Review & Photography by Manny Manson for MPM
The evening air hung warm and thick outside Nottingham’s Rescue Rooms on August 9th, the kind of summer night that clings to your skin and buzzes with the low murmur of anticipation. Groups of fans leaned into each other beneath the shade of the towering buildings around, some clutching worn Von Hertzen Brothers T-shirts faded from years of road trips, others bright-eyed and new to the magic about to unfold. The distant rumble of traffic and laughter spilled onto the pavement, a small twin-engine aircraft circled the city no doubt giving an update on the local traffic situation, but inside this small pocket of the city, time seemed to have slowed as we waited for the doors to open, drawing, everyone toward the promise of music that would fill the cramped, vibrating space. The Rescue Rooms’ walls, steeped in countless shows and soaked with echoes, waited patiently for the night to come alive, the crowd’s excited chatter melding with the faint crackle of soundchecks that hinted at what was to come.
Stepping inside the Rescue Rooms and you’re swallowed by a snug, familiar crush. The warm bodies, the smell of sweat and spilled beer, the low murmur of voices, and the comforting clutter of well-worn wood and concrete. The ceiling hangs not low, but of impressive height, there is a balcony except tonight it is closed to the fans, and the blackened walls, they seem to hold every note ever played in this room, thick with echoes and memories. The stage, modest in its size, waits patiently, framed by its backdrop of darkness, punctuated only by a faintly, red glowing T-shape behind the alter of Wayne Proctors drums. The crowd, not so tightly packed in tonight, still move like a living organism, gossips and whispers in little unions as they wait for the night to unveil.
At 7:20pm, Oli Brown and the Dead Collective slip into view. The stage is swallowed by shadows, cast by deliberately sparse uplighting, throwing long, flickering silhouettes of the trio. Red’s bleed into every corner, low and smouldering, punctuated sporadically by brief pulses of white and amber light that flicker like lightning bugs in a jar. It’s a theatre of shadow and sound, perfectly suited to Oli’s new darker, moodier incarnation after a decade-plus of evolution.
When the lights finally drop (sic) and the first notes of the night carve through the darkness. Oli Brown and the Dead Collective, the band being, Oli on guitar and vocals, Sam on complementary guitar, and Wayne on the relentless drums, take command of the space, defying the absence of a bass guitar by locking their instruments into a thick, resonant groove that mournfully fills every corner of the room. Their presence feeling like a storm, a dark cinematic score written explicitly for electric strings and dark thunderous beats.
Launching into “Goliath,” a track that feels like a mountain rising from the earth itself, Oli’s guitar growls low and menacing, carving dark shapes into the darkened air. Sam Wood’s higher-register guitar lines twist around Oli’s heavy rhythms, circling like predators in a slow, deliberate hunt. Wayne’s drums crashed and thundered beneath them, each snare and kick drum strike like distant seismic shifts, shaking the floorboards.
Oli’s voice has a Smokey murmur that deepens into a growl, every word weighted with a gravitas that pulls the crowd into the song’s looming tension. The dim red lights glow slowly, a heartbeat echoing the rhythm, and the crowd stand rooted, mesmerised as the layers built into a towering crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. The absence of bass melted away beneath the sheer power of two guitars entwining like serpents and a drummer driving an unstoppable pulse.
Without missing a breath, they transitioned into “Everything You Want,” a slower, more hypnotic creature that wraps the crowd in a blanket of atmospheric darkness. The red light softened to a slow flicker, bathing the band in a warm but ominous glow. Oli’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and desperate, threading raw emotion through each line. Sam’s guitar punctuated with bright, biting riffs that dance and shimmered above Wayne’s rolling, steady drumbeat, forever a heartbeat accelerating beneath the storm. The crowd shifted, heads nodding in time, eyes flickering shut as they surrendered to the song’s seemingly haunting influence, feeling each note resonate through their ribcages. The tension, first tight and then it loosens, like waves rolling over rocky shores, as the room is drawn into the music’s slow, irresistible swell.
“Cracks” descended next like a shadowy whisper, dragging time out and stretching it thin. The stage was almost entirely swallowed by shadows, with only the occasional flicker of light tracing the edges of the trio’s forms. Oli’s voice has softened into a confessional murmur, fragile and intimate, as the guitars swell and receded with the slow grace of crashing waves. Wayne’s snare cracked sharply now and then, like lightning breaking through the stormy silence, while his cymbals shimmered delicately in the background. The band hover on the edge of chaos, teasing release before pulling back, every phrase a deliberate step into the darkness, into the unknown.
Then came “Heard It All Before,” snapping the mood back into a gritty, urgent motion. Oli’s guitar growled with a thick, distorted grit, Sam matching him with crunchy chords that hammered relentlessly into the beat. Wayne’s drums were a force of nature, a relentless pulse buffeting like the hooves of a charging beast, the snare and kick drum hammering the rhythm with savage precision. The lights stuttered and flashed, bursts of white slicing through the sea of red, catching faces in wild, flickering relief. The crowd stirred with restless energy, some pumping fists, others letting loose bursts of cheers and whoops in time with the driving groove. The song’s swagger was certainly infectious, almost impossible not to stir too, and the band, their playing tight, fierce, and hungry.
