Review by Christopher Manson for MPM
It felt like the end of the world. Sheets of rain lashed down in biblical proportions, drenching everything in sight as fans huddled in queues snaking around the Utilita Arena. Hoodies and masks clung to soaked skin, Slipknot jumpsuits sagging with water, yet spirits were unyielding. The storm outside only heightened the anticipation, charging the air with an electric sense of purpose.
Inside, the energy was palpable. The beer lines swelled, the merch stands were mobbed, and Slipknot’s infamous logo banners loomed above the stage like a warning sign. Fans jostled for position, eager for the chaos to come. The room buzzed with that pre-gig hum, conversations growing louder with each beer chugged. By the time the lights dimmed, the crowd was a live wire, ready to explode.
On this fourth date of Slipknot’s “Here Comes the Pain” tour, the crowd knew they were in for an unforgettable evening. Sharing the stage were Bleed from Within, Scotland’s metal heavyweights, who have been taking the genre by storm with their punishing grooves and soaring melodies.
Bleed From Within have spent almost two decades crafting their identity. Formed in 2005 in Glasgow, they drew early inspiration from the likes of Lamb of God, Killswitch Engage, and Pantera. Their sound fuses groove metal’s rhythmic pummel with melodic death metal’s soaring intensity, evolving with each record. From their raw, early release Humanity (2009) to the polished aggression of Era (2018) and the career-defining Shrine (2022), the band has proven themselves a juggernaut of modern metal.
The first notes of “Hands of Sin” ripped through the venue like a predator’s snarl, the band storming the stage with all the subtlety of a battering ram. Crimson lights flared like warning sirens, casting long, jagged shadows as the band launched into a full-on assault. Scott Kennedy’s growl cut through the air like a serrated blade, a howl of pure defiance that rattled the walls of the venue.
The riffs were relentless—Steven Jones and Craig Gowans locking in a furious tandem that combined feral aggression with pinpoint precision. Davie Provan’s bass was a seismic rumble that made your ribs vibrate and your knees buckle. Ali Richardson’s drums didn’t just keep time—they sounded like a war machine rolling over everything in its path.
The pit exploded immediately, bodies crashing into each other like waves against the rocks, while Kennedy leaned over the edge of the stage, daring the crowd to push harder. When the breakdown hit, it was like the floor dropped out, the entire room plunged into a vortex of flashing strobes and raw fury.
There was no respite. “Pathfinder” came tearing in, and the energy in the room somehow surged even higher. The opening riff hit like a slap to the face, a blazing melody wrapped around a spine-crushing rhythm section. The lights turned icy blue, cutting through the haze like shards of glass, as Kennedy prowled the stage with venom dripping from every word he spat.
The crowd roared along to the anthemic chorus, their voices mingling with Kennedy’s in a defiant chant that felt primal, unstoppable. Behind him, Richardson was a relentless engine, his double-kick drumming pounding like the hooves of some apocalyptic steed. The guitars ripped through the air, shifting from haunting melodies to gut-punching heaviness with the kind of precision that makes your head spin.
When the breakdown landed, it was a straight-up detonation. The pit turned into an anarchic cyclone, and the band fed off the chaos, throwing themselves into the music with reckless abandon. By the time the final note hit, the room was dripping with sweat and adrenaline, but no one dared stop moving.
If the previous songs were violent storms, “I Am Damnation” was an earthquake. The eerie opening sent shivers down spines; its tension so palpable you could almost taste it. Then the riff hit—a jagged wall of sound that slammed into the crowd like a freight train. The stage was bathed in fiery oranges and reds, a searing, hellish glow that matched the track’s unrelenting fury.
Kennedy’s voice was a weapon, every growl and scream cutting deep. The lyrics hit harder in the live setting, with his delivery pouring gasoline on the track’s already blistering energy. Provan’s bass thundered like artillery fire, locking in perfectly with Richardson’s skull-crushing drums. Jones and Gowans worked their magic, conjuring riffs that were as sharp as they were heavy.
The crowd screamed along with the chorus, their voices raw and wild, while the pit spiraled into total chaos. When the breakdown hit, it was devastating—a wall of strobe lights syncing perfectly with the band’s precision strikes, making the room feel like it was imploding under the sheer weight of the sound.
The eerie atmosphere of “Into Nothing” gave the crowd a moment to catch their breath—but only a moment. The guitars weaved an ominous melody, building a tension that snapped like a whip as the band launched into the opening riff. The lighting shifted to cold greens and purples, casting the stage in an otherworldly haze.
