Review: Killing Joke, Brixton Academy, 4.11.16

For some time, the legendary Killing Joke have been ageing like a fine wine, albeit one spiked with nerve poison. Defiant in the face of the natural aging process, the band – possibly in reaction to volcano-throated frontman Jaz Coleman’s doomsaying, prophetic lyrics actually being more relevant by the day – have only gotten louder, darker and better as the years have passed.

It is a good fortune and seemingly never-ending winning run only afforded to the truly special and prosperous, with fellow national treasures Iron Maiden being an immediate example – also having a back catalogue so crammed with gems a truly perfect setlist is impossible.

Nevertheless, they give it a bloody good go. From the minute the lumbering, shuddering nightmare of The Hum fills the equally historic Brixton Academy, the ‘Joke give a faultless lesson in how to keep any heel-snapping protégés away. Indeed, when they finally hang it up it’ll be hard to find an act with quite the same weird allure or blazing intensity.

1980s hit and deathless set-staple Love Like Blood follows, throwing back to their historic gothy-pop period and reminding us all of their expeditions into varying genre territories: the enduring, endearing result is, for the uninitiated, a nerve-racking proto-something or other that’s too heavy to be punk, too nuanced to be industrial, and not quite metal either, yet they outwit many of the greatest proponents of these genres by (still) being stubbornly uncategorisable and seamlessly blending them together, without losing sight of what constitutes a tune.

Stringsman ‘Geordie’ Walker, the immovable object against which Jaz Coleman’s unstoppable force collides, provides great textural cathedrals of sound with an utterly unmistakable and sought-after guitar tone, making the noise of thousands from only one pair of hands.

Legendary producer and bassist Youth is almost his complete opposite, stage left: barefoot, in a kimono, and grinning his teeth out, and why not? Most bands never make it past the big 3-0, most never manage to retain or reform their original lineup and sound this fantastic (the tragic passing of longtime bassist Paul Raven having preceded this, however, with the band taking a long hard look at their own mortalities and making the decision).

But Killing Joke are not ‘most bands’, and in a world of absolute fucking anaemic grey-arsed musical tedium they have only become more vital and desperately needed. New Cold War, from last year’s barnstorming Pylon album, ably explores its title’s subject matter like an essay set to music, with Walker supplying chilly atmospherics. They somersault into territories other bands refuse to enter.



Underpinning all of this sits the formidable ‘Big’ Paul Ferguson, a mesmerising sight during the rabbit-hole tumble of Unspeakable and, well, at any given point during the gig. It’s a testament to the man’s dizzying tub-thwacking that he can command your attention even with a pair of fire dancers blowing flames within singeing distance of Youth’s dreads.

The generous running time amounts to nearly twenty songs, and while some stones are left unturned, there’s room for the likes of Eighties, the venerable Turn to Red, underrated dancey banger European Super State, while failsafe early ‘uns like The Wait and Change square off against the furious Dawn of the Hive and I Am the Virus.

A delicious hat-trick of The Death & Resurrection Show, Wardance and a multi-dimensional Pandemonium ensure a winning send-off to a night of energy, dancing, sore necks and smiles all round.

Killing Joke, after thirty-plus years in the game, are still impossibly unique and utterly unsolvable. We shall not see their like again.

Review: Opeth's 'Sorceress' casts its spell

Soldiering on through their new growl-free era, Opeth have either musicially neutered themselves or continued to push progressive boundaries with quality music, depending on who you ask.

Splitting their fanbase down the middle with 2011’s infamous (but really rather good) Heritage album, guttural growls and heavy riffing went out in the window in favour of a greater emphasis on haunting, autumnal atmospherics and slight noodling, all drenched in 70’s worshipping prog.

This turned away a sizable number in disgust, with the rest (and music publications) praising the resultant music for what it was, rather than what it wasn’t: and crucially, it was really fucking good. 

The same was said of 2014’s Pale Communion, which tumbled deeper down the prog rabbit-hole.

The naysayers can be forgiven, however, for while both Heritage and Pale Communion were excellent slabs of music in themselves, there was certainly something strangely different. 

Where the likes of past albums Blackwater Park, Still Life and Ghost Reveries were genuinely awe-inspiring, almost maddeningly inventive works hitting a high clang on the how-did-you-do-that register, Heritage and onwards are merely really-quite-good in comparison, destined to occupy an interesting spot in Opeth’s gleaming back catalogue but never to knock the twin giants of Ghost Reveries and Blackwater Park off their (deserved) high perches.

