I'm not sure whether it's the weather, this being the first weekend of the Christmas markets or the draw of the undercard; but Gorilla is absolutely heaving from the get-go. Reopen after a nine-month hiatus for urgent renovation work, there are people spilling out all every orifices of the venue from the moment the doors swing open. There is certainly anticipation in the air and it becomes very clear that this is not just for the headline act.
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When Bloodstock Svengali Vicki Hungerford decreed that Malevolence would be bestowed a coveted special guest slot at next year's festival, there were many of us who were sceptical about the leap of faith that she was taking. After all, it was only yesterday that the Sheffield upstarts were cavorting about at the lower echelons of the Sophie stage.
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This show was meant to mark the triumphant return of Mancunian institution Gorilla. Sadly, the British blight of "overrunning engineering works" means that at the 11th hour, it has had to be hastily moved down the road to the iconic FAC251. A cavernous labyrinth of dingy dance floors, it was the former home of Tony Wilson's groundbreaking Factory Records and also the site of a lot of ill-gotten raving by my good self during the '90s. The downstairs space that hosts tonight’s gig is a lot smaller than its intended home, meaning we get an intimate and exceedingly sweaty show. It also provides a rare opportunity to observe three of the most exciting bands on the UK scene in incredibly close quarters.
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Well, this is all very civilised. To celebrate their 40th anniversary of being a band, Europe have taken up residence in the ornate surroundings of the Lyric Theatre within the Lowry complex. Plush seats, a very un-rock & roll interval, and a two hours and 40-minute set, that's not bad for a band that most people would consider to be a one-hit-wonder. I would consider myself rather a Europe devotee, having fallen in love with the band in 1988 when my Scandinavian grandmother inexplicably bought me a copy of “Out of this World”.
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The evolution and onward development of our music is such that it has diversified to an extent that there are portions of it that whilst still operating within its confines, sound nothing like its governing parameters. Tonight’s opening acts are cases in point. Both live within the envelope of extreme/heavy music, feature within the publications that ally to that world, play the festivals and events that serve that world, and support (as it is tonight) bands that firmly sit within that world. However, neither Slow Crush nor GGGOLDD dwell within any definable definition of metal.
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Manchester has become a veritable post-metal paradise. Alongside its own burgeoning scene, we’ve got Alcest tonight, Cult of Luna passing through on Thursday and Damnation festival taking up residency in under three weeks, bringing with them Nordic Giants, Maybeshewill, and the emotionally wrought juggernaut that is Amenra (if you haven't done so, get your tickets now). However, if I'm honest I will be struggling to find 45 minutes more scintillating and mind-blowing than the ones I get to spend with tonight's opening act, The Devils Trade.
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Over on the continent, this billing makes perfect sense. You see Pain may be a side project of Hypocrisy main man Peter Tägtgren but its success in mainland Europe has in many ways eclipsed that of his day job. Over here it is a different story and whilst folk metallers Ensiferum are billed as a “very special guest” on UK soil this has become very much a double header and there are far more Ensiferum shirts to be seen upon entering the building.
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Municipal Waste could quite easily have taken the easy route. They could have stuck a couple of identikit, but inferior, thrash revivalists on their undercard and jobs a good un. But not only is there a real desire to provide, in these troubled times, real value for money but Municipal Waste are more than happy to be given a run for their money each and every night of the UK tour.
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When I revealed to my kids that the band I was reviewing this evening was less than a handful of years older than they are, there were much cries of derision and solemn predictions that I would be the oldest person in the room by a good few decades. The actual truth is Metal's evolution is a funny old beast and alongside teens worshipping at the altar of artists old enough to be the Grandparents, it is also as usual to find a room full of seasoned metallers getting rather overexcited about a bunch of younglings chronologically able to be their grandchildren. Tortured Demon have both outgrown and discarded the novelty tag.
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You know when you are in for a good night when members of the audience are bringing in plastic bags full of foam penises. There ain't no party like a Party Cannon party, and the dedicated followers of Slam are proudly wearing their party hats and tooting their party blowers like their lives depended on it. For the northern leg of the very short “Partied in Half tenth anniversary tour" (as Scots it must pain them to call Manchester the northern leg) they have plumped for a distinctly Northern undercard.
