Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
Make no bones about it this is modern metal for the modern generation. We scan about the venue and draw the rapid conclusion that tonight we’re amongst a very small minority of attendees whose lives have straddled two centuries. Our odyssey beyond the now shattered boundaries of our previous musical comfort zones continues apace.
What began, early last year, as a gentle probe outside of our deeply rooted affair with all things of a ‘classic’ nature has now gathered an unstoppable momentum. It’s nights like tonight that will provide the tangible force upon the metaphorical accelerator as we seek breakout, and breakaway, from what, for ourselves, has become an increasingly static movement.
Movement is the key word herein for what we discover tonight is a driving force that is not only on a forwards and upwards trajectory but one that is a raging torrent. This is the juncture where the voluminous, but undeniably languid, kinetics of a large, mature river are driven into a narrowing channel. The reenergising and strengthening of the momentum are refreshing and undeniable.
Tonight, the penultimate date of a 28-date tour, is a sold-out upgrade for headliners Paleface Swiss. All bar a very small handful of shows have maxed out on this current jaunt, their biggest venture to date, and a forthcoming five week North American tour is heading in precisely the same direction.
The crest of a conflagrant tsunamic wave is being masterfully ridden, one that is furthered empowered by the recent release of their third album ‘Cursed’. Tickets are flying and the buzz is real, it’s the initial thing that strikes face-on upon walking into the venue.
A wild, wild mosh pit, almost the full width of SWX, greets the infernal roar of opening band Desolated. A healthy sized early-doors crowd are enthused and crazed, in equal measure, from the very off by the Southampton hardcore outfit. The ‘Boom’ sunglasses being sported by a fan on the barrier sum the moment up most succinctly.
The brutalist assault of set-opener ‘Numb’ coupled in strongarm methodology with the old-school Anthrax-themed thrashing of ‘The Beginning’ leaves no doubt of the collective intent. Vocalist Tony Evans, recently switched from bass duties, notes “Fuck yeah, that was a gooooood start!” The doom-laden intensity of latest single ‘Bite Down’ delivers a guttural bawl, a spinetingling thunder as arms windmill crazily and feet force outwards.
There are raw primordial energies afoot as SWX quakes to its core with ‘Victim’ buzzsawing into ‘The End’. The unwary should heed the warning of the feral rampage. The sharp-moving Ben ‘Desolater’ Spencer, central to the video of ‘Death By My Side’, gets in on the on-stage activity during the latter before whipping up a frenzy crowdside.
Ultra-behemothic thrasher ‘Suffering’ maintains the viral rumpus, Evans regales “Bristol’s always sick, today is fucking sick!” Clear fan favourite ‘Death By My Side’, a punchy salvo that has SWX registering high on the Richter scale as crowd-surfers ascend atop the maelstrom. The fallen are picked up to go once more, the cardio is indeed high as Evans observed earlier on.
Nine tracks inside a frantic half hour utterly rammed full of stampeding riffs and a low-end that can easily find itself incarcerated on charges of wilful stomping deconstruction has left the SWX ensemble undeniably warmed up. Hot and sweaty, job done!
If Cher’s ‘Believe’ proved to be as incongruous a track to despatch through the PA immediately prior to the emergence of Desolated then the selection of a suite of jazzy impressions, during the interval, seeks to at least equal the earlier quirk. No-one appears unduly bothered as the mood within is chilled and mellowed in equal measure.
Now based in Albany, New York The Acacia Strain came freight-training out of the “Crossroads of New England” Chicopee, Massachusetts back in 2001. Back in the UK for a third consecutive year following headline dates in ’24 and supporting Deez Nuts the year before. Both tours hit Bristol (Fleece and Thekla respectively), and this shows with a swelling in crowd numbers before they hit the SWX stage with a rare vengeance.
More densely packed in the moshing, though just as frenetic, is somewhat condensed compared to the opening half hour. An eerie intro slithers about as the band assemble upon the dimly illuminated stage. The signal is given as drummer Matt Guglielmo raises a stick aloft in his right hand. Towering vocalist Vincent Bennett ensures the stampede escalates right out of the blocks. No quarter is given or requested.
Levels are upped in an extreme devil’s concoction as a broth composed of the streetwise punk/metal crossovers of Suicidal Tendencies (in fact Bennett cuts a Mike Muir figure throughout) and Hatebreed along with the barbarous aspects of grindcore merchants Gutalax. The potion at employ fizzes and rampages gleefully bludgeoning all in its path.
