Sunday 23 January 2011

EP review: Blue Origin – Cascade

It's no secret that the shell of the music world is a notoriously tough nut to crack. It's not as though this is a recent turn of events, either; where audio artistry is concerned, things have always been that way. And it's even harder to get your name out, in the current day and age, down the dark old alley of rock 'n' roll - which today, ironically, manages to be non-existent to the commercial eye, but ever omnipresent to the devout follower. It's everywhere, and it's nowhere; invisible, yet secretly thriving, like an ant nest beneath your floorboards. And to carve your mark in it in the 21st century, it seems you've got to pull out all the weird and wonderful wizardry you can muster. You've got to find a different angle, a different attitude, or simply a new technique of mind-blowing craziness, with which to chip away at the iceberg of musical and financial success.

This is precisely why it's paradoxically refreshing to listen to the 6-track EP of Stoke-on-Trent's upcoming soulful sorcerers, Blue Origin. The work, entitled 'CASCADE' is, put simply, a much-needed and greatly-heralded return to the very beginning of all that sensationalistic, twiddly stuff of the world's great guitar Gods. A strong, bluesy tone, with a classic rock feel, the album offers a good dose of groovy hooks, solos infused with note-bends, vibratos and slides a-plenty, and Robert Plant-esque grit to vocalist Nick Pilgrim's striking range. It sets their sound quite apart from the thrashy, scream-y and noisy one of other surfacing young rock talents within the 'noughties' bracket. And another thing: you know how there's always at least one really dodgy song on every album? As it happens, this is a problem avoided altogether by Blue Origin, thanks to their making every track creatively diverse and different, yet musically cohesive, and thematically consistent.

The Midlands' own home-grown gents are reigniting the spark of old-school rock 'n' roll once more, mixed with a melodic, no-messing, Mississippi-delta-tinged twist. And yet, it doesn't sound dated. The verse-chorus structure of their heavier songs, like 'Freek', 'Earthbound' and 'Gone to Ground', fit their orthodox 'rock' vibe with contemporary armour. And with the picked-arpeggio subtlety of final track 'Applauded Sorrow', and an impressive vocal guest-performance by Elizabeth Whiston on penultimate offering 'Endless', Blue Origin's 'Cascade' also demonstrates crafted song-writing and textured ideas, topped with a fearlessness and talent to be reckoned with.

Blue Origin are doing something that the current world of heavy music desperately needs. It's simplistic in content, yet sophisticated in presentation, and it works. And, even though we recognise its formula straight away, it's potently significant in its return amidst an era with a commercial menu of indie and electronic flavours, and a quote-un-quote 'alternative' one consisting largely of nu-metal, and technicality that makes your head spin. But Hell, what hasn't been done before? They're just more interesting about it than your Average Joe.

Of course, there are the melodic-groove-maestros out there, who refuse to compromise even in the face of modern times, and are doing pretty well for themselves because of it: you've got your Alter Bridge-s, your Black Stone Cherry-s, and if you get heavier, your Black Label Society-s. But, whilst they're all clearly bluesy in personality, they're still using that streak to enhance another, stronger genre: hard rock, or heavy metal. Blue Origin bring to bear influences which reflect far more raw sources: the likes of Led Zeppelin, Free, and if we're talking current acts made of the same stuff, they're a lot like Irish rockers The Answer. They're a hybrid of the best elements of a range of timeless genres, without pretending to be anything else. 

'Cascade' showcases their namesake, by providing a modern and successful re-shaping of the very origins of the blues and classic rock, with a nostalgic nod to times when such sonic richness was all the rage. And this is something that Blue Origin certainly aren't afraid to embrace or shout about. With an EP like this, and if they stay true to their blend of passion, poetry and pentatonics, they've got nothing to worry about. After all, as they themselves proudly say, 'we're all just 'Freeks' inside'...

8.5/10

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright
© Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved.

