-

Waking up feeling extremely groggy and after popping 2 Anadin and having my ritualistic morning breakfast of an apple and a can of Carlsberg, it was soon time to make tracks towards the main arena once again for another 9 hours of the finest hard rock and metal and my first proper full day of music at a Download Festival.
With the sun blazing down, I settled down on the grassy knoll (devoid of snipers) to watch Hellyeah’s [7] set. The combination of Mudvayne, ex-Damageplan members and some guy from Nothingface worked to create something that resembled a bunch of cowboys (from hell) playing southern metal. Nothing remotely wrong with this – it’s a solid set of the same song being thrust down your throat, but they swagger through it with a cocksure attitude. When vocalist Chad Gray introduces the band, it’s drummer Vinnie Paul who receives the biggest cheer and rightly so. They finish with a number entitled ‘Alcohaulin’ Ass’ which perfectly sums up the Hellyeah attitude and sound – a bunch of rowdy cattle rustlers who’ve listened to Clutch and Metallica’s ‘I Disappear’ far too much; a good set.

With the need for sausage and chips, not to mention an ice cream, a detour was made to the second stage to watch Rolo Tomassi [7] play. It’s pretty incredible to see the rise of this band – a bunch of kids who were at one point busting a gut on the toilet circuit and now playing to a strongly assembled crowd at one of the biggest metal festivals in the world. Eva Spence is on form as usual – switching from death growls that sound like a cat being sandpapered, to a shrill croon. Meanwhile, her brother James channels the energy and vocal technique of both Johnny Whitney and Jordan Blillie, throwing himself into the crowd whenever he doesn’t need to man the giant keyboard setup that he spends a good deal of time mashing into oblivion. In any case, their jazz-metal chaos is well received by most, some laughing at the incredibly twee nature of Eva and her in-between song-banter. Good set, sound levels so much better on the second stage than the main, which is a slight concern, especially if you’re Flyleaf [4] who seem to bear the considerable burden of having a deaf person controlling their audio output.

Whilst their white-dressed clad singer tries to make herself heard, she and the rest of the band are buried and I mean BURIED by the echoing bass booms and clanks throughout their entire set – truly fucking awful. Whilst the sound clears for Five Finger Death Punch [2] (thankfully someone unplugged Flyleaf’s bassist) they seem to be stuck in 2001. It’s as if Marty and the Doc went back 9 years, stumbled on this band and brought them back to the present day for no reason what-so-ever. What FFDP have is lowest common-denominator nu-metal. It’s ugly, chugging and embarrassing to witness – a bit like dating your mum. Why anyone would even consider this band worthy t-shirt material (the plethora of chuffers walking about sporting them was baffling) I have no idea. A bunch of Ill Nino copyists who perhaps looked at a picture of nu-metal and tried to emulate all its worst characteristics and sounds.
With much of my Download experience confined to the main and second stage, it was nice to have a change of scenery. Arriving for the last 5 minutes of Genitorturers [?] a band comprised of a police dominatrix and Nine Inch Nails b-sides, I eagerly awaited the arrival of Rock Sugar [9]. Their vocalist, Jess Harnell is every bit the entertainer – swaggering on stage to give a thumbs up, waving at the crowd dressed in a white suit, complete with cowboy hat, sunglasses and a smile that probably makes that Colgate ‘ding’. Those unfamiliar with Rock Sugar should know that they perform mash-ups of various 80s pop and rock songs. It is something that shouldn’t work – it should sound disjointed and clumsy, but in reality it’s an incredible experience. The roar from the crowd is surprisingly raucous; even the band look slightly stunned by the warm welcome (this is Rock Sugar’s first Download and first ever UK show). Harnell is the consummate professional showman – he gets the crowd warmed up with a series of chants, whoops and hollers, before kicking into their Journey/Metallica cut up, ‘Don’t Stop The Sandman.’ The sound of hundreds of metal fans singing a 80s soft rock ballad to one of the most well known metal tracks in history is an absolute joy. It’s not hard to see why Rock Sugar are so well loved; they’ve got the stage presence, the glam, the enthusiasm and cocksure attitude, not to mention this technique for constructing absurd cover-mash ups (Paula Abdul songs at Download anyone?). Harnell treats the audience to some impressions; namely Axel Rose, Paul Stanley and Ozzy Osbourne which are met with a roar of approval. They close with a fantastic rendition of ‘We Will Kickstart Your Rhapsody’; a Queen-polka mixed with Motley Crue’s ‘Kickstart My Heart’ – a sprawling set closer to end all sets and provides one of, if not the biggest sing-along of the whole weekend. An incredible performance of charismatic, heart racing rock and roll. My one gripe is the length of the set – 5 songs just is not enough; the second stage beckons for 2011…