Kennedy’s performance was seething with emotion, his screams and growls carrying an edge of bitterness and rage that felt tangible. The guitars shifted effortlessly between haunting melodies and bone-crushing riffs, creating a sound that was equal parts beautiful and brutal. Provan’s basslines rumbled like an oncoming storm, adding depth and weight to every note.
By the time the chorus rolled around, the crowd was fully immersed, their voices clashing with Kennedy’s in a thunderous shout-along. The breakdown was another level of heavy, the kind that makes you feel like the air’s been sucked out of the room. The pit erupted again, bodies flying in every direction as the band poured every ounce of fury into the final minutes.
The opening melody of “Sovereign” was hypnotic, a siren’s call that lured the crowd into a false sense of calm before the song detonated with a riff so heavy it felt like being hit by a wrecking ball. The stage was awash in blinding white lights, flickering like a thunderstorm as the band unleashed their fury.
Kennedy’s vocals were absolutely feral, each growl and scream drenched in venom. The rhythm section was a juggernaut, Provan and Richardson locking into a groove so tight it felt unstoppable. Jones and Gowans delivered a masterclass in dynamics, seamlessly shifting from razor-sharp leads to slamming riffs that made the ground shake.
The breakdown was an all-out massacre. The crowd went ballistic, the pit a swirling hurricane of bodies as the band doubled down on the track’s sheer intensity. By the end, the entire room was drenched in sweat and chaos, and it was clear the band wasn’t letting up.
The haunting intro of “Levitate” hung in the air like smoke before the band dropped into one of the grooviest riffs of the night. The lighting shifted to deep blues and whites, creating a chilling atmosphere that only heightened the song’s emotional weight.
Kennedy’s vocals were raw, his growls tearing through the air with a ferocity that was matched by the crowd’s intensity. The band’s delivery was laser-focused, every note hitting with pinpoint accuracy. The chorus soared, with the crowd singing along at full volume, their voices blending with Kennedy’s in a moment that felt almost cathartic.
The breakdown was a wrecking ball—heavy, unrelenting, and devastatingly effective. The crowd’s energy was unstoppable, and the band fed off it, pushing the song to its absolute limit before dropping into the final crushing riff.
The debut of “In Place of Your Halo” was a defining moment in the set. The haunting wail of bagpipes echoed through the room, sending chills down spines before the band launched into a crushing opening riff. The lighting turned to eerie greens and golds, painting the stage in a spectral glow that matched the track’s haunting atmosphere.
Kennedy’s performance was unrelenting, his growls brimming with fury as he tore through the verses. The chorus was anthemic, with a melody that felt almost triumphant against the track’s crushing heaviness. The interplay between Jones and Gowans was mesmerizing, their guitars weaving a tapestry of melody and destruction.
The crowd was in awe, heads banging in unison as the pit erupted with renewed energy. The breakdown was monstrous, the bagpipe tones blending with the crushing riffs to create a sound both devastating and unique. It was clear this track was destined to become a staple in their live arsenal.
The final song of the night, “The End of All We Know”, hit with the force of a sledgehammer. The opening riff was instantly recognizable, and the crowd exploded into motion, their energy as intense as it was at the start of the set. The stage was bathed in blinding white light, a beacon of chaos as the band threw themselves into the performance.
Kennedy’s vocals were ferocious, his growls and shouts filled with an urgency that made every word feel like a call to arms. The band was firing on all cylinders, Richardson’s drumming driving the track with unrelenting force while Jones and Gowans unleashed riff after devastating riff.
The breakdown was cataclysmic, the strobe lights flashing in sync with the crushing rhythm as the pit spiraled into pure chaos. The final moments of the song were pure catharsis, the crowd screaming along with every word as the band delivered the final blow.
When the song ended, the band stood triumphant, basking in the crowd’s deafening applause. It was the perfect end to a set that had been nothing short of explosive, a relentless, visceral celebration of modern metal. As they left the stage to deafening applause, they had undoubtedly earned new fans among the Slipknot faithful.
Slipknot’s journey from the cornfields of Iowa to the forefront of heavy metal is the stuff of legend. Formed in 1995, the nine-piece outfit quickly became known for their chaotic live performances, visceral sound, and grotesque masks. Their self-titled debut album (Slipknot, 1999) was a revelation, blending death metal, nu-metal, industrial, and hardcore punk into a sound that was as abrasive as it was innovative. The breakout success of this record was propelled by tracks like “Wait and Bleed” and “Spit It Out,” both of which became anthems for disaffected youth. Their sophomore effort, Iowa (2001), pushed the boundaries of extremity, cementing their reputation as one of the heaviest acts in mainstream metal and earning them critical acclaim despite its nightmarish intensity.