Wednesday 12 January 2011

Gig review: Motorhead + Mike Monroe @ Brixton Academy - 27/11/10

It's been two years since their last album release, and a quarter of that since they last graced the South with their presence. I know what you're thinking. "Graced" seems... maybe the wrong choice of word for Ian Fraser Kilmister's noisy baby. Alright then, have it your way: since Motorhead, the mid-England Fagin's gang originally to be called Bastard, took the world by storm with their Motorizer tour in 2008/9, and pounded their way through Download 2010, heavily pregnant with their 20th studio beast on disc. (Or 21st, if you count 1979's On Parole). But I'm not all wrong. Because there is a certain twisted grace to these veteran pioneers of primitive speed and thrash metal: they're one of the last upstanding totems of what it once truly meant, maybe even still truly means, to be rock 'n' roll. And they reek of the stuff. Well, it's London's turn for the newborn 10-track effort and tour, The World is Yours, and the capital's 2010 opportunity to witness the Midlands' legendary hardest nuts. Let's see if they come up to scratch.

Support comes first from German hard-rockers SKEW SISKIN (8/10). Female-fronted, with a classic, gritty sound, they're a mix of Motley Crue, the Sex Pistols and Joan Jett, if she swallowed a cheese grater. Simple, slick and stylish, Siskin deliver a mosh-able, power-chord-strong and acceptable set. And Lemmy himself thinks so, too – after all, he originally wrote Motorhead's own belter, 'Born to Raise Hell', for them. Not a bad little rung to have on the ladder of your CV. In second place, Finnish multi-instrumentalist, and all-round exhibitionist MICHAEL MONROE (8), takes the spotlight. Like a whirling Dervish who's been told he's got to find Narnia in Steel Panther's wardrobe. His five-piece act delivers a tight, feel-good spectacle, tipped with the same trashy and thrashy web of Skid Row, Guns 'n' Roses, and Sweden's favourite sleazy punks, CrashDiet. Musically dexterous, Monroe recreates his 80s glory all around him, and takes us back to an era of glitz, ostentation, and generally not giving a damn, which passed in the blink of an eye. Even Tim Curry in that infamous Rocky Horror scene would be proud tonight.

The World is Yours. Really? Well, so Lemmy would have us believe, anyway. Literal, or ironic? Perhaps a bit of both. But more of the title later, because it's hard to hear yourself think when MOTORHEAD (9) stroll their leather-booted way onto the platform. Everyone's delirious. It's Lemmy, for Christ's sake: the man described a month ago by Jeremy Allen of The Stool Pigeon as "an agent provocateur existing in a parallel dimension; a relic of a bygone age who nonetheless manages to exhilarate modern audiences". And what a perfect depiction, as they explode into 2000-offering's title-track, 'We Are Motorhead', to begin their night of drink and musical debauchery.

Battering into trademark chunky grooves with power and precision, the black-clad triangle unleashes its assault on the pretence of glam sensationalism – ironically, the kind embodied by Monroe. It's not in a malicious way, though, or maybe even a conscious one; it's just that the masculinity of a band like Motorhead is as raw as their music, and makes the primping and preening of the likes of Poison and Whitesnake look, well, mildly ridiculous in comparison. It's also not that Motorhead are unpresentable, either: they're dressed like smart, modern gentlemen at a funeral, but paradoxically bring a cutthroat, sordid glamour of their own to the table – which is decidedly un-gentlemanly, but blazes with primal majesty.

Steaming into 1979 classic 'Stay Clean', before serving the first dish of 2010 – new album slice, 'Get Back In Line' –, it isn't long before all can test whether the current Motorhead stands up to the old. The formula stays pretty much the same from album to album; some might scorn lack of adventurousness, or experimentation with material. But Motorhead's philosophy seems to be that if it ain't broke, don't fix it. And those infectious, blues-edged riffs, furious rhythms and Lemmy's infamous gravelled tones, which have 60-a-day-since-I-was-14 written all over them, are well-established as Motorhead's signature. With the only other excerpt from 2010's effort being 'I Know How to Die', Motorhead aren't silly enough to replace their worn successes on stage with a fresh harvest just yet. And with short, punchy tunes, tattooed with balls of steel, they show how the old can be made congruous with the new, and embed a repertoire of staple golden-oldies with a re-fertilised twist.


