War Iron / Headless Kross / Lords of Bastard

War Iron

On the way back from a pish I realise that the Lords of Bastard are playing upstairs in the Old Hairdressers bar (an extension of Stereo across the road). Climbing up the narrow staircase for the first time I find the venue, a large room that probably served as a function room in the past for sixtieth birthdays, christenings and massive drug-fuelled orgies.

The Edinburgeronians are into their first song, their sound here tonight heavier and louder than what I experienced across the road last month when I caught them supporting the brilliant Baroness. Where then the sound was cleaner and allowed you to notice the band's talent for tight and neat groove-structured sounds, here tonight we are treated to a lesson in wall-of-sound riff worship. Playing tracks mostly from their new album 'Cuddles', the evidence that this band is one to watch is again displayed for all in attendance to see. If the Meters had been inspired by St. Vitus and Sir Lord Baltimore then this is what they would have sounded like. Hearing the John Cale-esque Rhodes keys through the massive drones of fucking noise is a delight on the ears.

After a short break, it's time for Glasgows Headless Kross to continue carrying the flame of the worship of all things downtuned strummage. Where the Lords... are a band that were purveyors of happy shagging music, this band belt out the kind of doom where the pumping always ends with a lassy's head down the toilet and the flush going: fuzz brown sounding guitars, repetitive drums, gruff vocals not even the singer can make out and a buzzsaw bass to round it all off. Mainly focusing on their album 'Bear', Headless Kross put on a really decent show tonight. They sound great and I cannot wait to catch them live again.

When War Iron, from Belfast, start their set I'm pished. However, that doesn’t matter because if I was sober the music they punt would get me drunk and, as a matter of fact the band look pished as well. I came to this gig as a War Iron virgin. Soon as they start the first song I realise I am in for a fucking treat. I'm nearly greetin when I realise the two axe wielders carry bass guitars; one with five strings, the other four. Sexual. Mind that time after you watched me pump your mum and I was naked and said “I'd love to see a band that were like Corrupted meets Khanate?” Well, this band's like that. Or maybe somewhere in between. War Iron do that slow sludge thing well. Slooooow. Slooooooooooow. VRUUUMMMM. After witnessing Headless Kross's ability with low-end grooves to move yer crotch to to, it's an excellent shift to be confronted with a band like War Iron just throwing giant bundles of noise that you cannot do anything to except headbutt your own head . I've no idea how long the band were on for, but I suspect that each song they performed, and there were about 5 or 6, was around twenty minutes long each time. Heavy band. Good band.

Tonight, for a mere five pounds, everything turned out perfect: the venue's size was ideal, the gig only had a few fannies in attendance, no hipsters and the quality of the bands on show was unfuckingreal. No single band was the highlight; all of the performances were of the great variety. A minor complaint is the vocals of each band being poorly mixed so you couldn't hear them, but the singing was of lesser importance amidst this storm of riffs. Plus, in an old function room that used to be used for parties where old cunts were doing the slosh, I'm not at all bothered. Some laugh.

#Doom-metal #Glasgow, The Old Hairdressers #Psychedlelic rock #sludge #stoner doom #War Iron #Gigs #Darkwülf