The Devil, not like other heavy metal bands - supporting the Therion Australian tour

Six years ago I came across an obscure heavy metal band on a Terrorizer magazine compilation.

It was Terrorizer magazine #229 from November 2012. Dani Filth was on the cover promoting Cradle of Filth’s then-new album The Manticore And Other Horrors. Ghaal was back in black and on the scene again with God Seed. A collaboration called Mrityu between Ihsahn and Matt Heafy from Trivium, of all people, was announced (incidentally, it appears that nothing has come from it to date). And an obscure group calling themselves The Devil had a track featured on the accompanying Fear Candy #113 sampler CD.

Despite the criticism that is traditionally heaped onto free samplers, I was a fan of the Fear Candy series. While I acknowledge that the inevitable rule of thumb with the free CD is to discard nine tenths of what you get, those Fear Candy compilations nonetheless got me into some fantastic music. December 2012’s Fear Candy 114, for example, was directly responsible for introducing me to Tengger Cavalry.

The track that got me into The Devil was an intriguing one. Titled Universe, it stood apart from the rest of the compilation due its lack of vocals. And yet, it wasn’t a traditional instrumental track though. Instead, it was made up a multitude of samples detailing UFO sightings and alien conspiracies, overlaid to some reasonably well-produced gothic metal.

The samples were put together in such a way as to construct what a friend termed “a narrative” (an accurate way of putting it, but alas, I’m not a fan of the term) — a story constructed from samples in lieu of vocals.

I was very interested. I was able to find out that The Devil had a self-titled album on Candlelight Records — no small achievement for any heavy metal outfit — but not very little else was known about them. For one thing, all band members summoned the spirit of Ghost by remaining masked and anonymous.

Here’s what I said about The Devil back in 2013:

“This artist is another Terrorizer magazine discovery, and a group about which public knowledge seems to be strangely lacking. What I know comes from a small and somewhat silly magazine interview in which they kind of explained why they remain anonymous and wear masks. Nonetheless, they’re one of those bands that are so mysterious and elusive that their music hasn’t even leaked (yet) into the usual channels.

What is legitimately available for public viewing, however, is a collection of two videos that showcase not only their style but also their awesome multi-media skills.

The first of these videos, Universe, deals with alien conspiracies. The other, Extinction Level Event, is cut up speeches about nuclear war post-WWII. Both make superb use of actual footage and tell a story (because I refuse to use the term “narrative”) put together from various samples. A written description couldn’t do justice to these tracks.

I love them both, so please, watch these videos.”

The Devil: not like other heavy metal bands

I really did dig those tracks. While the audio alone was something I really enjoyed, the multimedia delivery in the form of those videos was something else.

Ever since the heavy metal music video became a medium (fun fact: the first heavy metal music video aired on MTV was by Iron Maiden) it has usually been an accompaniment to a track. Not so with The Devil — here the video was an art form unto itself. It didn’t just accompany the music — the video was the story driving it.

Unsurprisingly, what little information I did find about The Devil included liberal use of the term ‘cinematic’. Nonetheless, this was every bit an obscure outfit. I played those two videos to a few people, to mixed results, and I acknowledged that The Devil would be a group that no one would ever hear of.

I certainly never expected to meet anyone who had heard of them, much less so much as even entertain the thought that I would see them live — and in Australia of all places.

Yet somehow that is precisely what happened.

And here they were.

Pic: Vereance Lucitria

The Devil support the Therion Australian tour

There should be a word for the phenomenon that is a double take resulting from the good-natured disbelief of discovering concrete evidence that a band you love and never expected to see live is visiting your country.

Whatever that term is, it describes how I felt when I saw the promotional flyer announcing the Therion Australian tour.

There it was: Therion. Supported by The Devil.

The only reason that The Devil didn't receive profile shots was because they wear masks.

Oddly enough, the word “devil” is exceedingly popular when it comes to heavy metal band names. At last count, Metal Archives listed 126 results for just [devil] and 22 containing [the devil]. For this reason I was understandably incredulous that it was one and the same The Devil from years back.

“What? Not the The Devil?” was a fairly accurate paraphrasing of my thoughts at the time. “As in, that unbelievably obscure sample-based instrumental heavy metal outfit that released those amazing videos five or so years ago? Surely not?”

Sure, that’s not an entirely accurate paraphrasing of how my brain works (the daily through process is more like, “potato tomato banana oh I’ll just check the weather on my phone and oh I like the look of that band that’s come up on Facebook I’ll have to remember to listen to it later tonight agh where did I put my keys oh wait what was I doing again and what was I going to do on my phone again”).

But it was to be — and on September 12, 2018 I found myself in the crowd at Max Watt’s in Melbourne watching a band that until recently I’d never contemplated would be one I would see live.

And I was mesmerised.

The Devil’s music is divisive

"It's too dark to see their faces."

I loved what I heard and saw. But The Devil’s music is divisive.

Heavy metal music, or rather the people who love heavy metal music, are a morally anarchic bunch. One of the great virtues of heavy metal is the outspokenness of its adherents. If they love something, they’ll figuratively shout it from the rooftops (think Slayer fans whose main word in their vocabulary is SLAYER!). But that goes both ways.

With a group like The Devil, there were detractors who made their displeasure known.

I have spoken extensively in the past about how fortunate we are to live in a city where we are spoilt for choice when it comes to gigs playing hard, dark, nasty and heavy music; how the real enemy of what is popular music played on commercial radio and not that local band who are starting out by playing generic metal because they’re still finding their feet; and how you don’t appreciate the value of any gig playing any music that sounds even remotely like what you love until you live in a town that doesn’t have weekly punk, grind, metal, rock, stoner, noise and industrial shows.

Nevertheless, I’m not other people, so I understand that someone who would not know what to expect could feel underwhelmed from the performance. A major element of what makes The Devil unique is the previously mentioned audio-visual component. In the live environment of Max Watt’s (although in my heart it will always be the Hi-Fi Bar, just like Southern Cross Station will forever be Spencer Street Station) the projector on which much of the performance depended could best be described as ‘decent’. It went down to waist height and was not so much obscured, as interrupted, by moving black-clad masked figures intercepting the perspective of the crowd, looking, as they were, up to the stage at an angle.