As for highlights... who's to count? There's the stunning guitar solo from Mr. Phil Campbell, before 'The Thousand Names of God': wah-saturated; treble-high; slides and bends enough to give you goose bumps. Or there's Lemmy's "greatest drummer in the world['s]" dazzling ad-lib, injected into 2004 scorcher Inferno's 'In the Name of Tragedy'. Mikkey Dee's lightening, double-kick jungle of beats is nothing short of mesmerising. Of course, you could always choose '1916' blinder,  'Going to Brazil', with Hendrix's Voodoo Chile interlude, as your favourite. Failing that, first-half closure with electric devil-child 'Ace of Spades'. But through it all, Lemmy remains the star of the show. A hybrid of James Bond and the Artful Dodger, with a pinch of Satan, his nuclear charisma pervades the room, and his notoriety only enhances his enigma. And as he's joined by Skew Siskin's Nina C. Alice for 'Killed By Death', and Michael Monroe for the encore, in 'Born to Raise Hell', before closing the night with '79's title-track 'Overkill', it's not hard to see why the Midlands' favourite rogue has endured the test of time. His swagger, bragger, and not-giving-a-monkey's damn-dagger attitude have been strengthened and assured by the wisdom of age; viewing 2010-Lemmy has the curious effect of looking at a cougar through Venetian glass. Polished surface, wild-as-hell core.

Tonight, Motorhead have caused a sensation, no doubt about that. But they've captured more than just the hearts of a new generation of thrashers. Sure, they've stormed a tremendous set with tremendous style, they're of studio-quality live, and are true enough to being the alleged 'loudest band in the world'. But their familiarity with the stage, like a comfy pair of shoes, and the continued success of their classic sound, even as we enter 2011, place a glossy stem atop their humble Stoke-on-Trent roots, and are testament to how the seed of musicality, a passion for the metal horns, and refusal to compromise, can flower into true rock 'n' roll artistry. This is made yet more potent in light of modern appreciation of their old rivals of similar origins: Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, to name but three, who again began as humble boys, with big ideas, and titanium characters. The World is Yours? Lemmy, "one of the last torchbearers of rock's ignoble tradition", as Jeremy Allen continues, proves that with a spine, a drink, and glint in your eye, it can be. "We are Motorhead", he screams to Brixton, "and don't you ever forget it." No fear of that, sir. Because times are a-changing, but, as Mikkey tells The Stool Pigeon, "Motorhead never fucking dies."

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright © Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved.

Tuesday 11 January 2011

Gig review: MekanizM presents ARMAGEDDON @ Dirty South - 28/11/10

Let's picture the scene. You're in a dark little bar in the lower-East regions of London town. With high propriety, it goes by the name of the Dirty South. And, as three acts prepare to take to the stage, it is indeed time to witness the crunching higher-planes of the gritty, metal dirt of the South. Hear the rumours, read the signs: a video shoot, you say..? There's no smoke without fire; come one, come all, come far, come wide. For, above all, this is a night of mayhem, madness and Mekanizm.

The drinks are flowing and the stage is set, as THUNDERWOLF (8/10) step into the ring. "Formed in the summer of 2007, with a mutual respect for technical guitar play, and a love for melodic metal", as self-defined, Bromley's paragons of energy sustain their standard once again through a coalescence of strong musical know-how, diversity of repertoire and glove-tightness in performance. Smooth solo-to-riff and pinch-harmonic-to-groove transitions are secured by guitarists Dan Smith and Criss Thomas, laced with a soulful, shaped improvisation from each, to capture the symmetry of their twin-axe harmonies. The undoubted pinnacle of the band's showcase, a vivacious rendition of Iron Maiden's 'Hallowed Be Thy Name', exemplifies well-timed musical intervals, fluent bass finger-work and notably, excellently-replicated fills to mimic then-Maiden-drummer Clive Burr, from Thunderwolf drummer Tom Reeve. 

Thunderwolf's particular command of such a well-loved classic tonight marks with poignancy Reeve's last gig with the band, and also the fearless and ambitious animal that is the chrome-plated creativity of this particular line-up: raw, intense, and, above all, ever true to those beautifully twisted roots of metal, with which our kind are all in love. New members? New scenery? New reassurance: Thunderwolf will pull it off, whatever the weather.

