Author Archives: Jason Miller

As the summer heat rages on, the metal community is gearing up for the most anticipated festival of the year, Bloodstock Open Air 2023. Nestled in the heart of Derbyshire, in the picturesque setting of Walton on Trent, Bloodstock once again promises a celebration of all things heavy and metallic.

As the UK’s largest independent metal festival, Bloodstock has carved a niche for itself in the hearts of metal aficionados for presenting a consistently robust lineup of metal royalty. This year, the festival’s roster is set to explode with names like Megadeth, Killswitch Engage, and In Flames gracing the stage as headliners. Expect sparks to fly and the ground to shake as these titans of metal weave their magic.

Heavy rock enthusiasts can look forward to the onslaught of brutality brought on by Sepultura, Meshuggah, and Whitechapel. On the other hand, the Sophie Lancaster Stage will reverberate with the pulsating performances from Abbath, Crowbar, and Employed to Serve.

A treasure trove of talent awaits you at the New Blood Stage, where emerging bands like Casket Feeder, Skin Failure, and Dakesis will test their mettle. Devotees of death metal can mosh to their heart’s content at the Jagermeister Stage, featuring Fit for an Autopsy, Biohazard, and King 810.

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When two seminal bands converge on one stage, it creates a moment etched into rock lore, a bucket-list-worthy event for any self-respecting punk music enthusiast. Enter Generation Sex—a potent blend of punk rock titans, uniting the snarling vocal prowess of Billy Idol, the impeccable rhythm of Paul Cook, the blistering guitar licks of Steve Jones, and the ultra-cool bass grooves of Tony James.

I had the opportunity to catch them live at the Dog Day Afternoon show in London, a daytime festival gig they shared with the likes of Iggy Pop and Blondie. Yet, I consciously decided against it. Outdoor day gigs, with their potential for compromised sound quality, flat photography, and the sheer incongruity of enjoying legendary punk under a blazing sun, are far from my ideal concert experience.

Hence, I decided to place my bet on a different event entirely. After reading several polarizing reviews about Generation Sex’s festival performances, I was convinced that they deserved to be seen in a proper theatre setting which could offer the intensity that their music demanded. This led me to the Manchester Apollo, where they were slated to perform on the final night of their UK tour. It was a bit of a gamble, but it paid off grandly.

On stage, Generation Sex was a force to be reckoned with. They looked and sounded superb, and their chemistry was palpable, indicating that they were more than just a makeshift supergroup. They synergized, fed off each other’s energy, and absolutely fucking smashed it.

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Walter Schreifels is a post-hardcore renaissance man whose talents I first encountered in 1993 while working at a record store. We received an advance copy of Slip by Quicksand, a band I’d never heard of before. But back then, we would give anything a spin. The lead single was “Fazer,” an intriguing track that stood out amidst a transformative period in music—sitting in the timeline between the debut albums from Rage Against the Machine and Korn.

Despite their sound often drawing comparisons to contemporaries like Helmet and Fugazi, Quicksand, in my view, surpassed these parallels through their exceptional songwriting. Their music was not just accessible; it was undeniably captivating. Every track on Slip was a post-hardcore gem, mirroring the consistency and depth found on Def Leppard’s Hysteria, but within a post-hardcore metal context.

Slip was, in many ways, the Hysteria of its genre—not in terms of mainstream hits, but as a near-perfect record for its time and niche. When Quicksand released their second album, it presented an elevated level of polish and production. However, despite its artistic merit, it didn’t garner the commercial success one might have hoped for. Quite frankly, I think they got fucked by a label that didn’t know what to do with them.

Leap forward to 2001, and Schreifels made a triumphant return with another project, Rival Schools. The band burst onto the scene with the instant classic “United by Fate.” Had Schreifels finally found his breakthrough? Could this fusion of his unmistakable voice with a fresh stylistic approach finally resonate with the masses? It appeared so.

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Alright folks, dust off your vinyl, reapply that face paint, and fasten your platform boots, because we’re about to dive into the star-spangled, adrenaline-pumping, rollercoaster of a farewell to the Gods of Thunder, the hottest band in the world, KISS! They closed the curtains (or should I say, detonated the pyrotechnics) on their bombastic career at the legendary O2 Arena in London, leaving fans both ecstatic and teary-eyed. Now, KISS has been known to cry wolf on these farewells, having more farewell tours than a magician has rabbits, but something in the air was telling us that this time, it felt like the real deal.

