Live Review: 36 Crazyfists, Armed For Apocalypse, Thera, Man The Machetes @ London Underworld 18/11/13

It’s late on a Monday night and The Underworld in Camden is packed to capacity. When they’re not crowdsurfing, cheering or chanting, this sea of metalheads are bouncing about like lunatics. Who cares that they may well have already seen this same line-up take the same stage just 4 days prior? So what if they have probably got early starts and another day of work waiting for them tomorrow? Who gives a shit about the cold and dreary weather waiting outside for them? None of these things have stopped them, because this community does not have time to rest. Not when their heroes are in town.

Rewind back a few hours and Norway’s Man The Machetes, surrounded by American bands and a British public, must feel a little overwhelmed. There’s probably only 50-odd people watching as they open up but, due to their fervour and lead vocalist Chris Iversen’s increasingly-desperate attempts to make contact with his audience, that number doubles as they progress through their set. Throughout they establish their monstrous driving rhythm and keep it churning away. Like animals they feed the machine with punkish enthusiasm and pistoning rock chops to create what is essentially constant motion in sound. The drum rhythms piston back and forth, the guitar chords kinetically swirl and those bellowed vocals connect like a series of rotating cogs.

From the storming “Hjemkomst”, via the gang-chanted “Slagen” to their powerful lead single “Mageplask”, the bare-chested, bare-footed Iversen is the focal point. The rest of the band throw their instruments and themselves around the stage but he’s bridging the gap, across the tiny photo pit, to reach the crowd, then he’s on the railings at the side of the stage, then he’s in with the fans. “I’m coming in with you for this one” he warns as he vaults the barrier and proceeds to serenade his audience up nice and close. The crowd’s real-time reaction may have been muted, and at times horrified, but these five lads’ superhuman efforts won’t have been forgotten easily.

Ever growing to capacity for the headliners, the swell of fans who caught Thera, Crazyfists’ Alaskan buddies, will have witnessed a surprisingly gentile assault on the senses. Their emotive rockcore theatrics tonight divide the crowd nicely, with the bullying husband and wife vocal team pushing their soaring rhythms to some pretty interesting places. They may be a little rough around the edges tonight, with some of their more melodic touches getting lost in the ether, but for those that are finding it all a little light on substance there is a reward of a big, beefy groove near the end.

Armed For Apocalypse play the role of warm-up act perfectly. Their brand of filthy Californian rock and roll is right up the crowd’s street and the joyous reaction to their material is duly noted. Tonight, they pour on some pretty rocked-up grooves that bitchslap their way through to epic Unearth-esque soloing and down in to reach a triple-guitar, grinding, Crowbar-esque, sludge metal attack. With Kirk, Kyle and Nate all giving it the biggun’ on vocals, the fans begin to pit like demons and there is plenty of hair whips and vocal encouragement to keep them spinning.

By the time 36 Crazyfists take the stage, the place is rammed and the place is buzzing. Somewhere amidst the rabble of a million voices, a chant goes up and the band duly appear to a hero’s welcome. You’d have thought that being formed nigh on 20 years ago, this tight-as-fuck quartet of bruisers would be suffering from some kind of metalcore backlash by now, but their status as underdogs seems to endure and their desire to own the stage has remained. The hulking figure of Brock Lindow marks him out for he truly is one of the best frontmen out there. He wastes no time in telling this audience just what he thinks of them – a pause, a disbelieving stare and a simple “Monday night, eh? This is unbe-liev-able” is enough to have the crowd, his crowd, eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s a blur of motion as he swaggers back and forth across this small stage to reach out, fist-bump and hold out the microphone to his public.

A constant stream of thundersome classics like “Vanish”, “Turns To Ashes” and “Bloodwork” keep the circle pits swirling and the crowdsurfers coming but it’s their forthcoming newbies “Also Am I” and “Time And Trauma” that really get the tastebuds twitching. Driven, addictive and enduring, the songs tick all the boxes and judging by the reception they get here tonight, that forthcoming album is going to fly off the shelves. As the end draws near, Lindow gives it the big wind-up and like clockwork “Destroy The Map” drops and kicks off the biggest circle pit of the night. The reaction to “Installing The Catheter” and “Slit Wrist Theory” are like bombs going off and deftly these canny Alaskan bastards lay waste to an audience. Gasping for air, they exit into the bright lights of Camden Town like newborns, blinking and discombobulated.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2013/11/36-crazyfists-afa-london/

Gig Review: The Sword - Underworld, London, 03/04/08

Black Cobra

The need for a beer at The World’s End pub above the venue has delayed us albeit briefly, yet as we descend into the tight little grotto that is the Underworld we see that Invasion have set off proceedings with their stylish take on psych-thrash. This unique trio of floppy-haired guitarist, feisty skin-basher and vocal hellraiser are belting out the decibels but don’t seem at all happy with the sounds they’re producing. There’s continual input from the sound-desk as a guy races back and forth across stage changing microphones.

