Will Marshall
Castle Rat are a Frank Frazetta painting come to life; each member a different character with their All-Seeing Druid (Joshua Strmic), the Count (Franco Vittore), the Plague Doctor (Charley Ruddell) and their ringleader, the Rat Queen (Riley Pinkerton) herself. From the opening riff it’s a very special show; campy, theatrical and pantomime in the most fun way as they lean into the theatricality without losing sight of the songs. Which, coincidentally, sound monolithic. The guitar tone is fuzzy and mesmerising, while Riley’s voice soars over their thundering riffs. Even on a support slot they expound their lore, introducing the Bestiary and the Rat Reaperess trying to steal it for nefarious purposes. Towards the end of their set there’s the now well-known battle scene, the Rat Queen slain only to rise again triumphant after the Plague Doctor resurrects her. It’s exactly the kind of over the top brilliance heavy metal often leans into, but it’s done so well and in arguably a new form, with the overarching narrative to their performance. They’re a fantastically tight live unit too, and it makes for a wonderful way to open the night and escape the horrors of the world.
Horrors which Necrot are extremely keen to drag everyone back into. The death metallers stride on to loud cheers and immediately launch into a barrage of caustic riffs that are just the right side of old school, caveman death. Injecting them with a sense of lurking evil and dread while keeping the breakneck pace to ensure as many heads and bodies move as possible. Cavernous growls accompany them, a devastating assault on the ears reminiscent of Carcass in its more frantic moments. Considering the size of their sound it’s remarkable to only see three of them onstage; as before they have a larger than life guitar tone, even if this one leans far more into chainsaw HM-2 arenas. Peeling off riff after riff though, it’s a marked departure from before but also sits in line with the more extreme end of the headliner, ensuring there’s plenty of people having a rotten good time.
Of course, for a combination of the nastiness and stoner vibes of both supports, High On Fire are the package deal. Matt Pike’s wrecking crew have been throwing out sludgy riffs for nigh on two and a half decades now and they’ve honed their craft to perfection. The crowd know what they’re getting too, the herbal, shall we say, smell in parts of the room enough to give you a contact high. “Are you ready,” the ever-shirtless Pike grins as they stride onstage before they kick into gear, the guitar tone tar-thick as it envelops the room. Their status as legends is undeniable and the reception is befitting of that, raucous cheers echoing throughout their set. It’s no nonsense, non stop riff cavalcade, the sold out crowd lapping up every second of it with necks and pits moving nearly the entire time they’re onstage. Drawing just as much on their older material, from the likes of ‘Fireface’ and ‘Snakes For the Divine’ as they do new album Cometh the Storm, their inimitable style ensures it all fits together seamlessly. Sure they’re not a band that reinvents the wheel, but that’s not what they’re about; big bludgeoning guitars and brash shouted vocals are the order of the day and frankly, not many do it better. It’s not big, it’s not clever but goddamn if it ain’t incredibly good fun and exactly the right way to close the evening out.