I also suspect that the gravitas of various samples may have been lost on some of the crowd due to no other reason but for the original sound quality of those record. For many of the tracks, the narrative, sorry, I mean theme, is based on post-WWII or Cold War-era speeches. While those punters with history nerd credentials would have really gotten into it, the clarity of scratchy recordings from 60 or more years ago may have been lost in the live environment. At least for normal – people who delight in trainspotting Eisenhower’s military industrial complex speech or Truman’s announcement of the use of atomic weapons on Hiroshima during Extinction Level Event would have loved it.

Again, if you weren’t sure what to expect, I can see how someone going to the Therion gig, perhaps expecting bombastic from the support act, could feel that their expectations weren’t being met.

But if you knew what you were in for, or if you love samples (like I do!) you hopefully ‘got it’.

The performance of the track World Of Sorrow was especially poignant. Played over heart-wrenching footage of fires and collapsing buildings from September 11, it plays an on-the-scene TV reporter describing eyewitness accounts of what 9/11 truthers would later cite as the controlled demolition of 7 World Trade Center.

To be clear: September 11 conspiracy theorists, of which Building 7 is one of the most popular, have been repeatedly debunked. I do not subscribe to the views expressed in lyrics (or in this case, samples) of that track, in the same way that I don’t subscribe to lyrical themes found in Slayer lyrics, like Satanic sacrifices or dropping nuclear weapons or getting even through violence and murder. Nonetheless, the combination of samples, masked performance and video was for me, an almost gut-wrenching “wow” moment.

It due to moments like these that I was mesmerised. I loved the performance and I can say with sincerity and appreciation (rather than pretention) that I ‘got’ what The Devil were doing.

Knowing their original music helped, as does the fact that I love industrial music and samples. So too does being a massive history nerd. The live performance by The Devil was, for me personally, a stunning coming together of so many of the things I love about dark and heavy music.

Oh, and that slightly less obscure act going by the name of Therion were up next.

As for the identities of those behind the masks who are The Devil?

Well, I’ve got a conspiracy theory about who it might be… but who would believe me…?

“I forgot how good they were” | When you re-discover music you’d forgotten or dismissed

One of the wonderful things about being into awesome music is how it’s possible to ‘rediscover’ a band that you’d either forgotten about, or otherwise thought you knew well enough to have dismissed.

While I can only speak for myself, I suspect many others may have experienced this same phenomenon. It usually occurs years after you became familiar with an artist — and inevitably, the rediscovery manifests in a random or unexpected way.

Do any of these sound familiar?

Maybe you re-assessed a band after you saw them at a gig or festival?

I had this precise experience after seeing Rammstein at their final Big Day Out appearance in Australia, all the way back in 2011. I love much of the Rammstein discography but at the time I’d dismissed 2009’s Liebe Ist Für Alle as mediocre — that was, until I saw much of it played live.

That show changed my perspective about this album. I can, with full confidence, say that I got back into Liebe Ist Für Alle with a whole new level of appreciation post-concert, precisely because I saw half of it played live in all its fiery glory (tragically, almost 10 years have elapsed since the last full-length Rammstein studio album, so until then we at least have the wholesomely glorious cheese of Lindemann).

Similarly, a good friend saw Gary Numan and subsequently had an even more electric experience. It began when she went to one of his gigs even though she was not familiar with his discography. Having elected to see Gary Numan with no preconceived expectations, she emerged as a true believer. Now she's the proud owner of vinyl test pressings and hand-written lyric sheets.

I never gave Sabaton much thought until I saw them live on the 70000 Tons Of Metal cruise. What they lack in technical wizardry they make up for with the right attitude. And songs exclusively about military history.

Maybe a friend or acquaintance got you into a new group?

Those who are into fantastic music tend to gravitate towards others who are also into fantastic music. To ask someone “are you into so-and-so artist” or “have you heard the latest this-and-that?” is not so much a conversation starter as a way of life. On the other hand, when you've figuratively heard it all, and when you’re so deeply and heavily into your music that you rarely get surprised by new sounds, it’s inevitable that new and old things occasionally get tuned out.
One way to filter out the noise is to have a trusted source, such as a respected friend, invoke your full attention and articulate a new perspective.

Indeed, I would struggle to list the vast number of artists and tracks that I’ve gotten into as a direct consequence of one-on-one conversations and recommendations from good friends.

In fact, one of my all-time favourite activities with one of my best mates involved him bringing over a bag of CDs (yes, physical media), whereupon we would have a few beers while chilling out to and talking about tunes. While on almost every occasion the evening’s proceedings would close with’90s Eurotrance YouTube videos, I rate it as one of the very best ways imaginable to discover new music.

Maybe you forgot how good an artist was until you heard track played in your randomised shuffle playlist?

My shuffled playlist, more than any other factor, brings me back to music I’d tuned out, dismissed, mentally put aside, or otherwise forgotten about for months or years. I have facts to back this up: my playlist logs the Last played date next to each track, so when I see albums and artists that I know and love, I’m often surprised by how many years have passed since I last played them.

By that I mean track six from an album I’d long forgotten about suddenly grabs my attention in ways it never had previously, and for no other reason but that it came on unannounced in that shuffled playlist.

Left to run its natural course, this phenomenon often concludes with words that might best be paraphrased as “I forgot how good they were” and “I never really paid much attention to them until...”

This once more got me listening to Hocico. Pic: Discogs.

My Hocico ‘re-discovery’

This very thought occurred to me after I’d ‘re-discovered’ Mexican EBM electro-industrial champions Hocico the other day.

I was going through some photos on my hard drive of old music purchases (I’m just that kind of person) and I came across this single from EBM industrial outfit Hocico, purchased a few years back. The single is Dog Eat Dog, released in 2010.