With this in mind (and in one’s ears), 2016 brings us the mysterious Sorceress. Boasting a title-track with the first heavy riffing of any kind since 2008’s Watershed, this new gilded release, essentially, continues onward from Pale Communion – as it should.

A straightforward return to death-metal stylings would carry a 99% chance of being an obvious rehash and lazy genre-milking, so hats must come off to Mikael Akerfeldt and co. for having the confidence to writing from the heart with more deliciously classy prog-rock.

So to an extent, the listener knows what to expect – piano, acoustic guitar, tasteful flute, looming keyboards, etc – and is rewarded in kind with more achingly beautiful instrumentation, inspired passages, haunting melodies and Akerfeldt continuing to be one of rock and metal’s most favoured sons.

Simply put, the quality bar is still endearingly high and Opeth have reliably rewarded those deciding to stick with them in a brave new musical world. Their classic past albums will always exist for those who prefer them, and the band have long since earned the right to do whatever they damn well please, and the results are fantastic.

It's a strange, strange thing to be reviewing a Guns N' Roses tribute act in the knowledge that while you nod along to eerily detailed renditions of Civil War, You Could Be Mine et. al, the 'core' of the real thing are bulldozing through America on the will-they-won't-they reunion tour.

Before Axl Rose and Slash finally, finally buried the nuclear hatchet, the singular Guns alumni were, of course, in action in their various pursuits. Axl could be seen fronting enormodome shows under the GN'R name, from which drummer Frank Ferrer and stringsman Richard Fortus (10 and 14 years in the job respectively) have graduated to the current 'hybrid' reunion lineup. 

Slash, meanwhile, toured and recorded under his own name and Duff McKagan continued to be the coolest human being alive. But while the Great Trio can indeed be seen sharing a stage again, there's still no sign of a UK tour or even a London show.

Enter Guns 2 Roses.

It's been 14 years (geddit?!) of mirror-imaging the legendary Hollywood rock n' roll ensemble for this lot, and Bilston's Robin 2 - a routinely fantastic place to catch tribute acts - welcomed them back.

For Axl Rose has long been heralded and celebrated as having the most fearsome pipes in rock history, and I'll be damned if my wine-addled ears didn't hear Guns 2 Roses' frontman, who even has Axl's way of glancing at the audience nailed down, wail a long way up and down the holy fuckometer. 

Of equal attention-hogging ability is their Slash. Innumerable Halloween and fancy dress outfits over the years have proved just how easy it is do dress as the man, so ingrained in the rock n' roll consciousness , but G2R's representative actually has the right guitar strap as well. Oh, and he plays guitar really well and whatever.

No, really: he cranks a damn good sound out of a gorgeous Les Paul and Marshall amp - the inseparable rock n' roll marriage - for the duration and supplies, as Slash so memorably did (does?) wonderfully crunchy, warm tones and lets fly with excellently slick guitar licks. 

The evening is over all too quickly, and after a set that leans mostly on Appetite for Destruction material, it's tantalising to think what Guns 2 Roses might be able to do with a bigger room and a longer playtime - Estranged, maybe? 

"Fing is, they're not just one of the best tribute acts oi've seen - they're one of the best gigs oi've seen," blares a punter, and as I slip away during a spirited set-closing Paradise City to dash for the last tram back to Birmingham, I'm inclined to agree. 

Here come the drones: Muse return to Birmingham in grand form

Where next? Short of featuring inter-dimensional portals or a functional greenhouse onstage, Muse have readily fulfilled what it means to be an all-conquering stadium-slaying band. The Teignmouth trio, out in force supporting last year’s discography-uplifting Drones, have taken their already quite fucking mental stage show to new ceiling-punching heights.

A decade ago, the Black Holes & Revelations show was a retina-wrecking spectacle in its own right; the following Resistance tour featured three blooming towers in which Matt, Dom and Chris stood; while The 2^nd Law tour had a giant ensemble of dynamic screens that gradually closed over the band. Toss in a fair few stadium-swallowing treks and scorched-earth festival appearances and you’ve got a seriously formidable act.

As title-track Drones filled the Barclaycard Arena, the promised computer-controlled "swarm" of drones finally revealed itself. Only slightly sinister (so not completely in accordance with the dark imagery of the album and the rest of the show), they are in fact floating ping-pong balls, gently sashaying around the arena in an almost David Copperfield-esque moment of open-mouthed wonder.

The drones in flight, during Supermassive Black Hole.

