Review & Photography by Phil Rozier for MPM
It’s about 5pm, 24 degrees, and I’m sitting looking out to sea, trying to see past the world’s longest pier. At just over a mile long, it’s pretty hard to make out the end; its slightly obscured by the industrial buildings on the other side of the Thames.
It won’t be long before music that is reserved for death, dying and the dead is released on this ‘quaint’ little coastal town. Within just a few hours, all hell will be raised, as The Duke of Spook himself, and his gang of ghouls will be turning Chinnery’s into a mess of noise, sweat (especially in todays heat), and swearing.
How can I be so sure I hear you ask? Well, this is the opening night of Wednesday 13’s mini-UK tour, including playing the huge stages at Bloodstock Festival. And, this is the second time I’ve seen them in less than a year. As in November 25, I saw them tearing up the stages of Old London town, at Islington Academy (I think!). So, believe me, I know what’s coming.
And there it is, the door has been blasted wide open as ‘When the Devil Commands’ kicks off the opening track in the set. You know sometimes you can get close to a band? As a fan, or even when working a gig, you can have varying degrees of ‘up close and personal’. I’ve been working the music scene for a while and been loving rock and metal for over 30 years. But this was the first time I’ve ever had a bass players dreads hit me in the face during the opening song. Troy was probably I’m guessing less than a foot away, when I realised, that as a photographer of metal bands, I was probably standing a bit close!
But, there was no where to go! With a hoard of dedicated zombie fans behind me, and no photo pit to be seen, I was jammed against the railings for the foreseeable. Considering I totally love Wednesday 13, isn’t a bad place to get stuck.
Straight into ‘Look at What the Bats Dragged In’, the crowd is surging forward in the tiny venue. Already sweat filled from the cracking efforts of support band ‘Broken Calling’, the atmosphere is eerily addictive. Us rockers are an odd lot; the gig speaks for itself. We’re often recluse, different, scared. A weird bunch of make up wearing, zombie loving, tattooed covered misfits. And yet right now, right here, this band from California have united the odd balls of Essex and driven them into a frenzy.
‘Rotting Away’ (a personal fav) thunders forward, and without a pause the opening thumps of ‘I want You… Dead’ are blasting from the PA. The stage is a wash of purple and red haze, as glimpses of hair, darkness, leather and studs creep into view, then drop back out of site amongst swathes of dry ice and steam. Yes, steam! It was that hot, that the a forementioned Essex Odd Balls were producing a hue of their own.
‘Murderdolls’ classic, ‘Summertime Suicide’ continues the pace and the audiences love for shock rock horror. It’s clear that the Murderdolls music is still alive and well, and even more engaging than it’s ever been. In such a small venue, this is honestly a gig highlight of the past decade. The energy and performance are purely reserved for the smaller events, where the dust and haze of a drought ladened field are left for those larger occasions.
Of this 16-song set list, you can’t distinguish if there’s any ‘less good’ songs. Let’s be honest, we all know, including the band, the middle of the set is reserved for those less well received songs, or, for those songs you want to experiment on by delivering them before a live sets encore (that’s right, I know all about music performance and crowd psychology… not!).
Even during the ‘go the bar’ section of the set, ‘In Misery’, ‘Haunt Me’ and one of the best drums solo’s I’ve witnessed prevents that broken the seal wee from really needing to take priority.
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It was a set of power, from a band on fire. Wednesday 13, having been around for some 25 yrs themselves, are not newcomers to the scene. But they play with intensity, prowess, showmanship, of a band trying to break into the genre. Classics such as ‘I Walked with a Zombie’ and ‘I Love to Say Fuck’ ended the 90-minute set by totally exhausting the audience. Who doesn’t love an umbrella, with Fuck written on it? And if that isn’t entertaining enough, its opened indoors, snubbing superstition and being wielded by the devil himself, Wednesday 13.
After peeling myself off the barriers, I really did need to attend to a priority I had ignored for long enough. And on that bombshell, I conclude with, this was yet again another unbelievable experience, and I’m honoured to have been part of it. More than a show, it was a memory. Reminding us all of what the power of great musical performance can achieve. It can raise hell.
