On the passing of Lemmy, Slash inherited the mantle of being the true living embodiment of rock 'n' roll. If you want to dress as a cool rocker you simply adorn yourself with a curly black wig and an oversized top hat and Saul Hudson’s your uncle you are instantly recognisable as a cool rock n’ roll dude. If you want to give your showstopping Oscar number a shot of scuzzy cool, then all you do is pick up the phone to Mr. Slash and instantaneously it has oodles of rock 'n' roll street cred. Our Slash has become a cultural phenomenon. An instantly recognisable persona that transcends the bands he is involved with and the shackles of his back catalogue. The arena is reassuringly full and it is obvious that its temporary inhabitants are here for the myth as opposed to the material.
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Metal’s inexplicable love affair with Eurovision seems to be baked into our psyche. In recent years many “big” names from our world (The Rasmus, Blind Channel, Voyager and Lords of the Lost) have taken part and even bigger names (Avantasia and Keep of Kaslin) have unsuccessfully tried to be selected for their respective home nations. This is alongside the fact that every Baltic state entry seems to sound like Evanescence and Italian alt-rockers Maneskin triumphed in 2021 with a ditty that sounded all the world like a shunt job between Rage Against The Machine and Jane's addiction.
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As metal fans we tend to view our world as an impenetrable fortress sitting alone in an ocean of splendid isolation. Disconnected from other strands of popular culture. The truth is actually very different, we have many openly flowing land borders with other facets of the musical lexicon. Drone metal and the legendary Sunn O))) specifically is one of those bridging areas.
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Another day and another four-headed death metal package rolls into town. However, if you open the bonnet and do a bit of careful inspection you will find that this quadruple bill offers some enticingly distinct delicacies. You see Vexed, Aborted, Revocation and Carnifex represent four very very different aspects of Death Metal’s multiple personalities. This is a comprehensive guided tour through the genre's current state of the nation. It also makes pretty good business sense as each band has its own distinct group of diehard supporters, all of whom have gathered here tonight for some bizarre gathering of the clans.
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It is unlikely that you would know of Botch before their improbable resurrection last year. They only visited this country once in their previous existence and never got north of Nottingham. Neither of their full-length albums, “American Nervoso” and “We Are Romans” particularly sold well. However, every bugger that did get the honour of hearing the latter release went off and formed a band. You see Botch continue that fine lineage of acts you've never heard of that begot hundreds that you very much have.
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Supergroups are never designed for longevity. They exist either as a water-treading exercise for name artists to fruitfully pass time whilst they wait for their main bands to reform or as an egotistical wish-fulfilment vehicle allowing musicians from different genres to work together without upsetting the apple cart of their day jobs. In celebrating 35 years of existence Mr. Big are the exception that proves the rule. Long ago they evolved beyond being a musical distraction for their constitute members and instead Mr. Big has become the thing that Billy Sheehan, Paul Gilbert and Eric Martin are now most well-known and revered for. Mr. Big have achieved the thing that very very few supergroups ever aspire to, as a whole they equal more than their individual parts.
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We are continually told that guitar music is dead. The mainstream piles on the narrative that rock music has had its day, and it is simply a forgotten genre in its death throes. If this is the case somebody has forgotten to inform the hundreds of multigenerational attendees that have packed out Rebellion for the last couple of nights. The simple fact is that death metal is sticking its finger up at all this "guitar music is out of fashion" nonsense and is becoming more vibrant and important by the day.
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The stateside ground zero for Death metal used to be the tropical climes of Florida, however over the intervening years it has shifted westward and now the epicentre resides in the Lone Star state of Texas. Creeping Death and Frozen Soul are both examples of just how exciting modern American death metal has become. They have respectively evolved this art form by taking it back to its core routes. They have turned their back on the pick-and-mix shunt job that death metal had become and sought solace in their Bolt Thrower and Carcass imports. This is death metal shawn of its pretensions and re-engaged with its brutal ferocity.
