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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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