So, as the echoes of the final chords die down, let’s shatter the most overused word lurking in the shadows of KISS’s career: “gimmicky.” Time to toss that one out like an old guitar pick. Instead, let’s hail KISS as the “Czars of Theatrical Rock.” Since the ’70s, they haven’t just been playing songs, they’ve been conjuring tsunamis of sound and spectacle! These guys knew that a rock concert should leave you breathless and awestruck, not just tapping your foot politely. They aren’t merely musicians—they’re rock ‘n’ roll warriors, clad in armor and leather and face paint with guitars as their swords.

As for the critics, ah, the sophisticated eardrums that couldn’t quite appreciate the glorious cacophony of KISS. They’re probably still scratching their heads over how KISS, with their outrageous antics, sold over 100 million albums worldwide. Fun fact: KISS was so massive they even had their own comic book series published by Marvel! And here’s the icing: they mixed their own blood with the red ink for the first comic. Talk about leaving a piece of yourself in your work!

Let’s hit the gas and zoom straight to the O2. Stepping inside was like being hurled through a glittery wormhole back to the glory days of glam rock. And who’s there to greet us? Paul Stanley, the Starchild himself, blasting melodies as if his vocal cords were forged in the fires of rock ‘n’ roll Olympus. And get this—when not shredding stages, the guy moonlights as a seriously skilled painter. Can you fathom it? Starchild, on stage, brandishing a paintbrush in a blaze of color, while his voice sends shockwaves through the crowd with “Love Gun.” We’d all be there, jaws on the floor, and still think, “Yeah, that’s classic KISS.”

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Holy hell. I’ve seen some insane shows in my life, but this one shot straight to the top of the “I may be in danger” list.

Death Grips, a band notorious for its rapid rise to fame and its guerrilla tactics in music release and promotion, brought their cacophony of sound to London’s O2 Forum Kentish Town. The energy in the room was akin to Thor swinging Mjölnir at a drum set during an electrical storm. The fact that London is in a heatwave didn’t help matters as I literally got smacked in the face by a wall of heat and humidity that would make a Turkish bathhouse feel like the Arctic tundra in comparison. With an atmosphere that promised to be as subtle as a sledgehammer to a piñata, the crowd braced themselves for a night of sonic annihilation and unrestrained mayhem.

This Sacramento-based experimental hip-hop group has been a juggernaut in the underground music scene since the early 2010s. Their ascent was marked by a potent combination of an enigmatic online presence, surprise album releases, and the occasional flouting of industry norms, including a public feud with their former label, Epic Records. When the band released No Love Deep Web under Epic, they famously leaked the album online and used an explicit image as the cover, which led to a very public and messy parting with the label.

Their setlist was a testament to the raw energy that made them famous. The show started with an uncompromising fervor as the opening numbers “System Blower” and “I’ve Seen Footage” had the crowd in a frenzy from the get-go. MC Ride’s commanding presence was backed by Zach Hill’s feverish drumming and Andy Morin’s haunting synth sounds, making for an explosive opening.

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As the lights dimmed and the crowd’s chatter turned into an escalating roar, there was a sense that something epic was about to go down at London’s Eventim Apollo. Enter Incubus, the band that served as the soundtrack to countless teenage rebellions and road trips. Not quite the titans of rock, but definitely the charming rebels who know how to turn chords into catharsis.

Before diving into the concert itself, let’s rewind back to 2001 when I was working at Sony Music on the marketing team. During a meeting in New York City where the labels presented their Q4 releases, something peculiar happened. The label rep introduced Incubus’s new album Morning View as one that would define their career. “We have something very special from a very special band,” he declared.

And it wasn’t just the hype talking. Morning View was unique—it was a sonic departure from the angst-ridden nu-metal of the time. It was as if Incubus took a deep breath, looked at the ocean, and decided to make music that was introspective, melodic, and expansive. The meeting room back then was a pressure cooker of anticipation, and you could practically feel the future beckoning. Now, as I stood in the Apollo over two decades later, I couldn’t help but wonder if Morning View would still resonate with the same force?

Brandon Boyd, the age-defying frontman, took the stage clad in clothes that looked like they were stolen from a bohemian thrift shop. His voice still had that signature, “I just rolled out of bed and somehow sound amazing” quality. Mike Einziger on the guitar was vibing as though he was solving a complex mathematical equation through riffs. The drums, manned by José Pasillas, felt like the heartbeat of the crowd. Chris Kilmore on turntables looked like a mad scientist concocting a potion of effortless record scratches and keys. And then there’s Nicole Row, the new bassist, who played like she’s been in the band since the days when flared jeans were a thing even though she’s the newbie.

