Before Type O Negative, the late Peter Steele fronted Carnivore, a snarling, growling, unrefined beast of an ’80s crossover band, with songs covering a caustic and often controversial line of topics, including rape, religious guilt, racial hatred, the threat of nuclear annihilation, and the second coming of the Adolf Christ: in short, the fun things in life.
Naturally, I became a fan.
As such, when I heard that this homage act, approved, endorsed, and at times assisted by the surviving members of the original band, was hitting UK shores, I was eager to see how they held up, having never gotten the chance to check out the OGs. Thus, on the third Friday of July, I took my arse down to the New Cross Inn to satisfy my curiosity.
London support came in the form of Brighton skate-thrash troupe RAD and more local metalcore merchants Perpetual Paradox, whom I last saw supporting Crypta at the latter’s London debut last year. The former opened up proceedings with crowd-baiting vigour, frontman Andy Mansell goading the audience into participation to the point of jumping into the floor at certain points. Musically, the band played a pretty tight and potent setlist, with the likes of ‘Toxic Slime’, ‘Snake on the Tale’, and ‘Gaslighter’ hitting hard and heavy, getting the night started in a fitting fashion. Influences from Slayer, Sepultura, et al were prominent without making the band’s output come off as carbon copying.
Perpetual Paradox also made a point of intermittently taking to the floor for their brand of metalcore mauling, not just the vocalist, Adrian Caucelo, but also a guitarist, Jorge Nunes, too. The rest of the audience certainly seemed to dig their output, both established and upcoming, quite a bit. For me, it was somewhat hit and miss, though I certainly appreciated hearing ‘The Vice’, with its “THE KING IS DEAD! LONG LIVE THE KING!” refrain, again.
As for the main act—made up of Baron Misuraca on bass and box, Chuck Lenihan on guitars, and Joe Cangelosi on sticks—I thought they did a solid job of keeping the legacy of Steele and Keith Alexander alive. The likes of ‘Carnivore’, ‘Angry Neurotic Catholics’, and ‘Predator’ were hammered out with appropriate ferocity, and the tonal shifts in the epic ‘Male Supremacy’ were handled masterfully. It was also great to finally hear, and sing along to, longstanding favourites ‘Jesus Hitler’ and ‘Race War’ live, the latter preceded by an artfully lyric-evoking anti-racist preamble by Misuraca, and what nettteeThe Type O Negative snippets couched between the Carnivorousness didn’t hurt the audience either.
So, yes Anno Domini did good, despite the technical hiccups toward the end (guitar strings can be cunts at the most inopportune moments!). On top of the musical prowess, the trio strike me as a bunch of solid, amiable blokes, or swell guys as they no doubt say in Brooklyn, even if they have to work on their patter during extended moments of instrumental fuckery. Hope to see this new iteration of post-Armageddon neo-barbarians raiding these shores again in short order. Hell, maybe next time, they’ll heed my request to play my other favourite Carnivore cut, and personal anthem, ‘SMD‘ too.
July’s third Thursday saw Botswanan death dealers Overthrust make their London debut, not at the Underworld, Downstairs at the Dome, Black Heart, or even Helgi’s but, instead, at a tucked-away, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it venue down the side roads of Brixton named Club Cheek. In any case, having helped finance the tour by way of Kickstarter, I was determined to put in an appearance.
The bill proved similarly unusual, being comprised of some decidedly non-metal acts, albeit one fronted and named for a luminary in the halls of headbanging. On reflection, it’s the kind of bill that seems as if it was cobbled together to garner the maximum “woke” cred, but given the acts showcased were at worst interesting, it’s neither here nor there.
First to take to the stage was W.H.Y, a one-woman act sharing a series spoken-word pieces under a sonic cloud of electronic distortion. Pretty much the kind of thing that wouldn’t be out of place on a Black Occult Fest bill, at least if one disregarded the politics, which going by the content of these spoken pieces, appear to be be far left of (as well front and) centre. ‘Girls’, for example, is a convo with late feminist mouthpiece Audre Lorde (who coined the term the artist adopted as their moniker), and ‘Them Child’ details the perils and struggles of being an enby (i.e., an individual identifying as non-binary). I enjoyed it quite a bit, despite myself, finding the soundscapes well crafted and immersive and the writing sufficiently punchy and fluent to that end. Rather annoying that I can’t seem to find a trace of the artist online, however.
Next up, came another industrial project, headed by and named for none other than Sepultura co-founder and OG sticksman Iggor Cavalera. When I originally saw his name on the bill, I expected something along the line of a percussion-heavy solo project, so I was surprised to see, after W.H.Y, another soundboard ‘n’ samples set. Still, the presence of an esteemed metal icon at its helm served as a masterful bridge between both worlds and sets, in the latter case building on what preceded and hinting at what would yet come, whether the night’s organisers intended that or not. Cavalera’s contribution carried a pleasing abrasion, his choice of samples adding up to a captivatingly confrontational collage. All that said, he did end the set with his trademark drumming, ultimately throwing a bone to fans of his older work (including, presumably, the main act, who I’d first seen posing for pics with him earlier). A set so good, I had to go shake the man’s hand.
Overthrust themselves got off to something of a clunky start, with technical difficulties and a “rehearsal” rendition of ‘Fallen Witches’, seemingly their most recognisable (and definitely most repeated) track, undermining the rather impressive introductory speech given by their UK wrestler mate, Carlos Chaotico. Nevertheless, once the Botswanan “death-metal cowboys” finally got going, nothing could stop their momentum, igniting moshpits in the audience with chunky, belligerent riff monsters like ‘Infected by Myth’, ‘Foetus Initiation’, ‘Kill the Bastard’, and their theme tune ‘Overthrust Death Metal’.
