BRITISH SUMMERTIME, EH? This time last year the country was awash in mud-stained mess. T In The Park was underwater. Creamfields was cancelled. 2000 Trees – by all reports – was a muck-flinging riot. 12 Months later we’re in the middle of a scorching heatwave. There’s not a cloud in the sky. Facefuls of dust have replaced bootfuls of water. The mercury’s tipping 30 degrees.
YOU WANT metal? You got it. The year’s first blockbuster tour is here, ready to crack your neck and put your teeth down your throat. It’s the last night of a mammoth European trek and even though it’s a Sunday, the Glaswegian legions are out in force. School-night or no, there’s plenty of beer to be spilled …and a little blood for good measure.
As Kvelertak take to the high stage and the venue’s bathed in an icy blue glow nearly everyone in attendance is pretty well shitfaced (this is Glasgow on a Saturday night) but there isn’t even a hint of lethargy as wave after wave of energy and aggression sweep through the venue and threaten to tear the place asunder.
YOU KNOW what you’re going to get with a Reel Big Fish show: irrepressible energy, dazzling colour and ear-rattling volume.
The best of British metal? There’s certainly a case that Brummie bruisers Anaal Nathrakh fit that bill. Riding high on stunning seventh studio album Vanitas, they’ve returned to the UK to level the place
2012 may be the year Frank Turner transcended genre and scene loyalties to become a proper player on the domestic (and global) stage but he’s chosen to finish it off with real class – reaffirming his dedication to his roots and hardcore fans who’ve taken him to where he is today.
Early doors mean too many fans arrive just late enough to catch the plaudits for (but not the set of) Upon A Burning Body. Fortunately, German tech-metalcore underdogs Caliban are on hand to lend proceedings some bite.
GALLOWS IS dead. Long live Gallows. If there’s one thing to take from tonight, it’s that – for all their spit and fire – this is not the Gallows of old. They’ve kept the old crowd though. King Tut’s is rammed tonight, and the masses are baying for action.
Could Dragonforce bounce back from the body-blow of losing distinctive vocalist? The ABC is a heaving, sweaty mass this autumnal Friday night, the audience are bustling somewhere between excitement and inebriation and one of the UK autumn’s biggest rock tours is already well underway.
“This time travel crap fries your brain like an egg,” gruffs Jeff Daniels’ ageing Mafia boss Abe towards the start of Rian Johnson’sthird directorial offering. It’s as much a mission statement of bold direction as a plot contrivance. Setting himself the challenge of emulating and expanding themes established in genre classics like The Terminator, 12 Monkeys and – seriously – Back to the Future, Johnson has intricately assembled a clockwork vehicle that’s very nearly up to the task.
It’s been a while since Dragonforce properly toured these shores, but the International shred machine return at the end of this month; hunger for performance to be sated and points to be proven.
Eight hundred-odd punters have rammed themselves into this heaving, long sold-out sweatbox just off Edinburgh’s Royal Mile and though it’s a Monday night at summer’s end, it’s hard to escape the feeling (and constant chatter) that we’re attending the gig of the year.
Returning for its 11th year, Scotland’s Wickerman Festival must sport one of the UK’s most eclectic and characteristic celebrations of live music.
West had proven himself a major new talent in horror by the frantic closing reel of his slay-tanic debut The House Of The Devil. Here, we see him cut loose. Drawing his palette from not-quite-vintage horror we get menace beneath the floorboards, restless souls of lovers scorned and the deserted 80s interiors of The Overlook. If his building had an elevator, it would bleed.