Review & Photography by Manny Manson
KK’s Steel Mill is already alive when Urne walk on, and they don’t soften the room or ask for permission. They step straight into it, four songs, no padding, no chatter, and a sound that immediately tells you this band understands weight, space, and patience. Urne formed in London in 2016, and while they’ve only released two full-length albums so far, Serpent and Spirit in 2021, A Feast On Sorrow, 2023 and a third due in January 2026 entitled Setting Fire To The Sky, on Spinefarm records. They play like a band who’ve been living inside these songs for far longer than the timeline suggests.
Joe Nally stands front and centre, bass strapped low, vocals coming from somewhere closer to the gut than the throat. His bass tone is thick and rounded, not flashy, not overly distorted, but heavy enough that it fills gaps other bands rely on rhythm guitars to occupy. There’s a grounded calm to him onstage; he doesn’t move much, but everything feels anchored around him. Angus Nayra on guitar shapes the riffs rather than throws them around.
His playing leans into sustain and texture, letting notes bloom and decay naturally rather than chopping everything into sharp edges. Behind them, Richard Harris drums with a sense of restraint that suits the material perfectly, hitting hard when the song demands it, but more often locking into slow, deliberate patterns that let the riffs breathe. Live guitarist Curtis Bagley adds width rather than clutter, doubling lines, adding harmonics, and thickening the sound without stepping on what’s already there.
They open with “Be Not Dismayed”, taken from Setting Fire To The Sky (Jan 2026), and it sets the tone immediately. The riff rolls in slowly, almost cautiously, before settling into a groove that feels ancient rather than modern. It’s stoner metal without the fuzz-for-the-sake-of-it mentality, more concerned with mood and pacing than volume alone. The Steel Mill crowd responds quickly, heads nodding rather than fists flying, the sort of reaction that tells you people are listening properly. “The Spirit Alive”, also from Setting Fire To The Sky (Jan 2026), expands the sound outward.
The second guitar really earns its place here, adding layers that give the song a subtle psychedelic edge without drifting into indulgence. Joe’s vocals remain steady and unforced, not trying to dominate the room, but cutting through clearly enough to give the lyrics weight. There’s a sense of internal discipline to the band, a refusal to rush or overplay, and it works in their favour.
By “The Burden”, again from A Feast On Sorrow (2023), the band feel fully locked in. The song’s slow build and deliberate shifts give Harris room to show his feel rather than his speed, his drumming working with the riffs instead of driving them forward aggressively. The room feels heavier now, the sound pressing down rather than blasting outward.
They close with “Harken The Waves”, the final track of the set also from Setting Fire To The Sky (Jan 2026), and it feels like a deliberate choice. It’s expansive, patient, and quietly powerful, letting the set end on something that lingers rather than explodes. Urne have toured as support for Orange Goblin in their earlier years, and it shows in the way they understand how to set a tone without overselling themselves. Four songs, no wasted movement, and a crowd that’s clearly more engaged than it was twenty minutes earlier.
After a brief reset, Grand Magus take the stage, and the shift in energy is immediate. Where Urne deal in atmosphere and slow-burning weight, Grand Magus deal in clarity, tradition, and directness. The band originally formed in 1996 under the name Smack, before changing their name ahead of their debut album Grand Magus in 2001. Over the years they’ve carved out a reputation as one of Sweden’s most reliable heavy metal bands, rooted firmly in classic metal but never feeling stuck in the past.
Janne “JB” Christoffersson is the focal point, handling both vocals and guitar with a confidence that comes from decades of doing exactly this. His guitar tone is clean but muscular, cutting through the mix without overpowering it. Matt “Fox” Skinner’s bass sits perfectly underneath, tight and punchy, adding drive rather than excess low-end rumble. Behind them, drummer Ludvig “Ludde” Witt, who joined the band in 2012, plays with precision and consistency, keeping everything grounded and forward-moving.
They open with “I, The Jury” from Hammer of the North (2010), and the reaction is instant. This is straight-ahead heavy metal, riffs that march rather than crawl, choruses built to be shouted back. JB’s voice is strong and direct, not overly theatrical, but full of authority. The crowd shifts from passive listening to active participation almost immediately. “Skybound”, from Sunraven (2024), lifts the mood slightly. The tempo increases, the melodies open up, and the band sound completely at ease. Skinner’s bass work is particularly noticeable here, driving the song forward without ever crowding the guitars.
When “Steel vs Steel” hits, from Triumph and Power (2014), the room wakes up again. The title feels tailor-made for the Steel Mill, and the band lean into it without irony. JB works the front of the stage, engaging with the crowd, while Ludvig keeps the rhythm tight and relentless. It’s simple, effective metal, played with conviction rather than flash. “Raven’s Guide Our Way”, from Hammer of the North (2010), brings an older edge into the set.