Through it all, Chan, the vocalist, lurks in the shadows, brooding beneath a full-length hooded cowl, blasting out a mighty range over which the guitar winds waves of compression with the odd spot of sludge thrown in for good measure. The drummer down to just her little black bra beats out punishing rhythms with crashing cymbals and hi-hat action. As the last note rings out, in a fit of pique the guitarist throws his guitar out onto the dancefloor, barely missing the punters. It’s not a happy band, but to be honest it wasn’t sounding as awful as he obviously thinks it did.

Black Cobra are on a mission to deafen. Two blokes, one awesome sound. The frontman’s sparkly gold guitar has been fed through the entire trio of guitar amps and he only has to twist it in the vague direction of his mic for feedback to froth from its innards. When the afro’d drummer sets events in motion, the guitar throbs into life with a sequence of big, dirty and, to be frank, abnoxiously loud chugging and the vocal immediately goes completely missing. Perhaps what is required is three mics to counter-act the three amps drowning it into submission. This is a style that’s clearly been honed at the ‘School Of Matt Pike’. Plenty of posturing, guitar-jabbing and facial grimacing garner him plenty of love from those in front. Heading to the back of the venue, you can just make out his razor-sharp cutting vocal and it really is damn impressive. Today is to be the day when we discover it’s not always clever to turn your amps up to eleven.

All hail the Saviours! We loved their recent mini-album and aren’t disappointed when they let loose with ‘Cavern Of Mind’, their best song to date. It gets a hell of a reception from the crowd and kick-starts a giant moshpit of pumping-fists and ricocheting punters. The band’s hairy bassist looms menacingly over me like a giant ogre, mincing my bones with his stoner grooves. At his side, rapid drills and tom-rolls are being beaten out by the awesome drummer, proudly sporting an AC/DC tee. Then there’s the band’s frontman staggering around spaced-out suggesting, perhaps, one too many pre-show spliffs. By the time they reach the end and ‘Raging Embers’ the crowd and the band are one and they are roared from the stage. They’re gonna be a tough act to follow.

The Sword are just the band to give it a crack. The opening bars of ‘The Sundering’ find their way from their ringleader, John D. Cronise, to our battered ears and, at once, all our defences drop for the final onslaught. They follow up with those two barnstormers of theirs, the colossal rock anthem ‘Maiden, Mother and Crone’ and ‘Barael’s Blade’ from their 2003 debut and it fires up the pit that just doesn’t cease moving for their entire set.

When I reviewed the new ‘Gods Of The Earth’ album I mentioned that it was like the sound of two forces battling. Well, tonight I am in that battle fighting off wave after wave of crushing bodies. Cronise directs the mosh from above, tearing at his guitar (which looks like it’s been hewn out of rock) with skeletal fingers, his giant bell-bottomed jeans swinging back and forth. “Does anyone like riffs?” he yelps before trading them with fellow guitarist, the contantly head-banging and heavily tattooed, Kyle Shutt. The chugging rhythm of ‘Freya’ draws our attention towards bassist Bryan Richie who is revelling in finger-walking his deep-throbbing, orange Fender Telebass. Alongside him the concentration of Trivett Wingo, all beard, sticks and skins, is impressive as he peppers the song with rat-a-tat cracks and rolling snare.

Once more the crowd take centre-stage, literally, as a crowd-surfer rises up and is fed backwards, then forwards, before being dumped unceremoniously on his arse in front of the drumkit. He stays sat there up on stage, quite happy, banging his head and pumping his fists in time with the deafening waves of sound. When the dust has finally settled we realise that this gig has probably broke records for volume levels as, despite wearing earplugs, we’re still hearing remnants of that big Southern sludge-fest ring out even now.

Also online @ TLOBF = http://www.thelineofbestfit.com/2008/04/the-sword-underworld-london-030408/