In between all the riffage and growling about curses, witches, genital mutilation, death, and the like, frontwoman Vulture Thrust proved to be a rather gracious and genial presence, repeatedly thanking and encouraging the audience for their enthusiasm and support.
However, my night’s enjoyment was undermined by the lack of a CD to take home with me (they’d sold out at the Brighton show the night before) and, in an even more maddening vein, the inexplicable lack of sound on my recordings of the band’s set. Especially aggravating given that my clips of the support sets had recorded just fine. Clearly, the night’s witchery had extended beyond the Thrust’s lyrics! Here’s hoping similar juju will not strike upon the band’s hopefully not too distant return to these shores.
The second Wednesday of July saw me make another visit to Kew for the same reason I did the time before: The Human League.
Having last seen them from an elevated distance at Wembley’s OVO Arena, it was good to once again get up close and personal by the barriers, my preferred way to see them (or pretty much any other band, come to think of it).
Prior to their set, Sheffield’s synthiest had strong support from London/Lancashire contemporaries Blancmange. Between Neil Arthur’s crisp, polished vocals and Finlay Shakespeare’s keyboard wizardry, they put on yet another strong set, perhaps even stronger than last year’s headline set at the Islington Assembly Hall. Time being rather more limited than that venture, they stuck to the staples —’Blind Vision’, ‘Living on the Ceiling’, ‘Don’t Tell Me’, ‘Waves’—whilst sprinkling in some of their more recent material such as ‘Reduced Voltage’, ‘Some Times, These’, and ‘Last Night, I Dreamt I Had a Job’, the latter once again leaving me wondering, as someone living the dream, if Neil had been left haunted by a stint at an Amazon warehouse.
Once again, Neil took the opportunity to showcase what I can only call his trademark dance through the instrumental sections of certain songs, and, in summat of a surprise, the Blancmange Basket, the band’s visual motif, made a special crowdsurfing guest appearance. Sadly, ‘That’s Love, That It Is’, another firm playlist favourite, remains conspicuously absent from proceedings. I wonder how many more sets I’ll have to see live before striking lucky on that score.
As for the League, they put on yet another solid headline show packed full of bangers, even if the setlist was a bit less adventurous than previously attended outings. No ‘Life on Your Own’, ‘Path of Least Resistance’, or ‘The Things That Dreams Are Made of’ this time around, and my deep-cut cravings continue to go, unsatiated, but the setlist reliables, including ‘Mirror Man’, ‘The Lebanon’, and ‘Tell Me When’, continue to sound bold and vital thanks to that unapologetically old-school synthwork and the pipes of Phil and the girls, namely Sue and Joanne, even if Oakey occasionally got croaky at certain points (‘Louise’ springs to mind). Between-song engagement was again dominated by Sue, who made a point of congratulating the girlfriend of keytarist Ben on her graduation and enquiring as to the seeming sale of holidays at venue stalls.
In regard to the vocalists, the wardrobe department once again had a veritable field day. Phil’s initial ensemble and Sue’s black number were definite standouts, though this time around, Jo’s encore garms, usually the cherry atop the League Sundae, weren’t quite the sumptuous showcase of previous tours. Still, I’d say there were more hits than misses in that department.
So once again, another excellent, though not mindblowing, showing from the League, who continue to confirm the potency of their synthesis of synth and soulfulness. By contrast, the merch stall confirmed their aversion to making money by shutting up shop before the set’s end, keeping a tour shirt out of my reach and leaving me wondering if I’d have better luck if I attended the Brighton show the following fortnight….
The first weekend of July proved a highly significant one for metalheads on this Sphinctered Isle, what with the Ozzy/Black Sabbath swansong, Back to the Beginning, in Birmingham and, the following day, Slayer’s much-welcome return to London, headlining an all-dayer at Finsbury Park. This eagerly anticipated date was the culmination of a three-date return to UK soil, which had the thrash titans gracing Cardiff and playing a tributary mini-set at the aforementioned Back to the Beginning show before making their way to the Big Smoke.
Five bands stepped up to support, some loved and anticipated by Yours Truly, others not so much, and yet others unknown quantities. Yet nearly all of them somehow felt like stepping stones, footnotes even, to the main event.
Danish death groovers Neckbreakker kicked things off with a set that got the early afternoon moshpits started. Kudos for their energy and enthusiasm, even if I couldn’t really distinguish one song from the other.
Next came a band I’d not seen live for decades, hardcore high-rollers Hatebreed. Jamey Jasta and co. got the crowds surging all the more with classic entries from their catalogue such as ‘I Will Be Heard’, ‘Live for This’ and the blistering ‘Destroy Everything’ plus some interesting tracks I hadn’t heard before like ‘In Ashes They Shall Reap’ with its eminently chanty chorus. A solid catch-up set, in the end.
On the other hand, Mastodon is very much a band whose appeal has always escaped me. This set didn’t do much to bring me round on that score. Despite the presence of the odd standout such as ‘The Motherload’, I found their set more of an endurance test than anything, and the flailing limbs of the overhead crowdsurfers certainly didn’t help matters. Still, they made a point of crediting the UK, particularly London, for having a particularly strong, career-elevating fanbase, citing their first show over here, at the Underworld, as especially pivotal.