The sheer number of surfers in the opening exchanges is a surefire barometer of pleasure levels within SWX and although I struggle to identify a single track, I’m left in no uncertainty of the degree of apocalyptic reverence that is at hand. A surfer receives a fist bump from Bennett amidst the rapid artillery percussives delivered by Guiglielmo whilst the twin axes of Mike Mulholland and Devin Shidaker provide an assured thunderous charge.
The throttle is pulled right back ratcheting up the brouhaha ever skywards. Come the end of a leviathanithic 40 minutes the interior of SWX is heavily sweating, a seething mass that has teetered upon the brink of total destruction but not tipped itself into the abyss. There’s a form of self-control in that alone; the fact that, from where I’m stood, it seems complete happiness has been achieved with well over a 1,000 metalheads having the night of their lives.
“We’re a very small band from a very small country” informs the headliner’s enigmatic frontman Marc “Zelli” Zellweger. Charming and eloquent as a focal point Zellweger understates not only his band but his home country too, quite deliberately. A seemingly national trait with luxury brands such as Patek Philippe and Jaeger-LeCoultre leading lights.
Famous for not being involved in any global conflict since the 1500s and also the birthplace of the Red Cross – the country’s colour reversed flag became the symbol of the institution – Switzerland has birthed an absolute gemstone in the form of this evening’s headliner. Add alongside Krokus, Celtic Frost, Gotthard, and Burning Witches the four components that comprise deathcore illuminati Paleface Swiss.
Recently rebranded with the addition of ‘Swiss’ to avoid name clashes with an American singer of the same name this Zurich force de majeure recently released their third album ‘Cursed’ a couple of days into the new year. Hailed as a “modern deathcore triumph” by antiheromagazine website it’s a release that Paleface Swiss are justifiably proud of. So much so, including the album’s ethereal opener ‘Un Pobre Nino Murio’ which is utilised as the set-opener, that the entirety of the nine slabs of modern metal it possesses are unleashed across the set.
It’s the first day of meteorological spring and with seven planets aligning in the early night skies strong natural forces are gainfully employed. A group huddle and pumping of clenched fists backstage the band turn their attention stagewards as they awaken the poltergeist within. Zellweger, arched backwards, raises a middle digit and roars “Fuck you Brissssstooool!”
SWX erupts with a Strombolian force as ‘Hatred’, as per the album, follows. Strident riffs burst explosively whilst large pockets of low-end rhythms carry the entire package up the magma-filled conduit. Stir-crazy pandemonium ensues with the machine-gun despatch of ‘Suppressing Times’. A conveyor belt of crowdsurfers is spat out of the mosh pit. A female surfer, in zebra-patterned leggings, is delighted to garner a high-five from Zellweger.
The hell bound mayhem of ‘My Blood On Your Hands’ is rammed to bursting point with raging lines, sleek and refined yet somehow potently dangerous. Bassist Tommy Lee and his guitaring sidekick Yannick Lehmann motion for a circle pit that duly opens in the gore splattered barnstorming of ‘Youth Decay’. A bare-chested dude holds both middle digits aloft whilst all about him spins 360 degrees. Bristol is steadily melting in the face of this onslaught.
The infectious plague that is ‘…. and with hope you’ll be damned’ harnesses the furore of the undead as SWX boils over. ‘Nail To The Tooth’ bounces along in chaotic splendour. The ultra-kinetics are as intense as senior peers such as Hatebreed and Amon Amarth induce. Zellweger is mobbed as he launches himself, from the barrier, into the crowd. Such are the levels of quasi-religious fervour on hand that one wonders if the vocalist is going to re-appear.
Reappear he does quipping “Someone tried to take off my pants!” It’s revving up with the completely feral hi-energies of ‘The Gallow’ impossible to ignore, all are swept along in the torrent. Contagion levels continue to rise with warping guitar solos cause the sun to darken in an unprecedented solar eclipse. The rapped crossover of ‘Enough?’ comes as an unexpected diversion afore the headbanging thrasher ‘Don’t You Ever Stop’.
Via Zellweger’s haunting vocal intro and Lehmann’s fuzzed-up six-stringing SWX takes a most needed breather during the angst-ridden outpouring of ‘River of Sorrows’. The tumultuous avalanche of ‘Please End Me’ receives an almighty cannonade of appreciation in return as the main set is wrapped up.
A single white spot illuminates the noose hanging up the drum kit as the quadrumvirate gather their senses and the SWX crowd hanker for further. Their unwavering diligence is rewarded with the coupling of the darkened groove of ‘Pain’ and the emphatic outro of ‘Love Burns’ replete with some top-notch Iron Maiden infused fretwork. Our musical discoveries continue to expand as we add, alongside Creeper and Lacuna Coil, Paleface Swiss as a must-see band at Bloodstock this summer.
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