“Estranged” pulled the room back under a glassy stillness, a fragile, somewhat deliberately aching moment in the storm. Oli’s voice was, again, raw and vulnerable, piercing the shadowy haze with plaintive beauty. The guitars shimmered with reverb, the notes curling around like mist creeping across a frozen lake. Wayne, rhythmically patted the cymbals, the tom rolls soft and deliberate, each drumbeat a gentle pulse giving space for the music to breathe. The crowd hushed instinctively, the air thick with reverence, as if the music was carving out a sacred space for every listener to find their own moment of quiet, self-reflection in the now red shadowed light.
“Haunted” crept forward next, another spectral wisp riding the thin edge between dream and nightmare. The stage was cloaked in near-complete darkness, punctuated only by the occasional pulse of blood-red uplighting that seemed to ebb and flow with the song’s slow, stalking pace. Oli hunched close to his guitar, eyes closed, wringing every last drop of sorrow and shadow from the strings. Sam’s harmonics shimmered like ghostly whispers while Wayne’s cymbals crashed softly like distant thunder. The audience remained still, as if spellbound, the room breathing in time with the ghostly heartbeat of the music. Every note hanging in the air, haunting and beautiful, another fragile thread pulled taut.
The band then closed their set with “Home Sweet Home,” a triumphant surge of release and raw emotion. The tempo quickened, Wayne’s drums galloping with urgent precision as Oli’s voice rose with passionate intensity. Sam unleashed a soaring solo, notes spiralling upward like a cry that sought to reach the very rafters of the room. The red lighting flared briefly to full brightness, flames licking the edges of the stage before the final chord rang out and shattered into a roaring cheer from the crowd. The trio bowed low, Oli’s quiet thank you meeting a tidal wave of applause and calls for more, the room finally alive with the aftershock of the bands raw power.
As the stage was quickly reset, mostly by the band, the room was filled with a hum of excited chatter. Cables were carefully snaked away, the band working deftly in the shifting shadows, a fan lighting the way for the unplugging and collecting of boxes of musical magic. When the Von Hertzen Brothers took the stage, the air practically crackled with expectation.
These Finnish prog-rock titans have been sculpting their richly textured sound for over two decades, beginning with Experience (2001), progressing through landmark albums like Approach (2006), Love Remains the Same (2008), and Stars Aligned (2011). Their more recent works, Nine Lives (2013), New Day Rising (2015), War Is Over (2017), and their latest, In Murmuration (2024), have pushed their sonic palette deeper into a realm where folk, rock, and progressive complexity intertwine. With the powerhouse Mikko Sirén behind the kit, known for his Apocalyptica pedigree and explosive precision, and Markus Pajakkala layering ethereal keys, saxophone, and haunting flute melodies, the Brothers brought the Rescue Rooms to life in waves of sound and light. As the brothers, Kie, Mikko and Jonne, filled the stage, the crowd cheered causing a beaming Kie and Mikko to gesture for more, which the crowd willingly obliged with.
They kicked off with “The Relapse” from In Murmuration, a swirling tempest that swelled and crashed like a storm breaking loose. Markus’s keyboards cast a misty veil over the crowd, wrapping the space in fog, before Mikko Sirén’s drums exploded with thunderous intensity, each snare hit a virtual lightning strike, every tom roll a thunderclap. Kie prowled the stage like a man possessed, wild-eyed and frenzied, his guitar screaming, fingers flying in maniacal bursts as if channelling raw electricity. Mikko vocals soared above the maelstrom, commanding and clear, while Jonne’s bass laid down a steady, driving heartbeat beneath it all. Markus’s Saxophone battled between the chaos like fleeting spirits, bright and haunting, weaving through the noise. The crowd roared, swept up in the full-throttle storm of sound, fists punching the air, voices rising in unison with the band’s unstoppable energy, this was a crowd in for a good night and knew their stuff.
From the tempest to a solemn hymn, “Jerusalem” from War is Over (2017) softened the mood with reverent grace. Kie’s guitar arched skyward, chords ringing like prayers cast into the night, while Markus’s saxophone breathed mournful, warm melodies through the air. Mikko’s vocals held steady and clear, inviting the crowd into a shared spiritual moment that seemed to suspend time. The lighting shifted, bathing the stage in gentle golden hues. “Ascension Day” lifts the room once more, a call to rise and resist from In Murmuration that feels like a battle cry made beautiful. Mikko reached out to the crowd, coaxing them into the chorus, and they responded with fierce joy, voices rising in harmony that filled every corner of the room. Kie’s guitar solos twisted and climbed with exhilarating, ecstatic abandon, Jonne’s bass thumped a heartbeat driving the song forward, and Mikko’s voice soared like a banner caught on a strong wind. The stage seemed to hum with electricity as the band and crowd fed off each other’s fire, the energy crackling and expanding.
