Gig Review: The New Dead Metalfest XI, 23/04/22.
I'd like to pay my respects to the Wurundjeri peoples of the Kulin Nation, the stolen lands on which I live. Likewise, I'd like to pay my respects to the traditional land-owners of the Kaurna peoples on which this festival and my stay in Adelaide were observed. Sovereignty was never ceded in either case. My utmost respects to Elders and other First Nations leaders, past, present and emerging. Let's put in some real work towards Closing The Gap.
(all badass photography for this article is care of the talented Samuel Phillips Photography. Facebook: @samuelphillipsphotos, Insta: @samagram77)
(p.s. - Festival artists' Bandcamp/other links are available by clicking on their title. Show some love, scout out some shows happening near you, grab some merch, enjoy the tunes and support the scene).
New Dead Metalfest XI - An Aussie Metal Marathon.
Having been through a whirlwind week of trekking to and from SA from Melbourne (as I'm sure many fellow punters, crew and band members had done, and often from further afield), it's been a hectic week getting this piece out.
At the time of writing this article, exactly a week ago, punters were lining up, bands were setting up, ready for a Herculean effort of catching a relentless wave of bands, all of them well worth sticking around for.
A veritable smorgasbord of blastbeats, beers, breakdowns, solos, screeches and sausage sangas. It's my humble opinion that the day greatly met and exceeded expectations of all in attendance. Not a hard wager to place with such an extensive necronomicon of great new talent and classic scene veterans alike, converging together from across the state and nationwide.
The fact is, there'd been both a slow death of major music festivals from the mid-2010s onwards (e.g. Soundwave and Big Day Out - RIP) and the more recent advent of a bastard virus trying to punch on with the worlds' populace. Starved for the outdoors, let alone local gigs, let alone stacked lineups, those who were fortunate enough to dodge The Virus Who Can Be Named But We're All Really Fucking Over Talking About Already relished in the days' freedom.
For myself as a humble punter and hackneyed writer/muso, here's my personal prelude:
My first experience with Adelaide as a city was back in 2019. Specifically, to see Converge tear the small stage of the Lion Arts Factory. A gig I'll never forget in an intimate version of the venue, but ultimately also a rushjob of hauling ass from Uber/airport/AirBnB/Uber/venue/Uber/AirBnb/Airport/Home. You get it, right? That feeling you were somehow present at a city but only stood still in time for the gig itself.
This time, my partner joined me on the road, and we had the luxury of much more leeway either end of the gig.
Traversing the ridiculously-variable-speed-limit-WTF-SA-government? highway between here and the honestly-almost-not-even-really-in-Melbourne-outer-suburb we call home, we admittedly arrived with some preconceived expectations about Adelaide itself.
Namely, a mental schema of the place being relatively quiet, secluded and laidback. That suited us both just fine, really, as persons both of regional origin. Does what it says on the tin, so far.
However - I think that external sense of ease and relative quiet we felt whilst Uber-ing from our comfy and slightly bougie cottage stay in Glenelg (for a welfare kid such as myself) was not at all foretelling of what was to come. The Elton John on old mates' radio didn't exactly hit the spot as a pre-gig primer, either.
Hoo boy, were we in for a surprise. In the best way.
Making our way through the steadily-growing throng of black-shirted comrades, and standing stage-right in the causeway to the larger stage, any prior sense of restful serenity was gone, replaced instead by the serenity of fire and chaos.
A fire quickly lit under the collective arse of the crowd by Impetus, a ravenously eager and frenetic opening act. Oh, right-on then! Looks like there's an underbelly of metal thirst in this place. I mean, that goes without saying with so many fantastic acts originating here - but to feel that viscerally in the moment, immediately, really hammered the point home.
Plus, it was 12.15pm, for Christs' sake!
At this time, most Friday-night-pill-popping-K-holed normie ponces from Fortitude Valley, Rundle Mall or (insert your town's equivalent collared-shirt-douchebag-nest here) would only just be prying their Oakleys-sporting eyes open, following a night of primate poop-flinging showdowns with some equally-meat-headed bouncer.
Nope, not the black-shirts. Not us metal mongrels. There was a large contingent and they were immediately keen.
