In a way, the support bands also present both sides of Ice Nine Kills. Defying Decay, probably the only seven piece band from Bangkok in the scene, create casually melodic tunes drifting over a perpetually churning sea of thrashing noise. It’s an hour’s set from any other band crammed into 20 mins, like an overstuffed suitcase.

Lansdown are masculine without being overpowering, driven by heartfelt and muscular bass. They display the genuine glow of a band enjoying what they do, mining a rich vein of grunge and classic rock excavated by a laser guitar. While the first two acts represent the purely musical side of Ice Nine Kills, Skynd go all out on supporting the theatrical and murderous aspects of the night. Imagine a movie with a scene set in hell’s own nightclub, with an undead opera singer wailing about the crimes of the damned hooded figures behind her, and you’re halfway to imagining a Skynd live set. ‘Jim Jones’ especially is the vocal-effects-laden incarnation of your nightmares and they channel the macabre into dance metal horrifically well. 

Of course, their dramatic tendencies pale like a corpse in comparison to the sheer spectacle of Ice Nine Kills. From the opening growl of ‘Funeral Derangements’, a beat as fast as the strobe lights pummels the audience into devotion. It’s a triumphant haunted house of a performance and the instant jump-scare fists in the air chorus of ‘don’t give up, don’t let go’ is intoxicating. The Rammstein-lite ‘Wurst Vacation’, complete with actors wielding chainsaws and enacting cannibal murder scenes to the sound of squealing guitars, is a horror triumph. But at no point is their skill lost to the spectacle: ‘Hip To Be Scared’ might involve Bateman raincoats and seamless disco transitions, but there’s always space for guitarist Dan Sugarman to let his fingers do the talking. When he jumps to the middle of the stage, the movie mirage breaks and you appreciate for a second that Ice Nine Kills are one hell of a rock band. 

Ice Nine Kills is a tremendously self-aware band: aware of their performance, the drama they want to create and the effect each little tweak will have on the mesmerised crowd. ‘American Nightmare’ may be unsubtle in its presentation, but their take on the horror and metal genres is not. It’s clear how rehearsed their visual and energetic show really is, packed with old school rock club energy. The slower vocal build ups on ‘Communion Of The Cursed’ – their tribute to ‘The Exorcist’ – are masterful, and they play with pace and effects to keep the tension high, directing attention to the actors onstage at appropriately dramatic points. 

‘Assault and Batteries’, their take on the ‘evil doll’ trope, features choreography, costumes, and masks, but their sound is colossal, burying you six feet under a pile of distortion. They’re the evil twins of Panic At The Disco, come from a mirror universe to give you nightmares. But then, a few minutes later, there’s a moment of emotional honesty to ‘save yourself or save your soul’ in the dying pleas of ‘A Grave Mistake’, adding instant of gravity to an otherwise unreal performance. For those few minutes, they’re just guys in a rock band, doing their thing. For the curtain to drop, even for a second, just makes the CGI ultra violence that more wickedly enjoyable. 

Finishing on ‘Welcome To Horrorwood’ is the big reveal; the open doors to the outside world at the end of the ghost train, as if to reveal and reassure that it was just pretend all along. The softness of the whispered parts are transformed into a celebratory yell that we’ve all survived and, more than that, we’ve had fun at most original and exciting murder show out there, giving ourselves over to the chills and thrills of a band at the absolute top of their game. 

Kate Allvey

Technically, they are absolutely stunning. All four members are incredibly talented, polished and tight as performers, and frontman Michael Starr has the kind of voice that could melt statues. His vocals are neon lava lamp fluid, morphing between spitting fire, howling like a madman and a surprising tenderness. He’s the love child of Steven Tyler and Mick Jagger, all posing and glory, sharing vogue shapes with guitarist Satchel, who slices and shreds like a bedazzled blender. Drummer Spyder is absolutely rock solid, bringing that Guns n Roses big banging tempo to everything he touches. 