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Alright, alright, alright folks, let’s dial back the grandeur and get down to the nitty-gritty of good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll. The Black Keys and Spoon turned up at London’s O2 Arena, and they brought the house down. I’m here to tell you it was a no-frills, straight-up, ear-blistering night of indie rock genius and bluesy grooves that lifted you higher than the contact buzz you got from being on the arena floor.

Let’s kick off with The Black Keys. Their gritty, blues-infused garage rock is like your favourite whiskey—rough and smooth in equal measures. Auerbach’s vocals, man—that guy’s got some soul, along with a bit of the ghost of Muddy Waters in him. And Carney? He lays down a fat groove with a little extra space in between the notes making it just loose enough while keeping the wheels from flying off the musical El Camino. Even though the Keys are at the height of their musical superpowers, let’s not kid ourselves; this is no overnight success story. It is, instead, one of the increasingly rare instances where a band goes from indie buzz band to bonafide shoo-in for the rock ‘n’ roll history books. 

In the steel-beating heart of Akron, Ohio, in 2001, a couple of kindred spirits named Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney stumbled into musical alchemy. Picture it: a basement, the smell of old vinyl in the air, and the electrifying embrace of blues and rock. Carney’s got the recording gear, Auerbach’s got the licks and the pipes, and the gods of rock are smiling down on them. The chemistry is so thick you could cut it with a guitar string. Enter The Black Keys—baptized with a name inspired by a buddy’s lingo for the delightfully unhinged.

These guys start their saga with a roll-up-your-sleeves, grit-under-your-fingernails approach. They conjured The Big Come Up, their debut record, and when it hit the streets in 2002, it had critics and fans alike falling head over heels. From there, the duo began touring voraciously and went on to achieve remarkable success, including multiple Grammy awards, as they steadily evolved their sound while staying true to their blues roots.

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Picture this: a high-octane garage band takes a wrong turn and ends up headlining a black-tie gala. That’s The Hives for you—strutting through the UK in their impeccable tuxedos, armed with the raw grit of garage rock that’s been polished till it shines. The Hives have been wrenching the bolts of garage rock for 20 solid years. But amid their UK stadium crusade alongside Arctic Monkeys, they did something special—an intimate, full-throttle gig celebrating the 30th anniversary of The Garage in north London. 

Imagine a turbocharged engine roaring in a cosy living room, with the audience so close they could touch the tuxedo threads and practically get baptized by the band’s sweat—that was Tuesday night. This was The Hives paying homage to their roots while playing with the big league. They are the garage rock wizards who never forget the spell that started it all.

Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist, The Hives’ magnetic frontman, storms the stage like a ’60s muscle car that just kicked in the nitrous amidst a fleet of elegant Euro classics. With Mick Jagger’s swagger loaded into a cannon and fired through blazing hoops, his theatrics are legendary. Commanding the band like a maestro gone rogue with a mic stand for a baton, it begs the question—is there a band that works harder than The Hives right now?

They stormed the stage, unloading an arsenal of hits right from the get-go. Opening with the sizzling “Bogus Operandi” from their forthcoming album, they wasted no time segueing into timeless favorites “Main Offender” and “Walk Idiot Walk.” The hits kept flying until, drenched in sweat, I wondered what knockout punches they had left. They answered with a thunderclap encore of “Tick Tick Boom” and “Come On.” How could I forget those juggernauts? Guess my sweat-soaked stupor cost me a memory stone.

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In the buzz-filled Electric Ballroom of North London last week, the woman next to me exclaimed, “Aren’t these guys fantastic? They’re like, 17!” She was spot on with her enthusiasm, if not with their ages. The Lemon Twigs, composed of brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario, may no longer be in their teens, but their youthful energy and electrifying talent are captivating the rock scene.

Watching the Twigs perform was like witnessing the revival of classic rock stardom. Their performance sparked reminders of the look of Steve Perry and Journey at the peak of their powers, the harmonies of Badfinger, and the songwriting genius of Big Star, and yet it still felt like watching something new and fresh. The D’Addario brothers, hailing from Long Island, New York, demonstrated an uncanny ability to channel the exuberance of classic rock, infusing their music with rich harmonies that would make bands like Jellyfish beam with pride. The duo’s knack for multiple instruments, coupled with their ambitious songwriting, has made them a stand-out act that’s breathing life into a forgotten genre.