Extremely and thankfully unlike aforementioned any number of currently coming-down piss-bag club trash, the festivals' openers were quick to unsettle everyones' lunches with an opening salvo of fire and brimstone, one that would not abate across the day.
Ripping immediately into a salvo of death-thrash morsels, the opening spread was a decidedly fast and delicious offering. Kind of like Dew-Scented if they leaned a bite more into the death side of things. Not a bad way to be jolted out of complacency.
By the way the crowd was thrashing along to the first band, methinks a few lunches were probably soon to be lost from centrifugal force alone. Hell, the caffeine in my stomach was gurgling and reverberating in time to the gargling frontman and buzzsaw guitars.
(A random aside: I have a bit of a weird thing about festivals and gigs, especially if reviewing them. I can't listen to bands I've heard beforehand - not so much to be some prat who claims it's more of a genuine experience, but more a need for novelty, particularly on the live front.)
Flourishing a quick physical 180-degree pirouette on the spot in order to catch next local act, Vapours, my neck was barely given time to set back into place before these dudes immediately coerced it straight back into a classically-conditioned headbangers' swivel motion. Equal parts joyous adoration and fear of future chiropractors' bills washed over me, as my head naturally began the communal motion with an already-fired-up, eager early crowd.
Relieved that todays' proceedings weren't starting off with one of those your-mates'-brothers'-mid-tempo-Pantera-clone-which-goes-alright-live-but-outstays-their-welcome-by-the-end-of-the-set bands, I couldn't help but grin to bear witness Vapours shaking up the aesthetic, interlocking elements of groove with an equal penchant for metallic hardcore and death metal fervour.
The juxtaposition between acts didn't faze a soul - everyone was into it. Or maybe I just didn't notice the disgruntled 'I'm so going to give them a 2 on RateYourMusic' Fantano-beards, 'cause too many others were having fun.
Featuring one of the happiest bass players I've seen live in a while (and that's saying something, right?) and sprinkling cuts from their latest EP, Buried With No Memory with a blistering cover of Slipknot's 'Everything Ends', the band were positively beaming as one. Throwing seeyouspacecowboy styled dissonance over a mashing of djent-y hardcore and death metal, the bands' rocking-in-unison energy was met with whooping applause from the steadily-growing crowd.
Breakdowns the size of an average Member of Parliament's ego sounded out a solid set to an equally eager reception to that of the thrashing death metal that'd just followed.
The literal size of the main stage definitely helped to drink in the scene, and throughout the day, this would also be an interesting juxtaposition. Huge established bands and keen up-and-comers sharing footing on both big and small stages. In the weirdest way, it was this equalising force. Maybe the indoor setting and the unspoken agreed-upon respet for all and sundry was a factor. Either way, we're at two-for-two and it's not even 1pm.
Phasing out with a huge chonkyboi of a breakdown, the booming applause paid respect to a fun second act. Not a second to be wasted, however.
Melbournites 100 Years War spared not even a millisecond launching into their set from the last wisps of amplification in the other room. Darting in and out of rooms, watching the audience move fluidly between stages felt like being amongst a school of already beer-drenched, grinning fish.
Balancing out the sleeker, modernised aesthetic of the second act with the more trad-stylings of the openers, the Victorians immediately launched a battery of one-two thrashing death metal punches garnished with a few jabs of blackened riffage and breakdowns.
Mingling and trading off caustic growls, punky d-beat, blasting sections and melodic licks, it was evident today was to be a marathon exercise in neck and back muscle growth.
Much like folks being unable to stop doing The Monkey in the Simpsons, myself and the crowd were physically incapable of staying inert during a set that featured such a tasty charcuterie of riffs. Cuts from 2021's EP Stand Amongst The Fallen were received with a chorus of 'fuck-YEAH', and the general cacophony you want to hear from us overly excited metal primates. Also, some of the best hair of the day. Make of that what you will.
You know when you go hard headbanging and realise 'shit, there's hours to go' and your neck muscles are already trying to reach some sort of micro-movement compromise and you end up doing this weird, seizure-like head bob cause the bands are all just too fast? Yeah, that. 100 Years War didn't let up.
Jesus Tapdancing Christ. Are they selling neck braces at the merch stand? Are any occupational therapy aid shops open? Please God help us.