Their ‘milder’ songs are fantastic: ‘Eyes of a Panther’ is a stadium-busting opener, with silhouettes against a huge UV backdrop transforming into the vivd rockstars of MTV history, and the reception this newer single receives is as big as their hair: they’ve got that classic hair metal sound nailed and now they’re barraging us around the head with the full power of the era. ‘The Burden Of Being Wonderful’ is the perfect opportunity for the playful lyrics to shine, and for Starr to get his hip-thrusting, gut-busting groove on. Numbers like this show that Steel Panther are very talented songwriters and can twist those tropes about gigantic egos into humour. Similarly, the pathos of a tune about surviving is subverted in ‘Ain’t Dead Yet’, and they are capable of tenderness amid the throbbing baselines and imported wind machines. The absolutely razor sharp cut of Satchel’s guitar in that song is a thing of beauty that would inspire a hundred air guitars forty years ago. 

However, it’s impossible to separate Steel Panther’s music from their overall performance as the tunes are only one facet of the whole experience. They come across less a satire of eighties hairspray and excess, and more as someone’s uncle who used to be in a band back in the day and now keeps bringing up wildly inappropriate anecdotes about cocaine during Christmas dinner. The banter in between songs (and there is a lot – they pause for five minutes after every two songs) is shudderingly embarrassing; between the expected encouraging of audience members to perform oral sex on each other and mockery of the disabled is a sense of scorn for their fans, a willingness to use them as props rather than engage with them. What makes other metal parodies such as ‘Wayne’s World’ or ‘Spinal Tap’ effective is that the characters are sympathetic and relatable to those watching amid the ridiculousness, and Steel Panther seem to have missed the mark. With a tweak to their dialogue or the creation of a narrative as simplistic as those on professional wrestling they’d have created the kind of manufactured metal masterpiece that’d be iconic, but that has been forsaken in favour of more dick jokes. 

Take their semi-scripted ‘Impromptu Song For a Girl’, for instance. It’s a classic routine: the band invite a beautiful lady onstage to have some interaction, be it a song dedicated to her or a classic Springsteen waltz moment. With Steel Panther, obviously, the expectation that it will be lewd is pretty obvious, and the audience member was more than ready to play the game. It could have been a really funny memorable moment for us, them and the chosen woman. But after four separate songs, one from each band member, with chatting among themselves in between, it began to drag. It was clear that the young lady could have been a blow-up doll for all they cared, because they were ‘doing a bit’ and that was what mattered. Putting her on the spot to ask her about her intimate grooming habits was the stuff of interview nightmares, and from looking around it was clear that a lot of spines among the audience were curling in shame. That said, of course, the songs they ‘improvised’ were absolutely spot on, fantastic and sarcastic renditions of that soppy ballad style that they slipped in and out of effortlessly and each one could easily have been a single in its own right. It’s frustrating because they are so incredibly musically sharp and capable of anything, but they chose to wander aimlessly in the paths of awkward misogyny instead of putting their talents to making something magical.  

So have Steel Panther still got their claws? Yes, but they seem to be turned in the wrong direction. For every moment of unity, every big party number like ‘Gloryhole’ where all the stops are pulled out, cages are rattled and the key changes make everything seem like a Reagan-era utopia, there’s a moment of silence where a point of connection could have been created. The guitar solos are long and technical enough to bring joy to even the biggest prog fans, there’s enough bass to rearrange your heart rhythm and a controlled, primal drumbeat like the eponymous big cat on a leash. But there’s also a sense of disregard, so many opportunities missed for genuine humour and a strange reliance on off colour jokes for pacing.

For their many devotees, this was an amazing show and doubtless delivered everything they wanted. For the rest of us, it was just a bit embarrassing. 

KATE ALLVEY

To shatter so many conventions and stand out so flagrantly in such a busy scene is no mean feat. Such is a testament to Turnstile’s more recent efforts in the form of 2018’s ‘Time & Space’ and, even more significantly, 2021’s ‘GLOW ON’. Aptly described by Punktastic as “a dynamic and anthemic hardcore record that confidently bulldozes the walls of the genre”, it’s ‘GLOW ON’ that has cemented the quintet’s spot in the limelight. The proof was in the pudding at their sold-out show in London’s Kentish Town Forum where it was the newer songs that were met with the most fervour.