Many months had passed since I’d last listened to big blocks of Hocico, and two things happened after I re-listened — or ‘re-discovered’ — this single.

Firstly, it immediately reminded me of how fantastic the Hocico discography is. Indeed, I’ll concede that, in this instance, it wasn’t a case of appreciation for a band that I’d dismissed but rather a case of “I forgot how good they were”.

To the point: I’d never dismissed Hocico. They are superb. It’s just that, for whatever reason, Hocico are a group I regularly revisit, but probably not regularly enough because there remains an unimaginably vast volume of awesome music still waiting to be discovered or revisited. Indeed, my hardrive playlist, consisting almost exclusively of music copied from my physical music collection, lists 55 continuous days’ worth of music.

As I said, it’s a bit too easy to filter out things when you’re so heavily into it. Other times, things just gather dust in the archive.

55.1 days of continuous music. If I played my entire collection 24 hours a day, I would get to listen to each track just 6.6 times per year.

The other thing to occur with the ‘re-discovery’ was that I was reminded of how privileged I was to have seen Hocico live in Australia. In 2012 I caught them at the Melbourne leg, a show that I thought was fantastic even though there were some technical difficulties throughout the gig. Despite sustaining a minor back injury — not from moshing-induced action, but merely from wearing a sombrero covered in gaffer tape — I had a fantastic time and you can see more about it in the above links.

Album art and association

In conclusion, a very small stimulus can be a powerful evoker, be it a track that stands out from the shuffle playlist, or actually picking up the *gasp* album art in your hands.

Not to denigrate digital and streaming (I am a heavy Spotify and Bandcamp user as I find both are excellent ways to discover artists that I then spend money on), but I feel the very nature of the physical presence of physical media is one edge it has over digital.

To get really metaphysical for a moment: the physical release is art that you’re holding, whereas the digital release is a representation of that art. Both are entirely valid and have advantages in that they’re equally capable of fulfilling whatever it is you’re hoping to get out of them.

Of course, for those of us who still love physical media, or who listen to their digital versions of legitimate purchases in the full format that they were created in, there’s still the dilemma of how to enjoy the historically maligned single.

Here’s how I get the most out of a release that consists of four remixes and a b-side: how to appreciate the much-maligned CD single.

That time the speakers at the Hocico gig had blown up but it was still a great show

I was going through photos of music purchases the other day (I’m just that kind of person) and I came across this single from Mexican EBM industrial outfit Hocico that I’d purchased a few years back from Heartland Records — Dog Eat Dog, the first single off the 2010 Hocico album Tiempos De Furia.

The nice cover art — note the surprising lack of biohazard symbols, campy socialist realism and industrial wasteland landscapes — in turn gave my brain sufficient stimulus to motivate me to play a few tracks from it. That, in turn, reminded of when Hocico toured Australia in 2012. But before I get onto that, allow me to digress.

Hocico - Dog Eat Dog. A rare instance of the cover art on an industrial release not featuring biohazard symbols - or even an industrial wasteland. Also, Heartland Records is an amazing shop that's still going.

It's all about expectations

I recently posted how what we get out of a gig can very much depend on what we decide ahead of time we will make of it, and a lot less on what actually occurs while we’re there.

The genesis of that thought was my wholly unexpected and recent impromptu attendance at a gig by New Zealand thrashers Alien Weaponry. It was a performance on a weeknight in the middle of winter at a small venue for a band I knew almost nothing about, so I’d attended not so much with low expectations but rather with no expectations.

It turned out to be a marvelous evening, despite the fact that I wasn’t a massive fan of Alien Weaponry’s mid-tempo thrash-lite. The reasons why are amply described in the above link.

If you want the short explanation, though: essentially, those aspects that ultimately determine how we rate a gig — these being the things that are best articulated as quality and fulfilment and fun — are in many ways dependent on whether those aspects meet the expectations that we set ourselves in our mind, rather than what actually occurred.

I feel strongly about it because I am indeed privileged to live in a town that has a legitimately world-class live music scene. Seeing that photo, which in turn made me play some Hocico, which in turn made me think of the 2012 Hocico Melbourne gig, brought up some long-buried thoughts about that show.

For one thing, it was a divisive show.

It doesn't show that well in this shot but those were some sick visuals.

Hocico in Melbourne

Hocico is a big deal in EBM and industrial music. For years they've headlined or otherwise notched top-level billing across Europe. So when the first ever Hocico Australian tour was announced it was preceded by significant (and by all accounts, justifiable) hype. In particular, much was made of the energy and vigor of the live performance. Those who weren’t overly into Hocico were urged to check them out on that strength.

I will skip ahead and emphasise that I thought it was a brilliant performance. Except for a back injury which, I discovered the next morning, I’d acquired on the dancefloor as a result of my decision to wear a sombrero covered in industrial safety tape (seeing a Mexican industrial band naturally means wearing an industrial sombrero, right?), it was one of those memorable shows.

Here’s what I said about it in 2012:

“When you see live bands that you don’t avidly follow, it’s so often a case of getting into those songs you recognise and maybe even liking a few you don’t recognise. “They’re not bad,” is as absolutely stock-standard behaviour at a gig as is having a vaguely appreciative and not-very-responsive crowd for much of the time. But not so with these guys. I own a few Hocico releases and yet I can honestly say I recognised all of two songs that were played. Yet at every moment there was this powerful you-had-to-be-there energy, this awesome, dark, killer world complete with sensory-depriving lights and visuals. At the risk of running off an old cliché, it was much of a case of you could “feel” it rather than just see and hear it.”

When looking back at things I said or wrote more than half a decade ago, I sometimes get a slight cringey feeling, perhaps due to some long-passed naivety? But not this time. It really was a great show.

This was despite the fact that it was a show marred by a couple of mishaps and technical problems.

Throughout the evening, before I got there, at least one speaker had proverbially blown up. Consequently, bands started late. The Hocico show was eventually shortened — and throughout, the sound cut out more than once. On top of that, only one ‘official’ member of Hocico supposedly formed part of the show.