Anthrax, also fresh from the previous day’s Sabbath /Ozzy farewell, perked things up considerably, putting on another solid set. Sadly, the continuance of flailing, enjoyment-obstructing overhead limbs and bodies had me moving way the fuck further back to take in their set (walking through circle pits helps a lot in these instances). Joey, Scott, et al played an economical but effective set that touched on many of their staples like ‘Madhouse’, ‘Indians’, ‘Metal-Thrashing Mad’, and my personal favourite, Judge Dredd ode ‘I Am the Law’.
Having found myself a less annoying vantage point, I eagerly awaited the next act, Viking enthusiasts Amon Amarth, only to encounter not one but *two* work colleagues. Though nodding acquaintances on the job, we greeted each other warmly. The camaraderie continued throughout the set as we compared notes as to how often we’d seen Amarth, bellowed along to stormers such as ‘Guardians of Asgard’, ‘Shield Wall’, and ‘Raise Your Horns’ and even joined the rowing crew for ‘Put Your Back into the Oar’. Good times. As with when I first saw them when they co-headlined with Machine Head in 2022, Johan Hegg and his warband put on a great show, bringing a combo of inflatables and incendiaries to the stage. However, in something of a disappointing surprise, they forestalled ‘The Pursuit of Vikings’ from this set—for fucking shame! Maybe it’s a headline-set privilege these days.
After a brief dispersal to grab some booze (them) and take a piss (me) following Amon, we reconvened in roughly the same spot for libatation, eagerly awaiting the Slaytanic set to come. Turned out that one of my two Bulgarian colleagues was a “Slayer virgin”, there to have his aural cherry well and truly popped. Eventually, the band provided something in the way of lube by means of a retrospective video of their career that also got the Slayer-seasoned like myself amped up for the carnage to come.
And, holy fuck, did things go off! Opening with the momentum-building descent to damnation that is ‘South of Heaven’, the band set the audience a-thronging with a well curated setlist of classics from across the span of their tenure, from the relentless fury of ‘Die by the Sword’ to the latter-day onslaught of ‘Repentless’, almost every era—minus those post-Divine Intervention ’90s albums—had a decent showing. Some more than others, admittedly. As a huge Seasons of the Abyss enjoyer, I was especially chuffed to hear not only the storming’ War Ensemble’, the lurid ‘Dead Skin Mask’ (which, according to him, has become a love song for frontman Tom Araya and his missus), and, of course, the title track but also the excellent ‘Spirits in Black’ and the incendiary ‘Born of Fire’.
From a more panoramic perspective, other standouts included the damning ‘Disciple’, the unexpected ‘Reborn’, ‘Hell Awaits’ with its pyrotechnic shenanigans—a visually striking moment—and the intermingling of ‘Postmortem’ and ‘Raining Blood’ with a cover of Black Sabbath’s ‘Wicked World’ toward the end. The capping-off of proceedings with ‘Angel of Death’ their most controversial, Mengele-influenced number, proved to be the cherry atop the Slaytanic sundae, though I’m surprised displaying visuals of the Austrian Autocrat and his henchmen at an open-air visuals didn’t get the band done for “hate speech” in 2020s London.
Whatever issues Tom, Kerry King, et al may have had that led to the band’s 2019 disbanding were not evident onstage. Tom especially seemed to be having the time of his life, engaging in a friendly and welcoming manner with his audience and getting near sentimental with his speech at the end. After hearing about his earlier movement-restricting back issues, it was good to see the bloke on stage again, albeit in a more physically tempered fashion.
This having been my first time seeing the band live since the passing of Jeff Hanneman, it was also good to see Exodus’ Gary Holt taking and handling the baton, or rather guitar, with the acumen warranted.
So, yes, a glorious return to the stage for one of my favourite bands, metal or otherwise, meeting, and at times exceeding, all the expectations and anticipation built up since its announcement. I could go on about the tracks I wished they’d played, but with Slayer, it’s inevitable that some favourites will be passed over in favour of others. Selection- and performance-wise, they did a banging job, and coupled with the suitably strong reception, one would hope for more shows of his ilk, maybe even some indoor dates, in the foreseeable future.
And my Bulgarian colleagues, both virgin and veteran, certainly weren’t complaining either.
The last Saturday of June saw the lads from Leyton make something of a 50th anniversary homecoming, playing at the adjacent, Stratford-situated London Stadium. As Stratford is situated in my borough, within bus distance from me, it was refreshing to not have to rely on tubes and trains to get to a venue for a change.
That said, it wasn’t all smooth sailing for me, with events taking place during a particularly hot day on the calendar. As such, I pretty much stepped out into an open-air sauna, and not even a considered application of Neat 3B could prevent me from sweating like Joseph Fritzl after a visit to the dungeon—and all before the gates had opened too!
Still, I didn’t have to wait long for my first-time entrance into the stadium after reaching the front-standing area for which I’d acquired a ticket (cheers Kyla and Jürgen!), and once in, I didn’t have to wait too long for This Raven Age, the evening’s first act. They got things off to a serviceable start, certain songs like ‘Hangman’ making something of a distinct impression, though they ended up outstaying their welcome for me toward the end.
In a marked break from my usual gig pattern, I made a point of seeking out merch and grub during the interview. A combo of the food and merch stalls being inconveniently situated plus the queues being rather substantial for the latter meant that I missed the bulk of Halestorm’s set, a shame as going by my listening prior to the gig, they’re not bad at all. Catching the tail end of their performance, specifically ‘Freak Like Me’ and ‘I Get Off’, I’d say that impression translates well to a live setting.
