Review & Photos by Phil Rozier for MPM
Remember, remember, the 4th of November! Because the 5th just wouldn’t be as good. What could possibly rival 400 years of Guy Fawkes lore? Easy: Wednesday 13 and his band of merry ghouls.
Earlier this year, the horror punk icon dropped Mid Death Crisis, a snarling, theatrical album that’s well worth a spin (check out the Metal Planet Music review). On Tuesday 4th November 2025, Islington Assembly Hall was transformed into a gothic carnival as Wednesday 13’s Mid Death Crisis tour thundered into London. With support from The Nocturnal Affair and The Soap Girls, the night delivered a full-throttle horror punk experience that left fans drenched in sweat, beer, and pure joy
Purple Lights and Punk Comedy
Even after 30 years of loving rock music, I still get that electric buzz walking toward a venue. Purple uplighters reached skyward, and the crowd wrapped the building like an autumn scarf made of leather and studs. A smirk crossed my face as I spotted The Soap Girls’ slightly dented van parked beside Wednesday 13’s sleek black-and-blue tour bus. Outside, the dented van of The Soap Girls sat humbly beside Wednesday 13’s sleek, black-and-blue tour bus, a visual metaphor for the night’s eclectic lineup.
Inside, the Assembly Hall offered classic punk chaos: the ticket desk had run out of printed tickets. Not quite sold out, just not printed enough. As I waited for a fresh batch to arrive, I made light-hearted chit-chat with the guy behind the glass. I say “chit-chat,” but it was more like just “chit.”
“So, you seen these guys before then, mate?”
“No.”
Fair enough. Not a conversationalist. After this exhaustive debate, I was delayed getting into the show, and whilst I could hear the noise of The Nocturnal Affair from behind the sound proofed doors, I did miss their opening numbers
The Nocturnal Affair: Doom, Hair, and Haddaway
With ticket finally in hand, I entered the hall mid-set. Las Vegas’ The Nocturnal Affair were already on stage, fronted by Brendan Shane. The first thing I noticed? Hair. Lots of it. Apart from Brendan, the rest of the band looked like Pantene models moonlighting as doom merchants.
Their baritone guitars, probably tuned to drop C, paired with Brendan’s keys created a rich, dark sound. Or at least they would have, if not for the tech gremlins. Mics cut in and out, the PA spat interference like a CB radio, and I half expected the amps to start broadcasting trucker chatter. But credit where it’s due: the band powered through with professionalism and grit.
Their finale, a cover of Haddaway’s “What Is Love” was a paradoxical triumph. Imagine 80s synths colliding with Type O Negative gloom. It left the crowd confused, intrigued, and oddly satisfied. A perfect warm-up for the pale-faced faithful awaiting Wednesday 13.
The Soap Girls: Punk Provocateurs in Platforms
Next up: The Soap Girls. After seeing their van, I wasn’t expecting two towering sisters in sky-high platforms and barely-there outfits to strut on stage. But strut they did.
Bleached blonde wigs (I assume), snazzy guitars, and a riot of colourful lighting set the tone.
Turns out these risqué siblings started out selling soap as kids and now boast a Universal record deal with over 15 years of stage experience.
Their sound? Punchy, hardcore punk with doom-core edges, soft vocals balanced by Arch Enemy-style roars. And yes, they’re bendy. If you’ve seen them, you know what I mean.
Enter the Duke of Spook, Wednesday 13: Theatre, Thrash, and Total Mayhem
At 9:30pm sharp (past my bedtime), “Blood Fades to Black” bathed the crowd in eerie ambience. A silhouetted drummer took his seat, and then, boom, the gates of hell cracked open. The vibrating bass and pounding drums of “Look What the Bats Dragged In” announced the arrival of Wednesday 13.
Draped in a red-and-black cape, pale-faced and blood-mouthed, he tore through the dry ice like a demon frontman half his age. The crowd erupted. Circle pits, headbanging, chaos. I barely had time to raise my camera.
The 17-song set was a masterclass in horror punk theatre. “Too Fast for Blood” delivered chugging E-string palm mutes that somehow sounded cooler than they should. Think Rob Zombie meets Sepultura with a dash of Marilyn Manson. “Rotting Away” hit hard with venomous lyrics: “To say that I hate you, that would be too fucking nice.”
A stark contrast to The Soap Girls’ peace-and-love ethos.
“The Ghost of Vincent Price” from the 90210 album was a highlight, with Wednesday 13 strutting across the riser like he owned the room. And he did. This was more than a gig, it was a theatrical descent into hell.
From Murderdolls to Mid Death Crisis
The setlist was a perfectly curated journey through Wednesday 13’s career. “When the Devil Commands” marched us to the underworld, while “Summertime Suicide” brought a twisted party vibe. Crimson lights faded to purple, then white, then back again as the band ripped through early tracks like “197666” and newer bangers like “In Misery”.
“Good Day to Be a Bad Guy” saw Wednesday unknowingly leading a conga line through the mosh pit. Unexpected, but brilliant. Murderdolls classic “Nowhere” preceded a blistering rendition of “I Walked With a Zombie,” a fan favourite that’s aged like fine horror wine.
The penultimate track, “Bad Things,” had the crowd roaring: “I want bad things to happen to you!”. And finally, “I Want to Say Fuck” closed the night with a chorus of profanity echoing down Islington High Street.
Final Thoughts: A Dream in the Flesh
Having only seen Wednesday 13 from afar at festivals, this intimate show was a dream. From the ghoulish theatrics to the genre-bending support acts, it was punk rock horror fun at its absolute best. Punks. Chillers and Thrillers.
Hell’s bells, what a night.