Attention turns to the main stage again and whilst on route to get food and liquid refreshment, I unfortunately witness some of Lamb of God [3], a band that define boring, chugga metal to it’s very core. No one remotely gives a shit what the next song is called, as their dreadlocked singer bounds about the stage, inexplicably swearing his head off. The lyrics and indeed the entire performance are buried under needless screaming, death growls and a sense of growing nausea and boredom. Less of this sort of thing please.

Megadeth [7.5] put on a strong show; their sound quality varies at times, particularly Dave Mustaine’s comical voice, which is tossed about like a juggler with Parkinson’s disease. Nevertheless, their thrash metal is tight, focussed and warmly received, with tracks such as ‘Headcrusher’ and the schizophrenic ‘Sweating Bullets’ (“hello me, it’s me again!” sings Dave) being a particular highlight. After a comical lyrical change made by some friends during ‘Symphony of Destruction’ (“just like Knight Rider…”) Mustaine and Co finish with a superb version of ‘Peace Sells’ and round off what has been a riff-filled, guitar-squeal of eccentric but punishing thrash metal. The band departs with a bow, thanking Download – ever the professionals for what has been another successful set of singing about systems failing and robot overlords.

Deftones [8] plough through their set with gusto and unrelenting rage. Vocalist Chino Moreno (who looks fitter and healthier since his time climbing over school desks) is a whirlwind of a sweat-stained check shirt and facial hair, bounding about the stage with such effortless enthusiasm. Opening tracks ‘Rocket Skates’ and ‘Diamond Eyes’ from the album of the same name are bone-crushingly heavy. The down-tuned grind of stand-in bassist Sergio Vega and drummer Abe Cunningham is punishing. During their 17 song set, Chino and Co. strive to cover ground on most of their releases. There is however notable absence of any material from their self-titled effort, which is somewhat of a surprise. The mid-section is made up predominantly of their work from ‘Diamond Eyes’, whilst the closing tag-team of ‘Root’ and ‘7 Words’ from their first record ‘Adrenaline’ go down a storm. Notable highlights include a passionate, spine-tingling version of ‘Change (In The House of Flies)’ and ‘Passenger’. There’s a great cheer as ‘My Own Summer (Shove It)’ kicks into gear as thousands of Matrix fans scream themselves hoarse, whilst ‘Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away)’ is a destructive wave of crunching alt-metal. A savage, raucous set, but where’s ‘Back To School’ guys? You missed a trick there, I was all set to do my Chino impression.

