Adorior (27/9/25, Helgi’s, London, England, UK)

Posted on 28th July 2026 by MRDA

September the 27th, 2025, was a day I’d pencilled in as a “maybe” for my gig log. ’90s alt-rock favourites Republica were scheduled to play at the Garage, and I’d waited quite a bit to finally see them in person, that first album, especially its infamous lead single, making an impression on me.

In the end, “maybe” became “definitely”, and I was indeed “ready to go” — just not to Republica.

Amongst other incentives, one thing that got my arse down to Brighton to see Adorior headline last year’s Doomsday Fest was its initial billing as their only UK show for 2025. As such, it certainly hit like a lightning bolt to see another home-turf date announced just days before their desecration of the South Coast, with Helgi’s — my most visited venue of ’25 — hosting the heresy ahead of the band’s Stateside strikes. The prospect of seeing its sepulchral sphincter get a right royal fisting from the Haters of Fucking Humans proved too tempting to turn down.

Daubed in the blood of the Fistress.

Fast forward to the day (exactly a year after my first encounter with them at their 30th-anniversary show), and I arrived to see Helgi’s stuffed to the rafters, the most packed I’ve seen it since frequenting the venue. Many familiar, friendly faces, including members of Overthrow, Priest Strangler, and Necro Ritual, helped make up the scrum of this sold-out show, further swelled by the straggler clog after opening time swung by without an opening of doors. Still, even with the bar area shifting into a bipedal-sardine tin, I shared a series of warm hellos with Melissa, the Jaded Lungs of Adorior, and caught up with various others, making the clogged wait less of a pain in the arse.

After an extra half-hour wait, the doors finally yielded, with proceedings getting off the ground not long after. Stepping onto the stage for their second-ever show, nascent four-piece Sätaniak, featuring London metal-media luminary Nattskog (Jørgen Kirby) shredding on strings, got things going with a set made up of songs from their demo and a pair of covers. ‘Reaper’s Wrath’ (quite jaunty for a song about Death) and ‘Aswang’ (a more sinister-sounding number centred on folklore from vocalist Dez Destructor’s Filipino roots) stood out, as did the covers of Manila Road’s ‘Necropolis’ and Whiplash’s ‘Power-Thrashing Death’, the latter being a particular favourite of mine from that band’s catalogue. As well as nailing it on sheer musicianship, they even managed to inspire the first pit motions of the night amongst the audience: not bad for a new, unknown opening band!

Under the Ashes followed, setting the rest of the night on more familiar ground. Having seen them open for Inhuman Nature months prior and acquainted myself with their subsequently released debut album, Sacrifices Heaped, I was more than prepared for the London quartet’s gravel-throated brand of death-thrash. They, in turn, were more than prepared for Helgi’s, vocalist/bassist Simon roaring over the riffs about such cheery topics as drone strikes (‘Circling Above’), religious indoctrination (‘Deus Vult’), being fed through the military meatgrinder (the album’s title track), and nuclear annihilation (‘Flash of Light’). A strong, solid set — all the more so for my increased familiarity with their tracks since I last saw them — and a fitting lead-in for the night’s headliners.

Adorior, of course, grasped the baton and ran with it, maintaining the military theme a mite longer with the battlefield-betrayal blitzkrieg of ‘Begrime Judas’, Melissa fixing the audience with stares, glares, and side-eyes as she snarled, “WOULD YOU DO IT AGAIN?”

🎵 WOULD YOU? 🎵

So far so Brighton in tone, if not in structure. The omission of the rousing ‘Ritualised Combat (Sin, Sin, Sin)’ from the night’s setlist gave me some cause for lament: what better spot than the pit of Helgi’s to hail Satan?

🎵 CRAVING BONDAGE, CRAVING SIN… 🎵

However, that cloud came with summat much better than a silver lining in the form of a much-desired live debut.

During my months-long immersion in Bleed on My Teeth, one deep cut that coiled its way round my cranium was its second track, ‘Ophidian Strike’, a story of serpents seeking shelter, predatory priesthoods, succouring succubi, and dirty dyadic deeds of destructive desecration brought to full-bodied life by some of the blackest, gnarliest death-thrash chugs and snarls yet committed to disc. It even added a new word — “velleities” — to the vocabulary, which is always welcome.

As such, since before Brighton, I’d been badgering the band to grant the venomous beast a spot on their setlist.

🎵 SLITHER, CREEP…. 🎵

And then, in the wake of ‘Gutters of Cum’ being blasted from the freshly erected six-incher of a stage, came the highlight of my night.

“This one’s for you, motherfucker!” Melissa declared, pointing my way. “Can you guess what it is yet?”

“Izzit about snakes?” I asked, playing along.

“Might be,” she replied over the shoulder before letting the viper rip.

What followed was a room pulsating to the menace of Ro and Steve’s riffage, with a pair of Jaded Lungs invoking vengeance, regurgitated semen rivers, prostrations before sacred cunts, and building thrones from the bones of “dead fucking gods”, during which, the owner of said lungs, noting my vocal participation, clasped my hand and pulled me in for this caustic verse:

Your kisses forked with skyte
I am toxic — you are spite
Sulphuric hearth is dusted
Neither can be trusted
Not to BITE!

Shortly after came the instrumental eruption that set off a heartily cheering blastwave of bodies, some catching me on the back. This would not be the only such instance during the night’s set.

Finally, as the serpent slithered offstage, Melissa, visibly spent, jolted forth and gasped, “Fucking hell! That song’s a cunt to sing!” Laughter ensued before the band tore through another blistering rendition of high-octane revenge tragedy ‘Scavengers of Vengeance’.

Indeed, her bearing throughout the set proved a sharp contrast to that at Brighton, more mirthful than martial this time around. Playing to a small room full of London regulars in a favoured venue no doubt helped, as opposed to the uncertain territory of the southern seafront. As such, banter flowed freely between songs, with Melissa charging the audience “an extra 50p” for seeing drummer Dan take his top off, joking about catching Tom’s bass up her arse (his instrument claiming yet another victim post-Brighton), later joking about the band saving up to get Tom an abortion, and ribbing one unfortunate front-row bastard for his “shoddy, cheap work” after the banner he’d helped mount took a stagedive between second-album title track ‘Author of Incest’ and ‘LOTP (Vomit, Vomit, Vomit, Bastard)’.

Speaking of ‘LOTP’, everyone’s favourite circus-riffed portrait of a sex predator proved to be the other number, besides ‘Ophidian Strike’, that really roused the room, the crowd throbbing tumescently in a manner the song’s subject would know all too well.

Author of Incest deep cut ‘Behold Barbarity’, heralded by Ro’s demand to “see some fucking aggression going”, also had a none-too-shabby airing, if not quite as propulsive.