To once again lazily quote cartoon parlance, much like Zapp Brannigan, the spirit was willing but the flesh already spongy and bruised.
My soul internally weeping with joy at the ante-upping wall of blasts and fury from Descend To Acheron, any trepidation about taking it easy today was washed away in a sea of whipping heads, cheers-ing, grunts, growls, shrieks and blasts from the other stage.
I'm not one for the whole Aussie 'hahden up, ya kaaaant' masculinity BS usually, but in this case I really had to muster a Red Bull, a deep breath and some stretches.
These bands aren't giving us the choice. They're just too good, and we must obey like the conformist-non-conformists we are. Monkey see, monkey do, and both bands and crowd are currently going apeshit. When in Rome...
Sporting a brutality that set a high bar for pure ferocity this early in the piece, the local Adelaidian blackened death metal juggernaughts cranked the temperature off the dial. I had a moment of decisional fatigue as to whether to temporarily run off and take a whizz, missing precious seconds of the onslaught, or do so on the spot and buy myself time.
Fortunately, unlike that dude from that Trash Talk gig a few years ago, I opted for the former. And with less G.G. Allin behaviour. You'd best believe I put that thing on the highest pressure possible though.
Every second counted, even if the air was chock-filled with an absolute blitzkrieg of noise. Sounding like classic-era Behemoth dragged further into Hell (Acheron, one might even say), these Lawful-Evil fiends left many cheering and others in stunned disbelief after a relentless, decimating set.
What a day. 2pm, people are nursing their necks and doing stretches, some Old Mate is pogo-ing off-time to every band, the cement is sticky with beer, unknown folks become quick acquaintances as they grab each other in stunned belief and just watching how much some were headbanging my out-of-practice sing with vicarious soreness.
And yet, the audience participation REALLY kicked up a notch for the next one. Things really got moving from here in.
The first Queenslanders on the bill, Brisbane blackened-thrashers Idle Ruin extolled a unique combo of a drummer-vocalist and multi-vocal attacks, a trio pumping out the stage presence and felt more populated than say, a certain mask-wearing troupe of entirely too many people.
Maybe it was the honey they sculled right before the set. Maybe they're born with it, Maybe it's Maybelline, etc.
Least it wasn't XXXX. *dodges litany of XXXX thongs and schooners*
Working hard to rouse the crowd and windmilling more than a swathe of the European countryside, their relentless thrash attack kept the pace with their prior extreme metal compatriots. Various tracks and new single 'Valley Inferno' evidenced the energy that oozes from the scene up there, and the crowd responded in excited bewilderment.
A guest cameo by now-local Ben Jarvis (formerly of Brisbane grinders Decapitated Mum fame) brought an extra level of fun with an expertly delivered rendition of the eloquently-titled 'Cunt Puncher'. Locals would do well to heed the frontman's advice to get him on your lineup.
And yet, as the set closed out to huge thanks from the crowd, there was no time to grab a slice of pizza or a sanga just yet. Grab one we did though, and with much haste - no way in Acheron was I missing the next one.
One of my personal favourites from Brisvegas' healthy death metal scene, particularly in a live setting, Descent took the bigger stage and didn't disappoint. Launching into a furious barrage of caustic Swedish-buzzsaw-and-blast with a vocal attack that'd give Tomas Lindberg a hearty nod of paternal pride, the collective look of those not privy to the band was one of delightful surprise.
I was just as stoked watching the band as I was catching the wide-eyed what-the-fuck-ery being silently verbalised by audience members not in the know.
As with the others so far, speaking of pride, the frontman for the band (and all thus far, really) ensured they gave time to thank organisers, bands, crew and punters.
Another brief aside - I take ADHD medication, particularly a strong dose of stimulants. This has absolutely no activating effect on me whatever (a sign you have it - if you don't you're off your nut). However, when mixed with caffeine, boy howdy you bet it DOES have an activating effect.
In a moment that'd piss my psychiatrist off if I ever told him (pfsh, lol), feeling the dual impact of two strong doses of stimulants, I realised that were this just me sitting at home, this'd be a panic attack.
