Download 2012...or not

Normally at this time of year me and Hot Chick would be teeing ourselves up for a massive weekend music of beers and sausage and mash-filled Yorkshire puddings, but this year one of our family has rudely decided to get married thus rendering our Download 2012 attendance impossible.

The line-up this year is nothing too exciting for me personally but it's the weekend itself that I'm going to miss; the endless stream of cold beer, the sitting in the sun applying extensive amounts of factor 50 to my bald head, the chatting to random people whilst laying in the sun and enjoying the mid-afternoon twiddlings of some rock legends. Download is just an amazing experience from start to finish.

I have no more to add this week other than wishing everyone that every one of you bastards has an amazing time and if anyone fancies writing a report of the weekend for Metal Harmony, drop me a line...

Laters homies
M
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An homage to the new champions

Way back when, in the distant annals of 2006, Hot Chick played me a track called Hell and High Water by some unknown Southern rock outfit called Black Stone Cherry. I thought it was an alright tune but it didn't cause any scrotal tightening. She then bought their self-titled debut album and on one particular car journey, she stuck the CD on to my complete unbotheredness.

Opening track Rain Wizard started up and by the time the first verse came in I was hooked. It was without doubt one of the best, pure rock and roll albums I'd heard in years. Despite my initial ambivalence to lead single Hell and High Water, there isn't a single stinker on the album.

Black Stone Cherry played at the well-missed London Astoria in October 2007 (after being moved from smaller venue LA2 due to popular demand), and the set was recorded and pressed on CD on the night. In keeping with their humble roots, the BSC lads took the stage and were so grateful that they promised to come and chat to all the crowd and sign anything that needed signing once they'd come off stage.

Second album Folklore and Superstition was an absolute belter, and BSC continued their theme of opening up with a winning anthem in the shape of Blind Man. The gigs and tours that followed included major slots alongside the likes of Def Leppard and Whitesnake, as well as continually brilliant appearances at the major UK festivals.

Skip to the end, MADman...

The Cherry's latest album has recently hit the shelves. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea had a huge amount of promise based on lead singles Blame it on the Boom Boom and White Trash Millionaire. So Hot Chick dutifully bought it on release day and I sat down to give it a listen.

The infamous "tricky third album".

And they have fucking nailed it once again. They may be a more polished, better looking, older, more mainstream version of their 2006 selves but bugger me sideways if this isn't yet another moment of pure Southern rock and roll excellence. So often a band loses their way and becomes too mainstream, or too generic, but BSC have kept their roots whilst spreading their wings. There's nothing complex about the content and to a degree, a lot of the tracks are quite predictable but sometimes you want to throw on a record, chug a beer, drive round to your buddy's house in a Ford F150 truck and go shoot some animals 'n' shit. This is the soundtrack to that afternoon and it is marvellous.

I could spend a lot of time discussing these legends from Kentucky but I shan't; instead, I politely suggest you buy everything they own, sit in the sun and enjoy the noise of the South. Y'all.

Much love

M

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12 inches of pure pleasure

I'm (un)lucky enough to work near HMV on Oxford Street in London, so at least one lunch hour a week will be spent wandering aimlessly around the various floors of Europe's biggest branch. However, in recent months my attendance has thinned out due to my new found love of vinyl.

Purists amongst you will scoff at the fact that I have only recently got into this particular musical medium but to be fair, I grew up in the era of tapes and CDs, with vinyl well on the way out by the time I was old enough to buy stuff myself. Mind you, I probably should never have been allowed to buy things myself as my first purchase was East 17's Walthamstow album.

So for a recent significant birthday, Hot Chick got a record player. Since then, I have hemorrhaged a chunk of loose change in charity shops because ladies and gentlemen, vinyl is fucking amazing. On no other format can you walk into a shop and procure the Best of Louis Armstrong, Queen's News of the World and Dire Straits' Brothers in Arms album for less than £2. I get a wave of excitement every time I walk past a stinking old box of 12-inches, which despite sounding heroically homosexual taken out of context, is a thoroughly enjoyable feeling. Once you've waded through the plethora of Johnny Mathis, Cilla Black and various album releases from close-harmony singing Welsh males the variety on offer is devastatingly immense. Dire Straits' Alchemy live album is one of the best things I've listened to this year, Thin Lizzy's Johnny the Fox is pure brilliance (and a personal fave of Hot Chick) and Difficult to Cure from Rainbow includes Spotlight Kid, which is a moment of heavy-meets-prog wonder. And picking up Led Zeppelin and Blue Öyster Cult's debut albums for next to nothing? Don't mind if I do.