Come the time of ‘Birth of Disease’, the whole room was sweating like a Mohammedan rape gang eyeing up some “easy meat”. With a dedication to their “brothers” in Deströyer 666 (who would’ve gone on to join them Stateside if not for logistical bollocks), Melissa and co. once again launched into their ten-minute take on the Nativity in all its blasphemous, erotic-grotesque, misanthropic glory. As ever, the addictive mid-song refrain — built up to beautifully by a sequence comprised of post-birth cunni-incestual ejaculation, “afterbirth”, “orgy”, and “umbilical autoerotic asphyxiation” — elicited enthusiastic audience participation and mic points from the Fistress of ceremonies, though I may have jumped ahead a repetition on my turn, such was the rush.

The Luciferian bile of ‘Hater of Fucking Humans’ and the memento mori of Bleed‘s title track once again saw out a stellar set with a “pentagram of swords”, London’s filthiest, aptly enough, declining to go down without a “STRIKE” or several.

Just as Brighton had been the coastal coup, Adorior’s assault on Helgi’s proved the sterling slither-off before they sank their fangs Stateside. Satisfied with the play of events, especially my desired deep-cut debut, I extracted myself from the sardine tin after some fond farewells, leaving it well and truly, to quote the refrain, “crushed by the Fist of the Master”.

~MRDA~

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Genitorturers (11/9/25, Chalk, Brighton, England, UK)

Posted on 28th May 2026 by MRDA

Almost a fortnight after my last memorable visit, I returned to the South Coast for my first gig of the autumn, courtesy of Floridian industrial pervo-rockers Genitorturers. I would’ve seen them in London the following day had it not been announced that my favourite aggrotech blasphemers Psyclon Nine would be supporting them on every date except that one, so Brighton it was.

In something of a vicious reversal, P9 ended up pulling out with no explanation, Welsh five-piece Black Lakes filling their slot. Gutted, I decided to make the jaunt down anyhow, having waited years to see Gen and co. on stage.

Local band Sypha kickstarted the night with their brand of moody alt-rock, vocalist Alicia Pilling dressed ready for a post-gig club night. The likes of ‘Limbo (See You on the Other Side)’ and ‘The Afterparty’ reminded me of some of the stuff that inducted me into the metalverse a quarter-century ago. I didn’t hate it, and the band didn’t outstay its welcome. Succinct but effective.

Unlike what followed.

Strumming their strings somewhere between hard rock and grunge, Black Lakes left me lamenting P9’s absence all the more throughout their set, generic, leaden, and void of verve as their sound was. They clearly seemed to be having a great time onstage, guitarist James Rowlands mugging my lens with lyrics at one point, but their enthusiasm ultimately failed to sell me the likes of ‘Avarice‘ or ‘Dissident‘, their setlist landing as an indistinct burr of college-radio angst. As such, I felt immense relief when the aptly named ‘Dead Gods’ brought the set to its end.

Things perked up considerably once the headliners hit the stage, the band kicking things off with the riotous ‘Revolution‘, a masked, leatherclad Gen making her presence felt even with her slightly submerged vocals. Next came the spoogetastic industrial menace of ‘Cum Junkie‘, during which Gen saw fit to stroke my face with the dildo sabre she wielded, right on the choral line “you know you want it from me” — still not sure what to make of that. Peak depravity, however, arose during ‘Devil in a Bottle‘ (the band’s cry for help to Alcoholics Anonymous), with an indecently exposed Satan shaking his saveloy before a decidedly female-weighted audience, eliciting screams from the ladies in the front row. Good unclean fun.

Other highlights included an acute reversal of BDSM dynamics during the pulsating ‘House of Shame‘; a monster preacher’s failed exorcism during the hard-driving depravity of ‘Lecher Bitch‘; and said preacher crawling around, disrobed, with bits of the Bible stapled onto him during Sadean shredfest ‘120 Days‘, a firm favourite of mine. However, not all the stops were pulled out for the band’s South Coast stop-off, with the body-piercing, crucifix-nailing, scrotum-stapling, anal-beading shenanigans I’ve read about elsewhere being given the night off. Maybe it was a stage-logistics thing; what I later read of the next day’s London show suggested they’d at least put on more of a spectacle for the Big Smoke.

Beyond the relatively subdued stagecraft, I was disappointed not to hear playlist favourite ‘Public Enemy #1‘: its choral line “target’s on my head — I better get a gun” would have been grimly fitting given the assassination of conservative activist Charlie Kirk the day before. (Actually, ‘Guns Are Good’ would’ve scratched the macabre itch better, but I like ‘Public Enemy’ a mite more, so whatever!) Still, at least they capped the night off with a hot-rolling rendition of ‘Sin City‘ (which would work beautifully as a theme tune for a televisual take on its graphic-novel namesake), and I got to have a chat and selfie with the big G herself, during which she joked about me reminding her of her own lyrics via my participation from the front.

Thus, despite the disappointments, large and small, my first live exposure to Gen and co. mostly hit the spot. Maybe next time, I’ll see them put on a show worthy of a lifetime ban from whichever London venue they decide to defile.

~MRDA~

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Doomsday Fest 2025 (30/8/25, Green Door Store, Brighton, England, UK)

Posted on 25th January 2026 by MRDA

I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed when I cast eyes on the bill for the 2025 Doomsday Fest in Brighton, being mostly composed, as it was, of bands that had left me cold live, bands I liked that I’d seen a few too many times prior, bands whose studio output I’d found hit ‘n’ miss, and bands I just plain can’t listen to without wanting to put on something else. Indeed, a fellow attendee wasn’t exactly off the mark in dubbing the line-up “the Monty Python of bills”.

There was one glaring exception to this trend: Adorior, my favourite “fist metal” band, perched right at the top of the bill for their first UK show outside London!

I’d already been dipping into their discography prior to their 30th anniversary show in 2024, but that night sent me back in with a sharper appetite, especially for Bleed on My Teeth, which the show also served to launch. Even then, I experienced it as an intriguing but difficult record I’d intermittently return to amongst more immediately gratifying releases. Then came a night of charged interaction with frontwoman Melissa Gray (Jaded Lungs) at Subterranean Manifestation IV, where she was present as punter rather than performer. From then on, my spins of Bleed increased to the point that it became (and remains) something of a daily ritual, living up to its name (and cover art) at least metaphorically.

Add to that the fact that, up until a week prior, Doomsday was billed as Adorior’s only UK show for 2025 (and first UK show outside of London) plus the ease of getting to and from Brighton, as far as out-of-town locales go, and you can see why picking up a ticket became a no-brainer for me.

Come the day, getting to the venue proved to be a piece of piss, having taken a gander at it on the way to see Gary Numan a couple of months prior. Located below and behind the train station, The Green Door Store had something of a quirky, rickety youth-centre vibe to it, complete with kitschy decor, rainbow flags, and gender-neutral bogs plastered with old-school graffiti and the latest in ideological crusades, parking it firmly in the 2020s—#TurfTheTERFBigot!