Nope. Even with long-acting methylphenidate and multiple caffeinated beverages coursing through my veins, I was still struggling to maintain the energy to persist.
My partner and others were beginning to show early signs of wear-and-tear. The festival muscles had not been flexed in a while and this was completely relentless.
Wanting to ensure I wasn't physically torturing my better half, and ignoring my deep-seated Freudian Coffs-Harbour-bogan ('ah mate c'mon, don't be a softcock!' etc), I regrettably had to peace out on the opening blasts of The Furor.
But then - thank Great Grandfather Satan! A clear view of the one-man pummelling machine, the stuff of legend, from the barbecue area outside. You just got to LOVE when you can catch a band from the beer garden.
But also - my brother in Christ, why is anyone outside? Now?!
Hanging off the chicken wire like Sarah Connor when she gets nuked, we all similarly too copped the glorious blast of furious nuclear black metal fire. Down to a one-man operation these days but not one shred of energy lost, the brutality factor was ripped off the dial. And stepped on. And nuked, again.
Not even the potentially-near-burnout RPM of my poor overdosing heart could keep up with the sticks. As with Idle Ruin before, our frontman here was able to frenetically shred the kit whilst belching the familiar vile of his classic material. You guys are completely off your nut.
Okay. Take a breath, Brady. Guys, I need to fanboy a bit here.
At a time and age where I'd turn off Three Hours Of Power/Full Metal Racket when it got to the yucky extreme metal stuff, I'll credit Furor, Nazxul and Atomizer as being incredibly influential in my descent into the black metal Dark Side. I bought Advance Australia Warfare on count of it being a great pun, and introduced new levels of trauma on my poor Mum whence popping that badboy into the CD player in my garage.
(BTW, I was also stoked to briefly meet Haugy again, who somehow remembered my shitty 3-song-listener-choices for FMR from when he called me in like, 2004? I envy your brain).
So yeah. To see the fucking Furor laying an absolutely disgusting abomination of speed and bile after all, by himself, was something I legit thought I'd never see and was a moment of surreal magic.
The pizza was cold and the beer was warm. Welp, time to gulp both because we're far from done yet. Naught of a second to sit on the plush couches upstairs before hanging over the bars like a horns throwing monkey (I did that a lot, that was me). The top-down view of that 'Show No Mercy' cover from the slats above the indoor stage was a most delicious icing on the cake.
I'm sure Dave Lombardo just sat upright in his bed and gave you one of these, mate:
It's now 3.30pm. People wander like stunned mullets over towards the larger stage, skin still melting. Those who headbanged in anything past eigth-notes to the last act were now looking like they'd taken multiple debuffs in an MMO. The hunger was still keenly there, and still the throng persisted.
That's when Brisbane vets Minus Life completely changed aesthetic gears once again. Still dialling in a frantic pace and keeping the lactic-acid-filled moshers' legs going hearty, the band's Strapping-Young-Lad-by-way-of-trad unique ethos took a fair few aback but was received with immediate approval.
Flinging out technical pieces like 'Contorted Reality' (which, if you're brave enough to listen to my actual shitty podcast, you might recognise as the show intro riff), 'Order Disorder' and other cuts, we found ourselves having to divvy up our time watching each member (oi, I saw some slap bass in there you guys). With a frontman equally penchant for stage banter, gyrating and rocking it in the crowd, the band displayed a prog-metal technicality that I surmise was soaked in by familiar punters and newbies alike.
Closing out with the directive to get the pit moving, the audience responded in kind.
Now, I'll preface this next one by saying thanks past-Brady for getting proper custom-mold earplugs (highly recommended). The squeals and amplified feedback of blackened sludge troupe Sundowner admittedly got a bit much for me at points, but the set was well worth it.
My sludge-loving heart was warmed to see some South Aus representation on the bill. And they didn't disappoint. With the vicious gnarls of a frontwoman who would make folks who say 'OMG Angela Gossow from Arch Enemy is so heavy XD!!!!111!!one' involuntarily wet themselves, the band turned things back a notch tempo-wise but compensated with crushing heaviness.
It's a hard tie between the drummer of this band and the bassist from Vapours for biggest shit-eating grins of the day, and despite the dour, Thou-esque tones of the band, they were equally chilled out (I mean, the bassist was literally just sittin' for a portion) and aggressive.