Years later, I was talking about that gig with a friend. A seasoned gig, festival and club goer, he said, much to my surprise, that he had not liked it and how he felt genuinely embarrassed by what transpired onstage (and presumably behind the sound console).

And yet I rate it as one of the best electronic shows I’d ever seen.

In my view, all the elements came together to form an atmosphere that was dark, heavy, foreboding and intense. This was the nightmare underworld of Hocico’s music in an audio-visual manifestation. It absolutely was, in every sense, a performance where it didn’t matter whether you knew any of their music. As I said, I have for years cultivated the view that I am exceedingly fortunate to live in a town where dark, heavy and nasty music is a regular occurrence.
Looking back at that show from years ago, it reminded me once again that what you make of a gig has a lot to do with what you tell yourself it will be, before

• As a gig-goer you cannot control what goes on with the sound. 
• You cannot prevent a speaker from blowing up. 
• You cannot make a gig start on time. On the other hand, you’re seeing (as was the case here) an international act.
• Nor can you make a missing band member materialize on stage. 

Did any of these things matter? Not to me they did. Not one little bit.

You can't control the sound or whether the band starts on time.

You can control how you feel about it.

A good gig is inherently about what you make of it, whether it’s an international electro-industrial act like or a group of teenage thrashers.

And incidentally, I’m reliably told that the correct pronunciation is hɔ-si-kho.

How to easily enjoy a heavy metal gig (when you're not into the bands)

I mentioned in another post how I got to see New Zealand thrash metallers Alien Weaponry on three hours’ notice. It was on a weeknight, during the middle of winter, at a small venue — and to be entirely honest, I’d barely heard of them.

The three or four top tracks of relatively simplistic, mid-tempo groove thrash that I hurriedly streamed for all of 40 seconds said to me that this was a group that under usual circumstances I would not go out of my way to see.

And yet, I had a brilliant night out.

Make your own perspective

There was once a time when I would leave disappointed if the music at a gig failed to grip me. I can’t quite articulate it, so the closest I can come up with might be something akin to a feeling that I’d invested time and energy and money into something that had not impressed me.
But not this time.

I attribute it to something very simple — I merely made a conscious point of setting out to get the most out of the evening.

I have come to believe that what you get out of a heavy metal gig (i.e. how much you enjoy it) has a lot less to do with what you expect, and a lot more to do with how you decide in advance what you will make it out to be.

In short: how you feel about a gig after it’s finished can, if you want, be determined by what you wished it to be before you got there.

Or, it can depend on perspective. And expectations.

So what does that mean?

Great (thrash) expectations

 They were on their way to a European tour and will even plan Wacken Open Air. But some at Metal Archives still don't feel they're metal enough to warrant listing.
Pic: Abby Phillips

The unexpected invite for Alien Weaponry was at Melbourne’s Last Chance Rock & Roll Bar, with tech-metallers Primitive in support.

The Last Chance Rock & Roll Bar is a wonderful, albeit small venue in inner-city Melbourne. It’s the sort of locale that comes to mind when one uses term “cosy”.

As mentioned, I’d never heard anything from the Alien Weaponry discography when I accepted the invite from a friend. Nonetheless, I accepted and pledged to myself that I would have a great time, for the simple reason that I had no expectations. Importantly, no expectations is distinct from low expectations.

Expectation is a funny thing. Of all the complex thoughts and emotions that we understand as human feelings, the thoughts that amount to what we define as expectation arguably have the most power to influence how we felt AFTER doing a Thing — because we created pre-conceived perceptions BEFORE we actually did the Thing.

The nature of expectation is why established artists are guaranteed to always disappoint a minimum proportion of fans, yet if a new artist were to release identical material they would garner praise (yes, that’s a bit metaphysical, but bear with me). Similarly, a show may not “live up to expectations” because of what fans have “come to expect” from a high standard that occurred in the past. Or a talented musician may form a new group but the artist’s “long-awaited” debut is either insufficiently original or too far removed and unrecognisable from what we expected… in other words, what we imagined and hoped it would be.

We then feel disappointed or even angry because we’ve invested emotionally (and probably monetarily) in something and we find the return is not what we desired.

To get a little bit more metaphysical, our evaluation of art and performance risks becoming less about the merits of an individual work of art (for example, a new release) and more about how it compares to our pre-conceived ideals and expectations. Indeed, those expectations are in themselves based entirely on previous works of art, such as an artist’s discography.

Expectation can influences how we feel about almost anything — be it a gig, meeting a new person, a movie or even sporting event — before we’ve even left our home. It is for this very reason that I often explain how unexpected gigs and performances can often be the most memorable.

As mentioned, it was a fantastic show. But not because I was a frothing fan of their music. Alien Weaponry is a band that I would not have considered seeing on the merits of their sound alone, yet I made a point of removing expectations in my mind that would traditionally have told me that a variety of heavy metal that I’m not much into would fail to be enjoyable.

Instead, I consciously saw the very best in the fact that this was a heavy metal gig, at an accessible venue, where just about everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves, and that there would be many more gigs like it to come.

·         Having said that, if you actually want to know how the gig went, see my Alien Weaponry gig review.

Support came from Melbourne's Primitive.

Pic: Abby Phillips.

As I say behind the above link...

“It made me once more supremely thankful that I live in a city where I am spoilt for choice when it comes to weekly gigs that play music that is hard, fast, nasty and heavy.”

And no, metal Metal Archives currently still won’t list them.

Alien Weaponry + Primitive gig in Melbourne at the Last Chance Rock & Roll Bar

Picture the following. It’s Thursday evening and I’ve got work the next day. It’s dark and cold because it’s the middle of winter. I’m making dinner when a text arrives with an entirely unexpected invitation to see Alien Weaponry, a band I know nothing about. The venue is a small bar which I’ve been to just once, coincidentally also on what turned out to be a quiet week night.