Turnout-wise, I was surprised and disappointed by the dearth of “the London crew” — recognisable regulars — among the attendees. I knew the Necro Ritual lads had their own headline slot in Hungary that night, but most of the others who sounded like they were gonna make it just…didn’t. The only familiar face in the crowd was a Brightoner who frequents a fair few London shows. On the personnel side of things, I saw various members of the billed bands milling about or manning stands, including, in Adorior’s case, bassist Tom (TNT Tank) and axeman Steve (Stevil Offender, also the mastermind behind Qrixkuor). A chat with Steve confirmed what I’d already guessed: Melissa, drummer Dan (D. Molestör), and guitarist Ro (Ro) were off elsewhere. I figured they’d all show up…whenever.

Between all this, downing flat cider, and being held hostage by the terminally loquacious, I decided to take in the other bands, curious to see if they’d exceed my humble expectations.

Local act Noiseboy opened up the show in blunt and blistering fashion, with vocalist/programmer Adam Sedgwick growling over glitchwork, spotlighted and secluded by visualiser L. Bateman. Despite being generally disenchanted with the supports, I will admit I looked forward to this act thanks to the artful abrasion of their EP, Retina Burn. The grinding industrial menace of ‘Teethgrinder’ and ‘Feral Star‘ landed just as well live as on record, partly due to the confrontational on-the-floor performance of Sedgwick, who alternated between bellowing at assorted audience members and fine-tuning those gnarly samplers and synthesisers.

If Noiseboy met the audience where it was, Bognor Regis duo Troll Mother made first use of the stage, singer–guitarist Roman Boswell and sticksman Alex Trouchkin performing their brand of “power sludge” with shirtless abandon. Having found their Forest Child EP to be rather meandering, composed of a prologue that outstays its welcome and a pair of 11-minute slogfests, I found myself pleasantly upended by the verve and immediacy of whateverthefuck they chose to play that day. Upcoming tracks? Songs condemned to live-performance limbo, like a post-’90s Sisters of Mercy track? Answers on a postcard, please!

Having seen fellow Londoners Overthrow play virtually the same set multiple times over the preceding years, watching their set felt more like slipping into a pair of comfy-but-worn blackened-death loafers than the full-throated exhilaration of the first couple of times. Still, opener ‘Caustic Vengeance (Blindly Driven)’ and the EP’s title track, ‘Ascension of the Entombed’, retain considerable potency, hitting that sweet zone of immersion where tremolo plucks and blastbeats fuck. I’ll also give them kudos for their top-notch take on Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’, no doubt added to honour the then-recently departed Ozzy Osbourne.

It only took seeing Vorga once to get the pre-emptive fatigue going. Their April set in London seemed to stretch on for millennia and a day, highlights such as ‘Starless Sky‘ and the excellent ‘Comet‘ being but buoys in a sea of sameness, the kind that offer a glimmer of hope before the tide drags you back under. It’s not that “cosmic black metal” can’t be done well — The Last Eon’s Internal Fractality being a sterling example — but, for me, the Teutonic troupe fail to launch more often than not, their aural output not quite reaching the heights of their impressively interstellar visuals, cyberkvlt get-up, and flashes of lyrical nous. Their Doomsday set didn’t do much to change my mind, and the equipment hiccups probably helped bench ‘Comet’ for this set. At least things were kept brief this time.

Cambridge chunder merchants Celestial Sanctuary stepped up next, their chunky, pounding riffage kicking off the first moshpits of the day. Vocalist–guitarist Thomas Cronin also made a point of barking the crowd awake, even throwing me a fistbump at one point — can’t fault the energy! That said, their stuff plays in the lane of what I like to call “dull-bludgeon death metal”: the kind of DM that struggles to keep a grip on me, too light on memorable hooks, shapely riffs, or any ritual texture, occasional standouts like ‘Trapped Within the Rank Membrane‘ aside. Seeing them a third time only reinforced that view.

Belgian deathgrind nutters Brutal Sphincter did a better job of churning out distinctive ditties from their gonzo blend, amping the throb of the crowd several notches up from the last set. Going by the pit eruption and the chatter of a few people earlier in the day, I figured that this was the band most Doomsdayers had turned up for. Crabwalkers and windmillers collided to the bouncing grind of tracks like ‘Sphinct-Earth Society’, ‘Tony Hawk’s Pro-Choice 2022’, ‘Anders Breivik Utoya Party’, and (aptly) ‘Beatdown Syndrome’. Fun tracks on the whole, even if the more topical ones verged on boilerplate. Between songs, vocalist GG Stalin’s brave and unprecedented stabs at antivaxxers, flat-earthers, and Nazis reminded me of Xander’s pro-fight speechifying in Cobra Kai, prompting my inner Johnny Lawrence to roll his eyes as the crowd cheered on cue.

As the sphinctered and satisfied shuffled out for a post-set ciggy, my arse stayed parked for Adorior. Before long, the blokes in the band filed in to set up, followed shortly by Melissa; clocking each other, we shared a brief but warm exchange before she too fell into set-up mode, readying the night’s final strike.

And what a fucking strike!

Growling “GET DOWN THE FUCKING FRONT!” through jaded lungs at those furthest from the stage, Melissa introduced the band, who launched straight into ‘Ritualised Combat (Sin, Sin, Sin)‘, the second track from their much-lauded sophomore album, Author of Incest. Snarled descriptions of burning messiahs, scraping skins for dancing in, and Christridden whores getting their faces caved in rode on a wave of careering guitars and undergirding drumwork, Melissa thrusting her mic at the front row to catch the errant cries of “HAIL! HAIL! HAIL SATAN!”, bolstering her bandmates’ own bellows. As the song neared its end, she rose in coiled fashion to survey her prey; the instrumentals gave way, leaving only the squeal of Ro’s guitar, offering her a pocket to address the “morsels to [her] altar”:

“ALRIGHT, BRIGHTON — HAIL SATAN!”

On cue, Dan drummed back in for the outro, stickwork fit for a tribal warband; the others followed, instruments crashing back in as they kicked off an infectious chant of hails that gripped certain front-row diehards; finally, Melissa swooped in with her own hails to His Infernal Majesty, seeing out the tone-setting opening attack.

And, make no mistake, the band were in attack mode on hitherto unclaimed terrain, Melissa bearing down on the audience like a feral war priestess, all death glares, gritted teeth, matted mane, and a choice line in taunts: “What’s the matter? Are you afraid of me? You should be.” Given this, and given that Adorior dub themselves “fist metal”, with her as the onstage focal point, ritual commander, co-founder, and the main creative axis, how the fuck could I not nickname her “(the) Fistress”? 

