Between The Buried And Me – Haken: Live at Electric Ballroom


between the buried and me haken uk euro tour

There used to be a misapprehension that “feel” and technique were mutually exclusive, particularly if your act was of the progressive nature. Musicians were either in a deep, trance state where odysseys were channelled through fingers and larynxes (it’d certainly explain some of the lyrical fascinations of the 70’s), or were producing unfeeling, but impeccable, noodling, or to be more contemporaneous, poly-rhythming. Both of tonight’s denizens of the stage well and truly disproved that; Haken bringing a light, uplifting elation and Between The Buried And Me a myriad of journeys.

Another misconception is that bands of a prog bent don’t have a sense of humour, a fallacy shattered within seconds of entering Camden’s Electric Ballroom and seeing Haken’s glorious Kevin Bacon T-shirt, leaving the unsure in no doubt as to how to pronounce the band name. With fellow Ghost Cultist Rafa Davies having acquired said garment and with beverages purchased, the mood was ripe for the London based sextet to enhance a reputation that took a steep climb up 2013’s The Mountain (InsideOut). Concentrating mainly on that breakthrough opus, they set about marrying the impressive quirky and progressive rock with an immaculate live performance, including a touch of ‘Hocus Pocus’ing, spotless yodel-ay-ee-oh’s and all.

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

Between The Buried And Me’s approach is an altogether more layered assault, from teasing and probing progressive movements, through floating crescendos diving into djented stabs and jazzed death metal acts of sensory violence. Despite being shorn of any elaborate production, nonetheless BTBAM don’t do basics, with each band member faultless and pristine, delivering each song with album quality precision in a consummate performance that still felt like there was meaning and intent in the delivery.

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

It’s no secret I struggle with BTBAM in general, but a quality live act is a quality live act, and the North Carolinians are able to transmit their passion for their music and their fans, ensuring multi-faceted beasts like ‘Ants Of The Sky’ connect not just aurally but emotionally with a charged audience who respond in turn. Here lies no serenade of po-faced disconnection, instead deep, ethereal moments are respected and inhaled, and the crushing metal segments are devoured.

And yet if prog-gasm had been achieved in a main set that included three very well received tracks from this years’ mind-melting Coma Ecliptic (Metal Blade), along with favourites ‘Selkies’ and ‘Lay Your Ghosts To Rest’ and more, that’s nothing to the rapture that beheld the throng during a remarkable cover of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, during which Tommy Rogers showed that Brian May et al missed a trick by not throwing hods of cash his way to front the band during their post-Freddie shows.

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

This was a performance to impress even the most sceptical with both bands bringing complex, technical and diverse songs to the live setting with exquisite tightness and proficiency, but above all exuding emotion and sincerity while holding that line of not taking things too seriously live. While Haken’s music spoke to me most, there’s no denying that damn near everyone left feeling they’d witnessed a great gig.

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

 

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

Between The Buried And Me, by Jessica Lotti Photography

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WORDS BY STEVE TOVEY

PHOTOS BY JESSICA LOTTI PHOTOGRAPHY


Powerwolf – Live At 02 Academy Islington, London


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It doesn’t take being Phil Collins to feel it; there’s something in the air tonight and I don’t just mean the faux-incense billowing at times from the stage. I mean that certain intangible, mustier than the smell of sweat, beer and wet T-shirts, incorporeal something that happens around that point when a band progresses from being one that people like to one that people like. And it seems that the London crowd are baying for Powerwolf.

The first thing that is striking is that the O2 Academy is filled.  The second is the rabid fervour for the band of the congregation. As each song draws to a close, a chant from the pack rings out strong and true: “Powerwolf! Powerwolf! Powerwolf!” without fail. The zeal of the Zealots (sorry, couldn’t resist) is infectious, and as the set draws on it becomes a Pavlovian Evangelical reaction to each song; the febrile followers flushed with feverish devotion sharing their delight at seeing the preachers of the night.

