Hot on the heels of the previous night’s Ministry gig, the second Tuesday of August saw old-school thrashers Forbidden make a stop Downstairs at the Dome as part of their 40th-anniversary tour, with London groove metallers Die Ego as support.
Die Ego, though not my favourite band, made for a solid opening act, doing a good job of getting the crowd riled up with, and between, songs such as ‘The Serpent Bearer’ and ‘The Executioner’ . Their set-up was also notable for having what looked like a living-room carpet laid out for the drumkit.
As for Forbidden, they gave the assembled audience a solid show, delivering on their promise to play Twisted into Form, their 1990 sophomore album, in its entirety, albeit in shuffled order. Sadly, original vocalist Russ Anderson didn’t survive as part of the presented line-up, having left the band (and the music business) back in 2012, but Norman Skinner did a respectable job of filling his shoes. Both vocally and instrumentally, the band made a great showing of tracks such as ‘Out of Body (Out of Mind)’, ‘Twisted into Form’, ‘Step by Step’, and ‘Tossed Away’. On top of all that, I was chuffed to finally hear playlist favourite ‘Chalice of Blood’—from their 1988 album, Forbidden Evil—performed as the night’s closer.
Other highlights of the evening included being once again mistaken for security by fellow punters in the queue; having headline guitarist Craig Locicero asking what I was listening to whilst passing by the queue (answer: it was Whiplash, hot on the heels of the Forbidden tour setlist); being unwittingly kicked in the bonce by crowdsurfing drummer Chris Kontos at the set’s end; and catching up with a few familiar faces, most notably, the ever amiable Chris Parker and the diminutive Thrashteroid, first seen jamming onstage at the Islington Academy with Exodus exactly a year prior, last seen at this evening’s venue the day after that for Havok.
The past few years of encountering and seeing many new-to-me bands has certainly broadened my musical library, but it’s always good to revisit one’s old favourites when, time, inclination, and opportunity align. Such was the case with Ministry’s return to the capital on the second Monday of August, Mondays being nights-off for me, so off I went to see Al Jourgensen and his merry men.
I will admit to not being arsed about Ministry’s most recent output (i.e., anything after The Last Sucker), partly thanks to hearing that cringeworthy ‘Antifa’ song he put out in homage to the left wing of the establishment’s defacto foot soldiers; his full-chested Branch Covidian endorsement of vaccine mandates hasn’t helped either. Nevertheless, my love of their earlier material remains intact, and, in light of their stint at the Cruel World festival, where they performed material from their earliest two albums, the prospect of possibly hearing much loved tracks from With Sympathy and Twitch for the first time proved too enticing to resist.
And I’ll be damned if it wasn’t one of the best gig decisions I’ve ever made.
Prior to the payoff, however, came the supports, So-Cal black/doom/industrial-metal contingent Siglos, featuring one-time Ministry axeman Sin Quorin, and London industrial rockers Light of Eternity, featuring Killing Joke drummer and co-founder Big Paul Ferguson.
The former opened the night, making the ritualistic, atmospheric impression their blend of metal practically demands; with Mesoamerican aesthetic and Spanish-titled songs (‘En Resiliencia’, ‘Soga de los Muertos’, etc.) in tow, the Los Angeles troupe added more than an air of the exotic to proceedings. Vocalist Pedro Sanchez brings the bellows, accompanied nicely by Sin and co. on strings and sticks. Good start.
Next up came Light of Eternity with a set that I’d describe as uneven, starting well enough before dipping, evoking some heavy lidded moments, only to finish strong. Songs such as ‘Aftershock’, ‘Edge of Fate’, and ‘Fascist X’ carried power and punch beyond the lyrical, whereas more trippy numbers like ‘Vastness’ had me struggling to stay awake. One could argue they could have trimmed a bit of fat off the middle to maintain the pace, but at least they bookended strong.
Then came the main event, heralded by a graphic denunciation of Donald Trump, which, given how he’s abandoned his entertaining heel-crushing-heel ways to morph into the same old “respectable” political predator as the rest, I couldn’t be arsed to even roll my eyes at.