That same energy coursed through their performance of Bleed‘s opening track, ‘Begrime Judas‘, a sober, considered meditation on leaving the treacherous with their “EYES POUND SHUT” and savouring the “sweet” “sound of their defeat”. It seeped through its second single, ‘LOTP — Vomit, Vomit, Vomit, Bastard‘, a track characterised by a cryptic title, a protagonist as competent as he is contemptible, riffs fit for a grotesque carnival, and a caustic couplet that merges the sexual and existential beautifully (“Are your fingers wet with masturbation?/Did you dare to question all of creation?”), Melissa sounding throughout like Nina Hagen and Wendy O. Williams having a knifefight or mudwrestle — pick your poison. It then throbbed through Author of Incest‘s title track, which, lyrically speaking, reads like Pay It Forward but with demon rape.

Cursory glances behind me showed the floor split between the immersed and invested at the front and those further back, who seemed united by a shared sense of What the fuck’s this?

Following a drum-key mishap, the engines revved up again for Bleed‘s heralding single ‘Scavengers of Vengeance’, a whirlwind ride along the blackened junction of death and thrash, with “pentagrams of petrol burning hot” lighting the path to “retribution void”. Performance-wise, it brought out the best in the band, with Ro especially losing himself in the frenzy and Tom, their self-described “dirty shirtless animal”, adding a procession of hails at key points. Melissa and I shared a lyrically appropriate “stinging” fistbump as she tore through a tale of “teeth kicked out”, eyes “beaten SHUT” (a recurring Bleed motif), and “wonder stolen, broken, soiled”, its protagonist denied release and resolution even as its galloping stampede of a riff — earlier interrupted by design in an act of aural edging — is allowed to play out the song in full.

Then came ‘Birth of Disease’, the closest thing Adorior have to an “epic”, clocking in at almost ten minutes! On paper, that reads like an exhausting, skippable bloatfest — think latter-day Maiden or a studio slog by the aforementioned Troll Mother — but in execution, it’s a twisted, blasphemous erotic-grotesque masterpiece gagging for back-to-back replays. Despite the lyrics being the only ones in the Adorior stable not written by Melissa — co-founding ex-bassist Chris Nunravager picking up the pen for this — they nevertheless sound tailor-made for her throat. Imagine Toshio Maeda writing the Nativity, and you’re basically in the right thematic ballpark.

Ro and Steve kicked things off for its Brighton premiere, riffing up the anticipatory fabric that Melissa promptly tore through with a scream before she snarled out the story of the “spawn of slut and abattoir semen” in a manner that’d make Sade squirm. As on disc, she sold the build-up to the little fucker’s depraved emergence “on a gust of vaginal breath”, with the slow, portentous riffage framing her account of him “tast[ing] the cunt of the cunt” who birthed him; Dan’s infectious drum-in then kicked off the gang-chant refrain that makes this track especially memorable, hitting harder this time as Melissa swung the mic my way for the first couple of cycles. She then gave a cycle to another at the front before pulling the mic back for the remaining chants:

“CRUSHED… BY THE FIST OF THE MASTER!”

From then, the song became an indictment, Melissa fingerjabbing at the crowd with “CUNT! CUNT! CUNT! CUNT!” before sneering about how “the scent of mankind’s weakness makes his cock hard” and how “spineless fucks will pay his price” as the bass became more thumpingly insistent — not just aurally in my case, as Tom’s axe ended up twatting me on the bonce!

“I was waiting for that!” I laughed, given he was the closest body to my side of the stage.

After further serrating of the species’ slavishness, the grand unveiling of its malevolent lord/master/pimp (I’d say whom, but I’m scribing this on a Sunday), and a chaotic spiral of solos and returning riffs, the track reached its end with Melissa glaring from the stage, leg cocked, caked in sweat, hair plastered to her face, wrecked in the best possible way.

The strike drew to a formidable close with the one-two punch of ‘Hater of Fucking Humans’ and Bleed‘s title track: the former with the title that played its part in turning me onto this band, the notably sadistic chorus (“I like to make things suffer ‘cuz it makes me feel alive!”), and one of the best parting salutes put to disc (“Hail Lucifer — Prince of Thrones, the light of my fucking world!”); the latter, a memento-mori rumination on loss, choice, and how Chronos, that gluttonous cunt, feasts on all his kids. “Time takes everything” indeed, including this sterling set, but at least the Strike of the Knuckleduster had well and truly left its mark on Brighton.

In the hustle of the fest’s aftermath, I caught up with Melissa for a pocket, during which she made clear — in words far from generic — how much my being down the front had helped. Satisfied with the payoff after a long, bumpy road of a day, and with her and the other personnel being pulled 666 ways towards a rushed exit, I grabbed some grub from the local chippy and got on the first train back to London, hoping it’d get there before my Tube turned into a fucking pumpkin.

Such was Doomsday 2025, a mixed bag, containing some surprises, some solid efforts, and some short of the mark, ultimately redeemed by a first-class choice of headliner. The presence of Necro Ritual and Devastator, two other firm favourites, on this year’s bill promises better for it as a whole, enough for me to snap up a ticket for another end-of-summer outing. Rotting Christ’s Sakis Tolis as headliner’s a decent pick too, even if his output doesn’t quite fire the blood the way Adorior’s does; in any case, it’ll be a fucking feat not to measure his performance against that of the Haters of Fucking Humans.

~MRDA~

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Men Without Hats (25/8/25, The Garage, London, England, UK)

Posted on 4th January 2026 by MRDA

August Bank Holiday Monday saw me make a long-awaited return to the Garage in Islington to finally see an act that has long been a staple of my gargantuan ’80s playlist, Men Without Hats. Known primarily for their infectious 1982 hit ‘The Safety Dance’, the Canadian crew hit London as part of their 2025 European tour.

They received ample support from Midlanders The Rude Awakening, a synthpop duo who seem to primarily ply their trade with covers of much loved ’80s hits, sprinkling on the odd original for seasoning. As a modern-day opening act for an ’80s band plugging into ’80s material, Bridget Gray and Johnny Normal did a decent job of warming up the crowd. I appreciated their good taste in choosing Japan’s ‘Quiet Life’, Visage’s ‘Fade to Gray’, and Blancmange’s ‘Living on the Ceiling’ as cover material, and I credit them for introducing me to OMD’s ‘Tesla Girls’ by way of their excellent take on the song. Their own efforts, though less in my lane, weren’t bad, ‘She Has a Juice Box’ having a chilled, trippy modern-nightclub vibe for those who dig that kinda thing. A competent, if somewhat karaoke, start.

The hallowed headliners later hit the ground running, kicking off, and arguably blowing their wad, with their most iconic hit, eliciting the swaying, singalong participation of the audience. Vocalist, founder, and sole original member Ivan Doroschuk, at an agile and energetic 68, strode, danced, and flexed his way across the stage, pipes firing on all cylinders, unmolested by the passing of decades.