Of course the other good thing about buying vinyl is that music you wouldn't purchase becomes infinitely more appealing - virtually everything is worth a 50p investment, with the exception of anything by Ocean Colour Scene, 3OH!3 or Simply Red. I picked up Jim Reeves Good 'N' Country, Holst's The Planet Suit and something called It's Party Time, which features party classics such as Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner and has an amazing photo of old women dancing on the front.

That's the other point; the artwork is fucking brilliant. ELO's Out of the Blue gatefold can only be the result of extensive narcotic use and as for 1984 by the mighty Van Halen? Seminal.

Plus, a big chunk of the money you give to charity shops goes, unsurprisingly, to charity, which makes you feel a whole lot better about buying yet more music to clutter up your house. Luckily, the wife is as much of a music junky as I, otherwise I'd end up on the street with nothing but The Best of Blondie as a pillow.

Bye for now gangsters
M
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Little drummer boy

I might have mentioned it once or twice before but I love a bit of drumming. My old man bought me a set when I was 14, partly due to the fact that I was a fucking annoyance and it kept me out of the way, but mainly because I was growing up in Norfolk and he was keen to distract me from the temptations of incest and sheep buggery.

My mate and I then spent the next four years ruining the relaxed ambiance of our village, me on the skins, him on the out of tune guitar, with our fucking horrendous covers of Nirvana, Green Day, 3 Colours Red, Feeder, and other timely outfits. Me and Bro Dude also formed Spazmodik Kontraction, a Scandinavian-inspired deathgrind band that covered songs by then-popular girl band Hepburn.

But lo, off I went to university and since then, I've not had space for the kit. Until now...

Me and Hot Chick now live in a place with a slightly Fritzl-esque soundproof basement so preparations are in place for Operation Drum Resurrection. All I need is a crash cymbal stand and a double kick and I'll be touring with Dream Theater before you know it.

The kind people at Metal Blade have been on an album release mission of late which has resulted in some absolute quality finding its way onto my Non-Apple MP4 player. There are two that have really caused penile engorgement on my part; A New Era Of Corruption from Whitechapel and Blekinge from Istapp.

Whitechapel's latest album came out a few weeks ago and it's quite simply devastating (in a good way). This mob are absolute genre leaders in deathcore and the new outing cements this. Enormous riffs, crippling vocals and big name appearances (Chino Moreno, anyone?). It's a truly wonderful thing.

Speaking of which, Istapp are a new band on me but Blekinge is without doubt in my top ten albums of the year so far. Swedish black/folk/death/prog metal? Don't mind if I do. I'd recommend wandering over to their MySpace for a bit of a listen, particularly to I Väntan På Den Absoluta Nollpunkten

Is it wrong that I'm looking at my clock, which is currently sitting at 07:35, and thinking about beers? I know I have a problem, that problem being I don't have enough money to drink as much as I'd like to. But the weekend shall undoubtedly be full of ale and merriment, punctuated by globules of extreme metal and arse-leakingly amusing stupidity so with all this in mind, I'll leave you lot to it.

High 5 mother fuckers

M
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Music; it's a funny old game

The past few weeks have undoubtedly been the hardest of my life so far but I don't want to dwell and just repeat last week's post. So, for the shit loads of messages me and Hot Chick got from people we know, people we don't, and a fantastic collective of folks on Twitter, I shall simply say thank you.

Music has been a massive remedy for me recently. It's also been the catalyst for disaster but more on that in a moment. I've always had a particularly emotive response to some songs - Leatherface's How Lonely always causes me to smile, Slipknot's Disasterpiece from the 9.0: Live album makes me want to run down a street smashing windows, etc. But add personal grief and booze into the equation and as a badass ghetto homeboy like myself would say, shit gets crazy.

