Robyn Writes

Cradle Of Filth – Cambridge Junction, 2/8/12

Cradle of Filth are undoubtedly an English institution. Despite their revolving door policy on band members, Captain Dani Filth has steered his creation through two decades of dark and murky music, stopping only to piss off the BBC and write a book in the meantime. Now, regardless of the nationalities of past and present band members, the music that Cradle creates is unmistakably British. British in tone, lyrical content and ultimately in promotion. British, British, British.

So, can someone please explain why they haven’t graced our shores for a full tour since 2007? It’s not for lack of releases, that’s for sure. Two triumphant albums (2008’s Godspeed on the Devil’s Thunderand 2010’s Darkly, Darkly Venus Aversa) and two questionable EP’s have passed, so one could be forgiven for thinking their homeland had been forgotten. 2008 brought about a European ‘Filth Fest’ tour which saw Cradle share the stage with Gorgoroth, Moonspell and Septic flesh, but a short headline slot in December is hardly anything to rave about. Saying that, my personal experiences of the UK’s dalliance with Filth Fest are largely clouded by the ingestion of unholy amounts of vodka. Merry Christmas indeed. And Bloodstock 2009? A gobstopper the size of a snowball swiftly cut that set short.
So here we are, 2012. Filth-less while the rest of the world (especially North America, you lucky buggers) is bathed in the stuff. But thankfully, like manna from heaven, we are granted one singular date. A Wacken warm-up show in the dark, spooky depths of…um…Cambridge.

While Cradle’s black metal credentials are all but gone, this was not the case of fellow Ipswich chaps, Eastern Front. Covered in corpsepaint and possessing gurns so grim that they looked they were passing a kidney stone, they certainly looked the part. Musically, while they were very standard, both in execution and content, they did possess a certain amount of charm. While I find a lot of modern black metal uninteresting and dirge-like, they managed to hold my interest with some incredibly captivating guitar work and some fast, unfaltering drums. Despite all this, with songs based solely around 1940’s war efforts and stage names including terms as ‘holocaust’, I found them to dance between stereotypically laughable and naively offensive. However, this may just be an example of my personal preferences interpreting aesthetic choices in a different manner to the way they were intended.

Cue an overly-long darkened stage and some classic Cradle intro music, and then those filthy beasts took to the stage.

To their credit, their setlist proved to be a pretty accurate representation of their entire back catalogue. With oldies such as Ebony Dressed for Sunset and Funeral in Carpathia set against newer offerings like Thank Your Lucky Scars, it worked well and every track was performed with the same professionalism and passion that originally bore them. Also, more vocally challenging tracks such as Cruelty Brought Thee Orchids were performed incredibly well by Dani Filth, which proved to be quite a pleasant surprise considering the inevitable wear and tear his vocal chords have undergone through over a decade’s worth of screaming. Guitarists Paul Allendar and James McIlroy proved to be so adept at their instruments that the very act of watching them felt like a great privilege, and this coupled with their effortless charisma and practised stage personas, I soon felt as though I was no longer watching human beings. Drummer Martin Skaroupka and new bassist Dan Firth (not confusing at all) followed suit and performed effortlessly and mesmeric ally throughout. While Dan Firth certainly impressed with his first official outing in Cradle, it was such a shame to say goodbye to Dave Pybus; a firm fan favourite and incredibly talented musician.

Crowd pleasers such as Guilded Cunt and From The Cradle to Enslave just about brought the venue to its knees with the sheer ferocity of the audience’s reaction, yet newer songs such as Lilith Immaculate and Honey and Sulphur were met with a somewhat flat response. Cradle of Filth’s audience has undeniably changed over the years; the fans that drenched themselves in corpsepaint in 1994 seemed to dwindle by the time 2004’s Nymphetamine appeared, and now we’re left with an odd soup of fans – some baying for nought but Cruelty and the Beast, others content with whatever’s flung their way and others that spend the set screaming ‘Dani! Dani!’ at a pitch only dogs can hear. Whatever your preference, the clear message from the majority of the Cambridge set was that although the musicianship is faultless and the songs perfectly good, the raw unbridled passion from earlier works is second to none on a live platform.

Song choices aside, the performance itself was spectacular. Cradle of Filth, stripped of the gimmickry of demonic puppets and half naked dancers, proved their worth a thousand times over. Dani Filth, the domesticated father and husband channelled the bowels of hell once more and stamped it on his homeland. Those of us that witnessed Cradle’s long-awaited homecoming were more than a little privileged, and put it this way; I spent my 22nd birthday queueing from 9am for this gig, and I don’t regret a damn minute of it. Cradle stole my soul as a pre-teen and I certainly don’t think I’ll be getting it back any time soon.