Finally then…it is the moment nearly everyone has been waiting for. Well, except if you’re a Jared Leto fan. Rage Against The Machine [10] arrive 30 minutes late (I’m guessing Zack de la Rocha was having a roast dinner perhaps?) kicking into ‘Testify.’ It’s as though someone has electrified the entire field – the amount of bouncing, small circle pit outbreaks and unhinged jubilation is staggering. This is followed by ‘Bombtrack’ and 2 attempts at ‘People of the Sun’ (the first one aborted due to someone getting crushed at the front; no doubt a waif-thin 14 year old). After this, it’s essentially a greatest hits run through – all the classics, from ‘Know Your Enemy’, complete with the rabble-rousing chant “ALL OF WHICH ARE AMERICAN DREAMS!”, to ‘Bulls On Parade’ and a surprise airing of ‘Township Rebellion.’ The cover of the Clash’s ‘White Riot’ is an unusual addition, which at first could be a tad dubious, but Rage pull it off with flair and a respectably snotty attitude, with Zack de la Rocha’s vocals suiting the ramshackle nature of the tune. Much like Chino Moreno before hand; de la Rocha is a whirlwind of endless enthusiasm; bounding around the stage like he’s trying to escape an angry lion, whilst guitarist Tom Morello pogo’s around with the energy of a thousand punk rock guitarists compacted into one man. His playing is an aboluslte joy to watch; if he’s not tapping various parts of his guitar in order to get the right sound he’s flaling it about his body, mashing the wammy bar, waving it at the speakers,  forming sounds using just the lead bashed against the palm of his hand, whilst shredding that brilliant, guttural booming sound.

The one-two punch of ‘Guerrilla Radio’ (Tony Hawk’s 2 fans rejoice!) and ‘Sleep Now In The Fire’ are suitably epic, whilst the rap-funk-rock of ‘Wake Up’ and the line “FIST IN THE AIR IN THE LAND OF HYPOCRISY!” is met with the desired raised fist and defiant chant. After the obligatory fake encore, the Rage boys return to run through ‘Freedom’ and finish with a song that was Christmas number 1 or something. The close is spectacular; de la Rocha didn’t even need to show up to be honest, as the backing vocals of the thousands of people singing themselves hoarse, air punching for all their worth, eclipse everything. For a song that was recorded and released 20 years back, ‘Killing In The Name’ still sounds as fresh and possibly more vital than ever before. A fantastic set, by the second best band of the entire festival – Rage take no prisoners and dare I say, pull possibly a bigger crowd than AC/DC the night before. Would have loved to have heard ‘Renegades of Funk’ though – that would have been Jam Sucka.

-

Links

Rage Against The Machine
Deftones
Megadeth
Lamb Of God
Five Finger Death Punch
Flyleaf
Hellyeah
Rolo Tomassi
Rock Sugar

-

By Ross Macdonald

-

There seems to be a thing for having a minimalist setup these days. Not that it’s a trend, more just a way of executing your music without the unnecessary need for other band members who would prove superfluous. Plus, with a two piece you can fit all your stuff in the back of a Ford Ka probably and get to gigs quite easily, right?

Illness are a duo from Brighton, holding down drums and guitar respectively. Their sound staggers about a fair bit, as though unsure of commitment. At times it strays dangerously close to the tribal builds and crashing barrage made famous by Baltimore’s Oxes, especially ‘Dave Escapes’ – a two minute stuttering tug of tappy guitar lines and abrasive drum patterns. It shudders with this twitching gait, like something that’s being slowly tortured via electrodes; spasmodically jerking back and forth. In other cases, Illness seem to retain a joyful pop sensibility, one gained from prolonged exposure to twiddling twee-indie. ‘Bane Face’ is the best example of this; it’s almost summery bounce, coupled with erratic drum rolls, crashing cymbals and meandering vigour makes for interesting listening.

‘Gutmilk’ is the sound of Don Caballero condensed into 71 seconds. Whilst it manages to stretch out progressive patterns of sound, Illness seem to build upon this sustained ringing note, allowing the drums to dominate the track. They punch through with a slow, steady force under the meticulous whine of the guitar. ‘Hail! Kitty’ follows a rather basic path, occasionally rising and falling as the notes interchange, but unfortunately highlights the somewhat limitations of such a basic setup. ‘Mark In Spring’ takes Illness down the territory they seem more focussed on, which is emulating or rather ambitiously, attempting to out-do Oxes through the use of their staccato beats and odd time signatures that seem to dip into progressive rock, back into gleeful pop and dense post-punk urgency.