I went for a few drinks the other night, as one does, but started to feel a bit melancholy so though I'd do an early swerve and head home. My shuffle's formidable choice of tunage at this point was Dance Hall Crashers' Lockjaw album. Those who know the band will be aware that this is not metal at all; it's simply the most upbeat, positive 'ska' sung by a couple of chicks and I love it. So with Pick Up Lines chirping away in my ears, things were bearable as the booze hammered it's way through my blood system. Then it all went a bit wrong as my shuffling landed on Dyscarnate's Enduring the Massacre. Angry music makes angry man. I should have probably skipped immediately but I love this album and in a way, wanted to be angry. So after six tracks and with blood pressure at an all time high, I made the executive decision to shuffle on and landed on Ugly Kid Joe's Cats in the Cradle, and promptly spent the rest of the evening (including a rather awkward leg of a train journey home) crying.

Isn't that fucking amazing though? Isn't the fact that music does this to people extraordinary? Beer had loosened up my emotions but even walking along stone cold sober, certain songs will cause me to well up, certain songs will cause me to smile and certain songs will cause me to punch the crap out of a moving vehicle.

Some bearded fellow once wrote a few plays and in one, he said "if music be the food of love, play on". I couldn't agree more son, but it's not just the food of love - it's the food of pain, happiness, sorrow, joy, and just about every other emotion.

With that in mind, my beautiful freaks, away with thine and listen to some fucking tunes.

Laters
M
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Let's do this...

The day is upon us folks. In a matter of minutes I shall be joining the exodus of the great unwashed from civilised society to the hallowed grounds of Donnington Park. In case you weren't aware, a few music fans are having a wee get together up there to listen to some bands.

But before me and Hot Chick straddle the Harley and burn off into the sunset (and by that I mean trundle round the M25 in our rented Nissan) there are a couple of things that need to be mentioned.

Firstly, how fucking good is Iron Maiden's new song, El Dorado? Hmm?? I'll tell you how good. Fucking good. The first time I listened to it I thought to myself "it's good but is is MAIDEN good?". Bruce Dickinson's vocals sounded a bit clean (but that's more than likely down to the fact that I've listened to Live After Death about 16,829 times) but as soon as he hits his high notes and the undeniably Maiden triple axe attack gets into full flow it's apparent that you're still listening to the greatest heavy metal band of all time. Not bad considering their combined ages is comparable to that of the Great Sphinx, the Dead Sea Scrolls and Esther Rantzen.

We've also been treated to new material from Stone Sour's forthcoming third album, Audio Secrecy. Tracks The Bitter End and Mission Statement hint that Corey Taylor and the boys are going down a more melodic route, with much less growling and chugging riffs this time round. This being said, they'll grow their fanbase with this album if these tracks are anything to go by. The metally metallic metallers won't be won over in the slightest though. One criticism I have (which will make me unpopular with my better half) is what the fuck are they thinking with the titles? Audio Secrecy is a crap album title, The Bitter End has been done by Black Stone Cherry and Placebo off the top of my head, and I should imagine countless others too. And Mission Statement? It's almost like they couldn't be arsed. But that is a small, insignificant issue in the grand scheme of things. Cannot fucking wait to hear the new album and see them at Download 2010. Nightmarish clash with Aerosmith though...

Right, why am I still waffling? I've got 500 pints of Tuborg to drink. Oh, and in my typically shameless self-promoting way, log on to Download Festival Radio this weekend as Download FM has kindly asked me to write a blog for them. And if you're not already following me on Twitter, do so (click the logo at the top of the page). Be warned though; I will be drinking a lot so am liable to be talking bollocks. For a change.

Onwards to the metal!

'Taters
M
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I'm not gay. Much.

I'm an enormous wimp. I'm absolutely terrified of the latest HIM album. I just can't listen to it.

HIM are one of my all-time favourite bands. I've seen them live shit loads of times, I spent about 6 months continuously listening to nothing other than Razorblade Romance and Love Metal, I'm convinced that I'll have The Sacrament played at my funeral and Hot Chick firmly believes I'm fully gay for Ville Valo. But all in the garden is rosy. I dutifully bought Venus Doom on release day in 2007 and was uninspired. It felt over-produced, weak, and didn't have any tunes with the raw passion of Razorblade Kiss or the seminal Buried Alive By Love.

So following on from this mild disappointment, I've been avoiding the latest album, Screamworks: Love In Theory & Practice since it's release as I don't want it to be the album that seals HIM's fate as a band passed their best. The couple of tracks I have heard are good but haven't erected me trouserly. However, as this week saw me celebrating the day of my birth, Bro Dude procured Screamworks... for me and insisted I give it a listen.

I haven't yet. I'm just too scared. After the recent abomination that was Throwdown's Deathless, I'm not sure my delicate psyche can take another blow.