His enthusiasm was matched by that of beaming guitarist Sho Murray, who stole the spotlight with his axework at choice moments. Adrian White amply attended to rhythmic matters on drums, whilst original keyboardist Colin Doroschuk’s daughter—and Ivan’s niece— Sahara Sloan handled her father’s role with a knack that would no doubt elicit a wholesome “#ThatsWhatDaddyLikes” from the old man were he attendant.

Songwise, the setlist ran the gamut from their earliest synth material (my main draw) to their more rock-oriented post-’80s material. It was especially nice to hear ‘Where Do the Boys Go?’ from second album Folk of the 80’s (Part III) and the deceptive, chiptunesque chirpiness of ‘Antarctica’ from debut album Rhythm of Youth; I’ll also give special mention to their then-newest single ‘I Love the ’80s’, a fun little callback to the era in which they placed themselves on the map, complete with the cheesy-yet-awesome lyric 🎵Terminator, come and save me!🎵

Their less synthy numbers left me colder, however, and as nice as it was to hear two additional versions of ‘The Safety Dance’—the ‘Extended Club Mix’ and the slower, more sober ‘No Friends of Mine’ variant—I’d have happily seen them swapped out for tracks such as the jaunty ‘Living in China’, the bouncy ‘Ideas for Walls’, anti-martyrdom anthem ‘Messiahs Die Young’, and ‘The Great Ones Remember’ with its menacing synth line that, combined with the title, brings to mind a looming “alien” fleet waiting to retake the planet, for some reason.

Still, my first live reckoning with the hatless ones was a good, if not quite epic, night out, the set very much being carried by the energy and expertise of the performance despite the hit-and-miss setlist. No doubt fans of the band’s broader discography found more to like in regard to the latter, and I suppose the band’s cover of ABBA’s ‘SOS’ wasn’t too bad either. I suppose I’d make the barriers again were the band to pull, say, a “Rhythm of the ’80s” tour out of a ha—

Oh, wait!

~MRDA~

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Antediluvian (24/8/25, The Black Heart, London, England, UK)

Posted on 30th December 2025 by MRDA

Morbid Angle events always, at least, ping my curiosity radar, and their late-August four-band bill, featuring esoteric Canadian blackened-death dealers Antediluvian as the headline act, maintained that pattern. Though the names on the bill were initially unfamiliar to me, a listen or two to each of them, plus the gig taking place on Bank Holiday Sunday, had me thinking it was worth booking the night off for at least half the line-up, even if my initial reaction to hearing the headline act was “What the fuck’s this!?”

My reaction was less adverse when I first listened to Äxe, the opening act of the night. Indeed, I’d been so impressed by their output, in its gravelly, crust-laden blackened thrashiness, that I’d ordered their Warriors of the Death Raid demo on CD months prior. Their live set maintained the goodwill established by their studio output, with the London-based band delivering a memorable evening-opening onslaught. Vocalist Neheroth, “FUKK OFF AND DIE” scrawled across his chest, barked and growled like a feral, apocalyptic attack dog whilst his riff ‘n’ rhythm section smashed and shredded away under the ever-altering lighting; together, their combined efforts throughout tracks like ‘Face the Grave’, ‘Bleeding Cross’, and the ever chantable ‘No False’ amounted to the aural, Anglophone equivalent of those charming spaghetti wasteland Mad Max homages, the instrumental grit and grime bringing to mind the fuzz of a constantly rewound VHS tape.


Speaking of analogue media, this ended up being the second time this year that I’d left a gig with an audio cassette in tow, thanks, this time, to Jadyn/Luciferhammer from Priest Strangler, whom I’d lent a tenner to get his own copy of Warriors in said format, only for him to come back with an extra instead of the expected change. It’ll certainly sit pristine on the shelf, along with the other tape, if nowt else.

Next to grace the stage were Kiwi hard hitters Vicissitude, pounding out their own brand of the dense, textured blackened-death metal that would go on to characterise the rest of the night. For one night only, they were joined by none other than Diabolical Mocker (Daniel), former bassist of Gorgon Vomit, filling in for absent members on growls and guitars. Forebodingly chunky multi-tempo riffage proved very much the order of the set, with both guitarists and the bassist bellowing their gravel-lined lungs out throughout the numbered tracks from their album Neolithic Necrocannibals—all numbered numbers, as it were. Setting the pace with the album’s first track, the four-piece thundered through their cavernous cuts with unrelenting conviction, to the point where a string on Daniel’s guitar sprang loose toward the end. Fortunately, he and the band managed to wrap up their set without any musical mishaps. Solid stuff.

Next came the band I’d most been looking forward to, the second set of Maple Leafers on the bill, Ceremonial Bloodbath. Having enjoyed listening to their discography, particularly their latest album, Genesis of Malignant Entropy—which I took great pride in snagging on CD on the run-up to the gig due to it being sold out almost everywhere on the planet—my hopes were high for this set, and I was not disappointed. With tracks such as ‘Exhumation of the Ominous’, ‘Howl of Gnawing Teeth’, ‘Caustic Invocation’, and ‘Mutilation of Sacrifice’, Ceremonial Bloodbath exemplified why I rate them as one of the best bands knocking out this style of blackened-death metal alongside the likes of Concrete Winds, Qrixkuor, and Mitochondrion. With the right blend of texture, structure, menace, and fury, they kept me and the rest of the room engaged, aurally and kinetically, for the duration of their sterling set. When I spoke with drummer Nuclear Hammer Throne (Anju Singh) after their set, she expressed a strong desire to return in a headlining capacity. I for one hope they follow through on that.

As for the actual headliners of the night, they certainly made an impression on the room, who received the likes of ‘Temple Prostitute’, ‘Tamasic Masturbation’, ‘All Along the Sigils Deep’ and ‘Under Wing of Asael’ with open ears. I, too, enjoyed them, even if not to the same extent as I did the band preceding them; they gave a sturdy, spirited headline performance with an abundant setlist cribbing from different points along their somewhat prolific back catalogue. Vocalist–guitarist Haasiophis (Timothy Grieco) displayed an impressive grasp of gutturals, and the combined instrumental efforts of he and the rest of the band perfectly converged to mark a descent into a spiralling nether realm. Still, the setlist mostly seemed to blend together for me, save some impressive lead licks here and there (‘Sigils Deep’, I’m looking at you). A strong showcase of a band for which I’ve still yet to fully acquire a taste.

Overall, however, I’d call this gig a serrated success, with Morbid Angle once again assembling a brutal bill of underground formidables. Here’s to Ceremonial Bloodbath returning to these shores soon, hopefully at the helm of another MA event.

~MRDA~

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Horror Vacui (19/8/25, Helgi’s, London, England, UK)

Posted on 21st December 2025 by MRDA

The catacombs of Helgi’s proved a fitting spot for Italian goth rockers Horror Vacui to stop off for the London date of their Sleepless Nights tour. It was something of a pleasant surprise to encounter them via YouTube and Bandcamp, a modern goth act channeling the old gods to add something fresh and vital to the genre; however, I found the postage for their discography a bit of a wallet rape; as such, this gig served as a way to kill two birds with one stone, allowing me to hear those earcatchers and, hopefully, take them home with me in some semblance of a tangible form. The fact that the London date fell on a night off certainly didn’t hurt as extra incentive either.

