Review & Photography by Phil Rozier for MPM
After thirty years in the trenches of rock and metal, photographing (just recently!), reviewing, and living this scene, I finally ticked off a long-overdue box: my first ever Disturbed show.
And what a night to do it. The O2 was a cauldron of anticipation, already scorched by Megadeth’s blistering 12-song set (see MPM for the review here) a masterclass in thrash that left the crowd breathless and the stage smouldering. Following that? Near impossible. But Disturbed did a pretty fucking good job.
The lights dropped. A siren wailed. And from the shadows emerged David Draiman, shackled in a straitjacket, face obscured by a Hannibal Lecter-style muzzle, clad in black Department of Corrections overalls. It was pure theatre, equal parts horror movie and industrial nightmare. As the first notes of “Voices” rang out, the shackles were cast off and Draiman was reborn, prowling the stage like a man possessed.
The first half of the set was a full-throttle run through The Sickness, their 2000 debut, played in its entirety to mark its 25th anniversary. “The Game” and “Stupify” hit like a freight train, while “Down With the Sickness”, that primal scream of a track, was delivered with venomous glee. The crowd, already whipped into a frenzy by Megadeth, erupted anew, fists pumping in time with the tribal rhythms.
Dan Donegan, ever the showman, was in rare form. A known admirer of this humble photographer’s lens (ahem), he made a point of locking eyes and striking poses mid-solo, fingers flying across the fretboard with surgical precision. It’s a rare and beautiful thing when a guitarist plays for the crowd and with the camera. Donegan did both, and then some.
John Moyer, the band’s bassist, looked like he’d been carved from granite. Vest top, sinewy, and clearly no stranger to the squat rack, he anchored the low end with a ferocity that rattled the ribcage. His stage presence was pure intimidation. Part pitbull, part powerlifter.
Behind the kit, Mike Wengren was a machine. His drumming on “Fear” and “Droppin’ Plates” was thunderous, each kick and snare hit like a hammer on steel. He’s the band’s engine room, and on this night, he was running full crack.
The stage itself was a dystopian dream: towering scaffolding, gloomy crimson lighting, and enough dry ice to choke a dragon. Pyro cannons erupted in time with the music, bathing the crowd in heat and light. It was industrial, oppressive, and utterly glorious.
The second half of the set was a victory lap through their back catalogue. “Ten Thousand Fists” and “Indestructible” were fists-in-the-air anthems, while “Land of Confusion”, their snarling cover of the Genesis classic, was a personal highlight. As someone who grew up with the animated tanks and puppet politicians on MTV, hearing it reimagined with such ferocity was a full-circle moment. Draiman’s voice was a weapon, slicing through the gloom with righteous fury.
But it was “The Sound of Silence” that stole the show. Draiman stood before a flaming piano, yes, a piano with flames coming out of it,and delivered one of the most haunting, powerful vocal performances I’ve ever witnessed. His voice, rich and resonant, soared through the arena, turning a folk classic into a gothic hymn. It remains one of the greatest rock covers of all time.
The crowd was a glorious mix of goths, emos, rockers, and metal lifers. Despite recent controversies surrounding Draiman, the love in the room was palpable. This was a celebration, a catharsis, a communion.
By the time they closed with “Inside the Fire”, the O2 was a smouldering crater of sweat, smoke, and satisfied metalheads.
A night of fire, fury, and flawless execution. Disturbed proved they’re not just survivors of the nu-metal era, they’re part of its dark beating heart.