Anyway, my mate Melvin has been preaching the gospel about US duo Cobalt for ages now. The band haven't been on my radar but he swears that Gin is one of the best black metal albums of 2009. It's a bold claim Melv (Behemoth's Evangelion might have a shot at that title) but I shall be digesting it with a critical ear imminently.

To finish on a tangent, well done to everyone in the UK who voted in the general election. It looks as if the bloody Tories are going to get in but nevertheless, if you went out and put your "x" in a box for any political party, good on you.

Right, I'm off to deposit last night's ale excess into David Cameron's pricey loafers.

Snogs,

M
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My home town wins

Apologies for the lack of Metal Harmony last week but due to some massive hill hammering shit-filled smoke into the sky, me and Hot Chick got stuck in Italy.

I say 'stuck' but to be honest, six nights free accommodation including breakfast and dinner ain't exactly a struggle.

One of the thing I noticed about Italy though was the distinct lack of obvious metal/metallers. I wasn't expecting to see everyone walking around in Lacuna Coil t-shirts but still, with most towns and cities there'll be at least one small group of scumbags resplendent in metal colours. Instead, I counted two Misfits, one Exploited, one Immortal and one Dream Theater t-shirt in eight days. Extraordinary.

Sick Of It All were fucking devastating when I saw them a couple of weeks back, thanks for asking. Me, Si-KO and Danny Hurt Process filed in as the place was rammed with every type of punk and reprobate for a 100-mile radius. Despite the pit having a fair few gaps, stage diving was a necessity (although the bloke who Superman'd in from the stage, missed and landed on his neck may have wanted to reconsider). Songs like Built To Last, Step Down and the unbeatable Scratch The Surface blew me away. And best of all, they looked like they were having a fucking riot. Lou Koller's constant smile helped to create a truly epic atmosphere for these hardcore legends. The bruises and various amounts of blood spatter were well and truly worth it. Good work boys, good work.

It was great to see our little local venue finally delivering the crowd we knew it could. Hopefully this means we'll continue to get some big names down there. With Madball, Malefice and SOIA in the last few months, plus regular performances from the UK Subs and a late-May slot filled by Trigger The Bloodshed, it looks like happy days ahead.

Until next time you beautiful freaks

M

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Trivium are better than you

A good friend of mine once told me that seeing Whitechapel live would make me shit. Last week I had the opportunity to find out for myself and whilst I didn't physically manufacture any hard farts, I could feel a definite wobbling of the colon.

With Trivium headlining and Chimaira in the second slot, Whitechapel had the unenviable task of opening. I got ready in the only way I know how; by standing at the bar and pounding beers with Killerleah (this was her first metal show at a proper venue but her second Trivium experience) before Hot Chick turned up. The barmaid felt the need to tell me I was the oldest person they'd seen there. Cheers.

Whitechapel came out and immediately went so fucking hard it was unbelievable. After one song the room had started to fill and there was a mental circle pit, stuff was flying all over the shop; it's the first time I've seen an opening band get this kind of response. Lead singer Phil Bozeman isn't the biggest bloke in the world but the noise he makes is bloody horrific. Chimaira had to play an absolute blinder to follow them. Thankfully they did, and the inevitable but epic sing-a-long during Resurrection caused me to sustain a pretty handsome rock-on.

Being a Trivium fan, I've always thought their live shows are shit hot but let's be honest; there's no fucking way they can compete with Whitechapel and Chimaira in terms of heaviness. Incorrect, you penises! Matt Heafy, with his enormous face/hair combo, has stopped pussying out of the screaming vocals (although Corey Beaulieu does add a bit of extra meat when necessary) and has reinstated his position as a solid frontman.

I couldn't resist getting stuck in so stripped down to the ol' vest and got involved. The pit was packed; it was hard to get a circle going but we metallers are a dedicated bunch. I was also pretty impressed by the amount of younglings going over the top during Like Light To Flies with little or no regard for their beautiful hair. My second crowd surf was somewhat hindered when fucking Moses turned up and parted the crowd, leading me to fall and land on my elbows. That was an enjoyable feeling.

It was one of the best gigs I've been to in many moons. Three bands with very different sounds, all one top form, epically sweaty pit, crowd surfing, a million beers, partial nudity, almost having a little cry when I smashed my bones into the floor; what more do you want? Huh? Exactly.