Should I go? Would I have a good time despite not knowing their music? And would heading out on a week night (with sooo many adult responsibilities and all that) be worth the risk?

Alien Weaponry at the Last Chance Rock & Roll Bar.

Pic: Abby Phillips.

How to get the most out of a gig

You’ve read countless gig reviews before, each a blow-by-blow description of what the artists did on stage, what tracks were played or were neglected, whether the sound was on point, how the crowd responded, what those on stage were wearing, and on it goes.

This is not one of those gig reviews.

The Alien Weaponry Melbourne gig was great, but not necessarily for the traditional reasons that you might associate with a gig. To explain, I’ll have digress for a moment.

Quite simply: believe and accept that a brilliant night out has a lot less to do with what you imagine and expect it to be, and a lot more to do with how and what you choose to make of it.

Say what, I hear you utter?

I encourage you to delve further into this idea. I’ll concede that it comes across as an over-thought philosophical approach to something as unassuming as going out and drinking alcohol and enjoying heavy metal music. And yet I feel seeing things a particular way has real merit. That’s because how to make the most out of a heavy metal gig (or any other recreational occasion, I would say) can come down to something as simple as consciously deciding beforehand in your mind how you will actually go about it.

The other reason it was a brilliant night came down to the quality of my friends. Let me tell you a little about them.

Friend 1 was the source of the unexpected invite. She’s a battle-hardened gig veteran (and who incidentally is eight months’ pregnant) who does not hesitate to go to metal shows to see the bands and music that she loves. Friend 1’s partner was ill, hence the spare ticket.

Friend 2 is another gig veteran who can well be described without hyperbole as the life of the party. Friend 2 rarely misses a gig or event — if she does, there’s usually a damn good reason — and when it’s over and finally time to head home you’re left feeling, in large part thanks to Friend 2, that it was definitely worth doing.

Friend 3 is Friend 2’s partner. I’ve known Friend 3 for less than a year but he’s irrevocably now one of squadron, whether he likes or knows it or not. Friend 3 is also a highly talented guitarist and song writer.

Between Friends 1, 2 and 3 are at least 30 years of accumulated friendship. We’ve been through some amazing times together and, as happens with those who are closest to you, we’ve also overcome some darker times. These were the people that would be with me at this unknown show. The venue could have been uninhabited and I’m confident that we still would have had a rocking great time. Fun is what you make of it.

Alien Weaponry sold out the gig

Primitive may be up your cup of tea if you like complex but not unnecessarily flavours.

Pic: Abby Phillips.

Initial concerns about it being a quiet evening were quashed because the Alien Weaponry was in fact sold out. Looking around the venue it was a spectacular array of black band t-shirts. There were rockers, metal heads, old, young. Can you believe it… it was so diverse that some people even had non-black shirts?! On a mid-winter school night no less. That was a great start.

Support Primitive began proceedings with a tight and technical performance. I compensate for the fact that I don’t play an instrument by pointing out that I’m an expert at listening to other people’s music. To my ear, I would describe them as having an almost groove-like vibe while not venturing anywhere near djent or needlessly complex lands. I had no objections, even though it’s not quite my pint of cider, and there were some fantastic ensemble riff moments that got the compact room’s attention.

If you like it a bit technical without the snooty prog-tentiousness, then Primitive may be a Melbourne heavy metal band for you.

• Check them out here: Primitive Bandcamp

Alien Weaponry came on soon after. Mercifully, at a respectably early time for a school night.

“This is our first time in Australia,” announced vocalist Lewis de Jong. “Actually, this is our first time outside of New Zealand,” he added.

Like almost anyone who has something to say about Alien Weaponry in any kind of official capacity, I’m yet another person to hyper-focus on what has already been said numerous times before. Namely, that this is a teenage heavy metal act from New Zealand and that only one of them was able to drive when they got their first tour bus.

Taken out of context, three teenage metal heads playing their first gig outside of their home territory on a Thursday night during winter would seem mildly endearing.

Tonight it was three guys doing just, but on the back of a recent signing to Napalm Records while on their way to a European tour that includes a little-known heavy metal festival called Wacken Open Air.

How many local bands get to do this?

Also, metal kudos for touring with Nervosa, who are as thrash metal as you could want.

What is it that brought out so many people to see Alien Weaponry on a winter weeknight? I would say it was many things, mostly of which have something to do with what makes heavy metal inherently great.

Alien Weaponry play a mid-tempo kind of groovy thrash. It’s not Destruction or Exodus-grade neck-snappingly heavy, nor is it Annihilator or early Megadeth-level complex. It’s fun and, most importantly, has a distinct and brilliant element: the use of Māori haka (look it up if you’ve never heard of a haka).

For the uninformed, think ritualised tribal shouting in another language. Not only was it fantastically original but the result was a vocal style that was neither shouted, growled, screeched or even distorted — yet it was, in every sense of the term, So Metal.

The fact that it was live also made it so much more authentic than if it had been a mere pre-recorded sample. That, and it’s not just occasional featured chanting. Various songs are in native Te Reo language.

As I said, this one element is so incredibly metal.

Everyone loves a Kiwi

Another possible explanation of the good turn-out may have something to do with the nature of New Zealanders. Like Canadians, there is something about Kiwis that somehow seems to make them statistically just that little bit more likeable than just your average person.

Alien Weaponry are from the tiny town of Waipu, in New Zealand’s Far North. They come across as being honest, down-to-earth guys with the right attitude and who are mad for heavy metal (and a bunch of other music too).

To prove the point, and also because you should definitely do yourself a favour, watch this six-minute documentary about them. From what it’s like to be a heavy metal band in a town where everyone knows you, to the benefits of being able to legally drive the tour van, it’s not your ordinary metal doco. Honestly, just watch the damn thing to understand why they are winning hearts and minds.

So they played the Last Chance’s cosy and tightly packed band room. Moshing soon began, its movement being immediately felt and seemingly transferred through bodies in the tight room. Then one mosher went down, crawled to the hallway, and proceeded not to go anywhere. He was clearly in strife and when he managed to remove his boot it looked like he’d seriously damaged his ankle.