The delicate shimmer of “Starlings” from In Murmuration (2024) drifted in next, its light arpeggios sparkling like birds in flight. Kie dances across the stage, fingers flying with nimble precision, as Markus interwove airy saxophone passages add texture and warmth to the melody. Mikko’s vocals were calm and steady, anchoring the song’s gentle sway as the crowd rocked softly in time, caught in the music’s tender embrace. “Prospect for Escape” brought restless yearning from Nine Lives (2013), a song pulsing with tension with its slow deliberate scale release. Mikko prowled the stage, eyes locked on the crowd with intensity, while Markus’s flute flickered in and out of the chorus like a fleeting breeze. Jonne’s bass hummed low and steady beneath the complex tapestry, grounding the song’s restless energy. The audience hung on every note, swept into the emotional tide that rolled and surged around them.
The militant stomp of “Freedom Fighter” from Love Remains the Same (2008) ignited the room, guitars roaring like battle cries, Mikko’s vocals razor sharp and defiant. Kie’s solos exploded with gunfire precision, and Mikko Sirén’s drums hammered relentlessly, driving the song forward like a battering ram. The crowd erupted into chants, voices swelling into the chorus, an army rallying in unison. “All of a Sudden, You’re Gone” broke the storm with haunting tenderness from Red Alert in a Blue Forest (2022). The acoustic intro was fragile, Mikko’s vocals dripping with sorrow as Markus’s flute wept between guitar lines. Kie’s solo soared mournfully above the swell, the crowd falling silent, spellbound, before erupting into heartfelt applause. “The Change” from In Murmuration (2024) wove a fragile tension through dark pulses and anxious woodwinds. Kie toyed with complex chords, weaving a slow burn that gripped the audience in suspense. The atmosphere was thick, every listener caught in the delicate balance of shadow and light.
Mikko tells us that they had scoured Setlist.FM in the van as they made their way to Nottingham, they were looking for songs for the set and couldn’t understand why “Kiss a Wish” from Approach (2006) had never been played in the previous 5 visits, so when they hit the first chord, the crowd revealed in delight for this Nottingham debut. The instant recognition sparked a raw sing-along passion that rolled like a wave through the room.
Kie leaned into the mic, strumming lightning-fast riffs, while Markus answered with haunting lines that danced like ghosts threading through the melody. The crowd’s voices rose and swelled, as they feasted on this new, to them, live offering. “Snowstorm” from In Murmuration (2024) crashed next, a sonic blizzard swirling with icy riffs and pulsing rhythms. Kie’s solos twisted like tornadoes, Mikko Sirén’s drums thundered like a storm, and Markus’s keyboards sparkled like frozen shards of glass. The crowd enjoying this frenzied onslaught, they’re every muscle taut with the song’s chilling beauty and ferocity.
The title track “New Day Rising” from 2025, bathed the crowd in hopeful light, a chorus that felt like dawn breaking over the horizon. Guitars shimmered and brightened as Kie circled the stage like the rising sun incarnate, the crowd raising their voices in joyous unison, a tidal wave of warmth and renewal washing over the room. “Flowers and Rust” from Nine Lives (2013) was an epic blend of grit and grace. Guitars chimed like distant bells, Markus’s flute soared mournfully, Mikko’s vocals climbed to a soaring peak. Kie unleashed yet another mountainous solo, the band locking in perfect harmony, and the crowd lifting their hands, voices cracking with emotion in the shared moment of transcendence. “Sunday Child” from New Day Rising (2015) softened the pace, a tender lullaby that cast a fragile spell. Gentle guitar notes and whispered flute lines wove a delicate tapestry, the crowd hushed and reflective, caught in the moment’s fragile beauty.
The main set closed with “Let Thy Will Be Done” from Approach (2006), a gospel-tinged hard rocker that seemed to set the room ablaze one final time. Choir-like harmonies soared as Kie and Mikko repeatedly unleashed fiery electric sermons, Markus’s saxophone shredded with fierce intensity mid-solo, and the crowd roared in approval, the walls pulsing with their unified yell.
After a brief exit, the band returned to a chorus of chants, whistles and encouragement; Mikko grinned, leaning into the mic to invite suggestions, and when “Peace Patrol” from Red Alert in the Blue Forest (2022) was shouted loudest, the band launched into it with joyous abandon, it was the chosen closer on the set list. Markus’s saxophone called the crowd to arms with bold brass tones, guitars danced and drums rolled in perfect rhythm, Kie’s wild stage roaming hit full tilt, and Mikko’s commanding vocals held the pack together. The audience sang every line, every note, a tidal wave riding the explosive finale, leaving the Rescue Rooms vibrating with the energy of a night shared, a night alive.
Walking out into the cooler air, voices hoarse and hearts full, the crowd carried the night with them, a beautiful madness woven of shadow and storm, which continued as we’d just walked out into a sea of lingerie and fancy dress, The local theatre Royal had just emptied its Rocky Horror show crowd into the Nottingham streets… This is what life is all about, marvellous!
