The Rotted

As befits a holiday weekend, it’s pissing down in London, so the DT staff hole up in a nearby pub and arrive late at University of London Union’s cavernous main hall just as The Rotted take the stage. While the banter is upbeat and the musicianship tight there’s a definite feeling that the band may be ploughing a rather dull furrow, their attempts to form a death metal conga line dredging up uncomfortable memories of 80’s chancers like Xentrix or Tortoise Korpse. Musically it’s a slightly odd mix, with black metal drums backing up some thrashy death and a very British sense of humour unfortunately undermining their credibility. They’re solid and spirited but ultimately unremarkable, meaning we quickly return to the merchandise area/bar/school hall area, avoiding a gigantic, very pissed skin in a Rudimentary Peni shirt in our efforts to locate a BT shirt that isn’t in XXXL size. This doesn’t exist, but luckily Greek titans Rotten Christ turn up to break the tedium.

Rotting Christ

While their move from the crawling evil that typified their early sound (and was far more appropriate to the band name)into the anthemic, gothed up festival sound they currently sport doesn’t always make sense on disc, in the live arena it makes them Christ a force to be reckoned with. Huge, swelling sound and chanting broken by those distinctive uro-centric barking vox and soaring solos. RT are a fist-pumping, festival-friendly crowd pleaser that magically lure every female in the room to the front while managing to keep up the spirits of their boyfriends back at the bar. A solid performance and the best sound of the day.

Another hour of dork watching, drinking and bemoaning the closure of the Astoria to all and sundry passes amiably enough, until that lost-but-not-forgotten opening theme strikes up and Bolt Thrower amble onto the stage, all happy faces and friendly waving at odds with the crushing war machine image and ridiculous stained glass logo.

Bolt Thrower

It’s hard to believe everyone’s favourite Warhammer obsessed brummies have been absent from the live scene for the best part of a decade, so anticipation is high. Unfortunately the actual experience can’t compete.

‘The Sound’s Shit’ remarks a punter in front of me, and he’s spot on.

Masters of the run-gu-gud-dada chugalong school of Death, BT are hamstrung by a wobbly, thin mix that no amount of geniality from frontman Karl Willetts can cover. Ultimately we’re left watching some good natured midlanders wandering around the stage, classics like Kill Chain failing to connect –or occasionally even reach – all of the audience, leading to a lack of fun down the front and indifference at the back. Sad to say, but it makes the whole thing boring. Bolt Thrower are a great band – professional, fun, drinking-man’s death metal – and they deserve a better venue. Finger’s crossed it’s a one-off and they’ll be back on form for the next campaign.

Since it’s massively disco-balled rejuvenation a couple of years ago, KoKo is ostensibly more suited to the likes of last night’s Guilty Pleasures disco than ravenous Viking metal, but with a hugely bass-heavy sound, it remains the venue of choice for the discerning – or half-deaf – metal fan.

Entombed are up first after for some trademark death n’ roll, and despite having nurtured a sound that, by it’s very nature seems designed to fall apart, are incredibly tight and focused tonight. A quick visit from Amon’s Johan Hegg livens things up, but L.G.Petrov is a growling machine, bellowing out Wolverine Blues and Chief Rebel Angel like his life depnds on it. Usually, Entombed can be relied upon to perform a raucous, ramshackle headbanging exercise, and while L.G seems to be slowly morphing into the metal Shaun Rider, tonight they come across as an accomplished, polished death metal machine, with a great sound tightening things up with thrilling results.

Headliners Amaon Amarth are clearly reveling in the massively upped profile they’ve built over the past 3 or 4 years, the enormous version of the ‘Twilight of the Thunder God’ making you realise just how bloody ridiculous they are- something the band clearly know and exploit. Dressing more and more like rock stars and clearly enjoying the status, the music is always slightly formulaic but never less than enjoyable – it says a lot for the pure charisma of the band that they can take four-four melodic death and keep it enthralling from start to finish.