‘Old Song’ is the highlight of ‘Gifts From God’ however. It’s decrepit sound tumbles along with a determined focus, that touches slightly on the side the math-rock urgency of Adebisi Shank, stuffed to the brim with feverish drum rolls and a stuttering pace.  My only chagrin is that it should have been longer, but for what it is; a tight pounding blast of rhythmic energy; Illness have exceeded expectations in creating uplifting, positive instrumental rock that has this infectious memorable quality and a raw, stripped-down, ramshackle sound.

‘Gifts From God’ can be pre-orded from the Smalltown America website here.

-

Links

Illness
Smalltown America

-

By Ross Macdonald

-

After 2 days of gorging on barbecued meat, warm lager and winning several games of poker, not to mention a muddy stagger around the Village taking in the various delights that the Wednesday and Thursday of 2010’s Download Festival had to offer, it was a pleasant surprise suddenly realising “hey, we’re here to see some bands as well, excellent!” With Friday’s musical treats not starting until 3, it gave us enough time to drink as many tinnies as possible (alcohol wasn’t allowed in the arena, meaning over-priced Tuborg lager was the only drink really on offer and was also something I became so desensitized to by Sunday afternoon, it was like drinking fizzy cold water), set fire to some sausages and brave the 2 (bumped up to 3) beer-walk to the arena from orange camp. With the apparent ‘heavy showers’ being mysteriously absent and ‘partial sun’ being heavily upgraded to a ‘scorching heat’ things were looking up.

Sticking to the main stage for the Friday, Unearth [7] opened proceedings. Their metalcore assault is fired up and passionate, with crushing breakdowns and some truly fantastic drumming. The sound wavers occasionally, but vocalist Trevor Phipps bellows himself hoarse in order to be heard – a strong, punishing and suitably heavy start to the day. Unfortunately the sound quality books 20 minutes to shitty town during 36 Crazyfists [6.5] set, causing the bass to dominate everyone and everything within the radius of the main arena, drowning out vocalist Brock Lindow. His perseverance pays off and the monkey that was playing with the sound engineering is removed halfway through their set and the low-end throb is replaced by his impassioned roar and Steve Holt’s razor-sharp guitar. Singles ‘At The End of August’ and ‘Bloodwork’ are well received, as is ‘Slit Wrist Theory’; notably by the group of girls standing near me who enthusiastically scream the obviously and deliberately misheard cry of “LESBIANS! LESBIANS!” Howard Jones of Killswitch Engage (a man who seems to be a heartthrob among the metal-loving female population),  joins Lindow for ‘Elysium’; more on him in a moment.
With a quick relocation to the other side of the massive and badly placed sound stage and a top-up of ice-cold but stupidly expensive Tuborg, Killswitch Engage [10] enter the stage. The roar upon the arrival of Howard Jones for a second time is incendiary – even more so when guitarist Adam Dutkiewicz bounds into the fray; superman cape attached to his back, as well as massive sideburns and a maniacal look in his eyes. Their set is quite frankly astonishing – with the sound levels finally fixed to an audible hearing level; Jones’s powerful booming voice soars above everything, whilst the band ploughs through 45 odd minutes of some of the finest metal I’ve heard. Songs like ‘End Of The Heartache’ and ‘My Last Serenade’ are powerful juggernauts that bulldoze through the arena. Whilst Jones cuts an impressive stance as the frontman (he never stops smiling, his stage presence reminiscent of Matt Caughthran); Dutkiewicz is the star of the show.

The man doesn’t stop – he’s everywhere; roaring into microphones with his indignant guttural vocal technique, flailing his guitar like a whip, death-staring the audience, a volley of foul-mothered shouts to raise support from the ever-increasing crowd and generally acts like an escaped mental patient. Jones looks on throughout, his expression somewhere between embarrassment and pride, like he’s Dutkiewicz’s carer or supportive father. “This song goes out to all of you girlfriends’ vaginas. I wish I was headbutting them all!” roars Dutkiewicz just before ‘My Curse’ – the man can do no wrong. The biggest sing-along appears in the form of set closer ‘Holy Diver’ a song the band take in their stride and perform perfectly, especially Jones who’s vocal technique is something truly marvelous and a worthy tribute to the late Ronnie James Dio.