The moshing seemed to get more sedate after that. Turns out the poor bloke had broken his ankle in five spots. Even so, after the gig, Alien Weaponry gave him a shout out for insisting he stay and not miss the show.

"Big shoutout to this dude who fucked his ankle up in the mosh last night and insisted on staying to the very end propped against the wall ... that’s some Melbourne dedication right there".

Incidentally, he started a GoFundMe to cover his expected financial difficulties.

All that is great about heavy metal

When it was over, and then, with one encore, it really was all over, I left delighted. In fact, I can say everyone left delighted.

Here, on a school night, at the heart of winter, at a small venue, did a rag tag bunch of misfit punters venture out and have a brilliant time, showing legitimate appreciation and respect to two heavy metal groups, one of which contains members who aren’t event 18. At the time of publication, Alien Weaponry are playing gigs across Europe, including the appearance at Wacken.

To borrow a line from Venom’s 2011 song, Punks’ Not Dead:

“It don’t matter about your age. It’s how you feel. It’s not a phase.”

Their first show in Melbourne... and the first show outside of  New Zealand. Then onto greater things.

Pic: Abby Phillips.

It made me once more supremely thankful that I live in a city where I am spoilt for choice when it comes to weekly gigs that play music that is hard, fast, nasty and heavy.

All these things came together in the form of another reminder of why heavy metal is great — even if Metal Archives currently still refuses to list them.

And it was entirely unexpected.

Awesome club moment #3 | I discover magical summoning powers at the Aesthetic Perfection gig

I’m going to call this post “I discover magical summoning powers at the Aesthetic Perfection gig”. Alternatively, “a funny thing happened to me on the way to the Aesthetic Perfection concert” will do. Or even “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not at the Aesthetic Perfection gig anymore.”

In 2010, which is a date that feels like it was far more recent than it actually was, I got to see EBM-industrial-pop outfit Aesthetic Perfection on their Australian tour. The show was organised by Rivetting Promotions (sic) and Fiend, and since it was the Melbourne leg, it was attended by a bunch of people, including Gerry (aka Lobotomy) from Fiend. Try to remember that bit because it relates to the rest of the story.

Aesthetic Perfection front-man Daniel Graves demonstrates the correct procedure for initiating the summoning ritual. Pic: Ruth.

To be clear: this post isn’t strictly about the gig. Just take my word that it was a fantastic show and Daniel Graves is a top front-man. This was despite a couple things not being quite in favour of the band. For one, the stage was very small, so much so that I vaguely recall that the drum kit may even have been positioned somewhat less frontal for everything to fit. Also, the sound wasn’t the best, though through no fault of Aesthetic Perfection or the promoters — the room in which they played simply wasn’t intended for thumping industrial music.

The gig wasn’t sold out but when Aesthetic Perfection did their thing it felt massive. This was an industrial music outfit beaming with energy and I genuinely believe that for a not inconsiderable amount of time the whole room was up and at it.

And, of course, Aesthetic Perfection make great music. Plus, Daniel Graves seemed like a lovely chap who was nice enough to hang out with the fans afterwards. I even have a selfie with the lads buried somewhere in my archives.

But as I said, this isn't about the band, as good as they were.

What really makes a great gig?

Great gigs are often memorable because of something unusual or unexpected. Ozzy Osbourne and Dream Theater have played thousands of concerts but the individual shows that are still talked about are when Ozzy bit the head off a bat (and incidentally got tons of publicity from the rabies shots) or when Dream Theater unexpectedly played the entirety of Master Of Puppets or The Number Of The Beast before actually doing a full-length‘proper’ set.

So too was it with this occasion. That’s because the Aesthetic Perfection show will for me always be the time I discovered I had magical summoning powers.

And just in case you were wondering, yes, a higher than average volume of alcohol was involved.

2010? Was it really so long ago?

This peculiar discovery occurred during the last break between bands — Sirus had finished and Aesthetic Perfection were up next. I’d gone outside to grab some fresh air, which of course meant hanging out with the smokers who stampeded to the exit the moment Sirus had finished.

I’d struck up a conversation with an old mate. You may know the type — a gig acquaintance who you don’t see outside of shows but you always get along with fine at shows. We were talking about music (of course) and people and ‘the scene’ (because I was significantly younger then) when one of us just happened to refer to someone by name.

At that precise moment, the person we had just mentioned by name casually emerged from the venue entrance.

“Well,” old mate and I conveyed to each other, as we metaphorically slapped each other on the back.

As I said, we’d had a few drinks.

We continued our banter, dropping more names and bands and more bands, when the same thing occurred. Again, someone we’d referred to by name mysteriously exited the venue and was standing in the door way.

“Good Lord!” we both thought, which is quite probably a polite interpretation of the words we actually uttered.

Again, we’d had a little more than usual to drink. So, naturally, we drew attention to this occurrence by making a noisy and obnoxiously big deal of it.

Obviously, we then thought it’d be pretty funny if we channelled our collective consciousness and attempted to make somebody else materialise in the doorway.

It went something like this.

Old Mate: “Gerry!” (referring to Gerry the promoter)

Me: “Great idea, let’s summon Gerry!”

Old Mate: “Ok. Bring me Gerry. Gerry, Gerry, Gerry. Gerry Gerry. Bring me Gerry!”

Now, most likely it was coincidence. Or maybe there was some other influence.

Either way, sure enough, standing right there in the doorway, was Gerry.

By now you can probably imagine how we responded. And when Old Mate and I finally calmed down we explained what had just occurred.

And Gerry, with brilliant wit and perfect timing, responded.

“Yeah, I was just standing in the venue when I had this sudden urge to step outside,” he said.

"Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu Gerry Gerry Gerry R’lyeh wgah’ngl fhtagn!" Pic: Ruth

Did I mention it was a great gig? Aesthetic Perfection put on a killer performance despite being challenged for space on stage. No one left disappointed that night.