The light is shed on Bromley's BOA 2010 fresh blood, SILAS (8.5). "We don't aim to sound like anyone else", claim the ensemble; at this, they unarguably succeed. Their musicianship tonight is both creatively and technically expansive; guitarist Mike Ross masters vibrato-infused and note-bending grooves, complete with semitone slides and satisfying, tonic resolution to root-note. Coupled with an improvisational style that is firmly grounded in a blues feel, propelled by a gritty rock tone, both he and brother Tom explore harmonic decorations that are offset by a network of sounds and timbres, thanks to many a stamp on the effects unit on the floor. Silas talk the talk, and clearly have no trouble walking the walk, when it comes to their musical capabilities. 

As for their type of song-writing, they're notoriously hard to pin down. Indeed, they offer a vast array of influences: there are some straight-up metal numbers, structured in a contemporary verse-chorus, 'pop' layout, such as the thematically-consistent 'In the Grind'; there are tunes injected with middle stretches of a totally different style, such as the reggae-pricked 'Angels Lie', and the melodic-blues-soaked 'Open Your Eyes'. Does it seem fragmented? Somewhat. But Silas' charm lies in this difference, this unusualness; and any starkness in genre cohesion is balanced by such memorability and catchiness in their melodies and choruses, that you find yourself singing and humming them at even the most unsuspecting moments. With a titanic energy and enthusiasm in performance that is fatally infectious, Silas' own breed of fire-cracking fusion could be blended a little more delicately, a little more seamlessly – but, without a shadow of a doubt, demonstrates ideas and a versatility of musicianship that, with pounding passion, shoot for the stars. Even the darkest depths of the metal world will bear witness to great things from them.

And as the moment all are eagerly awaiting is finally nigh, MEKANIZM (9) don their armour, and prepare to battle. As the camera rolls, the prospect of shooting a live performance may incite a tremor of fear in a lesser band. But those tremors themselves shy from the courageous execution of Bromley's belligerent quintet tonight, who, in their own words, "supply a full, brutal, military-assault-sounding barricade of noise". 

Main lead guitarist Mike Toulson is, for technical proficiency, a wonder to behold. His improvisational style of lightening arpeggios and scalic movements, combined with fluidity of finger-tapping and sweep-picking, and stunning knowledge and command of the makeup of the fret board is, within the construct of Mekanizm, exploited through exotic and unusual flavours: from Western harmonic tones, to Eastern and modal elements. Mekanizm's signature solid, tremolo-picked grooves, selective whammy-bar abuse and Maiden-esque, three-guitar-strong instrumental layering, demonstrate their namesake in a kind of mechanical accuracy to their playing, which satisfies the musical ear through its sheer mathematical precision. Housing also an aggressive network of semiquaver rhythms, blast-beats and dense drum-fills and ad-lib, Mekanizm are musically organised and contrived, with a patterning and velocity to their riffs and solos to place them firmly within the upper echelons of conventional, machine-gun metal. 

But it is their chromatic colouring, explorative song-writing, and the energy and mobility in performance of charismatic front man, vocalist/guitarist, and character Faust Perez, which dig deeper. In the same vein, they explode off-camera into free-flow funk and jazz jams, and smoulder through an acoustic rendition of own tune 'Save Me' (featuring Djembes and percussion, high-treble blues-picked guitar techniques, and a dazzling slide solo from new rhythm guitarist Eddy Leo): not only showcasing a thoroughly well-grounded musicianship, but cementing the darker spice with which Mekanizm are tinged. Although relative newcomers to the musical world, theirs is a mature and successful hybrid of a merciless, metallic wall of sound, injected with a passion and intensity to feed the sensual and emotional receptacles of their listeners. 

There are splinters of everything embedded: influences from Fear Factory, Machine Head and Soilwork, to Opeth, Yngwie Malmsteen and Disturbed, reverberate within their work. And with musical delicacies such as 'Rise', 'Feel the Pain', and studio-video promo-favourite 'Decide' to feast upon, Mekanizm ravish the senses tonight with their sultry sonic cocktail and gravitational determination: placing their stamp of closure upon the year, and pre-empting a frictionless and victorious path for their artistry throughout 2011.