“This song is called ‘Thieves’,” Al said before he and the band launched into the opener of 1989’s The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste in all its whirring, grunting, sampling magnificence—just what the doctor ordered! From then on, the band took the Brixton assembled on a recap of what made them such a vital and potent force in the realm of industrial metal, with classics like the ocularly fixated ‘Stigmata’, the sample-dominated Herbert Walker Bush loopfest of ‘NWO’, and the pounding, chugging menace of ‘Just One Fix’ justifying the entrance fee. Alongside these old-school staples were Dubya-era bangers like ‘Rio Grande Blood’ and Truther anthem ‘LiesLiesLies’ and even the odd post-Dubya ditty such as ‘Alert Level’ and ‘Goddamn White Trash’ (with that cringeworthy ‘Antifa’ song remaining mercifully absent).
But as awesome and affirming as it was to hear those reliable rivethead rifffests again, the real highlight of the night came in the form of the three-song encore showcasing material from their previously underacknowledged first two albums, their synthpop debut With Sympathy (1983) and its darker EBM follow-up Twitch (1986). The first two tracks from the former ‘Effigy (I’m Not An)’ and ‘Revenge’ closed the night in a non-obnoxiously remixed fashion, but for me, the absolute cherry atop this setlist sundae was finally, FINALLY, getting to hear one of my absolute fucking favourite Ministry tracks performed for the first time, the moody, pounding, (sadly) enduringly relevant Cold War anthem ‘We Believe’, its “Squirelly Remix” form sounding scarcely different from its first appearance on Twitch—thank fuck! (Who knew nuclear paranoia could be so euphoric?)
I could gripe about the absence of the likes of ‘Everyday Is Halloween’, ‘Burning Inside’, and other staples, but I’m sure they’ll be back the next time the Ministry machine rolls into town. As things went, this set managed the feat of being at once familiar and singular, delivering that not heard before, and possibly never to be heard again, alongside the relished reliables.
When the merch table is conspicuously amiss at the New Cross Inn, you know it’s gonna be a mad one! Such was the sight that greeted me when I went to see Cleveland’s blackened-speed demons Midnight tear up the joint on the first night of August. Just like the last time I saw ’em, the merch had been relocated downstairs to better accommodate the turnout and tumult to come.
Opening the night’s four-band bill was London hardcore-punk mob State-Sanctioned Violence, who would go on to exemplify that moniker as the evening progressed. After a brief pre-set psych-up session, they took to the stage to play some compellingly crusty d-beat. Bursts of belligerence such as ‘Permanent Warfare’, ‘Chewed up and Spat Out’, and ‘Moral Disease’ did a nice job of setting the sonic scene.
The belligerence, however, extended beyond the setlist, with bassist Rob taking the mic from vocalist Owen at the end of the aptly titled ‘Moral Disease’ to vent his spleen at a middle-aged, cap-wearing member of the audience, accused/identified as being a “Nazi” on a “League list”. “This guy here, we’re not playing for him,” the irate bassist declared. “You’re not welcome here—fuck off.” After being further cajoled in front of a silent audience, said “Nazi”, “Michael”, made his way to the exits, inspiring a chorus of cheers from the audience once he’d definitively left the building.
Instead of joining the chorus, I instead wondered how I’d react had I paid money for a gig only to be turfed out by the lowest-billed band. Certainly not by scuttling into the night at any rate!
Then, in a marvellously tragicomic turn toward the end of the set, Owen removed his shirt to reveal nowt other than a hammer-and-sickle tattoo on his chest. Nothing like opposing one minority-purging, ideologically murderous regime with another, eh?
Given the source, I’ll take those “Nazi” allegations with a pinch of salt, cheersverymuch!
After that memorable opener, I caught up with Jayden (AKA Luciferhammer), drummer of Milton Keynes black-speed terrorists Priest Strangler, whom I’d last seen on the train ride home from Subterranean Manifestation. As well as talking about his band and his recently acquired tattoos, he also informed me of his friendship with the next act on the bill, Southend black speedsters Ominous Moon.
Having previously acquired a copy of their debut, Waking the Dead, I’d looked forward to seeing them in action, and I was not disappointed. The three-piece played a gritty, deliberately lo-fi selection of abrasively catchy numbers, including ‘Wizardous Malice’, ‘Stone-Cold Metal’, and the call-and-response of ‘Waking the Dead (Out for Blood)’, bringing proceedings closer to alignment with the ensuing acts. The trio gave their all onstage, particularly frontman Brandon Parrish, who elicited concern with what looked like a bleeding maw as the set went on, though he assured me at the end that it was intentional. Given Ozzy’s death the previous week, the band’s cover of Black Sabbath’s ‘Electric Funeral’ proved a fitting way to cap off their set.