Kicking off proceedings in the same fashion as they do on the record with ‘MYSTERY’, the audience was instantly whipped into a frenzy, bellowing every single syllable back to frontman Brendan Yates in flawless tandem. ‘BLACKOUT’ elicited much the same reaction, only somehow even more manic than before, having just been even further riled up by the blisteringly breakneck ‘Real Thing’ and ‘Big Smile’, both of which were plucked from ‘Time & Space’. Towards the latter end of the set, ‘HOLIDAY’ saw at least 10% of the standing crowd on their horizontal, thrown around over the barriers and really making the security guards earn their wage.

Despite playing to sold-out crowds, the magnitude of which is somewhat unprecedented for a band of this ilk, any notion the band themselves have “sold out” (as brazenly announced by one sole spectator) is frankly ridiculous. Sure to include a healthy slew of deeper cuts for the more long-term fans, the likes of ‘Canned Heat’, ‘Keep It Moving’ and the ever-impressive ‘Gravity’ all contributed to maintaining an authentic and raw experience. Brimming with angsty energy, the atmosphere in one of the capital’s more iconic venues was positively akin to that of a 100-cap dive bar. Stacked to the rafters and barely any room to breathe, Turnstile were London’s hot ticket, and one can only imagine that it’s a matter of time before they start packing arenas.

Closing out the night with a whirlwind run-through of instant classic ‘T.L.C. (TURNSTILE LOVE CONNECTION)’, the quintet flexed their stamina both physically and sonically as they delivered a performance with identical energy to that of when they had started… 23 songs earlier. With Yates throwing limbs around in some atypical-yet-charming choreography and Freaky Franz Lyons providing the now trademark high kicks, their emphatic conduct was more than reciprocated by the adulating crowd.

Turnstile are a band that will be discussed, referenced and cited for generations to come. Live shows like this are just one of many reasons why.

Opening proceedings come in the form of Bob Vylan, the punk-rap duo who until recently were thought to be untouchable by the media due to their controversial lyrical content… Bob Vylan are contemporary and a much needed act in the times we live in – calling out racism and the police, they rattle through a nine song set, playing seven songs from their independently released EP ‘We Live Here’, bringing boundless energy to the room. ‘Pulled Pork’ which features Jason Aalon Butler on the recorded version sees them at their best, before a crushing ‘We Live Here’ ends the set on a high. With thought provoking songs delivered with zero fear, Bob Vylan are a duo to be watched.

Tonight, though, belongs to one band and one band only. The pandemic has seen Biffy rescheduling tours a number of times, eventually cancelling their arena tour in support of last years superb ‘A Celebration of Endings’. After a string of bad luck, this current tour dubbed ‘The Fingers Crossed Tour’ was announced in the hope that booking smaller rooms would allow them to actually play, before rescheduling one final time.

Initially intended to support ‘A Celebration of Endings’, there was a last minute change in plan as Biffy have been busy and released another record, ‘The Myth of the Happily Ever After’. Thirteen songs from these two records make up the set list tonight. Biffy stride on stage, wearing suits with no shirts, looking all business as ‘DumDum’ opens the set with an atmospheric and cinematic tone. ‘A Hunger in Your Haunt’, the lead single for the latest record picks up the pace and is an early contender for song of the night. Biffy have become very astute in dressing up pop choruses in big rock songs and in a perfect world, Radio 1 would be playing these songs all day every day. ‘Tiny Indoor Fireworks’ is the best Foo Fighters song, not written by the Foo Fighters, and maintains the pace before the first truly magical moment of the night happens.