The 21st Century is evidently the time and place for modernity, machinery and lest we forget, Mekanizm.

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright
© Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved. 

Gig review: DOA 2010 @ Standard, Walthamstow - 25/09/10

There are all sorts of gigs. There are gigs that come and go; gigs you can't remember due to experiencing them in a state of weighty inebriation; gigs you may have had a blast at through being there with your buds. But then there are those gigs at which you witness something extraordinary, something compelling and unbelievable; defibrillation for the core of your incredulity. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely what happened to all who stood before the stage at The Standard in Walthamstow, on 25th September, for the Dean Open Air Guitar Party, 2010.

The match is struck with POPULATION FOUR (7/10). Preston's livewire five-piece thrash, howl and charge their way through an intense, high-energy exhibition of passion, persona and presence as the kick-starter tonight. Despite self-painted, genre-specific portraits pertaining to "Rock music, not Pop-Punk, Metal, Grindcore, Screamo or some other sub-genre", Population Four are unarguably infused with elements of all the above styles; even in consideration of Rock Sound Magazine's insistence to establish the quintet as a "no bullshit, straight-up, big slab of rock", and whilst they are indeed rock, their song structures, mix of screaming and memorably melodic vocals and power-chord-heavy writing style are so grounded in contemporary indices, it's very hard not to sense the highly infectious, and highly likeable, pop-thrash feel with which Population Four are tilted. Catchy and marketable songs to catch include "Nomads" and first video-hit "I Am", as this charismatic ensemble delivers focussed, strong and powerful goods that are indisputably well-equipped for commercial recognition. Keep your eyes peeled there on MTV...

An entirely different animal thunderously assumes the limelight in the form of GUARDIANS OF ANDROMEDA (8.5). A darkly dramatic fusion of stomping chord grooves, red velvet and a good dose of horn-throwing, this polished quintet serve a rhythmically-compact and undeniably classic rock sound – drenched in enough Viking-metal-esque theatrics to shame even the most devout Nordic practitioners. Vocalist Phaellan packs an impressive Andi "Helloween" Derris-tinged range, with a top-octave scream to subjugate even the smallest hair on the neck into military attention; decoration to a rock-solid anchoring of guitars, and an arresting versatility of performance from drummer Matthis, as he employs scopes of excellently fluent quaver and semiquaver double-kick progressions to superb effect. 

Utilising all technical staples with evident musical competence, and fathers to a stunningly-produced set of studio recordings of their material also, Guardians of Andromeda brandish the blade of their reverb-pricked, foot-tapping species of sonic cinema, cherry-topped by the belting "Kingdom of Hate", in their self-proclaimed quest to "rise to spread the word of metal to every corner of the galaxy"... And if you've missed their delicious slither of comic irony, you've missed their very fundamental essence altogether.

The colour shifts yet again, this time in primal potency, as ARTHEMIS (9) seize the stage. Not so much flaming swords and cloaks, as lunging and limb-by-limb dismemberment, theirs is a raw, thrash fireball to ignite the animal cores of all before their creative consummation tonight. Guitarist Andrea Martongelli tips the web of his writing and playing styles atop a myriad of pounding, Dave "Megadeth" Mustaine-slanted totems; from the plethora of classic riffs peppered liberally throughout each track, to stylistically-patterned shredded solos, offset by dynamic frontman Fabio D's provision of a paradoxically melodic, and seamlessly melismatic, vocal gruffness, Arthemis are equipped with the most compelling allegiance between orthodox 80s metal must-haves, and modernised accessibility as a corollary of their compact song length and memorable verse/chorus musical layout. 

With a prismatic spectrum of festivals to their name, including Bloodstock Open Air, Hard Rock Hell and Hammerfist UK, and with pertinent offerings including "Seven Days" and "Vortex" to feast the metal gnashers upon, this untamed quartet successfully and congruously harmonise a wild and uncultivated masculinity, with a diabolically polished precision: the beast caged within artistic confines, to strike a chord metaphorically with the civilised savage internal to us all.