With a main setlist drawn equally from ‘Bible Of The Beast’, ‘Preachers of the Night’ and this years’ stonking ‘Blessed and Possessed’, it matters not that the soundman is punishing guitarists Greywolf for misdemeanours unknown and has buried the brothers Grimm well behind the drums and vocals, because Attila Dorn is transfixing; spreading a sermon of werewolves and religious tongue-in-bummery, bedecked in cassock and corpsepaint, arms and vocal chords open with his ecclesiastical tones powerful and apostolic, ripe for the Powerwolf parishioners to raise their voices in communion with him as hymns to the lupine and sanguine are choired with gusto, particularly the power baroque ‘Armata Strigoi’.

As good as the core Powerwolf set is, its tail and subsequent encore raises the bar even higher, as the band close out with a rousing ‘We Drink Your Blood’ and a stomping ‘Lupus Dei’, before returning as conquerors to obliterate ‘Sanctified With Dynamite’, a crushing ‘Kreuzfeuer’ – the heavy metal anthem Rammstein never wrote – and a final unifying brothers-in-arms ‘All We Need Is Blood’.

Should you have a sense of fun intact, I defy thee to have ears and not leave the Powerwolf extravaganza without a grin on your face and a sense of pack; of community. For in the live arena, backed by their own army of immortals, the power is indeed of the wolf.

 

WORDS BY STEVE TOVEY

 

 


Atreyu – Shvpes: Live at Colchester Arts Centre (UK)


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Sometimes we forget what it’s all about, particularly those of us who have delved often into the underbelly and extreme ends of metal. We become concerned with bands being “progressive” or having “depth” and “innovation”. We seek out those making tortured artistic statements; driving dark emotions into their work, or those who seek to push boundaries. Despite being the first to call others on it, we’re being too cool for school ourselves, and writing off bands who sit outside the self-constructed tick box boundaries of what a “good” band should do.

And then you see a show that brings it right back to the heart of what dragged us into this glorious, complicated but actually oh-so-simple melee of metal. You see damn-near every single person leaving drenched in sweat beaming from ear to ear, bro-hugging and congratulating the support band on the way out, clutching drum sticks, or set-lists or just reliving moments from the set just witnessed with their mates. THAT, despite how “cool” or “uncool” you think a band is or are, is the sign of a great gig.

Tonight’s show saw two bands play sets that belonged at a bigger (but not better) venue. Atreyu were warming up for Reading Festival and brought an arena headline performance to a 400 cap venue, while the spirited and lively Shvpes, with their powerful metalcore, won over a whole bunch of people who hadn’t heard much of them before, but will definitely do so now; a young band on their way to a bright future with pounding Parkway Drive riffs, Rage Against The Machine grooves and big, as in Goliath-sized, choruses, all led by livewire frontman Griffin Dickinson. Not just ones to watch, ones to pick up on now.

And Atreyu well and truly proved me a dingbat for sidestepping them all these years. This is what metal is about – a band connecting with an audience that love the music the band are playing, with band and audience just having a great time. Colchester Arts Centre’s growing reputation as one of the best small venues to play at was only enhanced as a “small” gig felt like a huge one, with the rapturous reception one usually reserved for a major headliner at a sell-out marquee show.

Atreyu Long Live Album cover 2015

Make no mistake, warm up show or no, Atreyu brought it, peppering a ‘best of’ set with new, as yet unheard, tracks from their upcoming Long Live (Spinefarm) album, tracks that were lapped up like old favourites. Personal highlights, beyond the joyous atmosphere that left no horn unraised, were the slamming ‘You Give Love A Bad Name’ (never thought I’d see a moshpit like that to that song) and the pure rock-out  jubilance of ‘Blow’.

The venue is a church and the congregation had come to worship, leaving invigorated and with happy souls.