Support for that sweltering London night (to date, the only time I’ve removed my jacket at Helgi’s) came in the form of London post-punk band Solus. Due to them being both new to me and, particularly in vocalist Nick Hydra’s case, somewhat long of tooth, I’m unsure whether they’re newbies to the scene or a really, really obscure old-school troupe a long way from the ’80s, but either way, they opened up the night with some formidable, bass-heavy, politically charged numbers such as ‘Obsidian’, ‘Glare’, ‘Humanoid’, and their newer pro-Palestine number ‘Massacre of Innocents’, their sound very much reminiscent of the likes of Blitz and Peter and the Test Tube Babies when they prefixed their punk sound with “post-” way back when. Solid stuff and a spirited performance, particularly, again, from Mr Hydra, who took to the floor with stand-propped lyrics whilst his mates remained rooted on the stage (such as it was). I’ll keep an eye out for their gestation from demo to album status.

The political tint carried over to the headline set of the Bolognan bats in the belfry, most marked in the anarcho-tinged excellence of ‘5000’, with its refrain of “NO MASTERS! NO CHAINS!” and vocalist Koppa’s preamble for ‘Grey Shadows’, in which he endorsed Gaza and free migration whilst calling out bomberventionist displacement and “Islamophobia” (which given the sentiments expressed against overarching organised religion in ‘Consolation Prize’ is an odd thing for this band to oppose).

In any case, we’re not talking anything close to the obnoxious soapboxing of Vision Video’s Dusty Gannon, and, politically tinged or otherwise, HV’s song catalogue hits the spot more consistently than their Stateside counterparts. As such, it pleased me to hear the likes of ‘Lost’, the aforementioned ‘5000’, ‘Another Sleepless Night’, and the title track of their first album, ‘In Darkness, You Will Feel Alright’, and they did a good job of getting all attendant swaying along to their soaring, sighing melodies. The cast-iron standouts amongst standouts, however, were their performances of ‘Skyless Eyes’, a newer track from their upcoming fifth album (sold exclusively on this tour in vinyl), with the drum work of the delectably adept Marziona being especially notable, and the closer ‘Corvus Corax’, which brought the night to a wonderfully warbling close.

In the end, a satisfying live introduction to a modern goth band keeping the melodies, moodiness, and mascara sales of the genre alive. A sterling setlist, solid support, and, as hoped, I bagged myself the CD back catalogue (at a bargain) without having to pay a penny of postage—ciao!

~MRDA~

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Forbidden (12/8/25, Downstairs at the Dome, London, England, UK)

Posted on 30th November 2025 by MRDA

Hot on the heels of the previous night’s Ministry gig, the second Tuesday of August saw old-school thrashers Forbidden make a stop Downstairs at the Dome as part of their 40th-anniversary tour, with London groove metallers Die Ego as support.

Die Ego, though not my favourite band, made for a solid opening act, doing a good job of getting the crowd riled up with, and between, songs such as ‘The Serpent Bearer’ and ‘The Executioner’ . Their set-up was also notable for having what looked like a living-room carpet laid out for the drumkit.

As for Forbidden, they gave the assembled audience a solid show, delivering on their promise to play Twisted into Form, their 1990 sophomore album, in its entirety, albeit in shuffled order. Sadly, original vocalist Russ Anderson didn’t survive as part of the presented line-up, having left the band (and the music business) back in 2012, but Norman Skinner did a respectable job of filling his shoes. Both vocally and instrumentally, the band made a great showing of tracks such as ‘Out of Body (Out of Mind)’, ‘Twisted into Form’, ‘Step by Step’, and ‘Tossed Away’. On top of all that, I was chuffed to finally hear playlist favourite ‘Chalice of Blood’—from their 1988  album, Forbidden Evil—performed as the night’s closer.

Other highlights of the evening included being once again mistaken for security by fellow punters in the queue; having headline guitarist Craig Locicero asking what I was listening to whilst passing by the queue (answer: it was Whiplash, hot on the heels of the Forbidden tour setlist); being unwittingly kicked in the bonce by crowdsurfing drummer Chris Kontos at the set’s end; and catching up with a few familiar faces, most notably, the ever amiable Chris Parker and the diminutive Thrashteroid, first seen jamming onstage at the Islington Academy with Exodus exactly a year prior, last seen at this evening’s venue the day after that for Havok.

In sum, a sound, if slightly scuffed, night.

~MRDA~

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Ministry (11/8/25, Electric Brixton, London, England, UK)

Posted on 26th November 2025 by MRDA

The past few years of encountering and seeing many new-to-me bands have certainly broadened my musical library, but it’s always good to revisit one’s old favourites when, time, inclination, and opportunity align. Such was the case with Ministry’s return to the capital on the second Monday of August, Mondays being nights-off for me, so off I went to see Al Jourgensen and his merry men.

I will admit to not being arsed about Ministry’s most recent output (i.e., anything after The Last Sucker), partly thanks to hearing that cringeworthy ‘Antifa’ song he put out in homage to the left wing of the establishment’s defacto foot soldiers; his full-chested Branch Covidian endorsement of vaccine mandates hasn’t helped either. Nevertheless, my love of their earlier material remains intact, and, in light of their stint at the Cruel World festival, where they performed material from their earliest two albums, the prospect of possibly hearing much loved tracks from With Sympathy and Twitch for the first time proved too enticing to resist.

And I’ll be damned if it wasn’t one of the best gig decisions I’ve ever made.

Prior to the payoff, however, came the supports, So-Cal black/doom/industrial-metal contingent Siglos, featuring one-time Ministry axeman Sin Quorin, and London industrial rockers Light of Eternity, featuring Killing Joke drummer and co-founder Big Paul Ferguson.

The former opened the night, making the ritualistic, atmospheric impression their blend of metal practically demands; with Mesoamerican aesthetic and Spanish-titled songs (‘En Resiliencia’, ‘Soga de los Muertos’, etc.) in tow, the Los Angeles troupe added more than an air of the exotic to proceedings. Vocalist Pedro Sanchez brings the bellows, accompanied nicely by Sin and co. on strings and sticks. Good start.

Next up came Light of Eternity with a set that I’d describe as uneven, starting well enough before dipping, evoking some heavy lidded moments, only to finish strong. Songs such as ‘Aftershock’, ‘Edge of Fate’, and ‘Fascist X’ carried power and punch beyond the lyrical, whereas more trippy numbers like ‘Vastness’ had me struggling to stay awake. One could argue they could have trimmed a bit of fat off the middle to maintain the pace, but at least they bookended strong.