As Slipknot matured, they embraced a broader sonic palette. Albums like Vol. 3: (The Subliminal Verses) (2004) introduced more melody and experimental songwriting, yielding hits like “Duality” and “Before I Forget,” the latter of which won a Grammy. By the time they released We Are Not Your Kind (2019), Slipknot had evolved into a multifaceted juggernaut, seamlessly blending brutality with artistry. This album, with highlights like “Unsainted” and “Solway Firth,” demonstrated their continued relevance and ability to innovate nearly two decades into their career. Their influence on metal is immeasurable, inspiring countless bands while maintaining an unparalleled connection with their fiercely loyal fanbase.
As Gary Wright’s “Dream Weaver” filled the arena, the crowd was already a restless sea of bodies, tension bubbling to the surface. The lights dimmed, and all you could see were shadows moving about on the stage, a creeping dread that something savage was about to explode, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. The unmistakable distorted audio of “742617000027” crackled to life, and the room erupted. The opening mantra, “The whole thing, I think it’s sick,” was barked back by every throat in the venue. As the sound intensified, so did the crowd’s roar, a primal scream of approval as the silhouettes of the band began to emerge. The masks. The boiler suits. The chaos. Slipknot was here, and they weren’t pulling punches tonight. This iconic walk on tune, signaled the beginning of the carnage, and when Slipknot hit the stage, it was like the detonation of a bomb. The lighting erupted in bursts of red, blues, and greens, with strobing white lights synchronized to Eloy Casagrande rapid-fire drumming.
“(sic),” the opening track from Slipknot (1999), detonated, it was like a bomb going off in the venue. Strobes shot up from the stage, bathing the band in an apocalyptic green glow as they exploded into pure sonic violence. Corey Taylor stood front and center, spitting venom into the mic, his signature snarl hitting like a sledgehammer.
Shawn Crahan and Michael Pfaff pounded their percussion setups like clowns possessed, the thunderous beats slamming into your chest like a freight train. Eloy Casagrande’s drumming was chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of precision and fury. Sid Wilson and the Unknown Musician adding a further industrial edge, scratching and warping sounds that turned the track into an auditory madhouse.
The crowd was feral—bodies colliding, limbs flailing in the pit as Taylor barked “Here comes the pain!” The final breakdown was a violent masterpiece, the band’s unrelenting energy matched only by the crowd’s raw aggression. Taylor took time to address the crowd saying how much he loved Birmingham, and it had been to long. He then screamed to the masses that tonight we would hear nothing recorded after 1999.
And then without seemingly missing a beat, they launched into “Eyeless.” Taylor’s guttural “Insiiiide!” ripped through the room, and the crowd answered back like their lives depended on it. Mick Thomson and Jim Root’s riffs hit like razor wire, cutting through the chaos with surgical precision. its groove-heavy rhythms and sinister turntable scratches courtesy of Sid Wilson creating a sense of unease.
Casagrande’s drums were a relentless barrage, his double-kick sounding like gunfire as the band locked into the song’s brutal groove. Taylor prowled the stage like a man possessed, his delivery dripping with anger and defiance. The strobe lights flashed in time with the crushing rhythm, creating a disorienting, almost hallucinatory effect.
The pit was utter carnage, a writhing mass of bodies as the band pushed the track to its limit. By the time the final notes faded, everyone in the room was gasping for air—but no one dared stop.
The haunting intro of “Wait and Bleed” brought a moment of eerie calm before the storm. Taylor’s clean vocals were a razor-thin edge, cutting through the tension as the crowd screamed every word back at him.
When the full band kicked in, it was like being hit with a tidal wave of sound. The melodic sections provided a brief respite, but the verses were pure fury, with Taylor’s snarls and screams dripping with raw emotion. The stage lights flickered between soft blues and blinding whites, matching the song’s shifting dynamics perfectly.
The breakdown hit like a hammer, the pit erupting into chaos as the band unleashed their full fury. It was a moment of pure catharsis, both for the band and the crowd—a shared explosion of rage and release.
Taylor introduced “Get This” with a snarl, shouting, “This one’s for all you maniacs who’ve been with us since the beginning!” The track was a two-and-a-half-minute gut punch, a feral blast of unfiltered aggression that hit like a Molotov cocktail.
The guitars were vicious, the riffs sharp enough to cut glass, while Casagrande’s drumming was a chaotic storm of blast beats and thunderous fills. Taylor’s delivery was rabid, each word spat with venom as the crowd lost their collective minds.