In any case, I didn’t miss a minute of the headline act, who, as hoped, put on a sturdy show from start to finish, drawing from what many consider their essential era, i.e., 1980–1992. That era being my basis for digging Maiden, I appreciated the curation. Opening with the sterling ‘Murders in the Rue Morgue’—originally sung by the late Paul Di’Anno, whom I had the pleasure to see before his passing—the band notched up renditions of other notable tracks including ‘Phantom of the Opera’, ‘Number of the Beast’, ‘Seventh Son of a Seventh Son’, and, of course, ‘Run to the Hills’.
Highlights for me included Bruce donning a mask for ‘Powerslave’, the orb-consulting melodies of ‘The Clairvoyant’, singling alone to the portentous prechorus of ‘Two Minutes to Midnight, their much cherished mascot making an Eddie-fying onstage appearance during ‘The Trooper’, and the absolutely cracking encore showings of ‘Fear of the Dark’ and ‘Wasted Years’.
I could go on about the tracks I wished had made an appearance (e.g.,’Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter’, the first Maiden track I remember hearing, and liking, when it hit the charts in my primary school days), but I generally think Dickinson, Harris, et al did a great job of curating a setlist showcasing the best of their early, most iconic days for their 50th. In terms of location, they clearly seemed to be chuffed to be back on home(-adjacent) turf, within close proximity of the pub/venue where it all began for them, the Cart & Horses. What I *will * call them out for is their lack of pointed, explicit acknowledgement for the dearly departed Di Anno, a pivotal part of those early years.
In any case, although I remain more of a Priest partisan in terms of The Great Debate, this, their biggest UK headline show, left me with a stronger appreciation of Maiden at the end of the night. Not the first, or least perspirant, time I’ve seen them live but undoubtedly the most appreciated—up the fucking Irons!
It took Gary Numan announcing a series of warm-up shows for his Glastonbury debut to get me back down to Brighton for the first time in fucking decades. Granted, I already had several other visits marked on the calendar prior to the announcement of these shows, but these gigs being placed earliest in the sequence accelerated the process. So off I went to the seaside town of many a school daytrip, traversing the seafront for the last night of Numan’s triple bill, hoping to meet up with my mate Kate, even more of a Numanoid than I. Thanks to some train and ticket mishaps, that didn’t happen without some issues.
After a wait that had me taking in the impromptu volleyball championship across the road, I and the rest of the queue made our way into the venue. From that point, it didn’t take long for the audience to be greeted by the sight and sound of Agency-V, the support act for the evening, who put on a decent showcase of melodic electro-rock with tracks such as ‘On Dangerous Ground’, ‘Who We Used to Be’ and ‘We Can Erase You. They even threw in a decent cover of Garbage’s ‘Stupid Girl’, as well as a less successful joke about authoring the song first, for good measure.
Turning on my phone’s reception toward the end of their set revealed that Kate had arrived—only to be denied entry due to a ticket mishap. Fortunately, I was able to get it sorted and get her in before the act that drew us all the way here.
And what a performance said act put on! For all his talk of being less animated on account of not being too well, Numan seemed almost as sprightly and dynamic as when I’d last seen him at the Roundhouse. Unlike that Roundhouse set, the setlist featured a more expansive selection of tracks than those from Replicas and The Pleasure Principle. The likes of ‘Haunted’, ‘Pray for the Pain You Serve’, and ‘I Die: You Die’ took up comfy residence next to abiding, iconic staples like ‘Are “Friends” Electric?’, ‘Down in the Park’, ‘M.E.’, and, of course, ‘Cars’.
As before, he brought two of his kids onstage to sing a couple of numbers, Raven to sing a track of hers, ‘Nothing’s What It Seems’ and Raven to replicate her guest vocals on ‘My Name Is Ruin’. As with her Roundhouse performance on personal favourite ‘You Are in My Vision’, I struggled to hear Raven’s voxwork over everything else; Persia, however, was excellent, doing a sterling job of replicating her studio vocals. Generally, the rest of Numan’s band retained the high standard I’d come to expect of them, guitarist Steve Harris being a visual standout for all his gesticulation and mouthing at the audience.
In the end, another top-notch performance from Gary and co., well worth the crowded, irritating train journey down to the seaside and the long, far less irritating cab journey back (cheers for that again, Kate!).
Named for the Psychedelic Furs song of the same name, Midsummer Sunday’s Forever Now festival had been billed as the UK’s answer to Stateside’s Cruel World, that is, a showcase of post-punk, and post-punk—adjacent, bands past and present. Having been envious of the Cruel World bills over the years, I was rather pleased to hear this UK equivalent announced back in December.
However, my biggest draw on the bill wasn’t any of the more prominent acts like PiL, Chameleons, the aforementioned Furs et al: as much as I dig those bands, they tour often enough to make seeing them at an out-of-town festival a non-necessity. No, the band that really made this a must-see event for me was none other than the decidedly less post-punky, more synthpoppy, less prominently placed Berlin. Yes, the very same Berlin who took the world’s breath away via their contribution to the Top Gun soundtrack back in the day. Of course, there’s far more to their discography than just that formidable entry, far more that’s left me yearning to see them onstage, and given that they were last over here when I was in fucking primary school, their addition to their bill made this as must.
That said, I was reluctant to throw down the £150 required for a front-standing ticket right away, so I held off till much closer to the time; good fucking thing I did as the event organisers put on a flash sale just weeks before the event—in honour of the 44th anniversary of festival headliner Kraftwerk’s eight album, Computer World—offering tiered discounts to those who’d held off on splurging out triple figures (much to the chagrin of those who’d spooged a hundred quid or more). As a result, I managed to snag a general standing ticket for just under £30, saving my wallet quite a bit of a battering. I figured, given the layout of the standing area, I’d still be able to snag a place at the front, if not the “front standing” area, provided I showed up early enough…
…and, come the day, that’s pretty much what happened!