I'm off to try and shake this hangover. Can't decide if I'm going to puke or shit myself. Whichever, should probably find a toilet.

Ciao slutbags

M

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Another night in London

You may, or indeed may not, have noticed that of late, I've been updating Metal Harmony on a Friday. I think it's nice to give both of you readers something to look forward to so fear not; an end of week post will follow but I swear to Randy Blythe if I don't tell someone about Saturday's DevilDriver gig my testicles will implode.

A 17:00 (that's 5pm for the special needs kids) start is early as fuck for a metal show but not wanting to miss Malefice, me and Hot Chick arrived as the doors opened. Unfortunately, this coincided with tens of thousands of Arsenal fans leaving Highbury so the atmosphere was a touch tense. However, we got into the Relentless Garage (sounds like the worst club night in history) and straight to the bar for a welcome pint of Tuborg. Yes, it's shit lager but it tastes like Download so LET ME HAVE MY MEMORIES!

Hailing from the bleak wastelands of Berkshire, Malefice kicked off in front of a room that can't have been more than about 40% full, which was a shame as they were pretty fucking solid. Frontman Dale Butler's got a decent death/thrash style and they opened up the evening extremely well. They were by no means extraordinary and I was surprised to learn they've been around for six years but no matter; they still got some heads nodding.

After the roadies had finished clearing the stage for Trigger The Bloodshed, we realised the roadies were Trigger The Bloodshed. Dressed in matching sleeveless black numbers, this collective of young, fresh-faced laddies started by standing in a line with their backs to the crowd in a manner that suggested we were about to hear something more akin to the the Backstreet Boys than Cannibal Corpse. And then it kicked in and yes, they're pretty heavy but the fact that vocalist Jonny Burgan had no sound whatsoever made his wild facial contortions and demonic stares all look a bit laughable. But they shredded out a solid musical performance which got a rudimentary pit going. I bought Jonny a Jaeger after their set as he was sitting on their merch stand looking knackered, and he was a thoroughly nice chap.

And so cometh Suicide Silence. This mob are pretty popular at present and according to a mate of mine, would fucking own the show. The problem was, the sound still kept cocking up and despite the fact that Mitch Lucker sounds like somewhere between a cat giving birth and a gorilla raping a meat grinder when he sings, the atmosphere never quite reached the frenzy I was expecting. There were a few bods in their Suicide Silence t-shirts giving it plenty in the middle but I was still standing about 15 feet from the stage without my pint getting so much as nudged. I'll see them again before I pass judgement though, as No Time To Bleed was pretty fucking brutal.

By now I've had a few beers, said my cursory "hello" to Metal Hammer's Alexander Milas and have purchased my merch, so all is going well. Behemoth take to the stage after what has to be the lengthiest drum tech test I have ever seen - seriously, the dude just sat there and blasted on and off for about half an hour, whilst an atmospheric soundtrack of wind and general weather-type shit came over the PA. Once they'd taken to the stage though, it was worth the wait. They've been on the scene for about 20 years so the Polish mentalists know how to work a room of this size although vocalist Adam Darski's shout of "let me see your cunting horns!" did sound ridiculous. However, there's no denying that Darski's voice was the best so far and the synchronised windmills brought even more atmosphere to what was turning into a savagely evil set. Behemoth recently had their video to "Ov Fire and Void" banned by YouTube (it's still in my "Cool Shit" list though") but combine this with the sheer number of Behemoth shirts there on the night and a confirmed slot at Bloodstock's 10-year-anniversary festival next year and I can see a lot more from this mob in the coming months.

But enough of all this bollocks, onto the point of this post. One or two of you may know that I'm a bit of a DevilDriver fan. I had, however, promised Hot Chick that I'd refrain from the pit having fucked my back up royally during a Throwdown pit earlier in the week. So when Dez Fafara and the boys came out and opened with End of the Line, I dutifully handed Hot Chick my beer and went fucking ballistic. The pit went from a bit of a murmur to an absolute onslaught of fists, legs, teeth, knees, and I'm pretty sure I saw a couple of bollocks rolling across the floor. As a 14-stone skinhead, it was my duty to use the youngsters in the pit as a stepladder, enabling me to surf my way to the front for an awesome manly handshake with Dez - what a fucking moment. The pit didn't stop once as they ripped through numbers like Hold Back The Day, Pray for Villains and of course Clouds Over California. Another highlight from me was the fact that they played Nothing Wrong, the first song off of their eponymous debut album - considering they didn't hit the big time until the third album this was an awesome inclusion in the setlist.