The pit that was trying to form in the crowded arena was a swirling vortex of chaos, fists and feet flying as the band drove the song into a final, crushing breakdown. It was pure, unadulterated violence, exactly what the crowd came for. The band dove straight into “Eeyore,” a hidden gem of unrelenting rage. The guitars were raw, the riffs slashing like serrated blades as Taylor roared like a man on the edge. The lights turned blood red, casting a sinister glow over the stage as the band delivered one of the most visceral performances of the night.
The crowd was unhinged, screaming along with every word as the pit turned into a battlefield. Casagrande’s drumming was a masterclass in controlled chaos, his rapid-fire fills and double-kick driving the song’s relentless pace. The energy was electric, the band feeding off the crowd’s intensity as they pushed the song to its blistering conclusion. The lights dropped and an eeriness fell across the arena.
As the band left the stage, Sid Wilson took over, spinning a haunting remix of “Tattered and Torn.” The twisted, glitchy sounds echoed through the room, creating an unsettling atmosphere that had the crowd swaying in a hypnotic trance. The screens danced with video of Sid scratching at his alter his claustrophobic gas mask shining as rays of light glinted from its metallic surface. Eventually, the band stormed back onto the stage with “Me Inside,” the track’s razor-sharp riffs slicing through the air. Taylor’s vocals were a mix of venom and vulnerability, his snarls giving way to haunting melodies that sent chills down spines. The guitars of Root and Thompson were relentless, the riffs churning like a buzzsaw as the rhythm section locked into a groove that shook the foundations of the venue.
The crowd was electric, their energy matching the bands as they screamed every word back at Taylor. The breakdown was a hammer blow, the pit almost exploding into a whirlwind of bodies, the crowd surfers taking their lives in their own hands as the rode the hands keeping them up, some disappearing into the melee as they were dropped from sight not making it to the safety of the barrier and the security, as the band drove the track to its punishing end. The opening riff of “Liberate” hit like a sucker punch, the band launching into one of their most ferocious tracks of the night. Taylor’s voice was a weapon, his growls and screams tearing through the room as the crowd roared along.
The guitars were razor-sharp, the riffs cutting through the chaos with brutal precision. Casagrande’s drumming was a relentless barrage, his fills and double-kick adding a sense of urgency that pushed the song into overdrive. The breakdown was pure carnage, the pit turning into a maelstrom of chaos as the band delivered a final, crushing blow, sweat shirts and hoodies flew through the air.
Once again, Sid Wilson returned to centre stage, unleashing a warped, experimental version of “Frail Limb Nursery.” The twisted sounds were a sonic descent into madness, echoing through the room with dissonance and unease. The crowd stood transfixed as strobing lights danced across the stage, adding to the eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. It was a moment of tension, a dark calm before the storm to come.
When the band stormed back onstage, Taylor asked the crowed if they wanted to go somewhere deep as he prowled the stage, the reply was obvious, and with that the band dropped “Purity,” instantly the crowd’s tension snapped like a whip. Taylor, front and center barked out the lyrics with an intensity that sent chills through the room, his matted dreads whipping in front of him as he did so. The track’s blend of melody and rage made it a standout moment, with the haunting verses giving way to crushing, full-throttle choruses.
The lighting turned stark and cold, bathing the band in a pale, icy glow that matched the song’s chilling themes. Mick Thomson and Jim Root’s guitar work was mesmerising, weaving an intricate tapestry of riffs that felt simultaneously suffocating and cathartic. Eloy Casagrande drums were feral, every hit sounding like the crashing of a thousand hammers.
The crowd seemingly hypnotised, a sea of raised fists and bellowing voices echoing Taylor’s anguished cries. It was a shared moment of purification, the audience and band, once again, feeding off each other’s raw energy.
As the night continued, with the ominous opening notes of “Prosthetics” crept into the room like a predator stalking its prey. The band held nothing back, the song building from a brooding slow burn into a frenzied assault. Taylor’s voice dripped with malice, his delivery unhinged as he snarled, “You brought it out of me!”
The stage was bathed in eerie green and red lighting, casting long shadows that gave the performance an almost theatrical edge. The rhythm section was relentless, Alessandro Ventruella basslines creating a heavy, oppressive foundation that allowed the guitars to slice through like jagged glass. The breakdown was suffocating, a tidal wave of sound that crushed the crowd under its weight. The pit was absolute chaos, a violent expression of the song’s raw energy.
As the set roared toward its conclusion, the sonic onslaught only intensified. The room was a pressure cooker as the band tore into “No Life,” a track that radiated pure, unfiltered fury. Taylor’s vocals were ferocious, spitting venom with every syllable as the band locked into a tight, blistering groove.