Hevy Festival 2012 [3-5/8/12, Port Lympyne, Kent]

Kent’s Hevy Festival, situated amidst the idyllic rolling hills of the English countryside hosts its 4th, and if rumours are to be believed – final year of the best underground and overground acts in the field of heavy music. Now boasting three days of continuous live music, Hevy caters for a huge array of tastes, from Swedish math-metal to ska and everything in-between. This year, the organisers have also catered for every possible force the English weather can throw at it by placing the two main stages adjacent to one another in a huge tent- meaning no clashes between the two stages. Genius!

Friday

After the seemingly traditional three hour queue to get in the place there was palpable excitement for the music to commence but due to an inexplicable reason, security stopped the crowd from entering the arena as the first chords of opening band Gnarwolves‘ set rang out. By the time the error was rectified by simply running past the lone and very annoyed security guard, the band were almost halfway through their set. Gnarwolves however, seemed hugely relieved that anybody had come to watch them and the crowd reached a respectable size for such a young, underground band. Playing on a stage about ten times the size of anything they have played on before they remain surprisingly tight and receive the first crowd surfers of the weekend.

Southampton’s Desolated are the first band to really cause a stir as their ridiculously down-tuned chug-core gets the pit moving. In a small venue, Desolated are nothing short of intense but the cavernous tent robs the band of much of their impact. Lead vocalist/growler Paul possesses a voice that sounds downright satanic and as he calls for a circle pit, the early afternoon moshers reply with aplomb.

The rarity at which Last Witness perform live gives today’s show a due sense of occasion and one to which both crowd and band rise to. The band are surprisingly tight considering the scarcity at which they play live – breakdown after breakdown is lapped up by the swarming two steppers in the pit. Songs from recent album Mourning After sound much more visceral than on record mainly due to frontman Theo’s caustic, ultra-aggressive vocal delivery. Judging from the extent of the flailing limbs it is the older songs that incite the most carnage down the front.

Shouts of “TUI!” had been a regular occurrence on the Friday and I expected Baltimore’s Trapped Under Ice to draw a large crowd as they seem to be one of the more ‘trendy’ bands at the moment. Their groove-laden hardcore evokes a pit that surpasses that of the brilliant Last Witness and every shout of “TUI!” (of which there are many) is screamed back at the band who look pretty darn pleased with themselves to have provoked such a reaction. Frontman Justice, with his brick shit-house physique spends much of the set at the barrier handing out the mic to the baying crowd and refusing to let the huge stage rob the band of the intimacy they thrive on. By doing so, they turn what would have been a great performance into one of headliner proportions.

Lower Than Atlantis seem to be as much of a Hevy tradition as the obligatory three hour queue to get in the place. Three years ago they were snotty punks playing to a hundred or so people in a tent little larger than those the festival goers themselves were camping in. Last year’s performance caused such a ruckus the security had to physically hold back the crowd from destroying the sound desk. Now, they have evolved into a slick rock band and are one of the festivals biggest crowd pullers with many singing back most, if not every word. Songs both old and new receive equal adulation with Motorway Of Life getting the crowd jumping and frontman Mike Duce lets the crowd sing the very personal chorus of Far Q. With their gradual rise as leading lights in reviving the UK rock scene it seems that LTA are on track to becoming a fully fledged arena rock band.

Saturday

Saturday began on a sombre note with the final ever show from Crocus, a band who have received nowhere near the amount of attention they deserve despite years of touring the tiniest, dirtiest venues the UK has to offer. Nevertheless, an impressive crowd has gathered to bid them farewell. Rather than let this be a sad passing of a criminally underrated and talented group of musicians, the band seem to be in a party mood with the drummer swigging from a bottle of whiskey throughout their set of frantic screamo.

Seahaven provide a welcome relief from all the beatdowns and screaming with some soulful alt-rock channelling Brand New and Crime In Stereo, but the bands emo leanings and vocalist’s unique crooning vocal are seemingly at odds with the interests of many as they draw only a small crowd. Although far from the most engaging band to grace the stage this weekend their melodic choruses have distinct sing along potential.

