, Boggs Social & Supply, Atlanta, Georgia. A venue I’d never set foot in before but now consider hallowed ground. Boggs is a dive bar reimagined, not some sticky-floored hellhole, but a joint that lures you in with killer food, cheap drinks, and a staff that actually gives a damn. The place gets it. It breathes in neon, exhales soul. I’ll be back, over and over again like a sinner to the confessional.

This night kicked off the Savage Master and NITE tour, and from the jump, there was that unshakable buzz in the air, the kind that says you’re about to be baptized in riffs and fury. For NITE, it was their first taste of the East Coast, a long-overdue collision between coasts. And for me, it was my first time finally seeing Savage Master live after years of near misses.

Chariots Overdrive, a local Atlanta act I’d never heard of, opened the gates and didn’t just warm up the stage they lit that Sombitch on fire. Their sound is a snarling cocktail of early ‘80s Speed Metal and NWOBHM sweat and swagger. Like Angel Witch and Exciter had a nasty little one-night stand. The real kicker, a Heavy Load cover, thrown down like a gauntlet, raw and righteous. I didn’t see any merch at the show, but I hunted them down online and bought their downloads which is something I hardly ever do. If you’ve got blood in your veins and denim on your back, go find them. Now.

Then came NITE, and the vibe shifted, darkness descended, thick and tangible. If you haven’t wrapped your ears around this band yet, fix that immediately. Imagine a ritualistic marriage of Maiden, Priest, and Thin Lizzy but bathed in Black Metal’s vocal bile. It shouldn’t work, but it does. This was their first East Coast set, and the crowd knew it. People traveled from other states just to witness this.

Their set was pure steel, no banter, no bullshit, just one neck-breaking anthem after another. The twin guitar assault was like standing in front of a jet engine built by Scott Gorham and Glenn Tipton. They hit songs from all three of their records, weaving it all together into one molten stream of electricity. Their latest, "Cult of the Serpent Sun", is easily one of the top albums of 2025, and live, it breathes fire. I bought one of everything at the merch table, got my records signed, shook hands, and took pics. The guys in NITE - Humble, gracious, and fucking warriors. No VIP pass, no velvet rope, just raw fan energy and mutual respect. Metal the way it used to be. The way it should be.

And then… Savage Master.

Stacey Savage and her hooded horde took the stage like desecrating priests at midnight mass, and the room went nuclear. Stacey, tiny in frame, towering in presence, preached fire and lust from the pulpit of Heavy Metal, and we drank every word like it was gospel. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: she’s channeling Ann Boleyn of Hellion with a venomous bite and a dominatrix command. She owned us, mind, body and soul.

The band was tight as hell, every riff a dagger, every beat a thunderclap. The drummer wasn’t playing drums, he was summoning demons from hell. And the guitars, melodic, mean, and soaked in the blood of every cassette you ever wore out in high school. Their set pulled from across their discography, and even though they didn’t play “Altar of Lust” (a track I fiend for like a basement-dwelling demon in heat), every song was its own black sermon.

Their new album, "Dark & Dangerous", out now via Shadow Kingdom, is a leather-clad, spike-tongued beast, and you owe it to yourself to get it. Their merch table was a den of temptation, vinyl, shirts, CDS. And yeah, I got my Blade of the Ripper CDs signed by the legend Adam Neal, the bassist/lyricist of Savage Master - a man who’s left claw marks all over the underground with bands like The Hookers and that Southern Satanic sidewinder Blade of the Ripper. Getting those covers signed was Holy grail shit for me.

The band was just as giving offstage, photos, signatures, handshakes, hell yeahs. The kind of interaction that’s disappearing from the scene as everything gets too clean, too corporate and too safe. Savage Master ain’t having any of that, they’re here for the sinners, the outcasts, the lifers.

This tour runs through June 28th, and if it even sniffs your town, you owe it to yourself to drag your ass there—bloodied, late, whatever it takes. This is American Metal in its purest, filthiest, sexiest form, a celebration of power, sweat, community, and sonic blasphemy. Like Lizzy Borden said: “We all need American Metal”!

Just do one thing for me: tip your bartenders, control your limbs, and leave a little whiskey for everyone else. You don’t need to blackout to feel alive. You just need Metal. This tour is proof.