Staring over at the “front standers” enclosed to the right of me, I couldn’t help but think, *There but for the grace of flash sales go I*.
Snug and secure in my adjacence to the “front standing” area, I awaited the main stage’s opening act, cult post-punk act UK Decay. I’d picked up an album, curious about the hype, and found them to be a solid, though not stunning, bunch. Their opening set upheld that perception, giving those attendent a nice ease-in to the day’s proceedings and a wider platform for the band itself, well regarded but relatively niche in the post-punk milieu. With a combo of old guards—founding members Steve “Abbo” Abbot and Steve Spon (guitar) and longstander Ed “Twiggy” Branch (bass)—new blood—most prominently, backing vocalist Kyia—the band knocked out a showcase set of old-school and more recent material the latter, like ‘Shake ‘Em Up’ from their 2014 release, New Hope for the Dead, sitting rather well alongside older staples like ‘Unexpected Guest’ and ‘Testament’.
Then came the band that inspired me to make the trip out of the city to Milton Keynes…
…a whole five minutes late, that is.
Not that a five-minute set delay is a big deal in itself, but placed within the context of an already compressed set, it kinda becomes one. Still, things kick off well enough with a video intro followed by ‘Masquerade’, one of their earliest hits, its searing synths dissolving much of the frustration and inertia from the prolonged wait…
….only for the next track, ‘No More Words’ to introduce its brand of the former, ironic given as it’s a firm favourite of mine, with its soaring, audaciously dated early ’80s synth lines ‘n’ drum machine work. However, for this live performance, Terri Nunn and co delivered an “updated” version that diluted all that, adding only a touch of the tepid to proceedings. Disappointing. Thank fuck ‘The Metro’, the following track, avoided similar modernising molestations.
Of course, they performed ‘Take My Breath Away’, with Terri expressing gratitude for the UK making it their first number one back in 1986. She even made a point of taking a piggyback ride around the audience enclosures, touching hands with those at the edges—but missing mine!
The set closed with a solid rendition of ‘Sex (I’m a…)’, with John Crawford adding his interjecting vox work, as on record. Still, I found myself somewhat underwhelmed overall, considering my anticipation, thanks to the convergence of frustrating factors (that cover of ‘Highway to Hell’, which could’ve been left of the setlist in favour of another original, didn’t help either!). All the same, ere’s hoping they follow through on their UK appreciation with some semblance of a tour, one that doesn’t repeat the missteps of this set.
Next came The Chameleons, who did a good job of showcasing old, new, and previously unreleased songs in their 40-minute set. That said, I’m not sure that I’m a fan of their decision to hand over a quarter of their set to a rendition of ‘Soul in Isolation’, one of their longest songs, as superb as that rendition was. Me being me, I would’ve liked to have heard more material from their debut, and my favourite album of theirs, Script of the Bridge, but at least I got the ever-reliable set-closer ‘Don’t Fall’ for my patience on that front. The lungwork of Vox, i.e., the Artist Formerly Known As Mark Burgess, was as flawless as ever, as were his and the other band members’ instrumentals. Shame their setlist choices didn’t allow for more of their discography to get an airing.
Such a criticism couldn’t be levelled at the next band to take to the main stage, The Psychedelic Furs. As with Berlin, I’d been looking forward to seeing them for the first time, yet unlike Berlin, they lived up to my anticipation. Unlike Vox and co. before them, Richard Butler and his merry men packed more of their discography into their 45-minute set, with hits like ‘Heaven’, ‘Pretty in Pink’, and personal anthem ‘Love My Way’ getting more than respectable airings alongside formidable recent numbers like ‘The Boy That Invented Rock and Roll’ and deeper cuts such as ‘President Gas’, though, surprisingly the track that named the festival, and an album, was conspicuously absent. Butler’s distinctive vocals sounded out in fine form, having clearly avoided the ravages of time. My first favourite set of the day.
Ex-Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr delivered my second favourite set of the day, not only playing a selection of hits from the band that put him on the map but also showing himself to be no slouch in terms of his solo material, with bangers such as ‘Generate! Generate!’ and ‘Easy Money’ playing well with (semi-)covers of ‘Panic’, ‘This Charming Man’, ‘How Soon Is Now?’, and ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’. I’d been unsure as to his pedigree and prominence on the bill, but the combo of familiar jangle work and surprisingly good standalone songs won me over to the prospect of seeing him play a future headline show.
I’d previously seen Billy Idol onstage as part of Generation Sex at Crystal Palace, where he struggled to cover Sex Pistols material alongside renditions of his output in Generation X (much to the later scorn and amusement of John Lydon, which made me wonder, given PiL’s appearance on the other stage, how the two had interacted at the festival). As patchy as that show had been, I’d had enough regard for his recorded output to look forward to his Forever Now showing, and I have to say that he mostly delivered here. All the familiar hits were done justice, including the made-for-driving anthems ‘Rebel Yell’ and ‘Blue Highway’, the relatively slow-burning ‘Eyes Without a Face’, with some great backing vocals from one Kitten Kuroi, the unwittingly #me too-baiting “sex attack” of ‘Flesh for Fantasy’, and, of course, the ever memorable ‘White Wedding’. There were some cuts from Idol’s most recent album, Dream into It, some good, others that could’ve been shelved for more oldies, including the glaringly absent ‘Dancing with Myself’. A great bells-and-whistles set, all in all, despite the gnawing omission, and a definite step-up from his Generation Sex performance a couple of years prior.
