Despite it being clearly advertised as Metal Night at The Unicorn, Camden, after Torpor finish their bowel loosening sound check, a surly bar-nacle ‘glibly’ quips “that’s how you clear a pub in five minutes”. The fact he proceeds to stay in the venue and repeat the joke to all and sundry for the next half hour leads one to question his mental state.
Crusty locals aside, Colchester’s Jotnarr kick off proceedings like a blast of icy wind. Their blackened shredding is the perfect blend of Winterfylleth and Latitudes, at times throwing down proggy, meandering guitar passages. They have an excellent grasp of light and shade, triumph and drama, and the epically bearded Chris Moore throws out some harrowing screams, sounding like a burning crow. Their last track is lush and darkly beautiful, and it’s a crying shame more people didn’t get down early to take them in.
Next up, Bristonians Sonance ply their trade. Their incredibly atmospheric, droning doom harks back to Neurosis circa Times Of Grace, with their long, winding passages exploring a vital sound, coiling to the rafters like smoke, at times insubstantial but with an undeniable, choking presence. Their apocalyptic sound is huge, with vocals subsumed by the noise, screaming against it as much as augmenting it. They threaten to tear reality asunder, and they are utterly captivating while doing so. If this all sounds too florid or esoteric, you are challenged to go and experience them and then write about it afterwards. There are few words.
If you’ve read our recent review of Brighton/London based Torpor, then you’ll know how huge and heavy their debut album From Nothing Comes Everything is. They honour the record in the truest way possible, by playing it in its entirety. Cuts like lengthy opener ‘From This Time’ and the bleak, atmospheric ‘Abandon’ sound even rawer, even more vital in a live environment. They are almost overwhelming, aided by Lauren Masons muscular, shin-shattering bass tone which shakes to the core. Nats Spada is predatory, grunting and roaring through the set with an effortless fury.
So heavy are the four piece that Jon Taylor’s guitar amp surrenders briefly towards the end of the set, leading to a caesura that the band aren’t thrilled by, but that gives the audience a chance to catch their breath, pick up any fillings rattled loose, and pull themselves together. The show goes on, with Simon Mason stepping out from behind the kit to lend raw, wretched vocals to the start of closer ‘Everything We Left Behind’. As it rings to a victorious close in a drone of feedback, there’s a huge, much deserved crowd response. If you can see this band, see them. They appear to be in the process of redefining heavy.