The show must go on, as 101% PANTERA (8.5) take their turn. Caressing the standard Dime repertoire with flair and finesse, the assemblage self-depicted as "dedicated to reproducing the live energy of a Pantera show to its fullest" indulge all within earshot through an execution of indubitably strong musicianship, and evident respect for their imitated elders. Guitarist Chris Jones assumes Darrell's idiomatic penchant for the tightest, fastest and most complex finger work, saturated with pinch-harmonics, and underscored by immaculate solo-to-riff transitions marked by a nexus of slides and glissandos to intensify root-note resolution – dusted with incalculable whammy-bar tricks to instill classic grooves such as "Cowboys From Hell" and "5 Minutes Alone" with an ascending and descending, 'cyclical' quality, that proves extremely difficult for the musical ear to resist. 

The vocal timbre and spectrum is carefully sculpted to mimic the idiosyncratic range and tone of Anselmo, and, in consideration of their capacity to replicate the material of the Abbott brother's infamous baby note for note, the group serves undoubted testament to the true depths of the musical substratum here tonight. Yet, technical acknowledgement aside, the stage personas of the members of 101% Pantera are embedded with a domineering imperiousness which tarnishes the impression they conjure with a distinctly lukewarm edge, in consideration of their undeniable skill, and proves rather laborious to connect with.

Now... The moment so eagerly awaited by so many... The one-man-army and tonight's undoubted guitar star, MICHAEL ANGELO BATIO (9.5). Chicago's virtuoso thunder-god sizzles the nerves of every mortal constitution in the room like a flame along a petroleum-soaked rope, as he carves his own boundless course into the pre-conceived notions of not only the ways in which a guitar can be played, but also the human capacity to do so. Voted the "No. 1 Shredder of All Time" by Guitar One Magazine in 2003, Batio has also been listed as one of the "Top 100 Greatest Metal Guitarists of All Time" by Guitar World Magazine, as well as one of the "20 Greatest Shredders of All Time" by Total Guitar Magazine; naturally, sweep-picking, lightening arpeggios and generating a dazzling succession of notes sprinkled with pinch harmonics in his shredding fit him like a second skin, as he flawlessly switches speed and styles amidst his own compositions, and solidifies a fluidity of transition through glissandos, offset by pronounced vibratos, to 'epic' effect, and a locked, rhythmic flow – an irrefutable 'studio' quality, within a live dimension. 

Batio's grand finale, a medley of an amalgamation of classic guitar gems, from Zeppelin's "Black Dog" and "Rock and Roll", alongside Deep Purple's "Burn" and "Smoke on the Water", to Hendrix's "Purple Haze" and Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train", sees the renowned mobilisation of his signature custom Dean Double-Guitar, and, perhaps even more impressively, his simultaneous execution of both rhythm and improvisation, melody and harmony: an instrumental ambidextrousness which fails to compromise or robotise the quality of the musical output. Nevertheless, Batio's mechanical accuracy is embellished with a charismatic flair and zest for performance that resides light-years shy of haughty arrogance; his secure self-knowledge through the miraculous spectacle he creates deems superciliousness both unintelligent and unnecessary. A phenomenal, breathtaking talent.

And, as the wild calls for the final time tonight, headlining contenders ONSLAUGHT (9) step into the ring. Bristol's veteran thrash quintet gather their pristine Dean axes, and take to the stage like Gladiators to the amphitheatre, to redefine tonight's conceptions of the classic constitution of thrash metal, and prey upon the amateurs along the way. Guitarists Nige Rockett and Andy Rosser-Davies sustain a densely-noted network of gravelled riffs, ornamented with modal and chromatic colouring, and underpinned by the type of unpredictably-sequenced chord patterns to efficaciously disorientate and disarm the expectant and resolution-craving musical ear. 