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Most musical sub-genres have the lifespan of a Mayfly. They bloom and wither before the ink is even dry on the requisite hyperbole. Death metal has had a counterintuitive evolution. Born 40 years ago it completely bucks the trend by managing to go around in infinite circles of regeneration. Currently, it feels more vital and fuller of life (pun very much intended) than it ever has. Baest are one of those new generation of death metal acts who are deftly managing to remain steadfastly authentic but also bring a dimension of light and shade to the music. Basically death metal long ago stopped being an underground phenomenon and has now become one of the primary movers that are shaping modern metal.
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Within the ranks of our very particular community, Evil Scarecrow have ascended to the lofty position of national treasure. This distinctly odd and ramshackle act has not only carved out a niche in our collective hearts but they have managed to transcend genres and tribal barriers. Tonight's audience is pulled from all over metal’s multicoloured subdivisions. We stand united by one thing, a desire to dance and embrace the silliness in a world that is becoming darker by the day.
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There are cover bands and then there is Bat Sabbath, the crazed Sabbath-obsessed alter egos of Canadian hardcore heroes Cancer Bats. Initially intended as a daft way of blowing off steam, their commemoration of the inventors of metal has morphed into its very own thing. This evening Rebellion is packed to the rafters with a mix of Cancer Bat devotees and those looking to throw themselves around stupidly to the songs that started this whole blooming endeavour.
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To the uninitiated ear all death metal must sound the same. However for connoisseurs this is a genre with a infinite multitude of different shades and textures. We have four bands on offer this evening, four bands all operating in distinctly different universes within death metal forever evolving superstructure.
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If we are honest with ourselves, the early noughties were rather a bleak and monochrome time for rock. Radiohead were being self-consciously awkward, the Strokes were plying an insipid brand of faux-rebellion that is only possible when you are the trust fund kids of Wall Street billionaires and The White Stripes were busy whitewashing the blues of all of its cultural heritage. Then into that world appeared The Darkness, a vivid Technicolor explosion in a valley of greyscale. Like all good explosions, they burnt bright and died young. A brief extravagant glimpse into a parallel dimension of lurid colour and tight spandex.
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Urne have had such an impact in the last few years, that is hard to reconcile the fact that this is their first major UK headline run. Covid (as with most things) takes a lot of the blame as their phenomenal debut "Serpent and Spirit” emerged at a time when touring wasn't really an option. This comprehensive jaunt around the aisles is nominally in support of their deeply personal (and rather cracking) sophomore effort “A Feast of Sorrow” but really, it's an opportunity for the band to prove to all and sundry that they deserve the hype that has been heaped upon them.
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There is an alternative universe where Andrew Ward never died, Mother Love Bone never split up and therefore Pearl Jam never came into being. “Nevermind” was a commercial flop that saw Nirvana ejected from Geffen records and to this day muso's still talk about it in hushed whispers as one of the lost gems of the 90s. In this universe, The Almighty never had the lure of grunge to compete with and went on to Maiden-level imperialism, headlining festivals and stadiums across the land. This evening we get a sneak preview into that parallel dimension as the original line-up reunites for the first time in thirty-three years to give us an Almighty (pun definitely intended) dose of might-have-been.
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One of the many interesting aspects about tonight’s show is the fact that the audience is, in the main, considerably older than the band. There is a latent desire within a true metalhead's DNA to continually search out the next exciting emerging talent. It is like a form of attention deficit disorder. As soon as an act has penetrated the mainstream, we need to discover whatever is going to succeed.
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It is quite rare for me to be faced with a review assignment that offers the Holy Grail, namely a band that I have yet to witness in a live environment. Harikari For The Sky have existed in some form or other since 2011 however they only really pricked our collective consciousness with their astonishing 2021 effort, “Mӕre”. The superlatives were tossed around like confetti, but since we were still deep in the non-touring days of the pandemic, they had little or no opportunity to get out on the road to cash in on the extraordinary level of newfound interest.
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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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