The riffing is darker and more nuanced, showing how the band have evolved without abandoning their core sound. There’s a noticeable shift in atmosphere, the crowd swaying rather than punching the air. That mood continues with “Sunraven”, the title track from the same 2024 album. It’s expansive and melodic, JB’s guitar lines weaving through the rhythm rather than sitting on top of it.
The band sound comfortable playing newer material alongside their older staples, a sign of a catalogue that’s aged well. “Åran” &“Hammer of the North”, the later also from Hammer of the North (2010), closes their set, and it feels like a statement. Grand Magus have supported Orange Goblin earlier in their career, and there’s a clear shared understanding of how to command a room without excess. They leave the stage to a warm, appreciative response, having delivered exactly what was needed at that moment in the night.
By the time Orange Goblin take the stage at KK’s Steel Mill, the room feels different. Not louder yet, not even more crowded, just heavier. There’s a shared understanding moving through the crowd that this isn’t just another headline set. This is one of the last chances to stand in front of this band while they’re still a functioning, breathing, touring entity. Thirty years on the road, thirty years of graft, of van miles, of sweat-soaked clubs and festival fields, and now the clock is visibly ticking. No drama is announced from the stage, but everyone knows exactly where we are in the story.
Orange Goblin formed in London in 1995, initially as Our Haunted Kingdom before shortening the name and locking into the identity that would define them. From the start, they stood slightly apart from the rest of the stoner and doom scene. They had the groove, they had the Sabbath DNA, but they also had humour, grit, and a very British sense of reality about them. They were never about escapism alone; their songs always had dirt under the fingernails. Over the years, through albums like Frequencies from Planet Ten (1997), Time Travelling Blues (1998), The Big Black (2000), Coup de Grace (2002), Thieving from the House of God (2004), Healing Through Fire (2007), A Eulogy for the Damned (2012), Back from the Abyss (2014), and The Wolf Bites Back (2018), they built a catalogue that felt lived in rather than curated.
The line-up onstage is the one people recognise instantly now. Ben Ward at the front, vocals only, no instrument as a barrier between him and the crowd. Joe Hoare on guitar, stage right, slightly hunched into his instrument, riffs coming out thick and unpolished in the best way. Harry Armstrong on bass, stage left, steady and grounded, his tone deep but controlled. Chris Turner behind the kit, driving the whole thing forward with a drummer’s understanding of groove rather than flash. There’s no intro tape, no dramatic build. They walk on, they check each other, and they start.
“Blue Snow” opens the set, taken from Time Travelling Blues, released in 1998. It’s a strong choice. Not the most obvious opener from their catalogue, but one that immediately establishes the version of Orange Goblin we’re dealing with tonight. The riff is thick but not sluggish, a mid-paced grinder that lets the band settle into the room rather than trying to dominate it instantly. Joe Hoare’s guitar tone is exactly where it needs to be, dirty enough to bite but clear enough that every note lands. Harry Armstrong’s bass doesn’t just follow the guitar; it underpins it, giving the song weight without muddying the mix. Ben Ward’s voice sounds raw but focused, not straining, not over-reaching. He knows his range, and he works within it. The crowd reacts quickly, heads nodding, bodies moving, the first few rows already fully locked in.
Without pause, they move into “Saruman’s Wish”, from Frequencies From Planet 10 (1997). The shift in mood is immediate. Where “Blue Snow” grooves outward, this one pull’s inward. The riff is slower, more deliberate, and Turner’s drumming here really shows his value to the band. He doesn’t fill space unnecessarily; he lets the song breathe, accenting the groove rather than overpowering it. Ward’s vocal delivery leans more into storytelling here, and there’s a weight to it that feels earned.
This is a band that’s lived long enough to write songs about consequence without sounding forced. The Steel Mill quietens slightly, not because people disengage, but because they listen. “Some You Win, Some You Lose” follows, taken from Thieving From The House Of God (2004), and it’s like a release valve. The groove bounces, the riff swings, and suddenly the crowd is smiling again. This has always been one of Orange Goblin’s great strengths: knowing when to lean into heaviness and when to let things roll. Ward is visibly enjoying this one, leaning into the mic, gesturing to the crowd, letting them take over lines. The chorus is shouted back with enthusiasm, not out of obligation but familiarity. This is a song that’s been lived with for nearly two decades now, and it shows.
They keep the momentum going with “Heavy Lies the Crown”, from Back from the Abyss (2014). This one, hits harder, the riffs grinding rather than swinging. Hoare’s guitar work here is all about restraint; he doesn’t embellish the riff; he lets it crush. Millard and Turner lock into a groove that feels almost mechanical in its precision, and Ward’s vocals cut through with authority rather than aggression. There’s a confidence to this performance that comes from knowing exactly who you are as a band at this stage of your life. When “Your World Will Hate This” arrives, again from Cour De Grace (2002), it feels like a statement piece. The song’s confrontational groove and blunt lyrical tone resonate strongly in the room. The crowd roars the chorus back, voices overlapping, some shouting words, some just shouting feeling. This is one of those moments where the distance between band and audience collapses completely. Ward doesn’t need to hype it; he steps back slightly and lets the room do the work.
