Marduk: Swedish black metal hits Australia

I’m a firm believer in unplanned fun. That is, the less expected a night, event or catch-up is, the greater the likelihood of it turning into a memorable occasion.

Such was the case very recently when I found myself in the city and decided to catch a gig headlined by Swedish black metal masters Marduk. All unplanned of course.

I had been in the CBD to celebrate with my day job work colleagues (yes, I have respectable day-time employment ). The team would be moving back to our now-refurbished suburban office after three or so months of temporary work in the city, so I’d organised a table for a dozen people at Mrs. Parma’s restaurant. This place easily has the best chicken parmas in Melbourne — and a magnificent assortment of micro-brewery beers to boot — and after polishing off a Mexican parma (my favourite) and finally managing to sample the splendid 3 Ravens beer I’d heard so much about, a few of us hardier folk decided to kick on. As soon as we left, we found a bar almost directly next to where we’d just come from, but a few glances between us quickly resulted in a decision not to enter.

To quote a certain popular meme, one does not simply enter the first bar one finds when ‘kicking on’ for the night.

 

This never gets old.

So we bypassed that one and ended up at the Hofbrauhaus, where along with some fine Bier, I felt like a small part of my life had now been successfully fulfilled after I sampled the peach, chocolate and plum schnapps.

Sensing that the night was drawing to a close and feeling pretty good about everything so far, we bid our farewells and I headed to the train station. That’s when I spotted some long-haired, black-clad, bullet belt-ridden freaks — not an unusual sight in the city, but there were quite a few of them here, forming a line outside the well-known concert venue that is the The Hi-Fi bar.

Why of course, I remembered. Some Swedish black metal dudes were in town. And they’d be performing. Live. Playing Marduk's new album, 2012’s Serpent Sermon. Would it be… worth catching them live perhaps?

I will preface this by saying that I’m not much of a Marduk fan, at least in the sense that I own and know only one album in the entire Marduk discography: Heaven Shall Burn… When We Are Gathered (along with the accompanying Glorification EP).

So I’m not a huge fan in the sense that I don’t know that many Marduk songs.

On the other hand, Heaven Shall Burn… is one of my favourite metal albums of all time. Released in 1996, it has some of the best black metal I’ve ever heard. Tracks like Glorification Of The Black God, The Black Tormentor Of Satan and the simple-yet-utterly-awesome (and exceedingly difficult to pronounce) slow epic that is Dracul Va Domni Din Nou In Transilvania — these tracks rock my socks of every time I hear them, though I’m sure the true kvlt haters out there will disagree.

The best Marduk album I’ve ever heard. It’s also the only one I’ve ever heard.

So basically I love this one release and don’t know any other Marduk albums. Since I also love a lot of black metal in general I figured I’d call a mate, Nick, to find out if, just on the off chance, he might be attending tonight. It turned out he was, so we caught up five minutes later and I was at the door shelling out cash for a ticket.

But then… I quickly realised that I was confronted with a problem. As mentioned previously, I’d come directly from work. Here I was at an extreme underground black metal music gig and I was quite literally the only person there dressed in business shoes and corporate slacks. At least my (I’m told) expensive and genuinely non-knock-off Tommy Hilfiger polo shirt which I wear on special occasions (like social events with work colleagues) was black. Nonetheless, my heavy metal cred wouldn’t cop this for long. I quickly bee-lined to the Marduk merch table and acquired an Australian Tour Marduk shirt, which incidentally, in a dejected gesture of defeat, I exchanged five minutes later for the next size up. I might have to cut down on those lovely Mexican parmas…

IGNIVOMOUS, PORTAL, ORDER OF ORIAS AND MARDUK LIVE

The first band on the bill played what you might say had an ‘acquired’ taste. Ignivomous played not so much a blend but more of a solid brick of unrelenting, fast, never-ending brutal death metal. Every track was a plutonium-heavy rapid assault which, while I don’t mind in reasonably small doses, wouldn’t suffer from the addition of some variety, hinted at in the occasional creative riff change. Here’s some Ignivomous live video from a previous gig if that’s your cup of tea.