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The template for a UK tour by a stateside metal icon is a tentpole London show and then, if we are lucky, a couple of reconnaissance trips into the provinces. Obituary have, as ever, decided not to play by the rules and since late August they have been haunting every byway and layby of this fair country. We as fans have responded to their commitment by getting out of the house and getting down in front.
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There is something nourishingly cathartic about unadulterated noise. To the ear of the uninitiated, this four-band bill probably sounds like chaotic clatter, a cacophony of unconnected hullabaloo with no discerning rhythmic touchstones. However, there is an utter beauty to be found within music that skates this close to being an unrefined racket but still manages to maintain a coherent shape and form.
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Originally scheduled for last December, this show has gone through a number of proscriptive homes before finally settling here at the Academy. Alongside date and geographical location, the undercard has also going through a number of iterations. Those still expecting Crobot and Blue Pills are left equally disappointed and surprised by the appearance of the Black Spiders.
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There is a level of cynicism about whether this truly is the end of the road for perennial rock monsters KISS. After all, this is the second time in four years that their never-ending final hurrah has wound up here in Manchester. Adding fuel to that fire is the fact that this is their second conclusive lap of victory around the world, having already done the farewell tour pizzazz 20 years ago. However, all that will they won't they gossip is put to one side as we stand to marvel at probably the purest and most unrefined personification of arena rock.
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You are unlikely to find “Somewhere in Time" in any list of the greatest albums of all time, in fact it would struggle to make any best heavy metal records countdown. However, it manages to hold a very special place in the hearts of Iron Maiden fans across the globe. For many of a certain age (including myself) it was our entry point, it was where we came in.
"Number of the Beast" may well have been the album that plunged them into the public perception and "Powerslave” may well have cemented them as an international commodity, but it was with "Somewhere in Time” that they became a household name.
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Whilst Vended, Graphic Nature and Lake Malice all sound very different, they share two very important pieces of DNA. Firstly, they are building their fanbases online utilising direct social media interaction as opposed to stagnant record label endorsed marketing technics. That true kinship and ownership comes across loud and clear tonight and the power dynamic between artist and fan seems to exist on a much more unified plane. The other unifying factor is the diversity and variance of their musical reference points.
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Once again we are dragging the impartiality klaxon out of its cupboard, as the fact that I am subjecting myself to the delights of the 2:45am coach back to Manchester probably says everything you need to know about my dedication to the church of Carcass. For a diehard Carcass fanboy like myself, their majestic return to their hometown 29 years after their last show here is a must-see. Even if the collective might of the rail unions had tried to scupper the whole shebang. You see Jeff, Bill and the boys are the most influential band to ever come out of Merseyside (yes I know that's a controversial view but it's true) and I'm sure I was not the only one to be disappointed that during the segment in last month’s Eurovision Final where past winners reinterpreted Liverpudlian classics, they hadn't roped in Lordi to serenade us with a version of ‘Exhume to Consume’.
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Things tonight are not what they seem. A.A. Williams is deconstructed metal. All the pieces are there, just not in the configuration we expect. Support Zetra look like Mayhem if they went a little crazy in the B&Q chains and locks aisle, however they sound like the Human League. They seem to have escaped from the faux eighties. That non-existence facade of a decade that only actually exists in the fevered creative mind of showrunners. If Dustin and Suzie had formed a band in Stranger Things, it would have looked and sounded like Zetra. Its all very discombobulating.
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I'll be honest with you, I really don't understand at all why someone would pay an inordinate amount of money to watch one guy (who may or may not be ginger) strum a guitar for a couple of hours. I crave narrative and theatrics in my performances. I want the show I am watching to take me out of the norm and introduce me to strange new worlds. I want immersive theatre rather than drab reality. It is obvious that the members of Ward XVI share that innate need for visual escapism, as they provide a half-hour performance driven by a strong story arc and packed full of more props than the England rugby team.
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A regular topic for my musical musing is the rich vein of variation and diversity that you can find in modern metal. Tonight’s double-header at Rebellion is case in point. Both MØL and Countless Skies exist fervently within our world, but neither are what we would describe as traditionally metal. Countless Skies version of melodic death is a distinctly luxurious and sumptuous one. It's very much the difference between drinking own-brand instant and gorging on a pot of freshly ground small-batch roasted designer coffee. They have taken a template used and abused by many and added a level of luscious decadence.
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