I got two or three songs into The The’s set before deciding to bail to take a shit, get some grub and merch, and find the other stage in time for Death Cult’s performance; though a technically polished band, they’re not one with which I have a strong-enough resonance. Turns out that I should’ve waited a couple of songs before bidding adieu to my sweet standing spot, as the band invited Johnny Marr on stage for a couple of songs, both of which sounded stellar even all the way from the (not too decrepit) bogs.
Eventually, I got to the other stage, a tucked-away, dust-strewn, decidedly unglamourous affair, nicknamed the “Car Park Stage” by several fellow attendees. Such was the level of aforementioned dust that it still caked my boots several days later. In any case, I got to the stage in enough time for Death Cult, only to wait another half hour for the fuckers to come on! Turned out there had been a series of late starts on that stage, resulting in a knock-on effect that derailed my plans to catch the second half of Kraftwerk’s headline set on the main stage.
Still, unlike many of the secondary stage’s unfortunate acts, at least Death Cult got to play out their full set, and it capped off my night nicely. Whilst not a huge fan of The Cult, its earlier incarnation had made enough of an impression on me to encourage me to check them out live, and very glad I did too, as regretful as I am of missing Kraftwerk. ‘Ghost Dance’, ‘Horse Nation’, ‘Christians’, and my personal favourite ‘God’s Zoo’ were performed with passion and panache, frontman Ian Astbury, tambourine in hand, taking on something of a post-punk shaman role. Between said songs and the assorted Cult covers, he made a point of extending his gratitude to the audience for choosing his band over that dominating the main stage. A solid rendition of ‘She Sells Sanctuary’ brought the set, and my day, to a fine end.
Despite the ups and downs, I rather appreciated this stab at a UK answer to Cruel World. Hopefully, its organisers will learn from the mistakes of this first festival and bring British fans of new wave, post-punk, and synthpop something stronger and sturdier next year.
Getting a ticket to this Deathklok’s midsummer Saturday show was a bit of a nightmare, as I remember, having to do the ticket-site dash ‘n’ reftash only to initially come up nought. By happenstance, however, I managed to secure myself a standing ticket the next day, after they’d supposedly sold out, so, result.
Closer to the time, I was tempted by the prospect of a clashing show, namely the album release for UK death-crust band Under the Ashes, last seen supporting Inhuman Nature in May, whose new, and first, album, Sacrifices Heaped, comes highly recommended. The fact that the Ashes show was nearer by at Helgi’s, rather than all the way on the other side of the city in Shepherd’s Bush was also a strong incentive, especially as the closer proximity would allow for me to get back in time to rest up before the long journey to the post-punk Forever Now festival in Milton Keynes the next day.
Ultimately, however, it was an incentive I resisted.
After making the long journey to the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, being deprioritised for the O2 Priority queue by those who’d paid half a grand to meet the band getting in, grabbing a t-shirt or two, and hitting the loo, I set myself on the floor for Party Cannon, who burst onto the stage with their brand of perky death metal. The only other band that I’ve seen combine guttural death with an upbeat “party hard” performance is Plaguemace. Sadly, unlike with Plaguemace, Party Cannon’s material just ain’t permeable enough for me to enjoy, what with it being at the level of “extremity” that does away with distinctiveness and decipherability. That said, they succeeded at distinguishing themselves as a live band, deploying an ocular assault of cardboard cocks, inflatable dinghies, and devil-headed mascots, as well as an abundant helping of Caledonian chutzpah. The inclusion of the aforementioned dinghies certainly made the moshpit more of an amusing spectacle as did the mass push-ups that saw out the last track on their roster.
The headliners, by contrast, were more economical with their audience engagement, largely letting the music and animated visuals do the talking for them. Given that Dethklok first came to prominence as a fictional five-piece on the Adult Swim animated comedy Metapocalypse, it’s understandable that the actual musicians behind the riffage would assume summat of a low profile. As far as the show’s concerned, I’ve yet to see a single episode; twas the first Dethklok album, at first glimpsed via clips sent by friends and eventually in entirety via purchase, that sold me on this show.
And in the end, twas indeed a well executed affair, the visuals adding to the enjoyment of tracks such as alternative nativity anthem ‘Birthday Dethday’, the vigorous ‘Awaken’, the cyclically vengeful ‘Murmaider’, and the anthemically awesome ‘Hatredcopter’. The intermissionary PSAs by band mascot Facebones maintain the humour quotient between tracks, and the whole set breezed through in a pretty no-nonsense fashion. No doubt those who immersed themselves in the show and lore prior to the albums enjoyed the whole affair even more than I did.
That said, as much as I enjoyed the whole thing, I’m not sure I’d throw down coin so readily again. One could probably watch a decent YouTube upload of any given show and not miss much from the live performance. And as far as the discography’s concerned, that first album is where things peaked for me, the follow-ups, at least from belated initial listening, succumbing to the law of diminishing returns.
In any case, a night of curiosity satisfied is never a wasted one, and Dethklok fully delivered on that score. On top of that, the unexpected early finish gave me plenty of time to get home, prep, and rest up for the following day’s Milton Keynes post-punk adventure, so… result!
