Live 4 Metal - Live Reviews


April 24th - 25th 2009 Prestatyn Words by Chris Davison - Photos by Strawb

"Wales is the land of my fathers, and my fathers can have it", waxed red-haired drunkard Dylan Thomas. Well, as a fellow red-haired drunkard, if he doesn't want it, I'll have it. Journeying the four and a half hours from flattest Fenland through to stunning scenery in Prestatyn, the omens were good. From the team that brought us the Hard Rock Hell festivals, this Metal Hammer sponsored event promised to be just the ticket for those of us looking forward to the summer silly season of dossing in tents, paying £8 for a pint of tepid piss-water and eating botulism-in-a-bun. First impressions were excellent, thanks to super-friendly reception staff, security staff that were likewise both amiable and helpful, and a clean and comfortable chalet. Strawbs, ever the consummate professional, had brought his £6000 camera set up, bristling with more lenses than your average branch of Specsavers, while I was fully equipped with...lined exercise paper and a bic biro (which I promptly lost). Ho hum. With three stages, one of which was conveniently situated in a pub, there was always a band playing to go and see. With beer prices not exceeding £3 a pint, and hot cooked meals available for about £5, this is really the civilised way of doing things. Like some kind of bizarre, psychedelic nightmare, the holiday camp was transformed into a nest of metal heads and long-haired degenerates of all shapes, much to the bemusement of the sweet old lady in the camp shop, confronted as she was with the strangest customers since the last St. Johns Ambulance long-weekend.


First up were Imicus, an inoffensive enough band, full of chunky riffs, but rather lacking in the chutzpah. An average, if inauspicious start to Friday, barely had I time to down a couple of pints when Thirteenth Sign came to the stage. Their brand of rabid, merciless blackened death / thrash certainly put a deranged smile on my face, and the only questions I could think of were "why haven't I heard these guys before?" and "why are they playing on this tiny stage?". Spikier and angrier than a hedgehog with a firecracker up its arse, this lot were one of the true highlights of the weekend. Onto the second stage rumbled Blood Island Raiders. Their traditional melding of pure heavy metal and doom has been doing the rounds for some years now, but this was the first chance that I had caught them. A modest crowd lapped up a competent set, with some killer material interspersed with some fairly ordinary songs. While entertained, I could perhaps begin to see why they are destined to always be the bridesmaids of British metal, never the brides. Quite the opposite in Trigger the Bloodshed, the much hyped so-called "saviours" of British death metal. What they had in technical ability, which was there in abundance, particularly with their hyper-kinetic drumming, they unfortunately lacked something in the sound, which reverberated around the main arena a little too much to allow for clarity. Perhaps at their most compelling when the pace slowed down, they were clearly a band that I need to check out more in the future. The Rotted had a real buzz about them prior to their appearance. Gorerotted are dead, buried, and have no chance of being reanimated, zombie like, and to be honest, even as a big fan of that outfit, if it means that The Rotted get to play like they did, I'm glad. A filthy, rock n' roll blast of righteous fury and bad-times gallows humour, the audience were stunned by the sheer unrelenting anger rattling from the speakers. Who would have known that taking equal measures Screamin' Daemon and Gorerotted could produce an untameable beast greater than the sum of their parts? The finest, most indefinable extreme metal act in the UK at present? On this performance, certainly. Architects tell us "We're not sure why we're on this bill, to be
honest". Well, in the vein of being transparent guys, I wasn't sure why, either. They may be endlessly fellated in the music press, but to my ears they were a dreadful, head-up-their-own-arses morass of tedium smothered sauce.

No such problems for the mighty Paradise Lost. Once written off during their ...erm...shall we say "experimental" period in the early 2000's, this was the triumphant spectacle of a heavyweight of British quality back on form. Leaning heavily on material from "Icon" and "Draconian Times", they were completely on top of their game. From the drab, droll delivery of Mr Holmes, through to the shockingly heavy sound, this lot left me remembering why I loved them way back when, and feeling ashamed that I had consigned them to my mental recycle bin. Boys, I'm sorry. Will you have me back? Opeth may be considered untouchable to many, but I've never really got their twiddly, fiddly, fucking sterile take on death metal. Being static on stage to the point of looking like a collection of badly dressed mannequins, it was all I could do to stay put for three tracks. Choices, choices. Listen to Opeth or drink Whiskey and eat Hob Nobs back in the Chalet? Said wholesome diet, alas, meant that I missed Kiaus, who I had been looking forward to. Kids, take it from your uncle Chris; Whiskey, biscuits and a 6am start will gang up on you. Just say no, mmmmmmmkay ?



