SABBAT, IMPERIAL VENGEANCE, CINDERS FALL, DAMNAS
CAMDEN UNDERWORLD 21/08/2010
First of all, let me tell any readers, this was a bit of an unofficial review. Review and photo rights had been granted to a colleague in Wales, who for perfectly legitimate reasons had to back out. Me, I was going to this show with a standard ticket, so had no photo pit privileges, and went to this gig as a fan, someone who just happened to have a compact camera in his pocket. As such, if I’m not being even to all bands, so be it.
Unusually for a Saturday night in London the infamous Underworld opened its doors at 1800, when I was still in the local boozer with my better half having tea. As such, when I got to the venue, Damnas, the local openers were powering into their last song. As a long term follower of the London thrash scene, I can appreciate a far more esteemed friend’s view of Damnas which went along the lines of “if you follow London thrash, everyone’s been there. They’re like the local bike; everyone’s had a go, and it starts to get repetitive.” A bit harsh, but if you follow the London metal scene, you will have seen Damnas a bunch of times, be it supporting touring legends, or at a myriad of local free shows. At least this time around, the sound was decent, and their enthusiasm blasted through the one track I caught.
Next up were Essex boys Cinders Fall. Hmm! After the first couple of chords I bet a drinking colleague that within 30 seconds the vocalist would have his arm twisted up behind his back as he beat the rhythm out on his chest. With 15 seconds I’d won that bet. Metalcore isn’t my thing, so I won’t decry the band with my opinion. If that’s your thing, go for it.
Following Cinders Fall into the time conscious fray was Imperial Vengeance. This was the only support act that had caught my interest when I’d scanned assorted internet profiles before the gig. On record, this blackened indi-metal band was a two piece, consisting of live vocalist and studio multi-instrumentalist C. Edward Alexander, and bassist cum lyricist David Bryan. These two band progenitors, clad in early 20th century steampunk costumes, dominated the stage, whilst the live guitarists and drummer were undoubtedly instructed to maintain a maniquin-esque live presence. This was a particular shame, given the live chops of lead guitarist Elle Torry, who blazed away with riff after riff, and solo after immaculate solo, without even apparently drawing breath. Imperial Vengeance’s shtick of staring unmoved into the audience like Ron Mael from Sparks leant a theatrical element to their show, combined as it was with their turn of the twentieth century steampunk Zeppelin captains’ uniforms. The only movement was Alexander stroking his Bond villain beard, except when he unfurled the Flag of the Union for the band’s last track, a screamingly introduced “Night Boat to Cairo.” Decades ago, and in recent “Madstocks” I’ve seen the original band play this tune as a simple bounce along Ska number, and been pumping my fists with the masses. With the slow, ponderous, pained black metal delivery of Imperial Vengeance, the song became something else, a sad, agonised eulogy on imperialism, backed up by the slow waving of a Flag of the Union. I’m not an extreme metal fan, but I’ll be looking for Imperial Vengeance in the future.
Finally, and most importantly, came the show’s headliners, British Thrash Legends, Sabbat. During the supports, the band had showed just how lacking in airs and graces they were by their hovering around the merch desk, talking to original fans like yours truly, swapping anecdotes, and signing anything thrust towards them. With no more intros then the roadie flashing a torch towards the sound desk, Sabbat blasted into track after classic track. “A Cautionary Tale” blasted into “Behind the Crooked Cross” each of their band’s complex key changes being met by another enthusiastic wave of pitting from a sadly less then sold out audience that comprised of many similar 40 plus year old fans that remembered the band from the first time around. After pummelling a sweating audience for 20 plus minutes of superlative thrash, Martin deigned to speak to the crowd, asking how many original Sabbat fans were there. I was one, pumping my fist, and screaming “Blood for the Blood God” when he introduced “a song that only ever came out on a flexidisk!” Every key change whipped a new pit, and even the disappearance of Simon Jones to replace yet another snapped set of strings did nothing to dismay the band. Indeed, when he came back onstage, his disappearance became a bit of banter about the cheap nature of the tour, with uber-producer and sadly unrecognised guitar legend Andy Sneap joking that the band had to accept free guitar strings, and accept the poor consequences. Yes, Martin Walkyier joked about this being a “back to basics club tour”, devoid of so much as a banner behind the band, but they all played like they were half their age, despite jokes of impending fogey-dom! Simon Negus blasted out beats without so much as apparently breaking a sweat, whilst hired bass gun in chief, who’s been a stalwart of the band since before 2007’s epic Bloodstock show, Gizz Butt blasted out a rhythm unmatched by younger bands, said Gizz bringing the same flair and energy to this hired bass playing as he does to his own matchless guitar work. Simon Jones, broken strings permitting, blasted out epic riffs, whilst Andy Sneap had me wondering why he’s not revered as a guitar god as well as a production guru, as he fired out solo after solo from his classic Gibson Flying V. Even Martin Walkyier, complaining of a sore throat, barked out his anti-organised religion rants like a man half his age. Chants for new recordings were even met with self effacing denials of “how could we write crazy stuff like this now.”
The modest nature of the band was in stark contrast to the sheer power of their performance. Martin seemed to be constantly apologising for doing a stripped back club tour with a sore throat as an old man, describing himself as the “midget in the middle” whilst battering the audience with pummelling renditions of thrash classics like ‘Dark Horses’ and ‘Best of Enemies’ like a man half his age. When Sabbat finally finished an excellent 90 minute set, I was almost grateful. The pit was epic, original fans and newcomers to Sabbat’s excellence alike being drenched in sweat. I can only hope that Martin Walkyier’s exhortations to have fans vote on the Bloodstock forum to get them back on a festival stage, rather then an undersold club venue, will be acknowledged. I know, on the strength of this performance, Sabbat is an act that has many years of battering fans into submission ahead of them, and I can only hope for new material to accompany their classic set, a set of material that is as relevant now as it was two decades ago!
Spenny Bullen
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