 

STEVE TOVEY

 


On The Road… with Nightwish, Children of Bodom, and Sonata Arctica


nightwish tampere

Nightwish has been positively killing it in 2015. With their recent album Endless Forms Most Beautiful (Sony/Nuclear Blast), the band continues to bring their immaculate stage show to their global fan base. Following a sold-out US tour, Nightwish has been touring Europe this summer and nested back home for a massive show last weekend at Ratinan Stadium, in Tampere, FI. Holding upwards of 32,000 people, with a huge crowded soccer stadium, Nightwish’s evocative symphonic-influenced metal is a transcendent experience for the fan. The band took full advantage for their theatrical talents on this night, as if they play in this type of venue every day. Maybe they should! They were joined for this special occasion by their countrymen Children of Bodom and Sonata Arctica, for a tremendous bill. Captured here for Ghost Cult by Pekka Konttinen Photography, you can see what you are missing out on if you don’t live in Europe.

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

 

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Nightwish, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Crowd at Ratinan Stadium, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Crowd at Ratinan Stadium, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Children of Bodom, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Children of Bodom, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Children of Bodom, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Children of Bodom, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Sonata Artica, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Sonata Arctica, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Sonata Artica, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

Sonata Arctica, by Pekka Konttinen Photography

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Portal – Impetuous Ritual – Grave Miasma: Live At Nambucca, London, UK


 

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It can be difficult with music as inherently niche as Extreme Metal to really know just how “big” a particular band are. From safely inside our little bubble Portal seem absolutely enormous at the moment, a regular feature on End Of Year lists whenever they put an album out. This impression was supported by their performance the day before at Bristol’s Temples Festival, where pretty much everyone present tried to ram themselves into the second stage area to see one of the weekend’s most talked-about bands. Taken out of that context and into the unforgiving reality of a rainy London Sunday, then it’s almost surprising to see them in a tiny pub filled with ferociously dedicated fans.  Don’t take talk of “hipsters” seriously – this is music entirely confident in its own small but passionate niche.

Grave Miasma have made a name for themselves playing solid, no-nonsense old-school Death Metal with a dark, “gothic” atmosphere and a pre-frilly-shirts Peaceville feel, and tonight they demonstrate that it is the strength of their song-writing and the confidence of their playing that elevates them beyond the generic. Further proof that playing within a genre does not necessarily equate to a lack of ambition or skill.

Atmosphere, though, is a fragile thing. Without Temples’ smoke machine and elaborate lighting rig, Impetuous Ritual seem less like four eldritch spectres of doom, and more like four guys in their pants and as many nails as they could afford from B&Q. Live, their music is much more savage and bestial than on record, the abstract atmosphere distilled down to pure aggression and violence. It’s a powerful performance, but a little repetitive, and loses some power towards the end of their set – although perhaps that’s simply because expectation for Portal has reached frantic levels.

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Impetuous Ritual’s underpants-atmospherics suffer slightly from their mundane environment, but Portal are on a different level entirely – beyond anything as crude as geography.  Even seeing The Curator having to push through the crowd in full costume to get to the stage (or watching him be guided on and off the Temples stage the day before) doesn’t detract from the sheer presence they exude once their set starts. Metal is not a genre renowned for its subtlety, but there’s something understated about Portal’s stage craft that’s far more effective than the usual ranting and shouting. The Curator’s deliberate, ritualistic gestures carry a weight beyond the usual air-punching and head-banging, and stage banter is replaced entirely with hypnotic waves of noise which link all of the songs together, so that there isn’t a moment of silence once they take the stage.

All this, though, would be ultimately meaningless if their aesthetics weren’t so perfectly married to their music. Critics attacking them for not having catchy riffs or grooves, or accusing them of being “just noise”, are missing the point – which is that Portal’s uniqueness comes from blending the musical elements of Death Metal with an approach to “song-writing” more akin to Dark Ambient or Noise music. This is particularly noticeable live, where waves of feedback, noise and dissonance flow together in a way which seems almost spontaneously organic – but which is of course planned in great detail. This isn’t catchy Melodic Death Metal, dirty Old School Death Metal or even ten-billion-riffs-at-once Tech Death Metal – this is Death Metal as fully immersive Noise, and live – even to people familiar with their recorded material – the intensity is almost unbearable.