While their recorded music is a blend of 7’0s rock and pop-baroque influences, their live performance takes it up a notch. I walked into the Electric Ballroom expecting a mellow, ’70s-style rock band. Instead, I was met with an explosive, high-energy spectacle that left me unsure of where to look. The music was a rollercoaster ride, heavy at times and reminiscent of Zeppelin, married beautifully alongside the jangly pop of 10cc, all while still maintaining a unique twist. It was clear the Twigs draw inspiration from a variety of sources, channelling them into a sound that’s distinctly their own. I know this sounds cliched, but give them a listen and you’ll hear exactly what I mean.

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In the annals of metal history, 2023 stands out as the time when the ultimate spectacle hit the stage: The Tour to End All Tours. This bold proclamation may have raised eyebrows, but the lineup spoke for itself. Featuring Finnish Eurovision metal titans Lordi, Japanese trailblazers Babymetal, and the colossal Swedish power metal band Sabaton, this tour was destined to be etched into the memories of metalheads across the UK and Europe.

Kicking off in Leeds last week, the tour thundered into London on Saturday night, unleashing Sabaton’s massive and spectacular show at the iconic Wembley Arena. As one of the big four of power metal and among Sweden’s most successful metal bands, Sabaton has earned their place at the helm for a night of over-the-top metal theatrics and storytelling.

Formed in 1999, Sabaton has undergone several lineup changes, but the current roster is firing on all cylinders and finds the band at their absolute peak. Joakim Brodén (vocals and keyboards), Pär Sundström (bass), Chris Rörland (guitar), Tommy Johansson (guitar), and Hannes Van Dahl (drums) bring the simple but powerful metal arrangements to life, and they look to be having quite a lot of fun in doing so.

The band is renowned for lyrics centered on historical events, particularly military history and warfare, drawing inspiration from legendary battles and heroic acts of soldiers throughout the ages. With acclaimed albums such as Carolus Rex, Heroes, The Last Stand, and The Great War, Sabaton has garnered a fiercely loyal fanbase and performed on countless stages and festivals around the globe.

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Is it too early to claim the best show of 2023? Probably, but I’m going out on a limb to say that W.A.S.P. delivered the number one contender in the metal category.

Yeah, maybe I should preface that with “old school” metal, but from the looks of the sold-out crowd at the Roundhouse last weekend, W.A.S.P. has crossed over to a new generation. And why not? The songs hold up incredibly well, and the fact that Blackie Lawless has tackled numerous trends and continued to remain relevant over forty fucking years is a testament to the sound and the antics that are very often imitated but never replicated.

I feel like everyone knows who W.A.S.P. is—even if you weren’t a metal fan, they have touched you or influenced you in one way or another. The poster child for shock metal in the ’80s, paving the way for Mason, Zombie, Slipknot, and countless others took controversy and explicit imagery to a new level. Their 1984 “hit” single “Animal (Fuck Like A Beast)” was banned in many countries while also becoming arguably their biggest hit. (It’s an incredibly catchy number, by the way, which you’ll be happy to know that after a long absence, it’s back in the set, and it fucking rips.)

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I’ve seen some heavy shows in my life, but holy hell, this one takes the cake. Gojira absolutely destroyed the ten thousand-plus capacity Alexandra Palace in London last week, and this show was mental.

Not only was the music next level, but the stage show was one of the biggest and best I’ve seen in the past decade. Flames shooting up from the stage like a metal volcano, smoke machines and lasers—it’s like they were trying to set the place on fire, but in a good way. And the crowd, they’re going mental too—headbanging, moshing, crowd surfing, and screaming along to the words as if there was a prize for the best Gojira karaoke of the night. This was my first time seeing these guys, and I can’t believe it’s taken this long, as I really had no idea what I was missing. It was a sight to behold.

While French and metal aren’t two words you hear very often together in the same sentence, Gorija has put France on the metal map just as Sepultura did for Brazil back in the ’90s. And while there may be a few similarities in styles, brothers Joe (lead vocals, rhythm guitar) and Mario Duplantier (drums), along with Christian Andreu (lead guitar), and Jean-Michel Labadie (bass), Gojira is not your average metal band. These guys are on a whole other level. Their music is like a force of nature, with crushing riffs and complex rhythms that hit you like a tidal wave.

There’s no denying that Gojira are the current reigning kings of metal on the global stage, and no one can fucking touch them right now. As one of the most innovative and influential bands in the genre, they’ve developed a unique style that blends elements of death metal, progressive metal, and post-metal creating a sound that is both heavy and atmospheric. This technical prowess is also evident in their live performances where they are known for their tightness and precision. Their songs are complex and challenging with intricate rhythms and time signatures that push the boundaries of what is possible in metal music.