Enigmatic frontman Sy Keeler stalks the stage as a lion in a den; with a vocal compass boasting a kaleidoscopic timbre, the sharpness of the treble-weighted falsetto is matched in power by the richness of the bass gruffness and chest-voice, as he leads his clan of metal warriors to exemplify their namesake, in the provision of an onslaught of merciless and unadulterated heaviness. There are elements of Slayer, tinges of Megadeth, and, dare I say, spectre-shadows of Metallica, lurking – but all overarched by a sound that is incontrovertibly personal. 

A stunning closure to a sonically incredible evening, it seems of poignant propriety for this final outfit to pinpoint and extol the roots of one of the most influential and successful sub-genres within the context of Metal music: the very gene pool from which tonight's creativity has magnificently stemmed. And, to top it all, articles of crunching artistry including "Destroyer of Worlds" and "Metal Forces", aggressively testify exactly why Onslaught, and indeed the entirety of Metal itself, have survived the perfidy and bloodthirsty self-valorisation of the musical world for so long – and resurge stronger than ever.

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright
© Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved.

Gig review: Splintered Soul + Zocalo @ Red Lion - 17/07/10

Any traveller, for whom Crete Hall Road is virgin territory, is met by a demolition site, a dead end, and barely a breath of life for around 3 miles. That is, until they spot The Red Lion: Gravesend's primary epicenter for rock 'n' roll spice. And that epicenter is in full swing at 8.30 tonight, as the main stage kicks off with SONS OF TORMENT (7/10). An all-male mechanical onslaught of intensive metal serves a dish of fluid technicality and concentration, underscored by a furious intent. Bassist Liam Vicary masters compact and complex finger patterns, which, coupled with drummer Alfie Hollins' prominent double-kick use, weights a strong, Kirk Hammett-esque decoration of tapping, sweep and tremolo picking and chorus arpeggios from guitarists Liam Lawless and Robert Aitken. 

Songs to catch include "Destroy Freedom" and "Never Return", as Sons of Torment cast a promising, marketable and head-thrashing bait before the metal carnivores; although evidently capable of competing in the arena with much older lions already, a little more experience and refinement will ensure that the heavier side of the music world sees truly great things from them. Watch this space.

And so enter the proficient groove maestros, SNAKEBITE (9). Bromley's blazing bullet to Bloodstock and Wacken engulf the Lion with a polished savagery tonight:  paradoxically slick tribalism, and undeniable star quality. Lead guitarist Andrew Matthews employs the technical staples with speed and finesse, but the notable talent is his uninhibited flair for instrumental experimentation and expression. The conjuring of an efficacious selection of notes based on quality as well as quantity, peppered with liberal whammy-bar tricks and an almost percussive timing against the rhythm, produces engaging and flamboyant harmonic and modal solos implemented within the plethora of gargantuan, metal-soaked licks and riffs that have become Snakebite's signature. 

With the infectious quality of the body-gyrating "60 Units" and "Visceral Pissery" saturated in the energy and gravel of vocalist Jason Smith, Snakebite's professional edge contrasts, yet conjoins, with their unadulterated animal core, and distinguishes their pedigree within the upper echelons of London and Kent's darker creative ensembles. Experience them yourself... They dare you.

Strength is in absolutely no shortage tonight, however, as ZOCALO (9) take the glare of the lights. Fourth pours an irresistible concoction of old-school rock, shocked through with a prismatic selection of funk rhythms, metal, and the very depths of the blues: a tower of their own breed of groove. Nerve-wrenching riffs, playing with blues-interval patterns and descending to the root note for extremely satisfying resolution to the musical ear, are sliced into a basketful of varied rhythms, and doused in glissandos and vibratos: propulsion of Zocalo through the parameters of current definitions of metal, and its often pre-conceived sound. 

Arresting vocalist Sarah Humphries, with throaty and powerful tones, offers melodies in perfect consonance to the main guitar themes, as a flirtation with orthodox blues techniques of 'question and answer' between vocal and guitar ad-lib imbues clarity of timbre with an Alannah Myles-esque knife-edge: the perfect soulful ornamentation to such underpinning grittiness. With tunes such as "Carved from Stone" and "Providence" exemplifying their talent, Zocalo are establishing themselves as a contemporary hybrid of the greatest elements of a variety of excellent genres, and sail through the gates of Bloodstock as a dominant force to be reckoned with. Just don't try to stand in their way.