Next up came my main support draw, Mancunian blackened crust punks Wolfbastard. I’d been looking forward to seeing these reprobates again since watching them take to the stage alongside Overthrow (who formed part of this night’s audience) last year. Their set certainly delivered, blending old favourites like ‘Can’t Escape the Grave’ and ‘Buckfast Blasphemies’ with some interesting new numbers, most prominent amongst these being the charmingly titled ‘Fuck off, Then Die’ and the infectiously infernal ‘Satanic Scum Punks’; the latter two tracks served as previews for their upcoming fourth album, currently awaiting a label to unleash it upon the world, according to the band.
They didn’t just deliver musically, however, what with the ratarsed back ‘n’ forth between Dez (vox, guitars) and Si (vox/bass) and some playful audience provocation. Given their northern origins, I fully expected them to bait and antagonise their London audience with the appropriate territorial epithets, and, once again, they didn’t disappoint, addressing us “southern wankers” in fitting fashion. Their one genuinely offensive gesture? Not closing the set with their most anthemic number ‘Drink Fucking Beer! Hail Fucking Satan!’ despite it being on the setlist and despite (or more likely as a result of) being enough sheets to the wind for it to be appropriate. I suppose they can always make up for it with a future headline slot, likely once they find a taker for their latest appealingly accursed abomination.
From pissheads to pissing, I made a detour to drain the lizard in the downstairs bogs, only to bump into Rob and Owen on the way in, not the devout commies from State-Sanctioned Violence but rather the blasphemous sons of Croydon from Necro Ritual, hitherto unseen as part of the audience. “We’re cracking cans outside if you wanna join us after you’ve done your business,” Rob said, in his usual affable manner. So, in an uncharacteristic gig move, I eschewed parking myself at the front for an outdoor catch-up.
Once outside, I had my first face-to-face chat with folk with certain familiar audience members, only to be amusingly interrupted by an impromptu acapella rendition of Cock Sparrer’s ‘England Belongs to Me’ by Necro Ritual Rob and a mate of his.
“You should do a cover”, I said, inviting laughter in the affirmative.
He then went on to talk about a verbal altercation with SSV, talking about how he and some Croydon mates instinctively jumped in against a perceived gang-up on Michael, laughing away the would-be State-Sanctioned Stasi, with their purge “lists”, by likening their Rob to Bubbles of Trailer Park Boys.
“Always good to see bullies get their comeuppance,” I said, vibing with the ethos.
The exchange was cut short by the sight of Midnight jostling past us into the venue, though not before Rob and I each caught frontman Athenar (Jamie Walters) in a “Predator” handshake upon re-entry.
And once again, the subsequent set amped-up the night’s pre-established energy a hundredfold, the band setting off an apt eruption with opening song proper ‘All Hail Hell’ and ‘Fucking Speed and Darkness’. Limbs and bodies continued to flail as the set went on, the likes of ‘Fucking Speed and Darkness’, ‘Black Rock’ n’ Roll’, and ‘Cleveland Metal’, the latest original addition to the setlist, keeping the adrenalin pumping.
Having missed their previous New Cross Inn annihilation in the name of last year’s album, Hellish Expectations, I was especially pleased to hear some of my favourite tracks from it, such as ‘Expect Total Hell’ and the sadistically subversive ‘FOAL’ (‘Fuck off and Live’), although the absence of apocalyptic anthem ‘Nuclear Saviour’ rang conspicuous, especially with merch on sale showcasing the song. As for older favourites, ‘Satanic Royalty’, ‘Lust, Filth, and Sleaze’, and ‘You Can’t Stop Steel’ remained welcome mainstays, although, as a bloke next to me amusingly pointed out, the steel was indeed stopped for the latter track, on account of an errant axe string.
Between-song patter ranged from Athenar throwing some mirthful passive-aggression at Oasis to giving the second nod of the night to the deceased Lord of Darkness himself. And, just like the first time I saw them, the set ended with Athenar clasping hands left, right, and centre before being surfed out of the venue by an appreciative audience.
So, yes, a highly satisfying night of carnage and cameraderie, all in all, capped off with an enthusiastic epilogual exchange with Rob (who’d acquired the dubious souvenir of a gimped leg in the pit) before our respective journeys home to Croydon and Cock Sparrer Country.