Dirty, nasty and disgusting but in a melodic Sabbath-ian way, it felt like a triple-stacked beef burger following a tidy fit meal.
I'm sure the timing and the band title were intentional, but as the light began to wane outside, the namesake and set both really helped give a gasp of recovery for some, and just an excuse to mosh in slower, wider arcs for others. (side note - totally forgot to buy merch, crap)
Now, do I even need to provide an explanation of these guys?
The one, the only - Frankenbok. As much of a staple of Australian metal as a tapeworm-infested outback servo meat pie, there were no secrets and no need for introductions.
Sporting a set packed across the discography, this is the point where more gang chants, lyrics and shouts could be heard than prior. The crowd knew exactly when to turn it up, the band knew exactly when to prompt the next salvo of thrashing groove metal breakdowns, solos and the like.
Even the most pretentious zero-person-tech-death-band-from-the-future-shirt-wearing pretentious lads (like myself, except wrong shirt) were physically incapable of sitting still. Venue-wide ADHD (hyperactive type, this time) and a mosh so sweaty it had its' own meteorology report, there was a sense of second wind.
Surprisingly, by this stage the crowd hadn't expanded too much in size. To me, this demonstrated a number of devotees that had chosen to stick out the whole day. Indeed, there were familiar faces in the throng. I don't bedgrudge anyone who'd opted to leave it til later, though. It's a long fuckin' day.
Too bad, though. Because the minute the last note ceased from the 'Bok, fellow Victorian In Malices' Wake sped that goddamn metronome off the clock.
Sporting a Three-Word-Band name, I think many who'd never heard nor seen the group before were permitted to assume, I don't know, something perhaps more groove based. Remember that time when every metalcore band aping Shadows Fall had a name like that?
Well, if that's the template, tear that up and piss on it. These guys dove immediately into their frantic blend of what feels like cross-contintental thrash and melodic black metal. Now, I know we've mentioned blackened thrash a few times thus far, but I want to put emphasis on the former here. Like Aura Noir if they'd snorted a bit too much cocaine, this set was just a relentless barrage.
Duelling shreds, vocal tradeoffs, palm muting fast enough to scare a Beyblade - it was all there.
Please. Please, have mercy. My neck already a shadow of its' former self, and yet, zombified, we persisted in at least trying to keep the headbanging to an officially-acceptable range of motion.
More Red Bull, more beer. Maybe some spirits. And some food. Were we going to straight up have our legs give out at this stage?
Eyes watering, kidneys berating me, I Harold Holt-ed down the steps, yeeting myself back into a growing crowd to see one of the more esoteric and unique stage performances of the day with Hadal Maw.
Again, having witnessed the carnage and the Thespian performance-art of the uniquely-expressive frontman, it was super interesting to hang back and watch unknowing punters visibly squirm as eyes locked with that of the vocalist.
More audience participation here, the singer enunciating the mostly-mid-down-tempo dissonant technical death metal assault in a way that truly added to the sinister, prowling vibes of the music. Deceptively subdued at times but relentless, it's always great to watch a band who can confidently push and pull at their own pace, mixing in a doom metal ethos to the death metal overcoat.
Sigh. This is a long review. Ya still with me? Good stuff.
Toning the trickery back a notch and opting for a straight-up party vibe, the chin-stroking intellectuals might've scoffed into their vodka-lime-and-soda's at the next act. (Self-deprecation - had to have a few of those buggers to keep hydrated).
Black Rheno, the mega-hyper Sydney trio (no bassist?! You guys want one? Just kidding, we suck) melded Refused-styled hardcore, Cancer Bats groovin' sharpness, stoner vibes and a veritable Mexican-jumping-bean of a frontman. Despite some technical difficulties ('The amp just shat itself!') and some reminders that the bass player 'wasn't here today', they were nevertheless met with a rousing pit, boogeying, nods of approval by even the stinkiet of us basement-dwellers. There's a reason these lads equally fit on the bill with everyone from Diploid and Mindsnare to [800 Melbourne doom bands here]. I think everyone ranging from judge-sober to sloppy-jalopy to just-got-here-after-punching-six-cones-round-the-corner got into things as a single, smiling unit for this set.