It’s not often that the adjective ‘Biblical’ really lives up to the meaning, but the singalong for ‘Biblical’ easily lives up to its name and it’s deafening inside The Forum. ‘North of No South’ follows all riffs and angles before segueing into fan favourite ‘That Golden Rule’ which incites pits and head-banging aplenty. Considering the intimate size of the venue, the light display is of very high quality, bathing the band in red during the breakdown, flashing in time with the riff and drum hits. ‘Instant History’ was seen as a slight misstep when it was released due to the radio friendly sheen it has on record but in a live environment, the guitars are higher in the mix, bringing a heavier feel to proceedings. When the opening piano line for ‘Mountains’ delicately hits the speaker, the Forum explodes into pandemonium and it’s in this moment that you realise Biffy Clyro are now in a position to play what they want, when they want during their sets.

‘Unknown Male 01’ is the perfect blend of Biffy, and nails the ‘quiet into loud’ song structure with ease, ending with a crushing breakdown in a similar guitar tone to the late Black Peaks. ‘Machines’ provides a poignant moment for the crowd, with frontman Simon Neil playing acoustically with only drummer Ben Johnston on stage for light percussion. While primarily they are a rock band, Neil has proven he can write very delicate ballads which resonate with the crowd, perfectly demonstrated with ‘Space’ later in the set. ‘Slurpy Slurpy Sleep Sleep’ may be the most out there song title of all time, solidified as the band repeat the title over and over before the guitars kick in. Biffy have written another all-time classic for their setlist with this song, and it’s bound to go down well with people who know nothing of Biffy, demonstrating their quirks and talent at the same time.

The main set closes with what is the strongest three song run of the night. Old classic ‘Living is a Problem Because Everything Dies’ is still monstrous and the timing of the band is second to none and as always, it’s a pleasure to see them pull off this song perfectly. ‘Bubbles’ follows with one of the greatest teases in modern music, the build-up for the breakdown seeing the band false start before unleashing an incredible guitar solo. ‘Many of Horror’ closes the main set with aplomb, the crowd singing every word back to the band before a two song encore of ‘Black Chandelier’ and ‘Cop Syrup’ closes the night, the latter highlighting the Nirvana inspiration that the band have cited as their reason to become a band. Neil does his best Kurt Cobain impression with the screams of ‘F**k everybody, woo’, shredding his vocal chords like the late great frontman.

Biffy Clyro are without doubt a rare band in the world today – one that can turn up any venue, play any sized stage and be the band of the night. When they’re on top form as they are tonight, no one can touch them. 2022 sees them head back to Download’s headliner status which feels like unfinished business for them after previously being met with abuse for ‘not being metal’ but if anyone can turn Download from a straight ahead metal festival into the celebration of rock, alternative and metal that it should be, it’s Biffy. In Simon Neil, they possess one of the best song writers in modern history, and show absolutely no fear with anything they put their name to. This is a band who should be celebrated by everyone.

ADAM ROSARIO

Opening proceedings are Worthing’s Noisy. Having joined the tour late, after having their van and all their equipment stolen, they kick off the night with a bang and, bringing the attitude and rap stylings of The Streets into the year 2021, they power through an eight song set, to a rapturous crowd. ‘Bring The Drums Back’ and ‘Put a Record On’ are the notable points of the set, before a thunderous ‘Young Dumb’ threatens to be the performance of the night. In the face of the worst possible event to happen to a band, they triumph. Noisy are a band who are going places and they aren’t going quietly.

Glasgow’s Saint Phnx are the main support and bring a more pop offering to the night. A three-piece band, they play music reminiscent of OneRepublic with Imagine Dragon influences sprinkled in. They get the crowd going, but the venue seems drained after Noisy’s set. ‘Happy Place’, a tribute to a late father, has just reached 1 million streams and is the main highlight of the set, but it’s hard not to feel like the night would have benefited somewhat had Noisy played as the main support.

It’s been two years since You Me At Six last played a London show and they’re very clearly eager to impress. A storming ‘Nice To Me’ sends pints full of beer flying, the scene becoming a mess of arms all over the place as Frontman Josh Franceschi directs the crowd to lose their minds collectively. ‘MAKEMEFEELALIVE’ follows and continues the pandemonium, before crowd favourite ‘Reckless’ inspires the biggest singalong so far, though it’s the middle of the set that has the best run though. When You Me At Six want to get heavy, they really can and ‘Bite My Tongue’ starts a strong four song run, with carnage erupting everywhere in the crowd. ‘What’s It Like’ follows, with Chris Miller’s expert guitar playing leading the crowd through the chorus.