Pennsylvania’s Balance And Composure have gained significant popularity since the release of last years brilliant album Separation. Their triple guitar attack may get lost in the mix at times but for the most part the subtleties within the guitar work that makes Balance and Composure such an amazing band shine through. Relying heavily on songs from Separation means that most are familiar with the material and lyrics are sung back heartily. The slow building opener The Void gets heads banging but the crowd doesn’t really start to provide much of an overtly physical response until final song I Tore You Apart In My Head which sees fans scrambling to the barrier to howl the angst infused lyrics.

Relying heavily on shifting dynamics and intense emotional tension Pianos Become The Teeth enthral the crowd. Switching from beautiful clean guitar parts to pure hardcore fury ensures the band retain the crowds attention throughout. Boasting one of the best drummers in their field, I find myself constantly watching the sticksman as he breaks into intricate rhythms whilst his face is constantly obscured by flailing hair. Lead singer Kyle’s cathartic screams are full of anguish and when songs reach their climax he screams with astounding intensity.

Rolo Tomassi returns to Hevy with a new line-up, new songs and renewed vigour. Opening with latest single Old Mystics the band seem to be re-energized since the departure of two original members earlier in the year. Old favourites such as the jazzy technicalities of I Love Turbulence and the epic, progressive leanings of Kasia are welcomed like old friends. Frontwoman Eva Spence and brother James use the huge stage to their advantage, jumping and flailing as they deliver throat shredding vocals. The band is given a fitting send off as the breakdown to closer Party Wounds induces a rabid reaction from fans.

On the face of it, Meshuggah are somewhat of a wildcard booking, being one of the few metal bands on the bill, they don’t appear to fit in with the tastes of the more hardcore inclined festival goers. Any doubts are swiftly swept aside because tonight Meshuggah resemble less of a band but more a force of nature. Even those with no care for brutal math-metal are in awe at the precision at which the devastating riffs are delivered. Emerging onto a smoke filled stage the band looms over the huge crowd. Launching into Demiurge from this year’s flawless album Koloss I am suddenly aware of their boding and unmatched stage presence. Songs are aired from most of their albums and Bleed, from the breakthrough album Obzen, creates scenes of unparalleled chaos amongst the sweaty crowd. As the band walk off stage to huge ovation there is a realisation that Meshuggah have delivered perhaps the most grippingly destructive and extreme performances of the weekend.

Glassjaw are given the tough job of following Meshuggah’s blinding set but Daryl and co rise to the opportunity, playing a set that draws heavily from the band’s seminal masterpiece Worship and Tribute. The opening one-two of Tip Your Bartender and Mu Empire spurs the pit into action whilst the slow paced anthem Ape Dos Mil receives deafening adulation with every word screamed at their charismatic frontman. Siberian Kiss ends the set in a flurry of schizophrenic yet undeniably catchy post-hardcore. Just as in their headline set two years ago, band and fans alike are robbed of an encore that would have no doubt given a perfect ending to a perfect set as roars of “We want more!” go unanswered.

Andrew W.K is a rather one-dimensional act with a vocabulary that stretches little beyond the word “party” and its affiliates. Yet, his good time party anthems fit the mood of the Saturday night perfectly. Despite playing his most well known song Party Hard first, Andrew manages to maintain the atmosphere inciting circle pits and general crowd antics amongst the many festival goers who are by now a little worse for wear. Andrew W.K resembles less of a band and more of a circus, with four guitarists on stage at any one time and a very scantily clad woman who only seems to shout “yeah!” into the mic. Nevertheless, it provides an amusing spectacle. Disappointingly, and rather inappropriately, the band’s set is cut halfway through their final song and the frustration on their faces is obvious. The crowd shows no sign of leaving for a good half an hour by which time chants of “fuck you Hevy” emit through the tent. A lone guitarist attempts to appease the crowd by playing some Slayer riffs but even he is forced off of stage by the crew.

Sunday

Cruel Hand face a very early afternoon slot and a weary Sunday crowd who are still feeling the night before. Seemingly unfazed by the challenge the band unleash slabs of metal infused hardcore and it’s not long before those in the mood for some pit action rise to the occasion. Tracks from the recent release Lock and Key, which rarely reach past the two minute mark are lapped up by the ever growing crowd. The closing extended mosh outro to Cruel Hand sees the pit reach its climax and the band seem humbled by the response.