Then came the main event, heralded by a graphic denunciation of Donald Trump, which, given how he’s abandoned his entertaining heel-crushing-heel ways to morph into the same old “respectable” political predator as the rest, I couldn’t be arsed to even roll my eyes at.

“This song is called ‘Thieves’,” Al said before he and the band launched into the opener of 1989’s The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste in all its whirring, grunting, sampling magnificence—just what the doctor ordered! From then on, the band took the Brixton assembled on a recap of what made them such a vital and potent force in the realm of industrial metal, with classics like the ocularly fixated ‘Stigmata’, the sample-dominated Herbert Walker Bush loopfest of ‘NWO’, and the pounding, chugging menace of ‘Just One Fix’ justifying the entrance fee. Alongside these old-school staples were Dubya-era bangers like ‘Rio Grande Blood’ and Truther anthem ‘LiesLiesLies’ and even the odd post-Dubya ditty such as ‘Alert Level’ and ‘Goddamn White Trash’ (with that cringeworthy ‘Antifa’ song remaining mercifully absent).

But as awesome and affirming as it was to hear those reliable rivethead rifffests again, the real highlight of the night came in the form of the three-song encore showcasing material from their previously underacknowledged first two albums, their synthpop debut With Sympathy (1983) and its darker EBM follow-up Twitch (1986). The first two tracks from the former ‘Effigy (I’m Not An)’ and ‘Revenge’ closed the night in a non-obnoxiously remixed fashion, but for me, the absolute cherry atop this setlist sundae was finally, FINALLY, getting to hear one of my absolute fucking favourite Ministry tracks performed for the first time, the moody, pounding, (sadly) enduringly relevant Cold War anthem ‘We Believe’, its “Squirelly Remix” form sounding scarcely different from its first appearance on Twitch—thank fuck! (Who knew nuclear paranoia could be so euphoric?)

I could gripe about the absence of the likes of ‘Everyday Is Halloween’, ‘Burning Inside’, and other staples, but I’m sure they’ll be back the next time the Ministry machine rolls into town. As things went, this set managed the feat of being at once familiar and singular, delivering that not heard before, and possibly never to be heard again, alongside the relished reliables.

~MRDA~

Posted in 80s, America, Civil Liberties, Culture, Entertainment, Fuck Democracy, Gigs, History, Moral Panic, Music, Personal, Politics, Retinal Reprobation, Reviews, The UK | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Midnight (1/8/25, New Cross Inn, London, England, UK)

Posted on 4th November 2025 by MRDA

When the merch table is conspicuously amiss at the New Cross Inn, you know it’s gonna be a mad one! Such was the sight that greeted me when I went to see Cleveland’s blackened-speed demons Midnight tear up the joint on the first night of August. Just like the last time I saw ’em, the merch had been relocated downstairs to better accommodate the turnout and tumult to come.

Opening the night’s four-band bill was London hardcore-punk mob State-Sanctioned Violence, who would go on to exemplify that moniker as the evening progressed. After a brief pre-set psych-up session, they took to the stage to play some compellingly crusty d-beat. Bursts of belligerence such as ‘Permanent Warfare’, ‘Chewed up and Spat Out’, and ‘Moral Disease’ did a nice job of setting the sonic scene.

The belligerence, however, extended beyond the setlist, with bassist Rob taking the mic from vocalist Owen at the end of the aptly titled ‘Moral Disease’ to vent his spleen at a middle-aged, cap-wearing member of the audience, accused/identified as being a “Nazi” on a “League list”. “This guy here, we’re not playing for him,” the irate bassist declared. “You’re not welcome here—fuck off.” After being further cajoled in front of a silent audience, said “Nazi”, “Michael”, made his way to the exits, inspiring a chorus of cheers from the audience once he’d definitively left the building.

Instead of joining the chorus, I instead wondered how I’d react had I paid money for a gig only to be turfed out by the lowest-billed band. Certainly not by scuttling into the night at any rate!

Then, in a marvellously tragicomic turn toward the end of the set, Owen removed his shirt to reveal nowt other than a hammer-and-sickle tattoo on his chest. Nothing like opposing one minority-purging, ideologically murderous regime with another, eh?

Given the source, I’ll take those “Nazi” allegations with a pinch of salt, cheersverymuch!

After that memorable opener, I caught up with Jayden (AKA Luciferhammer), drummer of Milton Keynes black-speed terrorists Priest Strangler, whom I’d last seen on the train ride home from Subterranean Manifestation. As well as talking about his band and his recently acquired tattoos, he also informed me of his friendship with the next act on the bill, Southend black speedsters Ominous Moon.

Having previously acquired a copy of their debut, Waking the Dead, I’d looked forward to seeing them in action, and I was not disappointed. The three-piece played a gritty, deliberately lo-fi selection of abrasively catchy numbers, including ‘Wizardous Malice’, ‘Stone-Cold Metal’, and the call-and-response of ‘Waking the Dead (Out for Blood)’, bringing proceedings closer to alignment with the ensuing acts. The trio gave their all onstage, particularly frontman Brandon Parrish, who elicited concern with what looked like a bleeding maw as the set went on, though he assured me at the end that it was intentional. Given Ozzy’s death the previous week, the band’s cover of Black Sabbath’s ‘Electric Funeral’ proved a fitting way to cap off their set.

Next up came my main support draw, Mancunian blackened crust punks Wolfbastard. I’d been looking forward to seeing these reprobates again since watching them take to the stage alongside Overthrow (who formed part of this night’s audience) last year. Their set certainly delivered, blending old favourites like ‘Can’t Escape the Grave’ and ‘Buckfast Blasphemies’ with some interesting new numbers, most prominent amongst these being the charmingly titled ‘Fuck off, Then Die’ and the infectiously infernal ‘Satanic Scum Punks’; the latter two tracks served as previews for their upcoming fourth album, currently awaiting a label to unleash it upon the world, according to the band.

They didn’t just deliver musically, however,  what with the ratarsed back ‘n’ forth between Dez (vox, guitars) and Si (vox/bass) and some playful audience provocation. Given their northern origins, I fully expected them to bait and antagonise their London audience with the appropriate territorial epithets, and, once again, they didn’t disappoint, addressing us “southern wankers” in fitting fashion. Their one genuinely offensive gesture? Not closing the set with their most anthemic number ‘Drink Fucking Beer! Hail Fucking Satan!’ despite it being on the setlist and despite (or more likely as a result of) being enough sheets to the wind for it to be appropriate. I suppose they can always make up for it with a future headline slot, likely once they find a taker for their latest appealingly accursed abomination.

From pissheads to pissing, I made a detour to drain the lizard in the downstairs bogs, only to bump into Rob and Owen on the way in, not the devout commies from State-Sanctioned Violence but rather the blasphemous sons of Croydon from Necro Ritual, hitherto unseen as part of the audience. “We’re cracking cans outside if you wanna join us after you’ve done your business,” Rob said, in his usual affable manner. So, in an uncharacteristic gig move, I eschewed parking myself at the front for an outdoor catch-up.