“Cosmo Bozo”, from The Big Black (2000), shifts the energy again, reminding everyone that Orange Goblin have always balanced weight with humour. The riff is playful but heavy, the groove infectious. Hoare grins as he plays, clearly enjoying the reaction. The crowd moves differently here, less aggressive, more loose, bodies bouncing rather than colliding. It’s a reminder that fun has always been part of this band’s DNA. They roll straight into “The Devil’s Whip”, from Back from the Abyss (2014), and this is where Turner really shines.
His drumming is tight and driving, pushing the song forward without rushing it. The riff snaps rather than drags, and Ward’s delivery is sharp, almost clipped. The pit stirs properly for the first time, bodies pressing forward, energy spilling over. “Cities of Frost”, from Healing Through Fire (2007), cools things down slightly. The riff is brooding, almost cinematic, and the band lean into the atmosphere. Ward’s vocals here feel more reflective, less confrontational. The Steel Mill lights sit low and muted, and the song stretches out just enough to let the mood settle.
At this point in the set, it’s clear that Orange Goblin aren’t playing a greatest-hits package for easy applause. This is a set built to flow, to rise and fall, to tell a story across thirty years without spelling it out. “Ascend the Negative”, from Science Not Fiction (2024), reinforces that. The groove is relentless, the chorus a chant rather than a hook, and the crowd responds accordingly. Fists go up again, voices follow. When the opening riff of “The Fog” hits, taken from Eulogy For The Damned (2012), there’s a noticeable reaction. This is early Orange Goblin, rawer, looser, less refined but full of character. The song still holds up, and the band don’t try to modernise it. They play it straight, honouring where they came from rather than apologising for it. The crowd reacts with a mix of nostalgia and genuine energy, recognising the importance of hearing these songs played by the same people who wrote them nearly three decades ago.
“Aquatic Fanatic”, also from Frequencies from Planet 10, follows, and it’s scrappier, faster, more chaotic. Hoare’s guitar snarls here, and Millard’s bass adds a thickness that keeps it grounded. Ward looks genuinely pleased at the reaction, watching the front rows lose themselves in it. There’s something powerful about seeing early material played with this level of confidence so late in a band’s life. A brief pause follows, and then the unmistakable opening of “Into the Void” fills the room. The Black Sabbath cover, originally from Master of Reality (1971), has long been part of Orange Goblin’s live identity. Tonight, it feels less like a cover and more like a salute. The band don’t overplay it, don’t try to reinvent it. They let the riff speak for itself. The crowd sings along, loudly, and for a few minutes the Steel Mill feels like a communal ritual rather than a gig. It’s a reminder of the lineage Orange Goblin come from and the space they carved out within it.
“Time Travelling Blues”, the title track from the 1998 album, lands with unexpected emotional weight. The groove is strong, familiar, but the context changes everything. On a final tour, a song about time folding back on itself hits differently. Ward doesn’t make a speech about it, but you can see the recognition in his expression. The crowd reacts with warmth rather than chaos, singing along, fully present.
The energy lifts again with “Scorpiconia”, from The Big Black (2000). This is Orange Goblin at their most direct, riffs heavy and uncomplicated, groove front and centre. Turner’s drumming keeps everything tight, and the band sound relaxed but focused, like they’re enjoying the chance to revisit this era without pressure. “Quincy the Pigboy”, from The Big Black (2000), follows, and it’s chaotic in the best way. The song’s twisted humour and aggressive edge bring the pit back to life. Ward feeds off the reaction, leaning forward, pushing the crowd vocally, not demanding but encouraging. This is where Orange Goblin’s personality really shines through – heavy, yes, but never self-serious.
As the set draws to a close, there’s a sense of inevitability about what’s coming. “Red Tide”, from Eulogy For The damned (2012), is the final song of the night. The riff lands heavy and deliberate, and the band play it with conviction rather than sentiment. There’s no extended outro, no forced drama. They let the song do the work. When the final notes ring out, Ward, a giant of a man, steps back, looking out over the crowd, beaming, he beaming, he takes’ it all in.
The response is huge. Cheers, applause, shouts of gratitude. Not just for the set, but for the thirty years that led to it. Orange Goblin don’t overstay the moment. They stand together, acknowledge the room, and leave the stage as they came on: straightforward, honest, and grounded.
On this, the “End of Transmission” final tour, it feels entirely fitting.