Bar the hassle of having to queue on Camden’s high street for an hour, subject to all the annoying passers-by, Thursday night was pretty no-nonsense as far as gigs go: two crossover-thrash acts from two different sides of the pond tearing it up at the Electric Ballroom, namely Dallas’ Power Trip and London’s own Inhuman Nature. Having seen each of them just months prior, I knew what to expect from each of them, and both delivered in a no-frills, no fuss way.
Inhuman Nature stepped up first, vocalist Chris Barling once again inciting chaos with invocations to open up circle pits inbetween the likes of ‘Take Them by Force’, ‘Carnivorous Lunar Activities’, ‘Beyond the Realms of Sanity’, and ‘Dead and Buried’. Notably, bassist Daragh Markham chimed in too, bookending ‘Lines in the Sand II’ with cries of “Free Palestine!” Overall, it was another solid set that maintained the standard I’d seen in previous shows, worthy of a fistbump on the way out.
Headliners Power Trip also maintained the momentum of and the standard set by their support slot for Pantera back in February. The gnarly opening riff for ‘Soul Sacrifice’ easily elicited a mean-mugging headbang from me, the groove and chant of ‘Executioner’s Tax (Swing of the Axe)’ was as addictive as ever, and the ‘Hornet’s Nest’ certainly set audiences, and the circle pits therein, abuzz. Other highlights included ‘Drown’, dedicated to late founding vocalist Riley Gale, the finely tuned ‘Heretic’s Fork’, and the pre-encore closer ‘Waiting Around to Die’, which certainly didn’t “fuck with the dead”. However, it was ‘Crossbreaker’, the blistering encore shred of thrashphemy, that left the strongest impact on me, having had it as an earworm since first hearing it earlier in the day—sterling stuff.
In short, despite some pre-gig frustration, Thursday night turned out to be a helluva Trip.
Wednesday night’s Nine Inch Nails gig was one much anticipated, given that I hadn’t seen Trent and co. live since 2007 and had to fight the AXS algo like hell to wrest a ticket from its maw. As such, I was piqued for this live reacquaintance, and I made a point of getting down there early enough to grab my merch and, if possible, a spot at the front; on the latter front, being on the mobile network sponsoring the venue helped me out immensely, what with me scoring in the spot in the Blueroom for comfier waiting and early entry. Result!
Upon entry, and marching toward the barrier, I met with the sight of a veiled square at the centre of the floor, presumably the “B-stage” I’d read about prior, the literal centrepiece for this tour. After an hour’s wait, it blared out the sound of clubhouse electronica, which I took to be the preamble to the support act, German act Boys’ Noize.
Then five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty…
…during which time, I realised my error, as well as half the audience staring at the still-shrouded block as if it were the Kaaba. In other words, the long, loud Boys Noize support set resembled a Meccan pilgrimage with less in the way of tragicomically fatal godridden stampedes. Inshallah!
Shortly after that came to an end, the music resumed, an actual preamble this time, building, intensifying, toward a crescendo. And then fell the shrouds, revealing the sight of Trent at a piano in its wake. Cue ‘Right Where It Belongs’, with the Rez showcasing his clean, melodic lungwork—still got it!
From there began a show that saw Reznor and co transition from one stage to another with little in the way of hassle. Of course, the highlights for me lay on the main stage, where the band knocked out a procession of bangers, highlights including a blistering ‘Wish’, the beautifully brutal blasphemy of ‘Heresy’, the serrating-to-serene speed trip that is ‘March of the Pigs’, ‘Head Like a Hole’, the song that placed them firmly on the map, and the Johnny Cash–appropriated closer ‘Hurt’.
There was also everyone’s industrial-rock freak anthem ‘Closer’, a watered-down B-stage rendition of unofficial egoist anthem ‘Only’ peformed in collaboration with Boys Noize, which had me yearning for the less bridled original, and a rendition of Downward Spiral seether ‘Reptile’ that I’ve termed the ‘Glitch, Please’ remix on account of the static overlay employed and Trent’s mic giving out on him during performance, unexpectedly promoting guitarist Robin Finck to vocal duties (As Trent lamented afterwards, “The world’s most complicated lightshow, but a fucking mic cable takes us out.”)
Technical issues also interfered with the show later, prompting more humour-laced laments from Trent; ultimately however these issues amounted to glitches, rather than fatal errors, in the machine, which for the most part chugged along brilliantly. I could lament the many favourites that weren’t played, but with a band like Nine Inch Nails it’s pretty much inevitable that many a favourite will be left off the setlist of any given show one might see. As things stand, this was a sterling live reintroduction to a band that continues to occupy a firm place in my musical cosmology (even if I fell off after Year Zero).
The system is collapsing. Life is too unaffordable and all politicians say is that we are “lazy” for not having 3 jobs. We are burned out!!! The post 9/4/2025 Kyle Kulinski Show TRUMP’S TARIFFS DESTROY HIS PRESIDENCY first appeared on Attack the System.
ByEvan Perez Hannah Rabinowitz In the wake of the Minneapolis Catholic church shooting, senior Justice Department officials are weighing proposals to limit transgender people’s right to possess firearms, according to two officials familiar with the internal discussions. The talks, described as preliminary in nature, appear to build on […] The post Trump DOJ is looking […]
Robby Soave delivering a radar on British officials arresting Irish comedian Graham Linehan. #robbyradar #grahamlinehan The post Rising: September 4, 2025 Comedian Graham Linehan ARRESTED In Britain for JOKE About Trans Women! first appeared on Attack the System.