Once outside, I had my first face-to-face chat with folk with certain familiar audience members, only to be amusingly interrupted by an impromptu acapella rendition of Cock Sparrer’s ‘England Belongs to Me’ by Necro Ritual Rob and a mate of his.

“You should do a cover”, I said, inviting laughter in the affirmative.

He then went on to talk about a verbal altercation with SSV, talking about how he and some Croydon mates instinctively jumped in against a perceived gang-up on Michael, laughing away the would-be State-Sanctioned Stasi, with their purge “lists”, by likening their Rob to Bubbles of Trailer Park Boys.

“Always good to see bullies get their comeuppance,” I said, vibing with the ethos.

The exchange was cut short by the sight of Midnight jostling past us into the venue, though not before Rob and I each caught frontman Athenar (Jamie Walters) in a “Predator” handshake upon re-entry.

And once again, the subsequent set amped-up the night’s pre-established energy a hundredfold, the band setting off an apt eruption with opening song proper ‘All Hail Hell’ and ‘Fucking Speed and Darkness’. Limbs and bodies continued to flail as the set went on, the likes of ‘Fucking Speed and Darkness’, ‘Black Rock’ n’ Roll’, and ‘Cleveland Metal’, the latest original addition to the setlist, keeping the adrenalin pumping.

Having missed their previous New Cross Inn annihilation in the name of last year’s album, Hellish Expectations, I was especially pleased to hear some of my favourite tracks from it, such as ‘Expect Total Hell’ and the sadistically subversive ‘FOAL’ (‘Fuck off and Live’), although the absence of apocalyptic anthem ‘Nuclear Saviour’ rang conspicuous, especially with merch on sale showcasing the song. As for older favourites, ‘Satanic Royalty’, ‘Lust, Filth, and Sleaze’, and ‘You Can’t Stop Steel’ remained welcome mainstays, although, as a bloke next to me amusingly pointed out, the steel was indeed stopped for the latter track, on account of an errant axe string.

Between-song patter ranged from Athenar throwing some mirthful passive-aggression at Oasis to giving the second nod of the night to the deceased Lord of Darkness himself. And, just like the first time I saw them, the set ended with Athenar clasping hands left, right, and centre before being surfed out of the venue by an appreciative audience.

So, yes, a highly satisfying night of carnage and cameraderie, all in all, capped off with an enthusiastic epilogual exchange with Rob (who’d acquired the dubious souvenir of a gimped leg in the pit) before our respective journeys home to Croydon and Cock Sparrer Country.

PS: Viewing the footage I’d recorded of the ejection a while after the fact made me aware of a detail I’d missed at the time, namely SSV Rob identifying Michael as a member of Blood & Honour, the far-right music promo network founded by the late Skrewdriver frontman Ian Stuart Donaldson. Assuming, that’s an accurate identification, and taking into mind the first-name familiarity Rob had with the bloke, was the Midnight confrontation part of a long, elaborate dance between the two parties, the latest round in a drawn-out #HeelVsHeelMatch? One can only wonder.

PPS (11/11/25): After this review went up, Rob from SSV, who, by his own account, is not a communist, got in contact with me to set the record straight on a few things, particularly the reason for the callout of Michael (or “Mickle”, as he’s elsewhere identified) and the ensuing altercation outside the venue. Basically, it turns out that the ejected bloke is indeed a Nazi of the Blood & Honour variety, and Rob provided the links and receipts to back it up, citing his history targeting young and impressionable gig-goers for ideological grooming and recruitment. Furthermore, he’d waited outside the venue to ambush Rob, threatened to stab him, and punched Owen (who Rob assures me is a non-tankie commie) in the face when the latter intervened. Piecing all accounts together, it seems Necro Ritual Rob et al came in on the tail end of the altercation, as Mickle1488 was being chased off, which explains the “gang-up” optics from their perspective.

In any case, Rob, far from talking out of his arse on the matter, had done his due diligence, and this episode serves as a good self-reminder for me to do the same before hitting publish!

~MRDA~

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Night Demon (27th–28th/7/25, Helgi’s/Cart & Horses, London, England, UK)

Posted on 7th October 2025 by MRDA

The last Sunday and Monday of July showcased something of a special event: American tea-metal merchants Night Demon playing two intimate shows across two successive nights. I was intrigued by this as both of these venues—Helgi’s and the Cart and Horses, especially the latter—are not too far from home, the latter being a mere bus ride away. There was also the factor of the band leaving a strong positive impression on me when I saw them support Cirith Ungol on their farewell tour last year (Night Demon frontman Jarvis Leatherby being a regular fixture on bass in both bands). Naturally, I was sold.

Support was amply handled on both nights by plucky Southampton act Toledo Steel, who treated the assembled audiences to their own brand of NWOBHM-inspired melodies. Playing the same set both nights, they left a strong, energetic impression with numbers such as ‘Speed Killer’, ‘In the Line of Fire’, ‘Inside the Arena’, and their set-capping self-titled theme tune. They even knocked out a robust cover of Black Sabbath’s ‘Children of the Grave’ on the first night, in memory of the five-days-deceased Ozzy Osbourne. Stellar performances both nights, with the second might edging ahead just a mite in terms of vigour.

The main act also performed admirably across both nights, despite Jarvis having to make do with a less-than-optimal bass for the majority of the first show. The turnout at Helgi’s was graced with a playthrough of their latest album, Outsider, the sterling title track kicking off proceedings in style, and the Cart and Horses clientele saw Darkness Rising, their first album, receive similar treatment. On top of that, both sets had a post-playthrough selection of songs from elsewhere in their discography.

On a performance level, Jarvis, guitarist Armand John Anthony, and sticksman Brian Wilson sung and played a belter, the former two really amping up the dynamism for their Cart & Horses set given the extra space afforded them there.

On a discography level, however, this two-night takeover, whilst enjoyable, convinced me that Night Demon are, for me, palette better served curated, with standout songs being scattered across the catalogue rather than any particular album standing out as more killer than filler. As such, I think I most enjoyed the post-playthrough selection of songs better, at least in regard to the Helgi’s set. Bangers like ‘Dawn Rider’, ‘The Chalice’ (with another welcome stage appearance by band mascot and Reaper impersonator Rocky), and the band’s cover of ‘Black Sabbath’, appropriately deployed to mark Ozzy’s passing, reminded me why this takeover was such an attractive prospect for me. (Aptly, given the venue’s standing as “the birthplace of Iron Maiden”, the band covered ‘Killers’ for the Cart & Horses set.)

Maybe repeated listens of the albums will shift the needle for me later down the line. As things stand, however, Night Demon are more potent for me in a single finely tuned dose rather than a more indulgent double helping.

~MRDA~

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