Tonight we’re promised “a night of surprises” – which begins with ‘Ride of the Valkyrie’s ‘ being dedicated to “The Ladeez” and ends with some cello and a slightly-out-of-place double header with L.G returning to the stage, bizarrely reminiscent of Mark Wahlberg’s performance in ‘Rock Star’.

The theatrics continue with dry ice aplenty, scorching red mist for ‘Death in Fire’ and a fantastic run-through of ‘Cry of the Black Bird’, Amon Amarth is a band on top of their game and they know it. If they can avoid becoming overly sanitised then based on tonight’s performance, they’re set to rule the death metal roost for years to come.

Never let it be said that we only cover gigs in London. We find ourselves on the South Coast in a pub where it cost only £1 to see Death Metal in a multitude of forms, drinking jagermeister and avoiding a pair of dudes who seem to have got naked for some reason.

First up are Hampshire’s Bloodshot Dawn. They play something between deathcore, thrash and techy death metal, or at least I think they do, because missing their second guitarist, plagued by technical issues and (at the risk of sounding like sound quality wanker) having a bloody godawful mix, it’s hard to tell. I’d like to give them a proper review, but it would be unfair to judge them on this performance, because this was a shambles.

Part metalcore, part glam and part haircut The Defiled look a wee bit out of place on the cramped pub stage. They look like they should be tearing up the Sunset Strip in the mid eighties, rather than entertaining a pub full of half cut greasers. In fact the look is at odds with their sound too. Obviously a lot of work has gone into creating a look somewhere between The Misfits, Nikki Sixx and your local gathering of emo kids down the park, and yet they play a very angry form of glammed up metalcore, full of venom and bile. However I find it hard to believe that you can be that angry and spend that much time on your ‘look’. They have the moves, and if you’re an angry teenager they have the songs, but they don’t have the conviction to impress me, but I am a bastard.

Speakin of conviction, Ted Maul have it in spades. Their drum and bass elements are pushed to the back, allowing their feral, aggressive death metal shine through in its dirty, gritty glory. No showy stage outfits, just shouting, riffing and blasting. They sound like a product of their environment, grotty London streets, overcrowded towerblocks and permanently stinking pubs. Not the ideal place to raise kids, but a great place to make metal. Unpretentious, ferocious and fun, it’s nice to see Ted Maul back on the scene.

Urrrrrghhh. Ruuuughhhh. Repeat.

“Umm, yeah, this song is called RAGUGGGELLWUGH!!!” Says the tubby funster fronting opening act Fleshrot. Ah, yes, the calling card of  bloody boring brutal death metal – a lack of any personality. Yeah, the songs have some cool blasts, and I’m sure the solos are all fine, but a muddy sound and no real tightness produce something that rarely can distract from the fact that the Purple Turtle smells like cthulhus arsehole. A big meh to them.

Blastbeat Frenzy.

Second up are old school grinders Hovadah. A power trio in the strictest sense, they blast out some quality slabs of grinding fun and occasionally throw in some truly groovy riffs – but it’s mostly about the blastbeat. As I have a pretty low attention span (oooh look…porn) constant blasting bores me a bit and I’m soon back to wondering how a pub can really smell this bad. But if you want tight no frills quality grind – Hovadah are your boys.

Rather good, this lot.

Dyscarnate plug in and destroy. Tight and polished catchy death with dual vocals, the band blow the cobwebs (and yes, the smell) clean out of the venue. These guys could be the great British hope of death metal. They certainly have the songs. If they could grow some personality and get a bit more interaction with the crowd going, they could be playing venues double the size of this place, and killing the shit out of everything around.

Pervs.

Welsh Death Metal institution Desecration are a strange beast, trading on their ‘pervert’ notoriety is an odd way to rise through the musical ranks. And being an institution and ‘old school’ is no excuse for playing a pretty damn sloppy set. Desecration most definitely have the tunes and the experience to be much better than this. Yeah, it may be a small venue without a huge crowd, but it could be far better. And with that – the shit smell is back.