“There is no ‘right’ to undo another nation’s existence. There is no international principle that compels one people to surrender sovereignty so that their state can be destroyed — a state created as a haven for a people nearly annihilated, and after a defensive war they won. Until the Palestinian leadership abandons this claimed right […]
Yesterday the Green Party announced that Zack Polanski (who used to say he could enlarge women’s breasts by the power of his mind) had been elected as its new leader. The party also announced that “two high-profile local councillors had been elected as co-deputy leaders. One of these deputies is Mr Mothin Ali, formerly a […]
Five, apparently. That’s five armed police officers, of course. Heaven knows how many unarmed officers it would take to bring down a mighty warrior like Graham Linehan.
(An extension of a few points I mentioned in this video concerning education.) So-called educational systems teach young students what to believe, how to behave, and perhaps skills deemed necessary—not to question. (To a considerable degree, teaching what to believe … Continue reading →
A brief excerpt taken from Book III of Volume I of The Constellation of Man. These metaphors, like others I use in the book, introduce realism concerning the novelty of our personal appearance on preconstructed stages of history and human culture, atop mind … Continue reading →
Two things amaze me, again and again, about American enthusiasm for rancor in politics. I. Vengeance welcomes and relishes any opportunities to humiliate or oppress one’s opponents, but shows no foresight of how this creates a precedent—a legal and cultural … Continue reading →
by John Grauerholz Your medical record is something that will always be used against you. Your medical history only exists to record your physical humiliations. A doctor is not there to cure you, but to cause you as much consternation as possible. A physician’s role is not to heal a patient of your ilk, but […]
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One might think that few people were more annoyed by the 2019 British general election than the conservative author and commentator Ed West. Here he was, preparing to publish his book Small Men on the Wrong Side of History (Little, … Continue reading →
The first time I met Andrew Sabisky we walked through central London for hours and neither his energy or my interest flagged. This is a rare combination. There are people who can talk for a long time and there are … Continue reading →
I began this decade in London, a physical wreck, mentally ruined, almost friendless and facing the grim realisation that not only was “creative writing” a titanically stupid course to pick but my writing sucked. As bad as all this was, … Continue reading →
I recently had to dig through pages of Hopefully Anonymous’ blog in the Internet Archive in order to find this post. As noted recently, TypePad’s disappearance means that will be the only way to access it. As I’d rather not have to repeat that, I have decided to copy his post below, which I acknowledge […]
The WCI accouncement is here. Marginal Revolution & Overcoming Bias were hosted there long ago, and the long-defunct Hopefully Anonymous still is. I’ve been linking to WCI for well over a decade, so presumably anyone following those links will need to feed them into the Internet Archive in the near future. I will miss Nick […]
Richard Hanania just* blogged his Mate Selection Theory of Feminization, arguing that relatively feminine/feminist men are signalling to women that they are more reliable partners in this post-monogamy era of easy divorce and reduced social stigma. It occurred to me that the General Social Survey (see my earlier posts on it) should have some questions […]
Like the uncollapsed quantum state holding Schrodinger’s cat in a state of simultaneous life and death, whether a school is “teaching critical race theory” or not seems to depend entirely on whether the inquiring person wants them to. Are you anti-CRT? Then, you may rest assured, American schools most certainly aren’t teaching CRT. (If you […]
Wisdom has built her house; she has set up its seven pillars. — Proverbs 9:1 T. E. Lawrence is the Lawrence, of Arabia, and Seven Pillars of Wisdom is his autobiographical account of his time spent serving in the British and Arab armies during World War One. If you’ve seen the movie, you’ve got the […]
Scott Anderson’s Lawrence in Arabia is, quite obviously, about the famous T. E. Lawrence “of” Arabia. The book ranges significantly wider than Lawrence’s personal account, however, shifting between the perspectives of Ottoman officials, German spies, American spies, Zionist spies, and of course British spies. I read this book concurrently with The Berlin-Baghdad Express, so my […]
We boldly claim to change the world, with one simple dogmatic rule! TOTAL HONESTY, and intolerance for deception, can change the world for the better. One simple rule! Honesty is the #1 necessity for a modern scientific society PC deception and lies are the CAUSE for the downfall of Western civilization. Total honesty and full disclosure are […]
HIgh school teen faces 10 years in prison for sexting female classmate Teen sexting case highlights severity of N.C. sex offender laws A North Carolina teenager faces felony sex crime charges after police discovered sexually explicit photographs of a sixteen-year-old girl on his cell phone. Cormega Copening is a seventeen-year-old high school student at Jack […]
Formerly honest and unbiased vote counting is another institution infiltrated with and taken over by leftist activists. Leftists think deception is virtuous to reach higher goals. Dishonest partisan election officials “cured” problem ballots. This must be exposed, opposed, reversed. Continue at Sincerity.netWait, there is more! This article continues! Continue reading »Vote counting corrupted in USA, […]
On December 31, 2023 the Berkeley anarchist publisher and distributor Little Black Cart / Ardent Press closed shop after many years of the project producing fascinating and challenging work, often finding it brought them at odds with many in the anarchist milieu they operated in. After the Underworld Amusements edition of The Unique and Its […]
Dora Marsden was born in the village of Marsden in 1882. In 1900 began teaching at Owens College, where she met Christabel Pankhurst and other suffragists. Dora joined them and became a leader in the Women’s Social and Political Union (WPSU) by 1908. The following year she resigned as a teacher and became a full […]
The Union of Egoists website was announced April 1st of 2016 with the release of Max Stirner Bibliography by Trevor Blake. Happy anniversary to the royal Us. The idea for this site and much else was crystalized in a chat of February 2nd, 2016 between Trevor Blake and Kevin I. Slaughter. This chat was printed in our […]