Next was Order Of Orias, a band I’ve seen several times and which I’ve blogged about previously. I rather like Inverse, Order Of Orias’ 2011 debut full-length album. It conveys a strongly fatalistic and malevolent atmosphere (remarkably, said to have been produced on a shoestring budget), even though I’ll concede that I probably couldn’t name most of the tracks from the album if I heard them come on my playlist. I just like chucking on this album — the operative word here being album, rather than individual tracks — and soaking up the bleakness as a whole, which is why at the time of writing this band ranked number 46 on my personal Last FM chart stats out of almost 1600 artists.

As they came on stage their opening track was preceded by an interesting (pre-recorded in this instance I think) somewhat ambient-leaning instrumental track. Nick pointed out that this was from new or in-progress material that he’d heard, describing some of it as “coming from outer space”. I agreed, and if this brief preview is indicative of material to come then surely there’s something here to get excited about.

Then the ‘real’ playing started. They were as tight and heavy as the last time I saw them, while vocalist Anthony, boot perched on the foldback, roared ferocious invocations, as if summoning some elder evil force. This is a band that I’d really like to think is going places. Literally in fact. Last year they played the DeathkultOpen Air festival in Germany. Hopefully when a new album comes out they’ll be doing more of that.

Australian black metal. Or blackened thrash. Or… hell, I can’t keep track of what the kids call it these days.
Order Orias. Live at Marduk. Surely you can tell from the high quality phone pic?

The curveball performance for the night was Portal. Despite the fact that there's a relatively long Wikipedia entry for Portal, an attempt to describe this band’s performance with mere words wouldn’t do justice to what actually occurred. It’s black metal. Death metal. Crazy metal. The below photo, thankfully of a slightly higher quality than the above pic, may give you some idea of what it was all about.

You totally had to be there.

I counted two eight-string guitars. Black hoods on all the members. A five-string bass. Mad drumming. The vocalist’s crazy headdress. And that totally dissonant and crazy, tempo-changing, blast-beatingly over the top dissonant sound that, combined with the intense volume, transformed the whole spectacle into a creeping blanket of occult noise.
Also, did I mention that they did their entire performance in that attire?

Yet despite the cacophony there appeared to be some intense musicianship going on here. Alas, if only I could hear it! I closely watched one of the guitarists and his hands slid up and down his instrument like some deranged octopus. “There’s some technical shit right there,” Nick pointed out.

The video below might somehow convey the overall effect, despite the loud volume completely obliterating the audio on my phone. I do feel that if Portal’s stage presence had been any less over the top then it’d be easy to dismiss them as laughable and gimmicky. Which admittedly, to some people, may very much be the case.
As it was, for those who dig it, the combination of technical musicianship (whether that’s your cup of tea or not), extreme volume, and impossible-to-look-away-from stage presence combined into what may best described as an overwhelming force that twisted things into another dimension.

Black metal TISM.

Finally Marduk hit the stage. Or rather, assailed it, blasting away and playing furiously to a whole bunch of songs that I would have almost certainly appreciated even more if I recognised even one of them. Alas, not a single cut from Heaven Shall Burn… When We Are Gathered was played that night. Still, I wasn’t complaining.

Mortuus, Marduk’s vocalist, showed himself to be an accomplished front-man, invoking the crowd into not so much a frenzy, to use that old cliché, but rather, a decent and vigorous amount of movement and head banging for those at the front and centre who chose to do so.

It was a contrast to the comparatively sedate motions of guitarist Morgan. You wouldn’t think he was the band’s founder and sole continuous member since Marduk’s uniquely-named first release (find it here — note: the album artwork at this link is NOT even remotely worksafe), or that he was a talented multi-instrumentalist. It didn’t stop him from playing all those killer black metal guitar riffs though.

It was also good to see this stompin’ evil Swedish black metal band show what resembled a sense of humour. At one point, Mortuus commanded the crowd to make some noise. The response was instantaneous, but he pulled a face and did a so-so gesture with his hand. He then commanded the crowd to try again. No, it wasn’t the funniest of stand-up comedy routines. But in comparison, the previous band performed an entire set draped in black hoods. So at least there was something resembling rapport…

 

Marduk live. Black metal goes Down Under.

The gig ended with an encore and as we stepped outside I instantly regretted not bringing ear plugs. For a full day afterwards all sounds were draped in an uncomfortably familar and unhealthy muffled filter.

So I went home, content in the knowledge that, at least for this week, I’d done my bit for heavy metal. I went to the gig. I supported the local Australian metal scene. I bought the World Serpent tour shirt. I even got a Marduk patch to add to my Iron Maiden jacket.