Plus, you never know when you'll discover that you have magical summoning powers.

• Previous awesome club moment #2

• Next awesome club moment

Malichor play blackened thrash at the Reverence Hotel | Awesome gigs I should have said something about at the time

I usually try to snap at least one photo when I’m at a good gig. It’s normally on my phone so the images are inevitably dark (because it’s a dark gig venue) and blurry (because it’s a dark gig venue, and dark gig venues sell beer). I do this to have something to refer to later when I feel compelled to share with my friends and acquaintances this tale of a great band they should totally check out. Then I end up forgetting about it and over the years I end up with an ever-accumulating collection of dark and blurry gig photos.

Today I decided to do something about it. I’ve got some awesome anecdotes, you know. You’re going to love them. So here is the first of…

Awesome gigs I should have said something about at the time

Blackened thrash metallers Malichor rocking out at the Reverence Hotel.

Malichor at the Reverence Hotel, November 14, 2015 was a good gig. And I’ll start by pointing out that what got me here in the first place wasn’t entirely the music.

I came to this conclusion after I caught up with a mate the other night. He’s into punk, making noise, Napalm Death, synths, and The Jesus and Mary Chain.

Naturally we got talking about music and during this conversation we agreed that music, like art, is ostensibly something you’re meant to appreciate on its merits alone. You’re not meant to buy into an image or a faux portrayal of an artist’s persona because the things you like about the music are meant to be the qualities that make it intrinsically artistic.

Or are they?

The music you love — just like the art — has an inescapable emotive side that may very well be about something other than the way it sounds. It could be a front-person’s likeable and magnetic personality. It could be an intellectual view, found in the lyrics or in the concept that ‘defines’ what an artist stands for. Indeed, the main attraction might even be a moral or political principle that the band ‘stands for’ — whatever that means these days.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with loving an artist because of something that is not strictly about the music. We all do it to some extent. It’s just that it can be hard to pinpoint precisely where your love for an artist because they make great tunes ends, and where that love begins because their music embodies something beyond or other than the mere sounds they create.

This is especially so where the interaction between artist and fan is up-close and personal — such as at the bar after a gig.

Heavy metal in Melbourne

This is how I found myself seeing Melbourne blackened thrash metallers Malichor at the Reverence Hotel on November 14, 2015. My reason for being there was something that (strictly speaking) had less to do with the way a certain bit of music sounds.

It started in late 2014 when I was enjoying a drink at The Cabal, an inner-city Melbourne bar that once a month played (pre-recorded) awesome heavy metal all night, at a civilised volume that allows you to talk without shredding your throat. Great music and superb playlists aside, the venue also offers a magnificent 100-plus beer selection. Why oh why will Cabal not return as a monthly event?

There I was, enjoying an obscure beer with a mate, when this tall fellow walks up to us and politely, but confidently and sincerely, hands us a flyer. Dean is his name and his band is playing a gig. If we like Celtic Frost and other solid black, death and thrash names, he says, we might be keen.

We start talking about bands we like (what else?) and the venue’s voluminous beer selection. I should point out that I’ve been frequenting seedy venues places that play good music for many years and I’ve been approached countless times by people whose sole motive is to distribute flyers, because shoving a flyer in someone’s face while you’re in the toilet line is guaranteed to get more payers to your gig.

But not this chap. Far from it. No one in our party got such a vibe. In fact, it seems like a small and at best trivial encounter, hardly worth the brain room it occupies in one’s beer-corroded memory. Yet perhaps this small exchange resonated in the cynic in us all.

Once upon a time, promoting an event involved spending a lot of time getting to know people face-to-face, hanging out in shops and record stores, doing the rounds with flyers and event posters. Now it comes down to how many people you (probably don’t) know online and, more recently, how much you’re prepared to pay Facebook — to reach the vast majority of people who wouldn’t otherwise see your posts despite being your ‘friend’.

In fact, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way that night. A sludge-and-blues-loving guitarist virtuoso friend at our table who also works professionally on sets and stages (‘roadie’ is so 1985, right?) made this point: “Because of that I am going to see your band”.

A few months later I was again at The Cabal, where I bumped into Dean once more. This time he was nice enough to give me a physical promo copy of his band’s latest release, Malichor: Ride As One (because you know, I'm such a super-influential blogger, yes?). Again, instead of talking about his next gig we had a good, honest talk about metal (and beer probably). Then I randomly started seeing ads from local distributor Infernal Devastation Records who just happened to have the Malichor: The Lost City release (a compilation of earlier Malichor EPs) and so I got my hands on a copy.

Malichor: The Lost City

Malichor: The Lost City is fun, honest, sometimes rocking blackened thrash metal, or whatever the kids call it these days. The Malichor Reverb Nation promotional page isn’t too far off when it says they sort of sound like Desaster, Destroyer 666, Celtic Frost, Venom, and Kreator.

It’s not going to get them headlining Wacken but it’s good, honest, fun heavy metal that pays tribute to an era when extreme metal hadn’t been done before and was a raw force that had only just begun to figure out its identity.

So this is how, one year on, more or less, is how I found myself seeing Malichor at the Reverence Hotel in Footscray, Melbourne, basically off the strength of a couple of friendly conversations at an awesome bar, plus a creepy (you have no idea just how much) Facebook algorithm that knows exactly when to serve me advertising for things that I may want to end up buying.
Melbourne is blessed with a lot of death metal and black metal gigs. “Filthy disgusting music for filthy disgusting venues” is how I like to call it, except that the Reverence Hotel is not filthy and disgusting. On the contrary, it’s a big venue that regularly puts on extreme music with a very respectable band room, a wonderful Mexican kitchen menu, and a spacious beer garden. As I’ve said before, any suburb worth living in should have its own little rock pub.

I never thought I’d say this, and I’ll probably upset someone by saying so, but Melbourne is almost spoilt for choice when it comes to local death metal gigs (international names are a different set altogether). No doubt it will change one day, but there are a surprisingly many local, unknown bands vying for your attention.