If there’s a single criticism of Portal’s set, it’s how inappropriate some of the fans’ reactions seemed.  A horribly arrogant thing to say, of course, and the idea that there’s a “right” or “wrong” way of enjoying a band should be treated with nothing but contempt, but when confronted with something as alien and distinctive as Portal, the old whoo-ing, punching the air and shouting the band name as if they were Slayer just sounds out of place. The only sane reaction to being confronted with this spectacle is just to stand there and take it for long as you possibly can.

 

RICHIE HR


Alcest – Lone Wolf: Live at The Deaf Institute, Manchester, UK


alcest live in Europe spring 2015

A respectably full venue is greeted by support act Lone Wolf, whose name is something of an oxymoron has he has another keyboard player and drummer with him. He might look for all the world like an IT manager who has come straight from a meeting but surely his sensitive balladry will win doubters over? In a word. No.

Lone Wolf, by Rich Price Photography

Lone Wolf, by Rich Price Photography


Ponderous keyboard ostinatos and bleating falsetto vocals do little to inspire anything above tepid half claps between songs. “Mr Wolf’s” polite and apologetic banter does little to excuse the fact that the majority of this set is turgid singer/songwriter dross wallowing in mediocrity.

Alcest, by Rich Price Photography

Alcest, by Rich Price Photography

The blue stage lights usher in a sense of dreamlike reverie as Alcest launch into ‘Opale’. Neige thanks the audience for their patience for the technical problems the French men initially face, but said gremlins are soon banished in favour of blissful hymns like ‘Summer’s Glory’ and older number ‘Souvenirs D’un Autre Monde’.

Transfixed, the audience stare longingly at the quartet as the beauty and of the songs seeks to penetrate their very souls. Despite the supposed narrow mindedness of metalheads Shelter era material is well received, but not with the same appreciation and devotion that heralds the older material. ‘Écalies De Lune Part 1’ is greeted like a long lost lover, but the most fervent reaction is reserved for the triumphant salvos of  ‘Autre Temps’ and ‘Délivrance’ where a couple of audience members are so overwhelmed with emotion they actually shed tears.

Alcest, by Rich Price Photography

Alcest, by Rich Price Photography

Much like Anathema before them, new opus Shelter has seen Alcest shift their focus to more gentle atmospheric sounds while retaining much of their loyal fanbase. Not many gigs see punters in Hate Forest t-shirts cosying up to those in Mogwai tops but that’s a testament to the crossover appeal the band has garnered.

Seducing all in attendance with delicate, soaring cadences wielded to lush atmospherics, tonight’s performance is exceptional once the early technical hindrances have been banished. Another bewitching and mesmerising performance from a seminal act who continue their metamorphosis into a brighter, more ethereal act whose beauty transcends mere genre boundaries.

Alcest - Deaf Institute 2015_

WORDS: ROSS BAKER

PHOTOS: RICH PRICE PHOTOGRAPHY


Nordic Giants – A Thousand Furs: Live at The Deaf Institute, Manchester


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Youthful trio A Thousand Furs mix delicate chords, synth and pulsing alt-rock with a vocal performance soaked in sensitivity. Their charming in between banter concerning graveyards aside, they garner many an approving nod from the near full room. Reminiscent of Jeff Buckley, his wiry frame belies the angelic vocal backed with some fine fretwork. Angular, emotional rock done right. A real one to watch.

Athousandfurs, by Rich Price Phptography

Athousandfurs, by Rich Price Phptography

Athousandfurs, by Rich Price Phptography

Athousandfurs, by Rich Price Phptography

From the moment the strange visuals and haunting electronic pulses begin the audience are captivated. ‘Evolve Or Perish’ sees the two band members draped in attire reminiscent of the “hawkmen” in action hero epic Flash Gordon. Despite the elaborate costumes the feathered duo, let the music speak for itself delivering an astounding sound clash of piano, synth, violin bowed guitars in a truly exhilarating assault on the senses.