The guitars were razor-sharp, the riffs fast and aggressive, driving the track forward like a runaway freight train. Casagrande’s drumming was jaw-dropping, his precision and speed leaving the crowd in awe. The lights flashed in rapid succession, mimicking the frenetic energy of the song and adding to the feeling of total chaos.
The pit was almost a swirling vortex of bodies, the crowd matching the band’s intensity blow for blow. By the time the final note rang out, the room was drenched in sweat and raw energy.
Taylor leaned into the mic, his voice dripping with menace as he introduced “Only One.” He added “it’s a song not been played in Birmingham for 25years”, to which the crowd exploded as the song came to life, the band unleashing a relentless barrage of sound that hit like a sledgehammer. The guitars were savage, the riffs jagged and unrelenting as the rhythm section drove the song forward with brutal force.
Taylor’s snarls and screams were matched by the crowd’s raw energy, their voices echoing through the venue as they shouted every word back at him. The stage lights were blinding, flashing in time with the music and creating a disorienting, almost hallucinatory effect.
As the band reached the song’s crushing finale, Taylor stalked the stage, his voice rising above the chaos like a war cry. The energy was electric, the room a boiling sea of sweat and adrenaline, as the band left the stage. We have had 60minutes of brutal mutilation and as
the crowd was still catching its breath, Sid Wilson returned to the decks, spinning an industrial-tinged version of “Mudslide.” The remix was dark and heavy, a perfect transition into the encore.
The tension immediately snapped as the opening riff of “Spit It Out” blasted through the speakers. The crowd lost their minds, the pit erupting into a frenzy as Taylor barked out the opening lines.
When he hit the iconic “Jump the fuck up!” moment, the room turned into a scene straight out of an apocalypse. Thousands of bodies crouched low to the ground, waiting for the command. Taylor’s growl echoed through the venue as he screamed, “Jump the fuck up!” and the crowd erupted like a volcano, bodies flying in every direction.
The song was a pure adrenaline rush, the band delivering a flawless performance that left the crowd begging for more.
And more we got as the band slaughtered us as they dropped “Surfacing” this came across as a declaration of war. The band tore into the track with ferocity, the riffs slamming into the crowd like a battering ram. Taylor’s voice was a weapon, his snarls cutting through the noise with savage precision.
The crowd was a mass of chaos, screaming along to the iconic refrain of “Fuck it all! Fuck this world!” The lights flashed in time with the music, creating a strobe effect that turned the room into a chaotic blur.
Casagrande’s drumming was monstrous, every hit shaking the walls as the band drove the song to its devastating conclusion. There is no doubt that he is a welcome replacement to the irreverent Joey Jordison who has sadly left us.
Taylor stepped to the mic, his voice low and menacing as he introduced the final track of the night: “we’ve got one more for you” ….. “Scissors.” The room fell silent as the haunting opening riff began; the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
The song was a slow descent into madness, building from a brooding, almost hypnotic intro into a chaotic explosion of sound. Taylor’s performance was unhinged, his screams raw and guttural as he poured every ounce of emotion into the song.
The band matched his intensity, the guitars creating a wall of sound that threatened to crush the audience under its weight. The lights turned a deep, blood-red, casting long shadows across the stage as the band pushed the song into its extended, chaotic finale.
As the song reached its chaotic crescendo, the band threw everything they had into the final moments; drums pounding, guitars wailing, and Sid Wilson prowling the stage in a whirlwind of movement. The crowd, exhausted but exhilarated, erupted into a final, thunderous round of applause, their voices hoarse from screaming but their spirits electrified. As the last note rattled throughout the arena, Slipknot gathered at the front of the stage, their silhouettes framed against a backdrop of flickering white strobes and the rising fog from the stage floor. Corey Taylor addressed the crowd one final time, his voice hoarse but resonant: “We are nothing without you. Until next time, stay crazy, Birmingham!”
With that, the band departed, leaving behind a euphoric audience still buzzing from the sensory overload of the night. Fans lingered, reliving the evening’s highlights, from the guttural chaos of Bleed from Within to Slipknot’s unmatched spectacle. Outside, the streets of Birmingham were alive with a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion, the rain had not left us, as folks ran to awaiting cars, blocking the flow of traffic, all too eager to get home, the rain, however, continued to punish, water lying everywhere, as animals filed up the roads two by two, I mean the taxis with their eager but blind drivers adding to the chaos.
This was an experience that quite simply reaffirmed why “Slipknot” remains at the pinnacle of heavy metal and why “Bleed from Within” are a band that will only continue to rise. The night was a testament to the power of music to unite, energize, and utterly devastate in the best possible way.
Photography – Dan Virchow (@danvirchow on Instagram).