‘Give’ is quite possibly the highlight of the bands performance, however, with Franceschi changing his pitch at the perfect moment every time, and giving the crowd their first real cathartic moment with the band. ‘Room To Breathe’ does the opposite of what it says on the tin, with the crowd screaming the chorus back at the band. This was a shining moment of tonight’s performance and should be a signal to the band that this is a song that should find itself on every setlist for the foreseeable.

A thunderous ‘Straight to my Head’ and ‘SUCKAPUNCH’ bring the main set to a close before the band re-emerge for their encore and go into their newest ballad ‘Glasgow’. While the performance is great, it doesn’t scream opening encore song, which may be the only criticism of this set. Thankfully, they pull it back and end on their signature anthem ‘Underdog’ and close on ‘Beautiful Way’.

You Me At Six have been plugging away for nearly two decades now, and have really honed their live performances. They’ve long since been a band that never fails to impress in a live environment, and with a back catalogue bursting with classics and new songs that are pushing their boundaries, they’re still a band to watch out for. They’re continue to evolve and take that next step, writing their history however they want to.

ADAM ROSARIO

Not only have The Maine just put out an incredibly dynamic, powerful, and uplifting record – understandably titled ‘You Are Ok’ – but combined with their vibrant, fun stage presence and their seemingly kind and caring nature, this band really is, objectively, altogether wonderful.

The evening kicks off after a screen is erected behind the drum kit – which is itself raised on a platform ensuring that drummer Pat Kirch is no less a part of this show than his bandmates –  creating a more intimate vibe than this venue usually allows for. And despite the fact that there are close to 2,300 fans in attendance, this is an intimate show.

The first track the band released from ‘You Are Ok’, ‘Numb Without You’, opens the set and despite having only being released in January, the entire venue erupts seamlessly into chorus as soon as the first notes hit their ears, singing along to every word as though they’d known this song their entire lives.

In fact, this was pretty much the case for every new song The Maine included on their 20 song setlist, most of which had been out for barely over a week. To say that this fanbase is loyal would be to insult the fierceness with which they love this Arizonian quintet, and when one fan takes to the stage to get down (seriously, he gets down) with front man John O’Callaghan before being handed the microphone to take on the vocals for ‘Am I Pretty?’, this ferocity is perfectly showcased. Before leaving the stage (following which O’Callaghan ensures the fan returns to his spot at the front of the crowd), this fan uses his brief platform to express his gratitude for the band, stating that The Maine are “one of the most important bands in the world”, that he “loves [them] so much”, and gesturing to the crowd as he finishes with, “and they all love you too”. It’s just one fan, but somehow we know he is speaking for everyone.

The energy in the room is electric, which O’Callaghan himself acknowledges not too long into the set, and despite venue rules that those in the front few rows of the balcony should remain seated, there’s not a single person not on their feet for the duration of the set. Any command that is sent our way is followed unquestioningly, heads banging dutifully during ‘Misery’, high fives respectfully shared during any in-crowd moments, and bodies launching themselves into their air obediently throughout the night.

That this band is musically tight is a given, as 12 years into their careers (and 12 years after they first played ‘We All Roll Along’ right here in London, which we are treated to again tonight), the members of The Maine are obviously closer to being brothers than they are friends; more than being in sync, these men appear to have access to each other’s thoughts with how flawlessly they perform together.

Looking around, there’s not a single moment that’s not filled with Cheshire Cat smiles, or friends screaming and pointing at each other excitedly as they share this special experience with each other. O’Callaghan says it best as the set draws to a close when, humbled, he exclaims, “I don’t know what the fuck we did but I’m sure glad we did it!”

Based on the deafening roar that erupts upon hearing this, it’s doubtful that there’s a single person in attendance who disagrees.

YASMIN BROWN