Saturday started with the entirely disturbing sight of Strawbs drinking whiskey in bed, in his pants. At 7.30 am. Suffice it to say that my poor, abused kidneys weren't about to have any of it, and with a headache the size of Wales itself, I tenderly went down the pub to check out the Rising Records stage. Thanks to the timings of the stage being cocked up, I have no idea who was playing at any one time - not helped by the fact that 75% of them looked the same, played the same songs, (you know, that sceney-deathcore that all the whippernsnappers love so much).
First great band of the day were the hitherto unheard Attica Rage. They may have a shit name, but boy did these Scottish chaps rock. A filthy mix of traditional heavy metal with hints of thrash about them, their likeable stage presence, earnest approach and storming covers (Saxon AND Motorhead? Oh yeah!) meant that I put their album on my "to buy list". Sacred Mother Tongue have gotten better since the last time I saw them. A LOT better. Their guitarist is still bloody amazing, and if only they could avoid shouting out to their London posse at every given opportunity, I might be more inclined to like them. Some strong material got played, but all a bit overshadowed by the nagging feeling that they were being smart arses. Grand Magus play to a packed house, and after three festivals missing them due to other bands being on the bill, I wasn't about to miss them this time. When the boys ripped into "Kingslayer", it was truly one of those "hairs standing on the back of your neck" moments. Understated but the epitome of "crushing", this was heavy metal to remember. I don't believe them to be the
missionary types, but given the amount of fresh converts heard singing their praises, they should think about taking the word of metal to the unbelieving masses.
Tyr had clearly reaped the rewards of a punishing tour schedule of late. This is a much tighter, more engaging band than the one I saw last year. Relaxed and entertaining, the band cut an impressive figure in their bespoke leather armour and chain mail, and their brand of dark, anthemic folk metal was lapped up by a crowd bewitched by their pagan hymns. Alestorm proved once more why they are the quintessential festival band. Upbeat and fun to the point of being utterly insane, there was more plastic being waved about in the air than at the January sales. Any doubts I had about the new line up were soon cast aside, and the sight of a jubilant Chris and Dani having a keytar / guitar duel was too infectious not to smile at. While the vocals weren't...erm...strong, the crowd filled in at any rate. Know someone depressed? Get them down to the next Alestorm gig. If they don't start smiling, chances are they're dead anyway. Voodoo Six played like it was their last gig. Their brand of theatrical heavy rock n' roll may not be my cup of tea, but I had to hand it to them - they knew how to work an audience.
Skindred were recommended to me by our chalet mates. A bizarre mix of reggae, rock, dance and rap, you may well be within your rights to assume that I would hate them. Truth is, I wouldn't buy their material, but by God did they have the audience in the palm of their hands. Benji Webbe could be on the stand up circuit with his chutzpah infused banter, and the vast sea of writhing, leaping metal heads played testament to their sheer entertainment.



Conventional wisdom would have it that without a Cavalera brother, Sepultura cannot exist. Conventional wisdom is bollocks. I have never, ever seen the band so tight, so heavy and so utterly convincing, and I have seen them with one Cavalera and two Cavalera's. Their set, heavy on classic cuts from "Arise" and "Beneath the Remains" and newer tracks from "Dante" and "A-Lex" is a veritable audio steamroller. Mainman Derrick knocked the audience backwards with his power, and quite how Andreas Kisser managed to make his sole guitar sound like a battalion of axes short of sheer witchcraft is a mystery to me. The main hall emptied to about two thirds of that of Skindred to welcome the almighty Saxon. How is it that this could happen? Are there so many metal heads who think that Saxon begin and end with "747"?With the energy of a man half, no, a third of his age, Biff showed everyone quite what it means to be a frontman. Newer songs from "Into the Labyrynth" sounded monstrously heavy in the live setting, while the pure, exuberant appeal of classics like "Denim and Leather", "Strong Arm of the Law" and "Motorcycle Man" served to punctuate the embarrassment of
riches held in their vast back catalogue.
Cathedral don't play shit gigs, and like fine wine, only get better with age. Has there ever been a British metal band so outstandingly brilliant but criminally overlooked? It had been almost a decade since I had last seen them, but this was an utter treat. Playing at 1am, this was sheer doom-heaven. My only complaint is that they relied a little too heavily on "The Carnival Bizarre" at the expense of other material (wot no Stained Glass Horizon?), but hearing "North Berwick Witch Trials" for the first time was nothing short of religious. A quick blast of a new track proved most pleasing to the ears too. Maya Roxx take to the stage at the ungodly hour of 2am, when only the most pissed or most hardy of the fatigued throng are still awake. It's a shame to see a band trying so hard to such an oblivious audience, and though their sleazy rock isn't my thing, they're a likeable enough outfit.
Two days, a metric fuck-ton of fun, and some brilliant performances later, and we appear to have a new contender for festival of the year on the blocks. I may once have sneered at the Metal Hammer boast to be "Defenders of the Faith", (after all, the memory of Coal Chamber and chums is hard to forget), but as long as they can put their names to such an expansive, eclectic, friendly and reasonable festivals, they've got something to brag about.