My only regret? Other than neglecting to use earplugs and suffering from tinnitus all weekend?

That awesome Mexican chicken parma. Much as I love ’em with all my stomach, they forcibly make themselves felt again the next day.

Not everyone has this reaction I hope (I’m not very big on chilli and spicy food) but in my case I’m certain it’s due to those jalapeno slices. I find them hotter than the blasphemous hellfire found in so many Marduk lyrics. And I got to relive — or is that relieve — it all again the next morning right after my first coffee…

A night out in three parts: Order Of Orias, live at The Bendigo Hotel, Nov 5, 2011 + (free!) drinks at some trendy hip place + stumbling off to DV8

Part II: Miss Libertine

Having seen just one of the five bands on the bill — the one that mattered anyway — and having satisfied my craving for kebab, I was very grateful to Nick (see my previous post) for dropping me off at my next destination, a large-ish bar and club I’d never been to called Miss Libertine.

Here I was to meet with another mate called Wolfgang, and yes, that really is his name. I bet the people you hang out with don’t have awesome first names like that. They'd have to be called Chuck Wayne or Arnold Fightmaster to come close. He’s someone I regularly bump into around the traps, and we usually end up talking about music, bands, and, well, music. However, until tonight we’d never had a proper cath-up outside of a gig or a club night. So, dosed up on metal and kebab, I entered this popular drinking establishment, whereupon entering the crowded premises I observed a few things.

The first thing I noticed was that it was hip. So very, very, very trendy and hip. Edgy young dudes wearing hats and short-sleeve tops had their designer tattoos on display while most of the girls who felt they could get away with it (and some who probably couldn’t) were also on display in inappropriately short skirts and handbags.

Secondly, I quickly discovered that the venue was serving free booze. Lots of it. In a city where the active nightlife is inevitably dominated by traditionally expensive bar prices, such a generous offering is almost unprecedented. And I don’t mean free drinks as in “pay $369 for entry and get a free glass of champagne” — I mean “can I please have two imported beers and not pay for them” kind of free. Interestingly enough, and I give credit to the venue for this, I noticed that this phenomenon was not being abused.

When I was 18 or 19 I once (and only once) went to this club that provided free booze all night long in exchange for a $20 entry-fee (and keep in mind that $20 in 2001 according to the Reserve Bank Of Australia Inflation Calculator is more than $25 in modern dollars, so that wasn't quite as cheap as it seems). I think the venue was called something like the Commercial Club, and no, in calling it that there wasn’t a hint of intended irony or edginess, it was simply the fact that it was located on Commercial Road. From memory, this night was exceedingly unpleasant, with five-thick echelons of people impatiently pushing towards the bar, aggressively jostling for an opening until they finally got served every 50 minutes. Even worse, I never came close to getting my money’s worth in “free” booze. Also, the music was crap.

Not so with this venue (the behaviour part I mean — the music was still crap). For whatever reason, a potentially explosive swill fest remained entirely civilised, and I take my hat off to the organisers for managing to achieve such a feat with no immediately visible douchebags spoiling the situation.

My third observation concerned the music being played and how much I thought it sucked. Grooving along to the very best in top 40 and commercial smash hits were gaggles of girls in high heels, creating movement in those inappropriately short skirts, their legs planted around fixed dance floor circles in which were found beacons of handbags. Geez, I can’t remember the last time I was in one of these places, I thought. But hey, the beer was free, so why am I complaining?

After taking in the bar and the really happenin’ dancefloor I got caught in a bottleneck on my way to the outside balcony. Here an attractive young lady said some excessively bubbly hellos to Wolfgang, complete with kisses on the cheek and a tight hug. She must have been 21 or 22 and had some trendy-looking ink on her shoulders. Then she landed a mildly forceful hug on me and attempted to kiss me on the cheek too, seeing as, you know, I was Wolfgang’s mate and all. I guess she didn’t think much of my hello to you too though — if we were shaking hands then my attempt at avoiding a kiss and hug would have amounted to a limp cold fish. Clearly she wasn't impressed because she insisted I say hello to her properly. “I want your lips to touch my cheek," she instructed.

“Uhm…,” I mumbled.

“I’ll be right,” I said.

Then there was this fantastically awkward pause where neither of us said anything.

Thankfully, she had the courtesy to extricate us with a mildly witty repartee that allowed us both to retain some measure of dignity. “You must be the only grownup here,” she said, and flittered off.

