Live Review: Power Trip, Unravel, Self-Harm

A lightning-quick set from Self-Harm launched the evening's high-velocity shenanigans, complete with wounded animal death growl. While not big on stage presence, they let their music do the communicating, pursuing single chord riffs until the sound bled into an all-encompassing noise bath - inducing something like a violent trance state.

Unravel may have been second on the bill, but they had a sizeable mob baying for them. Excruciatingly tight, guitars locked with near-mechanical precision, the trading of riffs was more like the trading of blows in a chainsaw duel. With ox-like vocals, James Nestor impressed himself on the crowd, leaning into the mic, feet planted in a confrontational stance as if ready to take on the front row single-handed. 

Outside “The Big Four” there haven’t been many thrash metal success stories. Part of that can be attributed to technical challenges, as with no disrespect to either genre, black metal and grindcore riffs are easier to play. But where there’s a drought, there’s an appetite. That hunger must go some way to justifying the outrageous scenes of wanton mayhem that greeted Power Trip, as bodies collided, limbs took on lives of their own and objects flew across the room. Purely in terms of rawness and brutality, Unravel were superior. But Power Trip’s riffs were compelling, overwhelming even, and their performance so smoothly cohesive and underpinned by meticulous, clean drums and shout-along choruses, that the crowd were entirely swept away with the opening Soul Sacrifice and anthemic Executioner’s Tax (Swing Of The Axe). 

Vocalist Riley Gale fronted up with such a self-assured authority, that had John Connor not grown up into the role of saving humanity from the Terminators, he might’ve ended up leading this band. He needed all of his wits and composure though, as the cross traffic of stage-divers was so heavy at times, he struggled to get to his mic. Indeed, there seemed to be some rule that you wouldn’t be allowed to leave unless you’d stage-dived at some point, and it seemed nearly everyone in the room had a go.

The band finished with an unhinged Firing Squad and a rowdy shout-along Crossbreaker. Gale promised to see us next time, “hopefully next year”. There was no encore and quite frankly no one cared, as nothing more could possibly have been asked for.