PS: Viewing the footage I’d recorded of the ejection a while after the fact made me aware of a detail I’d missed at the time, namely SSV Rob identifying Michael as a member of Blood & Honour, the far-right music promo network founded by the late Skrewdriver frontman Ian Stuart Donaldson. Assuming, that’s an accurate identification, and taking into mind the first-name familiarity Rob had with the bloke, was the Midnight confrontation part of a long, elaborate dance between the two parties, the latest round in a drawn-out #HeelVsHeelMatch? One can only wonder.
PPS (11/11/25): After this review went up, Rob from SSV, who, by his own account, is not a communist, got in contact with me to set the record straight on a few things, particularly the reason for the callout of Michael (or “Mickle”, as he’s elsewhere identified) and the ensuing altercation outside the venue. Basically, it turns out that the ejected bloke is indeed a Nazi of the Blood & Honour variety, and Rob provided the links and receipts to back it up, citing his history targeting young and impressionable gig-goers for ideological grooming and recruitment. Furthermore, he’d waited outside the venue to ambush Rob, threatened to stab him, and punched Owen (who Rob assures me is a non-tankie commie) in the face when the latter intervened. Piecing all accounts together, it seems Necro Ritual Rob et al came in on the tail end of the altercation, as Mickle1488 was being chased off, which explains the “gang-up” optics from their perspective.
In any case, Rob, far from talking out of his arse on the matter, had done his due diligence, and this episode serves as a good self-reminder for me to do the same before hitting publish!
The last Sunday and Monday of July showcased something of a special event: American tea-metal merchants Night Demon playing two intimate shows across two successive nights. I was intrigued by this as both of these venues—Helgi’s and the Cart and Horses, especially the latter—are not too far from home, the latter being a mere bus ride away. There was also the factor of the band leaving a strong positive impression on me when I saw them support Cirith Ungol on their farewell tour last year (Night Demon frontman Jarvis Leatherby being a regular fixture on bass in both bands). Naturally, I was sold.
Support was amply handled on both nights by plucky Southampton act Toledo Steel, who treated the assembled audiences to their own brand of NWOBHM-inspired melodies. Playing the same set both nights, they left a strong, energetic impression with numbers such as ‘Speed Killer’, ‘In the Line of Fire’, ‘Inside the Arena’, and their set-capping self-titled theme tune. They even knocked out a robust cover of Black Sabbath’s ‘Children of the Grave’ on the first night, in memory of the five-days-deceased Ozzy Osbourne. Stellar performances both nights, with the second might edging ahead just a mite in terms of vigour.
The main act also performed admirably across both nights, despite Jarvis having to make do with a less-than-optimal bass for the majority of the first show. The turnout at Helgi’s was graced with a playthrough of their latest album, Outsider, the sterling title track kicking off proceedings in style, and the Cart and Horses clientele saw Darkness Rising, their first album, receive similar treatment. On top of that, both sets had a post-playthrough selection of songs from elsewhere in their discography.
On a performance level, Jarvis, guitarist Armand John Anthony, and sticksman Brian Wilson sung and played a belter, the former two really amping up the dynamism for their Cart & Horses set given the extra space afforded them there.
On a discography level, however, this two-night takeover, whilst enjoyable, convinced me that Night Demon are, for me, palette better served curated, with standout songs being scattered across the catalogue rather than any particular album standing out as more killer than filler. As such, I think I most enjoyed the post-playthrough selection of songs better, at least in regard to the Helgi’s set. Bangers like ‘Dawn Rider’, ‘The Chalice’ (with another welcome stage appearance by band mascot and Reaper impersonator Rocky), and the band’s cover of ‘Black Sabbath’, appropriately deployed to mark Ozzy’s passing, reminded me why this takeover was such an attractive prospect for me. (Aptly, given the venue’s standing as “the birthplace of Iron Maiden”, the band covered ‘Killers’ for the Cart & Horses set.)
Maybe repeated listens of the albums will shift the needle for me later down the line. As things stand, however, Night Demon are more potent for me in a single finely tuned dose rather than a more indulgent double helping.
The final Friday of July saw me back at the O2 for the biggest ever UK headline show of the mighty metal gods Judas Priest. A co-headliner, strictly speaking, given that shock-rockin’ stalwart Alice Cooper had equal prominence. In any case, this was an easy sell for me, being a firm fan of both as musicians and performers.