Apparently she worked at the venue.

One of the more interesting encounters occurred a few drinks later with one of Wolfgang’s friends. I vaguely recall seeing her at various noise gigs and the occasional house party but that was it mostly.

We quickly established that yes, the alternative / duff / goth /noise / industrial world is at times even smaller and incestuous than we imagine it to be. Then we somehow got onto the topic of tattoos where I said something to the effect of it must be pretty ballsy for her to have ink work that remains visible on places other than arms and shoulders. That is, she had the sort of tattoos you don’t bother covering up. In response, she showed me a small piece on the back of her neck.

Got it?

Now funnily enough, that also happens to be the name of one of my favourite industrial tunes, released a while back by Velvet Acid Christ, or VAC for short. When this girl showed me her There Is No God tattoo I casually asked if that had anything to do with VAC. I was fully expecting a blank look, as often occurs when I make obscure industrial music references, but next thing you know her face veritably lit up.

“Oh my God, you’re only the second person to ever mention that,” she said delightedly (I’d had a few drinks so she may not have mentioned the “God” part).

We exchanged Facebook details and a few days later I noticed that her first post on my feed was a photo of her displaying snot that she had extracted herself.

True story.

A night out in three parts: Order Of Orias, live at The Bendigo Hotel, Nov 5, 2011 + (free!) drinks at some trendy hip place + stumbling off to DV8

Another night out on the town proves to be a healthy reminder why I steer clear of the “normal” side.

Part I: Order Of Orias

I sort of know one the guys in this band from back in the day when I had no job and would religiously head to a free weekly Thursday night metal club in the city. Now I’m gainfully employed and don’t go out nearly as much — I’m told by those who have had kids that I still ain’t seen nothin’ yet on the “staying at home” front — so when my good friend Nick (you’ll probably hear more about him in future posts) told me he was going to support Order Of Orias I was only too thrilled to come along.

This used to be every Thursday night of my life.

I’d seen this band a year or two ago, part of it probably because a small part of me wanted to remind itself that I still manage to get out and be merry metal from time to time. I even bought the t-shirt and the demo before I heard them play! There should be more people like me LOL.

Now here was a chance to catch them again as they were opening in a five-band line-up. The operative word here is opening — sadly we wouldn’t be catching the rest of the show, seeing as Nick was in the midst of nailing a fancy university degree. True trooper that he is, he compromised and went to support his mate’s band but skipped out the rest of the night. In other words, for his study break he went to see an extreme metal band before heading home and getting right back to studying. Goddamn I wish I was still at uni.

Order Of Orias were intense the last time I saw them play. And heavy as. It was in the dark and rather spacious Central Club in Richmond with lots of people wearing black t-shirts. This is going to sound like every other impression you’ve ever read of a live band, but the closest description I can think of is that of an “aural assault”. Everything was brutal and fast. My ears rang when I left the venue. Wimps and posers would leave the hall I imagine…

This time it was in an equally dark but much smaller band room. In such a relatively small space, with a trickle of people filtering in, there’s generally a noticeable quietness at first. When the house PA isn’t cranking out the tunes and the people there haven’t even finished their first beer, it suddenly feels terrifyingly loud when the first band for the night obliterates the silence.

As I said, the last time I saw them it was a set-piece frontal attack. This time I noticed it was more mobile, more varied, and pretty tight. The set was interspersed with what I thought were some really cool slower tracks, which I thought was a nice departure from the previous carpet bombing assault. In fact, during one of said slower tunes I remember thinking, “Geez, a guitar solo would be awesome right now” — and as if reading my mind, this immediately occurred. I’m starting to like this band more and more.

So it was a tight performance and it turned out that most of what had been played would be appearing on their very recently released debut album, Inverse. In very metal fashion it’s also available on vinyl. I got my CD copy from World Terror Committee (be aware that there seems to be some suspect right wing shit going on behind the scenes of this distro — if that doesn't sit well with you, then maybe get your copy direct from the band). The ordering system is a bit funny — as far as I can tell, if you want pay via Paypal you have to specify in the comments field when you order that you’re doing so — but I got around it eventually. Impressions will follow at a later time.

And with that Nick had to get back to his higher education, but not before we fulfilled the ancient club and gig-going tradition that is consuming a late night kebab. Then he kindly dropped me off at my next destination…