As mentioned, so much of promotion nowadays has become indirect and faceless. Sure, making your art available for free on Bandcamp and Spotify is now mandatory, but in true first-world-problem style, for many would-be-punters (who themselves know they’re so spoilt for choice) that would require genuine additional effort. What an age we live in…

It’s the small things that sometimes count when presented with the possibility of seeing one blackened thrash metal band I’ve never heard of compared to that other blackened thrash metal band that I’ve never heard of.

Sure, innovate and find clever new ways to get people to come to your gig. But at the same time, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. To use an old adage… keep it real.

Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene

Doom metal… desert rock... stoner metal… occult rock. Whatever you like to call it, whatever it is to you, it seems like there's never been a better time to like it.
Not that it ever went away, but its resurgence is doubly fascinating when you recall that the genesis of doom metal and stoner rock goes back close to half a century: to Friday, February, 13^th, 1970, to be precise, when Black Sabbath’s self-titled debut album defied its way onto the airways and into history.

What must it have been like to hear the track Black Sabbath for the first time? To hear that haunting bell chime and spine-chilling down-tuned tri-tone (played that way by guitarist Tony Iommi, as you probably know, as a consequence of a horrific hand injury)? And to have a young Ozzy Osbourne declare “what is this that stands before me”?

Actually, many critics panned Black Sabbath upon its release — and didn’t they get their comeuppance. Everyone else, at least if they were cool and open-minded, discovered something dark and amazing. Friday, February, 13^th, 1970 is widely acknowledged as the birth of heavy metal and while doom psych stoner vintage desert groove metal rock have been with us ever since, 45 years after Black Sabbath’s debut, this style of music is bigger than ever.

Whether it’s the fact that even Iceland can spawn a successful vintage rock act; the large number of festivals popping up around Europe and North America dedicated specifically to this family of music and all its ugly cousins; or realising that it is commercially viable for a record label to sell double-vinyl re-issues of ultra-obscure, suicidally slow, agonizingly heavy Australian cult death doom, it’s never been cooler to like doom metal.

Which, as it happens, is magnificent news for the unforgettably-named Melbourne group that calls itself Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene.

Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene

I came across Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene via my professional day activities where I have a connection with one of their associates. We got talking about music (note: this is one of the great things about rock and metal) and he kindly provided me with a promo version of the debut album, Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene: Facing The Ruin.

Facing The Ruin

You get no points for guessing what a group calling itself Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene sound like. The totally ’70s, Black Sabbath-esque, Master Of Reality-inspired logo is a strong hint. The way this band legitimately includes the word DOOM in its name is another.

I wonder what this band sounds like?

But just in case that’s not immediately apparent, Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene play great riff-filled, hazy, smoky music for equally great riff-filled, hazy, smoky rooms.

It’s doom on the lighter side, with plenty of classic and psychedelic rock moments and lots of groove and swagger, occasionally foraying into punk territory, but their bread is still very much buttered on the side of the psychedelic doom tradition.

One could bang on about them, but as with most written descriptions about new albums and releases, the best way to figure out what you think is to check it out for yourself.

Fuck The Fitzroy Doom: Dream. This is track one from Facing The Ruin , and it starts off as Black Sabbath worship in the best possible way.

Track two: White Crystal Lady. This one’s much faster, even going a bit punk, but it gets tamed back to the mid-pace stoner riffs soon enough. No idea what the subject matter of White Crystal Lady could possibly refer to, just like no one knows what Ozzy was singing about in Snowblind and Sweet Leaf.

Track three: Better Off Dead. Those big, groovy riffs take off again. Also, it’s very nice of Fuck The Fitzroy Doom to provide so many videos. As mentioned, the three videos are all from the one album, which happens to be their debut. They’re rather serious about spreading the word.

Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene: Facing The Ruin veers backwards and forwards and around, under and straight through jolly big riffs. They're not overly fuzzed out or face meltingly heavy, just lots of good solid, hard rock riffs. The album spends a lot of time mostly on the mid to slow side and occasionally picks up the pace, before ending on the very chilled out and appropriately named closer, Leaving.

Facing The Ruin is a slow burner, a grower, and an album that is best savoured on multiple occasions. They key is, I’ve found, to give it a couple of listens and willingly open up your hearing canals to allow those ear worm riffs to emerge from the haze and bore into your head.

What’s with the name?

Whether you like it or not, and whether you intend to pay it any heed or not, something that regularly gets Fuck The Fitzroy Doom noticed is the group’s name.

There’s a theory of advertising that says a piece of promotion is inherently effective even if it’s irritating or annoying. That is, an advertisement is effective, according to this school of thought, even if annoys the pants off you. Why? The mere fact that it managed to get your attention means it is successful.

To be clear: there’s no suggestion that Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene make annoying or irritating music. But the name surely gets them noticed.

As mentioned, doom metal and stoner rock is Serious Business around the world right now — and it’s getting bigger. If your objective is to stand out from this surprisingly crowded pack, you might as well grab the attention of onlookers from the very moment they’re presented with even half a fleeting chance to become aware of your existence. So often that first point of contact is on a flyer or event invite. If someone remembers you on the basis that you’re called Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene, then you’ve gotten noticed and presumably achieved your mission.

Or have you?

I asked my associate contact what the story was with the name and he said they came up with it while rather drunk. “Fuck the Fitzroy doom scene,” one of them had said. For non-Melbournians, Fitzroy is an inner city suburb, kind of Bohemian and hipstery, and I’m told the comment was made in reference to the seriousness and gloom that the group members felt was afflicting various local doom purveyors.

Hence, Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene came to be, and hence they play a style of stoner rocking doom psych metal that is big, riffy but nonetheless fun.

The band known as Fuck The Fitzroy Doom Scene in many ways embodies how big this music is right now. Here’s a local Melbourne stoner doom rock band, getting known overseas despite having no more than a debut album under their belts.

Remember, you saw it here first.