Arriving early enough for my usual merch swoop, I ended up having to hunt and queue for my desired garms longer than necessary, my first port of call, the merch stall outside, having fuck-all I wanted in my size. I at least managed to grab my favoured Priest shirt from the O2’s perma-store at the entrance, but I was totally out of luck when it came to Alice. A gander at Level 1’s merch store proved similarly fruitless. It was there, however, that I ended up bumping into some familiar faces from my forays further underground, including, in an especially pleasant surprise, none other than the Fistress of the Jaded Lungs herself, Melissa of Adorior. A brief catch-up, covering last-minute ticket purchases, seating queries, and then-upcoming seaside gigs, ensued, during which, I asked her the question I always ask myself whenever I see a Priest or Cooper gig on sale these days: Why the fuck is this, a metal gig, an all-seater?
Still, all-seaters have their benefits, not having to rush for the barriers being a firm favourite. That said, the unexpected merch odyssey had me strolling into my Level 1 spot just as Phil Campbell and the Bastard Sons, the support, started to play. As such, I failed to grab their theme tune ‘We’re the Bastards’, a rambunctious opening number that summed up the essence of the band, formed, as it says on the tin, of the ex-Mötorhead axeman and his three sons, with Joel Peters joining the party on vox. Other notable tracks included ‘High Rule’, a spirited shot across the bows at the political class, and, of course, their almost-obligatory rendition of ‘Ace of Spades’. A short ‘n’ sweet opening burst.
Then came Alice and his band, putting on another extravagant show for the London assembled. Having seen them headline at the Apollo back in October, I wondered what would be trimmed off of this shared-spotlight set. Not too much, it turned out, though I lamented the omission of favourites like ‘Snakebite’ and ‘Billion Dollar Babies’. (I also found myself deflated by the lacklustre crowd participation around me; the perpetually unclaimed seat to my left taunted me, in hindsight, with how the vibe might’ve changed had I snuck in someone I’d bumped into earlier.) Still, they kept recognisables like ‘I’m Eighteen’, ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy’, ‘School’s Out’, and, of course, ‘Poison’ (which especially perked up the surrounding inert), and the stageshow didn’t suffer in any significant way, with the simulated stabbings, decapitations, and Frankenstein’s monsters showcased in full. Nita Strauss—last seen bouncing plectrum off my bonce at the Apollo in October—got to do her solo shred, and the original members of the Alice Cooper band put in a guest appearance for the obligatory ‘School’s Out’ closer.
On a more sombre note, the band added a cracking cover of Black Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’ to mark the passing of Ozzy Osbourne, the latter’s original frontman, just days prior, with Hollywood Vampire and superstar Johnny Depp adding some guitar licks to the mix. A memorable addition to an unfortunately truncated set.
Priest, likewise, paid their own respects to the Prince of Darkness, adding him to the collage of fallen icons during their performance of ‘Giants in the Sky’ (initially, I freaked out upon seeing the face of someone I initially thought was Bonnie Tyler, who I’d seen exactly a year before at the smaller and better Indigo venue elsewhere in the O2, wondering what the fuck had happened to her; closer inspection, however, revealed the face in question to be that of Fleetwood Mac’s Christine McVie, who had indeed kicked the bucket back in 2022).
“This is what he would want us to do,” Rob proclaimed in reference to Ozzy. “He would want us to be here together, celebrating.”
I was certainly in a celebratory mood when Halford and co. opened the set with’ All Guns Blazing’, a surefire favourite from their sterling 1990 release, Painkiller; even better, they followed up with the storming’ ‘Hell Patrol’ from the same album, even more of a favourite. Of course, both were heartily (if artlessly) sung-along to by yours truly, more so than usual on account of it being the first time I’d heard the band play them live.
From there progressed a set that was pretty heavy on Painkiller material, with a few numbers from other albums sprinkled throughout, despite the name of the tour, Shield of Pain, implying an equal weighting of material from their most recent album, Invincible Shield. In the end, only two songs from Shield made it onto the setlist: the aforementioned ‘Giants in the Sky’ and the infernal ‘Gates of Hell’. Not that I’m complaining, ultimately, given that Painkiller carries stronger salience with me. As well as the two aforementioned bangers that kickstarted the set, I also very much appreciated the presence of ‘Night Crawler’ (🎵Beware the beast in black!🎵) and slow burner ‘A Touch of Evil’. Notables from other albums included an energising performance of ‘Freewheel Burning’ from Defenders of the Faith, setlist mainstay ‘You’ve Got Another Thing Coming’ from Screaming for Vengeance, and their biggest hit, from British Steel, ‘Breaking the Law’, which,despite its ubiquity, I never quite get tired of hearing.