And the grand, and undoubtedly epic, finale of the night manifests in the form of the dark and delicious SPLINTERED SOUL (9). Dartford's self-proclaimed "progressive, film-score metal" fivesome display an impressive, cinematic experience of dense and layered rhythm, intricate guitar harmonies and a myriad of electronic injections: their own brand of Gothic theatrics, and an undoubted feast for the senses. Compelling frontwoman Mandi Bailey delivers a seamless vocal transition between operatic, falsetto and Anne Wilson-tinged belting styles, with a tremendous sustained vibrato to boot; power, passion and gesticulation are in equal balance amongst the quintet, pronouncing an evident musical and personal chemistry to visually corroborate the grandeur of their sound. 

With Leaves' Eyes and Within Temptation-esque synth incisions and backing tracks to equip their performance with a flawless, 'studio' quality, anchored by prominent melodies and a fierce, energetic intensity, Splintered Soul alight conventional Gothic metal with a dramatic dynamism of their own possession. Material including "Oblivion" and "Awakening" is compulsory listening, as Splintered Soul concretize a volcanic closure to an evening that serves testament not only to the creative breadth of London and Kent's unsigned musical artistry, but also the unequivocal impact with which Bloodstock 2010 is met by three dazzling Southern representatives. Metalheads: Get your horns at the ready. The beasts are coming.

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright © Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved.

Gig review: Brutai + Deprevate @ New Cross Inn - 08/07/10

On a steamy July evening, in an intimate and shadowy little bar in New Cross, an explosive electric storm is brewing. In the melting pot, the impressive antecedent to that storm is unleashed in the form of DEPREVATE (8/10). A relentless cocktail of catchy grooves, tightly synchronised Bullet For My Valentine-esque harmonies and a clever penchant for seamlessly fusing minor-key riffs and verses to major-key choruses, is locked under the impressive vocal range and likeable magnetism of frontman Rich Sumner. 

With notable tunes including 'The Juggernaught Bitch' and 'Suffer In Silence', the foursome's incisions of picked arpeggios within gritty sustain-chord foundations, and lyrics channelled through Rich's uncanny tonal similarity at times to Staind's Aaron Lewis, equip the group with an undeniable American hard-rock vibe; splinters of the likes of Creed and 3 Doors Down are deeply embedded, tilted by a pop-thrash feel, and the American flag across the drum kit serves testament of more than a little irony. Practiced, slick, yet rough and tough round the edges, Deprevate would be commercially well-received, and are a fine authority on a great musical night out - just ask the raucous audience before them.

But the undoubted climax of tonight's storm is BRUTAI (9). A crucible of technical refinement, infused with ungoverned animal passion and infectious charisma, Brutai exist as a composite of juxtapositions: their very own hybrid theory. Catford's finest dark quartet alight the stage tonight with an evident creative chemistry perfectly offset by four distinct stage personalities. 

Lead guitarist Henry Ryan's lightening virtuosity is showcased through numbers such as 'Epiphany' and '1 out of 1'; a nexus of highly-charged riffs, tapping and harmonies offers a sprinkling of Maiden, rhythmically anchored by a layered and atmospheric density to throw a pinch of Trivium or Atreyu to the recipe - all compressed within well-structured enough tunes to answer only to their own name. 

Vocalist Felix Lawrie hollers a menagerie of gruffness to shame Dani 'Cradle' Filth, yet injects capsules of melody to lay a varied and euphonious polish to the overall quality of each song: defining the contemporary, yet original concept of Brutai. Before their 6-foot wall of noise and brutality stands a crowd bewitched by the pounding, primal potency of a band who master speed and accuracy, yet forego pretension and are equipped instead with raw power: who speak to the core of primitivism residing deep within all of us. 

In the light, and indeed dark, of their first hosted gig, and their securing of the first of many respectable artistic milestones, experience Brutai for yourself. You will understand a force at work far stronger than purely musical entertainment.

Review by Rhiannon Maiden. Copyright
© Rhiannon Marley. All rights reserved.