Nordic Giants, by Rich Price Phptography

Nordic Giants, by Rich Price Photography


The strange films that accompany their set were a mysterious ailment causes scuba divers to only be able to breathe e from oxygen tanks who they murder each other for. Their splendid presentation fits their opulent, yet imitate surroundings. Transfixed the audience hang on each sample, eerie monologues augmented by lush piano and tribal rhythms.


‘Rapture’ featuring the exquisite vocals of Beth Cannon lures you into a clandestine world from which you never wish to escape so mesmerising is the experience.

Nordic Giants, by Rich Price Photography

Nordic Giants, by Rich Price Photography

Much of tonight’s set is derived from debut full length A Séance Of Dark Delusions (Kscope) in its entirety before bringing out some inspired older cuts, like the bewitching ‘Together’. This is a truly electrifying experience which elevates performance art into brave new forms. Two thirds of A Thousand Furs join the ‘Giants for a spellbinding performance of ‘Dissolve’ putting the icing on the cake of a truly momentous evening.

Nordic Giants, by Rich Price Photography

Nordic Giants, by Rich Price Photography

WORDS BY ROSS BAKER

PHOTOS BY RICH PRICE PHOTOGRAPHY


Primitive Man – Sea Bastard – Trudger: Live at the Roadhouse, Manchester


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If this place does indeed close later this year, there will be mixed feelings. Despite the incredible sound few, least of all photographers, appreciate the subterranean levels of darkness; even less are fond of the bloody great pillar obliterating the view of a third of the stage.

Trudger, by Rich Price Photography

Trudger, by Rich Price Photography

Backing up last year’s highly-rated début album Dormiveglia (Church of Fuck Records), Barnsley’s Trudger opened proceedings with a seriously impressive showing. Vocalist Chris Parkinson prowled the apron, his back to the crowd, his cavernous roar coating the irresistible blend of Hardcore, Sludge and Post atmospherics in murky phlegm.

Seabastard, by Rich Price Photography

Seabastard, by Rich Price Photography

Full of amusing anecdotes during their soundcheck, Brighton Funeral Sludgers Sea Bastard’s monstrous tales of horror are nevertheless fed from a natural gravitas: opening track ‘Door Sniffer’ a titanic weight upon the strongest shoulders, vocalist Monty’s demeanour at the coda both static and electric. The crowd were transfixed by the plummeting, sparing chords and funereal weight of recent split contribution ‘Astral Rebirth’: an implosive, eviscerating mass, shrinking heads with its unfathomable power. Skyscraping guitarist Oli Irongiants heavily-tattooed torso rocked and swayed as bassist Steve Patton knelt in studious, faraway contemplation of the sheer expanse of sound; whilst the scything, slashing coda was both brutal yet swaddled in the band’s collective confidence and ruthless execution. There will be few more impressive tracks this year, and there’s arguably no more involving, crushing UK act at present.

Primitive Man, by Rich Price Photography

Primitive Man, by Rich Price Photography

When your shoulders begin to ache and your balls quiver in their home, you know you’re witnessing something unspeakably affecting. Surrounding each other like they’re the only people who know just how they feel, Denver trio Primitive Man laid pure fucking waste to the venue. Colossal rhythm section Jon Campos and ‘Spy’ threatened the City’s architecture; while frontman Ethan McCarthy’s febrile tension was palpable, biting his guitar strings during horrific opener ‘4330’, the infamous bark like no vocal emission I’ve previously encountered. ‘Bag Man’ is utterly terrifying, every word of McCarthy’s tirade flung from his face with honest feeling, the power almost unbearable yet strangely cathartic and enlivening. ‘Antietam’, a microcosm of despairing misanthropy on record, was vomited forth with heartfelt malcontent, leaving those of us who’ve experienced such issues twitching, pounding monitors and shaking our heads in awe-struck wonder. ‘Loathe’ sealed the lid on a cacophonic show of mortifying power and untrammelled bitterness. Transcendent in a painful, shocking way, Primitive Man are unmissable.

Primitive Man, by Rich Price Photography

Primitive Man, by Rich Price Photography

WORDS BY PAUL QUINN

PHOTOS BY RICH PRICE PHOTOGRAPHY