It’s difficult to imagine anything topping Killswitch’s set, but Them Crooked Vultures [10] come extremely close, and dare I say, equal the Massachusetts five-piece in terms of quality. Joined by additional guitarist Alain Johannes they treat the assembled throng to an incredible journey of blues-rock, intense, noisy jam sessions and mind-bending experimentation. ‘Scumbag Blues’ becomes a lengthy and possibly improvised piece of raucous jamming, whilst the heaviness of opener ‘Elephants’ stamps with a stoner-rock punk racket, courtesy of Mr Grohl’s concentrated drumming. Highlights also include Johannes performing a brilliant solo of squealing, angry blues whilst John Paul Jones (who receives a huge cheer when Homme introduces him) plays an instrument that resembles a guitar crossed with a spaceship on ‘Mind Eraser, No Chaser.’ Normally to me, lengthy guitar noodling comes across as quite snobbish and tedious, but in the case of Them Crooked Vultures it’s a demonstration in pure, raw, bare-bones talent. It’s difficult to describe the intense wave of euphoria I felt during their set and thinking back to it now, I wish that I could feel like that all the time.

Attention shifts from the main stage to the AC/DC [11] construct on the left. Decked out in Angus Young school boy caps, complete with devil horns; a runway and the feeling that something majestic is about to happen. They don’t disappoint. Opening with an explosion and the emergence of a derailed locomotive prop (with the band obviously break into ‘Rock N’ Roll Train’) the next 2 hours are more than just a band standing playing their instruments – it’s one of, if not the most incredible sets I’ve seen a band play in 10 years of gigging. Angus Young is the star of the show – for a man well into his 50s, his enthusiasm and stamina whilst performing is incredible. If he’s not doing the Chuck Berry duck walk, he’s climbing various parts of the stage, bombing it down the runway, or spinning round on the floor in some weird spasm, ala an excited Homer Simpson.
Both the Bon Scott and current Brian Johnson-era are covered extensively. Set highlights include an extended version of ‘The Jack’ which causes a lot of the girls up on their boyfriend’s shoulders to reveal their ample delights contained beneath their shirts. This then leads nicely into ‘Hells Bells’ and of course, the compulsory bell prop rung by Johnson himself. ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’ goes down an absolute storm, complete with a giant inflatable Rosie straddling the wrecked Rock N’ Roll Train. Closer before the obligatory encore is an incendiary performance of ‘Let There Be Rock’, which hammers out faster, heavier and louder than I could possibly imagine. The one-two punch of ‘Highway To Hell’ and ‘For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)’ threatens to drown out Johnson, such is the response from the crowd and the passion and vitality AC/DC create with these two tracks and indeed, the contents of the entire set. It leaves you with that tingling feeling; much like Them Crooked Vultures beforehand, AC/DC’s high-voltage rock n’ roll is an explosive, unstoppable force of power. A flawless set, comprised of a terrific selection of songs that even if you were a newbie to the Scottish/Australian 5 piece, you’d find yourself singing under your breath for the rest of the weekend. There’s no doubt in my mind that AC/DC are the best live band I have ever seen; an incredible, electrifying experience.

-

Links

Download Festival
AC/DC
Them Crooked Vultures
Killswitch Engage
36 Crazyfists
Unearth

-

Words: Ross Macdonald
Badly taken photo: Ross Macdonald

Currently there seems to be some issues with encoding/symbols appearing where there shouldn’t be symbols which has pretty much bodged up nearly all the posts on the site. I have no idea why, and because the tech guy is currently on holiday in Wales and is un-contactable, I’m left twiddling my thumbs as to why this has happened. I’m thinking there’s been a server move or something. Anyway, apologies for the problems, as for now updates will be on hold while I try and work out what has happened.

Cheers,

Ross, Editor