Striding atop the fun feel of the last band, and probably the most pompously unique act of the day, sea-dwelling rum-punchers Lagerstein brought a literal and musical aesthetic flair to the bigger stage straight after. Slamming an actual shoey, the RumPhone and all the greats such as 'Drink Til You Die', I'm reminded of when I played Odinfest a while back in a death-grind act and witnessed the crowd just as universally into it as any of the others on the bill.
Even the most cynical twat such as Yours Truly can't help but be drawn into the maelstrom of sea-shanty fun this band kicks out. Hell, even the violinist was shredding it! Anyone claiming that set wasn't fun, is a liar and a charlatan. And I'm saying that as someone whom pirate metal usually makes my ear canal reflexively close up.
Okay. My limbs have ceased to exist. We are both (as im sure of many others) standing upon aching bloody stumps.
Nevertheless, I felt it naught but heresy to not be in the crowd, close up to be more wholly subsumed by the sublime and ethereal black-metal-from-another-dimension heaviness of another band I've waited so, so long to see live, Stargazer. Representing everything cool and good about modern extreme metal in terms of progression, but having done so eons prior, the vanguards of marrying blastbeats, fretless and relentless tremolo riffage were almost quietly and respectfully held during songs by the audience. Tracing from 'Back Gammon' and backwards in time, of all bands today, this is one I could easily watch for hours on end.
The rapid pacing of the bands' black metal tinged undercurrent was well-placed as the delicious relish between the fluffy brioche of Lagerstein and the next veterans to emerge from the cosmos.
Guys, I promise you I'll pay you in kind with gold and riches if you just tell me where the hell this Fountain of Youth y'all obviously sipping from before your sets is.
The collective musculoskeletal system of the room honestly just a ball of severed tendons and bone by now (a masseuse wouldve made a killing today), the writhing and beaten mass dispersed. A smaller mass of the faithful made their way over to our familiar Hadal frontmans' other vocal salient, Lo!.
Full admission, I crashed on the comfy upstairs couch in disbelief how folks could still be going with this level of energy. Perking back up to hang limp over the railing, head and neck still transfixed to the spell of perpetual headbang, the meandering and dynamic post-metal, sludge and prog was again, a genre mix very close to my heart.
Not missing one iota of steam, the band punched their way through a set that was equally pensive and leviathan, and the crowd ate the lot up. Weaving through the crowd, Lo!'s vocal commander could've one inch punched half the punters swaying in the pit by this stage, and thrown them several feet back. The response was just as energetic, however, and we overheard many comments of gratitude of being able to catch them.
Right. Finally. Here we are.
Tasmanian Devils Psycroptic ensured that, no matter the marathon, we'd all end on that collective sprint you see in sports movie montages.
'The Watcher Of All', 'Carriers of the Plague', fucking 'Observant' as the encore?! Christ on a carousel, what a goddamn performance. I dont think it matters how many times anyone's seen this band live, or the passage of time - it still feels as fresh as day one.
With a frontman imploring the pit to get ridiculous, directing a few brave souls to crowdsurf a guy with little assistance through a whole song, watching a photographer get surfed, dodging shoes, expressing gratitude and of course, a spider-like we of melodic technicality purely their own, it was exactly Psycroptic as you'd expect. Which couldn't have been better to ask for.
At this stage, our hearts and souls wished for nothing else to trek to Enigma Bar and down a waterfall's worth of those cheap pints, but alack. Two years of lockdown probably didn't help the physical endurance, and we felt making it the whole way through was celebratory enough. For those of you who soldiered on with the bands, I'm sure you have some great tales of the afterparty. Please regale us!
In summary - Ive said a lot of words, and this is an excessively long review. However, Ican only hope I paid you all the respect, homage and yearnful respect as you showed us, the audience on the day.
To the crew, the organiser, promoters, bar staff, sausage sanga crew, roadies, bands, all and sundry - thank you for a gargantuan day, and for cementing Adelaide forever in my mind as a city that, albeit small, is metal as fuck.
Plenty more archival posts from the old site ready to be reposted and reuploaded!
Until Then,
Peace, Love and Grindcore xoxo - Brady.
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