Sweden’s Suis La Lune are shunned by many of the festival goers, and most of those gathered before them seem to be there only out of curiosity. Highly regarded as one, if not the best of the ‘real’ screamo bands, they hold ethereal atmospheric guitars and harsh, anguished vocals in perfect juxtaposition. The only detractor to their otherwise engrossing set is the long periods in between songs due to the constant need for guitars to be re-tuned.

After Will Haven sadly pulled out several days before, Belgium’s Rise and Fall are gifted a later slot. Their recent release Faith, produced by Kurt Ballou of Converge fame is one of the best records of the year so far. At times sludgy and at others bursting with primal aggression the band also commands a certain progressive edge that is only possessed by a handful of bands and used to its full potential by even fewer. Tracks like Deceiver are intense bursts of hardcore held together with impeccable drumming and furious riffing. The crowd however seems to be saving their energy as they receive en masse headbanging rather than any significant pit movement.

Converge are arguably the most influential band on the bill as fragments of their sound are found in countless bands. There is a fervent excitement in the air before they take to the stage as many in the crowd are well aware of the sheer carnage the band are capable of creating. Opening with the rarely played Jane Doe from the decisive album of the same name is a bold move but the intensity of the band is perfectly visible as they drop into the breakneck Dark Horse, the breakdown of which sends bodies flying down the front. Although at times their set may stray into more meandering moments it all helps to make the heavy moments sound even crushing. Unfortunately, the sound of The Descendents’ sound checking is audible through several of the band’s songs. although the band treats the interruption with admirable humour. It is only when you see the band in the flesh that you realise that every member is so musically competent they are on almost virtuosic levels. Guitarist Kurt switches between two-handed tapping and bouts of chugging with ease whilst on the drum kit Ben Koller gives a master class in blastbeats and brings his sticks down so hard on the drums he looks like he’s trying to break them open. On Last Light frontman Jacob Bannon gets down to the barrier and those at the front try and claw their way toward him to get a chance to scream into the mic. Closer Concubine may only be a minute long, but within the song is condensed such huge amounts of sheer brutality it is impossible not to have the desire to jump in the pit and start swinging your limbs. As the set ends and the crowd disperse in bewilderment and the primal aggression they have just witnessed, it is only the Swedish metal titans Meshuggah that can claim to have made such an impact.

It is up to California’s Descendents to bring the weekend to a close. Now celebrating over thirty years as a band, I initially had high hopes for the ageing four piece. However, the band puts in a frankly underwhelming set. Playing after Converge and also a case of widespread Sunday night lethargy are contributing factors. It does seem that their angst ridden thirty-or-so year old punk draws a blank with many of the crowd. After all, these are middle-aged men singing about hating your parents and the tribulations of school. Although a dedicated contingent at the front repeatedly expresses their enthusiasm, the majority seem quite content to stand idly by or wander back to their tents. Whatever the reason for the band’s underwhelming set, it means an otherwise brilliant weekend ends with a whimper instead of a bang.

Refused – HMV Forum London, 12/8/12

In 1998, Refused announced that they were over. Quits. Never to reform again and that was that. Several side projects later and here they are, back together again. When I first heard about the reunion, I was vaguely sceptical, despite being completely ecstatic. Why now? I soon realised that there was no other time but now.

The Forum was completely packed. The room was buzzing, and Pettybone (4/5), an all-grrl hardcore punk outfit burst onto the stage wearing “Free Pussy Riot” shirts. Half of them have balaclavas, in deference to their imprisoned comrades. Their particular brand of hardcore is visceral and captivating. There’s a lot of melodic parts, ridiculously dance-your-ass-off parts, but there’s also aggression, anger and a lot of passion. Pettybone are an inspiration to watch. They say that punk rock is about not giving a damn and doing what you want, but Pettybone clearly care a hell of a lot and that’s what makes them incredible. Forget Jessie J parading around in next to nothing at the closing ceremony – Pettybone are what the girls of today need to see. It’s such a shame that they’re breaking up.

And then there was a ridiculous amount of pre-show before Refused (5/5) hit the stage. I was bouncing up and down in exasperation, while Kitteh tried to placate me with the “who would you put in the First Impact ark” game. This is Refused. This is the other other band that convinced me to put my faith in music. I was tense. Then, after the longest wait in the history of ever, the curtain falls, the lights come on and the band explode into Worms Of The Senses. The crowd goes wild. Some of the biggest moshpits I’ve seen in a long time break out. There’s a lightshow to rival Nine Inch Nails. I stand there with my mouth wide open because Refused aren’t fucking dead any more, they’re alive and right in front of me.