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The first time I heard Dream Theater was back in 1992 when “Pull Me Under” took the US metal market by storm. I was working in a record store in St. Louis while going to university, and I remember thinking, what in the hell was this? It was heavy and melodic; it was progressive metal for metalheads. 

As soon as “Pull Me Under” hit MTV and the local radio station, people were coming in droves to buy this record. The problem was no one had heard of Dream Theater previously, and the majority of people wanted to just buy the single. (Yeah, there was this thing called a cassingle at the time. Look it up.) But there wasn’t one released for this song. The only option was to buy the entire CD or nothing. Images and Words started flying off the shelves. But just as quickly as it flew out the door, it started coming back in.

People were shocked that there were ballads on the record, most notably track two showing up immediately after the hard-driving “Pull Me Under.” “Another Day” certainly slowed the pace down a bit unexpectedly, but the album picked right back up with “Take the Time” and even peaked later on with “Metropolis.” But holy shit, the metalheads just couldn’t accept the fact that there were slower songs on the record. (The lack of patience, and what was acceptable as a metalhead, was very limited.)

Mind you, this is the same year that Pantera’s Vulgar Display of Power was released, so extreme was in. (Pantera were label mates with the band ironically.) This was a decisive moment for the Dream Theater, and it split the metal community pretty much down the middle. The record label struggled a bit to figure out what to do with the band, and I think expectations were a bit muddled and the future was uncertain at best.

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In 2015 I was invited to speak at a digital marketing event during Canadian Music Week in Toronto. While in town, I mapped out the various gigs I planned to see, with the big one being Faith No More during their comeback tour. After Faith No More, I walked to the nearby Hard Rock Cafe, where there was a showcase happening for up-and-comers. One band in particular was hyped up pretty big, and they were set to hit the stage at midnight. Having my camera gear with me and always up for a shoot, I started snapping away. Little did I know that I was capturing a band that was primed and ready to reinvent a genre and ultimately create their own.

What I saw that night in Toronto was three brothers calling themselves Palaye Royale. They had made a name for themselves with their punk rock DIY attitude of doing everything themselves, building their audience, recording independently, and creating a massive buzz. This was a case where the record labels come to them instead of the other way around. Sumerian Records was that label, and as I remember at the time, it was primarily a metal label but starting to broaden its roster.

One could argue they set a precedence for others, including Earache Records with Rival Sons etc., which very likely kept these labels afloat during the dark days of illegal downloads. It’s easy to see why they would be all over a band like Palaye Royale, especially after seeing the show that night. These guys were young dudes, three brothers, who clearly had chemistry playing together, but furthermore, they were fusing two of my favorite genres; glam and early ’70s bluesy rock ‘n’ roll. Not to mention, much of the leg work was already done—they just needed help pushing them to the next level. Enter major record label.

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Finnish cello metal band Apocalyptica have been on my radar since I worked in a record store in college back in 1996. Their debut, simply titled Plays Metallica by Four Cellos, said exactly what it did on the tin. It might be a bit gimmicky at first; cello players covering Metallica? It didn’t really make sense to me, but then I gave it a listen. These guys weren’t just fucking around—they were legit cellists who loved metal. And why not? Chamber music can be quite dark and heavy, so why not bring in an element of metal, and why not reimagine songs from the biggest metal band on the planet?

What started out as Metallica for cellos would branch out to modern takes on traditional classical pieces, more covers of popular songs, and even originals with guest vocalists. Over the course of nine studio albums (all charting in their home country as well as the US and several others across Europe), their sound would evolve. In fact, they’ve managed to refine these cellos to sound heavier than many of their counterparts in the metal world. Although cellos are the primary instruments, combining this with heavy drumming and rock vocals becomes a remarkable fusion of classical music, metal, and rock that transcends genre boundaries. To the newbies who hear it for the first time, it’s hard to imagine these guys shredding on the violin’s grandfather.

The cellists, Eicca Toppinen, Paavo Lipponen, Perttu Kivilaakso, and drummer Mikko Sirén, flawlessly executed their intricate compositions with both precision and passion. The sound of their cellos was like a rollercoaster ride from the peaks of heaven down to the depths of hell. Add to that the incredibly diverse (and soulful) vocals of Franky Perez, and you truly have something for everyone. “I’m Not Jesus” was a standout as Perez took to the stage for the third song in the set. This guy can fucking sing, and having toured with the band many times before, there was a chemistry between these guys that was more than just a guest vocalist.

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