Speaking of staples, and given the focus of the tour, of course Painkiller’s title track put in an appearance before the encore, complete with its own animated video. Also to no one’s surprise, Halford rode in on his chopper (as in motorbike, not knob!) for the encore double strike of ‘Hell Bent for Leather’ and ‘Living After Midnight’, closing out a solid set in style.
Less expectedly, veteran Priest axeman Glenn Tipton also saw fit to grace the stage with his live presence!
I could go on about the tracks I would’ve liked to hear (from Painkiller and elsewhere) and how my first time seeing the Metal Gods at Victoria Park has yet to be topped, but putting too much weight on that would undersell how much I enjoyed the show as it was, even with the unfortunate all-seater setup. Instead, I’ll just hope for my next Priest show to be curated closer to my unspoken setlist, (non-)seating, and cohort preferences.
Under blood-red skies, we’ll see what the desert plains bring.
July’s penultimate Wednesday saw me return to Brighton for another date on the Human League’s summer outdoor tour. Initially, I was gonna forgo this, having purchased a ticket for their return to Kew Gardens a fortnight prior. However, a combo of the support bill—featuring Marc Almond and Toyah, the latter I’d long been waiting to see live—the convenient travel links to Brighton, and the fact I’d failed to snag a tour shirt at Kew ultimately turned me around.
Come the day, however, my entry to the location—deep along the pebble beach—was met with an unexpected delay, courtesy of an emergency evacuation of all on site, staff and performers alike.
After that wait-extending fuckery, however, things pretty much hit the ground running, with openers A Thousand Mad Things taking to the stage within ten minutes of the gates eventually opening (and ten minutes was enough time to grab the Human League shirt I failed to get at Kew and make the barriers). The London young-gun duo showcased a set of songs very much informed by the output of artists further up on the bill, with surging synths and storytelling bordering on the sordid. Standout tracks such as the infectiously pulsating ‘On the Run’ and ‘Wide Awake’ left me wanting to keep up with their studio output.
Next up came someone who I’d waited years to see, having missed several opportunities since getting back into gigging—TOYAH! I’d actually gotten tickets to see her headline London in October, but my eleventh-hour decision to attend this made it my first live encounter with the artist the bloke next to me termed a “goddess”. Opening with her excellent cover of Martha and the Muffins’ ‘Echo Beach’ (repurposed ‘Brighton Beach’ for the closing refrain), Mrs Willcox offered a showcase of familiar and more recent numbers for the assembled to enjoy, and for the most part, I very much did. Oldies like ‘It’s a Mystery’ sat well with closer-in-time bangers such as ‘Space Dance’, the well-maintained Toyah knocking out both with finesse. Her choice to “update” the sound of ‘Rebel Run’, one of my favourite songs of hers (and throw atop a dud explanation of its theme counter to the richer take on it on her channel), sat less well, even if it was far from the worst live update of an ’80s track I’ve heard. On top of that, the shortening of her set on account of the earlier emergency meant that ‘I Want to Be Free’, her other big old-school hit, went unplayed. Still, there’s always October, plus her recently announced November support of Adam Ant.
Next came Marc Almond, last seen singing covers at a theatre last September. This set was much better, not only because he played some of his original solo hits such as the superb ‘Tears Run Rings’, ‘Adored and Explored’, ‘The Days of Pearly Spencer’, and ‘Something’s Gotten Hold of My Heart’ (okay, that one’s a cover) but also because he gave a substantial amount of the set over to Soft Cell material, with ‘Torch’, ‘Bedsitter’, ‘Say Hello, Wave Goodbye’, and ‘Tainted Love’ (okay, that one was also a cover!) making a much-welcome appearance. Once again, he and his band, this time including Heaven 17 live regular Kelly Barnes, last seen providing vocal backup for Go West in May, did a sterling job, keeping fidelity with that old-school synthpop sound for the Soft Cell numbers and the soaring symphonies of Almond’s standalones. Cracking set.