Of course, they break into all the “classics”. Refused have nothing but. Refused Party Program, Liberation Frequency, Summerholidays vs Punkroutine all feature, and some of the earlier material like Coup D’Etat, Hook Line And Sinker and Rather Be Dead come to the forefront. I have never seen a band so perfectly in sync while retaining such rawness. This was a night for the whole band, but Dennis Lyxzen steals the show completely. He writhes across the stage as he screams, perfectly in time with the light show. He dives off of anything he can, wriggling his hips as he goes. He is impossible to ignore and when he gives a brief speech about how music and lyrics can change things, can shake governments, then I can’t help but believe him. But of course, none of that would matter if the music couldn’t back it up and the rest of the band perform with such style and it’s really breathtaking. Hardcore doesn’t just need to be shitty shows in tiny basements, it can be big, brash and bold and that’s what Refused are and always have been – ahead of the curve. There’s no new material but there doesn’t need to be – The Shape Of Punk To Come was their magnum opus, but it’s more than relevant today.

Every moment seems like it can’t be topped by the last, but the band go off, the lights go down and they come back and the opening riff of New Noise tears through the venue and that is it. Dennis bounds onto the stage. One… Two… “CAN I SCREAM?!” and the room goes wild. Followed up by Tannhauser and a hell of a lot of dry ice, we walk out inspired, overwhelmed and ready for anything. I have seen a lot of shows. I have seen a lot of bands. Hand on heart without further ado, I can honestly say that was the best show I have ever seen in my life. Mediocre pop-punk bands, say goodbye, because Refused just set the bar atmospherically high.

Tempest Live – Rosie Malones Cellar, Coventry, 2/8/12

Tempest Live is a new hardcore/metal night in Coventry, aimed at bringing the best in the area’s scene together for your pleasure. The opening show, at the Cellar in Rosie Malones Irish Bar, had a decent turn out, even if the main bar itself was getting all the attention for its Thursday night karaoke specials. But if we put karaoke and terrible Foo Fighters renditions sailing down from the main bar aside, Tempest’s first outing was a success.

Opening the night were Centauri (3.5/5), a reasonably recently formed post-hardcore group. The riffs might have had a Glassjaw tinge to them, but the singer didn’t necessarily have that Daryl Palumbo tone in the clean vocals, instead affecting an almost classic rock feel. That isn’t exactly a bad thing – it gives Centauri an edge and a swagger that they’d otherwise be lacking. There were some seriously commanding parts to their set – the second song in particular was truly indicative of what Centauri can achieve – but at times, they couldn’t decide what genre they were striving for most. However, once they experiment some more and work out a more coherent structure, Centauri should have the potential to seriously impress.

Dropping back from the headline spot to accommodate their guitarist’s rough schedule, it’s easy to see why most of the crowd left following a truly magnificent set from Even Flowers Kill (4.5/5). The intensity that their experimental post-hardcore features on record is perfectly replicated live and even in a tiny basement, with the sound desk sat on the bar, EFK sounded phenomenal. Despite a few complaints from themselves about a lack of practice, they sounded completely tight, and for a band with such complex rhythms and difficult sequences, that’s not exactly easy. The biggest highlight of the set was Song For Brad Svoboda, a song that after an incredible buildup, hits you like a freight train on record and it was no different in the Cellar that night. Despite such an intense performance, the band still managed to have a lot of fun, as was evident from some brilliant banter and some ridiculously lively Refused-style jazz sections. If this was EFK on a bad day, then I simply can’t wait to catch them at their best.

It’s a shame that Hurtseason (3/5) just couldn’t keep up with the incredible performance that they had to follow. Sounding a bit like early Trivium but with less twiddly bits, they played a solid set but with hardly any innovation and by the end, it was getting difficult to distinguish between songs. They played new single Black Waste which was suitably brutal, yet lacking in the intensity and showmanship that had preceded them. Nevertheless, they had some die hard supporters there with them, were well practised at what they do and that was more than enough to end a night of great music in Coventry.

Shout out: Full AFI sets on Youtube!

Well, flicking through Youtube, I noticed a sweet performance of AFI doing Malleus Maleficarum that I’d never seen before. THEN I stumbled across this beauty:

The sound quality isn’t amazing, but to see AFI performing like that, before Sing The Sorrow, made my day. And so I had to share. I’m not sure who to credit the video to, but it was uploaded by fatalposition. Show them some love.

xoxo – Ripper