In another Copperfield moment, the levitating ostrich eggs line themselves up peacefully down the stage’s runways, and we realise the act is introduction but also magical misdirection, as Muse finally emerge and swing into the gloriously punchy Pyscho.

Eager to please, the hoary old Plug In Baby is wheeled out and administers a good arse-kicking to everyone not already moving. Slightly irritatingly, classic notions of keeping the pacing are thrown to the wind as Dead Inside then lumbers into view, followed by The 2nd Law: Isolated System and another new'un, The Handler. 

All are objectively fine, but slow the show down and stand in the place of, say, New Born.

As if responding to this impression, Supermassive Black Hole moonwalks through the arena, bringing the drones out with it, wafting over the crowd. Bizarrely, the orchestral prelude to Survival then precedes the irresistibly anthemic Starlight, but the pair - now ten years old! - have become staples in their own right. 

The juggernaut that is Citizen Erased then thunders out from Muse’s back catalogue, pacifying any old-time fans and answering desires for several classics in one go, with Bellamy taking to the grand piano for its emotional wind-down. It is a treat indeed, possibly a magnum opus and always welcome. 

Note Bellamy's red 7-string guitar for Citizen Erased. The potato loved it.

While the intervals aren't as annoying as, say, the instrumental jams and guitar solos employed by Guns N' Roses in previous years, they make the fine line between presentation of art and a blast-through of songs wobble slightly. Happily, Muse are old hands at this and get the balance right, even if the more nuanced moments are nearly drowned out by mindless chatter from surrounding blithering boar-faces bores in the standing area, for no gig of this size is free of these eternal twats.

After the traditional drum-and-bass jam, Muse finally approach an uninterrupted run-through: the unashamed pop of Madness and giddying space-rock of Map of the Problematique are dealt out, only for another interlude: the John F. Kennedy speech sampled in the Drones album that precedes uplifting stomp-rocker Defector in its tracklisting - this is revealed to be another bit of misdirection when two of the old guard in Stockholm Syndrome and Time is Running Out get the crowd almost jumping high enough to knock the drones out of the sky. 

A couple of after-song riffs (including Led Zeppelin's Heartbreaker) and fist-pump anthem Uprising are given well-received airings, then Muse try out their arguably proggiest undertaking since the Exogenesis symphonies: The Globalist, referenced by Bellamy as something of a sequel to Citizen Erased. A hydra-headed musical beast, it is perhaps the greatest showcase of the new stage show and its themes, not least when a slightly wanky drone plane flies over the crowd and Matt revisits his piano. 

Ticker-tape tomfoolery for Mercy.

Before saying goodnight, the slow burning of Take a Bow and Muse's newest anthem, Mercy, with its accompanying ticker-tape explosions, set the stage for the immortal clarion call of Knights of Cydonia. 

There are probably around five artist and bands with anything approaching Muse's statesmanship, showmanship, and absolute dominance of the arena-show in the universe right now. While it's mind-boggling to think of how they can top this, in the meantime one of the great acts of our time are still readily available for your delectation. Got your ticket yet?

Michael Schenker returns: 9-date January UK tour announced

LEGENDARY SCORPIONS, UFO GUITARIST RETURNS


Legendary six-string wizard Michael Schenker will return to the UK in support of Spirit on a Mission, the acclaimed follow-up to 2013's Bridge The Gap. Kicking off at the Robin 2 in Bilston on January 20th, the trek will also take in two Scottish dates, plus Liverpool, Manchester, Nottingham and London.

Schenker will be performing as Michael Schenker's Temple of Rock, backed by the formidable rhythm section of Herman Rarebell and Francis Buchholz (who played together on the classic 1979 Scorpions album Lovedrive), Wayne Fidlay supplying keyboards and 7-string guitar, and the formidable vocalist Doogie White fronting the group.

Spirit of a Mission looks set to be another highlight in Schenker's expansive career, with an impressive cv featuring The Scorpions, UFO and The Michael Schenker Group.

"I always write in the same way but this time, especially driven by a precise concept. The picture was album balance for me and combine many years of emotions in one," says Schenker. 

"I wanted lots of double bass drum to keep the fast songs rolling like a train with lots of energy covered with interesting elements, a couple of my UFO days-type of mid tempos and the 7 string low sound to get a very wide range of sounds and emotions."

Spirit on a Mission is available now. The tour begins January 20th at the Robin, 2 Bilston.
Tickets are available at http://www.michaelschenkerhimself.com/tour.php