That last evaluation, as ever, also applied to the League’s headline set, on which I have not much to say that differs from my assessment of them at Kew. Phil’s pipes sparkled, this time with none of the hiccups he encountered at Kew, Sue provided her customary between-song praise for those attending, and Jo provided appropriate backup on vox whilst looking voluptuous (though seemingly meeting eyes with the crowd more often than at previous shows). Their instrumentalists, doing their usual bang-up job, had their moments to shine. Setlist and wardrobe choices remained the same as last time, hardly surprising given that both dates took place on the same tour. Phil stepped out in his rather striking retro-futurist ensemble for the first two songs, Sue and Jo assumed dual vox duties for ‘One Man in My Life’, later swapping benchwarming duties with Phil for ‘Being Boiled’, and the three of them upped the ante garmwise for closer ‘Together in Electric Dreams’, Jo’s tour garms once again, in contrast to those of the others, doing her something of a disservice. There was the bird who tried bribing me a fiver to get the spot next to me, which was perplexing given there was space enough for her slender self (which she ultimately took without fuss).
Despite the sense of deja vu with the main act, and the pebbling beneath (and within) my boots, I walked away with more in the way of satisfaction than its opposite. Had this been the only time I’d seen the League in the preceding twelve I might have left Brighton with more of a sense of awe. As it stands, twas the supports who largely claimed the day on that score, with the League, through no fault of their own, putting on another polished yet overly familiar performance.
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.
Tucker Carlson lambasted conservatives for their constant attacks on Muslims. Cenk Uygur and Jordan Uhl discuss on The Young Turks. Do you agree with TYT’s take? Tell us what you think in the comments below. SUBSCRIBE today: ☞ https://go.tyt.com/ytsubscribe Get paid to use your phone less! Switch to […] The post Tucker Carlson DEFENDS Muslims […]
Hey, who woulda thunk, they’re not releasing the Epstein files ️ The post EPSTEIN HUMAN TRAFFICKING SMOKING GUN! CANDACE TURNS ON ERIKA KIRK AGAIN; SHAPIRO V TUCKER WAR! first appeared on Attack the System.
BSteven Nelson Published Dec. 18, 2025, 3:58 p.m. ET The video player is currently playing an ad. You can skip the ad in 5 sec with a mouse or keyboard WASHINGTON — New York Times columnist David Brooks and Google co-founder Sergey Brin are among the new faces […] The post New York Times columnist […]
It almost sticks in the throat if I try to say it out loud but, as a progressive internationalist mugged by reality, I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that the key ordering principle of the success of Poland, and the way forward for the whole of the West, is a healthy dose of inclusive, […]
For a couple of decades now I’ve been insisting that China is the most free market economy on the planet. In some senses of course this is laughably untrue. In others, or in at least one, remarkably close to the bone. – Tim Worstall
Amid the screams and pandemonium, one man stood tall: Ahmed al-Ahmed, a 43-year-old Syrian-born Muslim Australian and father of two. Video footage, now viral across the globe, captures his instinctive charge, wrestling a firearm from one assailant, disarming him despite the peril. Injured but unyielding, al-Ahmed’s actions halted the rampage’s escalation, saving untold lives in […]
(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 →
On this very special episode, Razib talks to paleoanthroplogists John Hawks and Chris Stringer. Hawks is a paleoanthropologist who has been a researcher and commentator in human evolutionary biology and paleoanthropology for over two decades. With a widely read weblog (now on Substack), a book on Homo naledi, and highly cited scientific papers, Hawks is an essential voice in understanding the […]
This might be one of the most well-known books I’ve reviewed here (despite ending my last review of a novel by claiming I didn’t expect to do more literary rather than genre fiction), to the extent that the very title is now a well-known phrase for a phenomena. It’s also one whose film adaptation I […]
Yesterday, Marginal Revolution linked to this tweet on the films with the largest “delta” in men vs women’s rankings on IMDB. I don’t know anybody else who still talks about the Double Feature podcast, since it went completely defunct a while back and had been mostly defunct for some time even prior to that, but […]
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 […]
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, […]
From Time and Tide for July 16, 1926 pp. 648-649 I have been asked to write an account of the Freewoman, and those who asked me were wise, for that paper, unimportant as it was in content, – and amateurish in form, had an immense effect on its time. But unfortunately, I have forgotten nearly […]
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 […]