The pace slowed for I've Been Sober but the intensity remained, and when Dez informed us that they were filming the video for Another Night In London that very night, and guaranteed it would never be played anywhere other than in London, the pit exploded like a Peter North facial. I managed to get my carcass up onto the crowd three times and when I came down on the second occasion, there were cameras rolling - I swear here and now, if I'm in that video, I'll cry like a gay watching Bambi.

Once the set had finished, I felt fulfilled. I felt that the whole of this year had been leading to this gig. Not only did a man with tattoos of 9mm handguns on his head compliment my tattoos, not only did I get a few beers in me, not only did I see five heavy-as-fuck bands for less than a score, not only did I crowd surf harder than I ever have before, and get kudos off of the lead singer of my favourite band for it, not only did I do a Jaeger with an upcoming death metal band...I could go on...

Needless to say that 2009 is dead now. Nothing can beat this. And 2010? Okay, Lamb of God, Hatebreed and Machine Head are all going to have a good crack at it but to top this gig is going to be a fucking chore.

I'll enjoy seeing bands try though.

I'm off to eat my dinner.

M
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Sound of progress

A mention from a friend, a Tweet on a social networking site - a couple of ways in which I'd heard about UK progressive metallers Stone Circle. As you may already know, I have a raging boner for unsigned UK metal bands so have given these guys a good listen.

The first song, "Eastern Skies" leads you to make the embarrassingly obvious Opeth comparison but cards on the ol' table, it pretty much sounds exactly like Opeth. In every way. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But I'm not really a prog fan.

Did I not mention that? Oh dear.

This being said, "Crystal Burial" is a solid outing, despite opening as a virtual carbon copy of Coheed and Cambria's "Welcome Home". The introductory guitar harmony runs for the first minute or so but rather than Claudio Sanchez's slightly whingey babblings we're greeted with Joe Ashwin's "two pints of Coke in quick succession burp"-sounding growl. Mikael Akerfeldt would be proud. The Spanish guitar style break is impressive and as the song kicks in you can feel a crescendo building but for me, maybe a little bit of synth to add another level here. No? Fuck you then. I think Ashwin does a good job throughout "Crystal Burial" of keeping the listener engaged, and wade through the first few minutes of this song to find a frankly staggering moment of calm which is unexpected, and I fucking loved it.

"Plague" kicks off bizarrely sounding a bit like Alter Bridge's "White Knuckle" but with vocals you'd only get out of Myles Kennedy if you poured molten iron into his throat and threw him in a cement mixer. The blastbeats are a bit, um, well, unconvincing. Drummer Sam Hill clearly ain't Derek Roddy but to give him his dues, this ain't really death metal.

Then something irregular happens. "Parchment" shows an awesome synergy between Joe Ashwin and Tom Skelton but to be brutal, I don't get this song at all. It's a great indie singalong but I didn't come hear to wear thick glasses, put on a cardigan, go to Camden and generally be a cunt; I came here to rock and this song doesn't. It fits in like a 12" strap at playgroup. It's like ordering a pint of Guinness and getting an egg sandwich. It's just not right.

"Nosferatu" is safer ground for Stone Circle. The rhythm section get more of an outing here, with bass man James Pearce accompanied by a bit more enthusiasm on the kick drum during the slower sections. It smells a bit like Ashwin's throat's giving up though; the belly-deep anger of the first couple of tunes seem a tad tinny but as I always say with MySpace reviews, a lot of that shit's down to the fact this ain't done in Abbey Road.

"Purgatory" for me has the most solid opening of all the songs. Everyone meaty here; guitars are low, vocals are lower, bass is throbbing. But again, it just, well, goes on. There are so many layers it's difficult to really get in to the groove of the tune.

Maybe it's just me though? Maybe I don't get prog and am subsequently a bellend? I can cope with prog if it's a hot day, I've a beer in my hand, I'm sitting on the ground with Hot Chick, smoking a fag, chilling in general, and there's other shit going on. It's awesome music to have on in the background but it's not my scene in terms of standing in a room, eyes front, know what I mean?

I don't want this to come across negative as it really isn't. Stone Circle are fucking good at what they do. If you're a fan of the Opeth's and Dream Theatre's of this world you would be absolutely fucking retarded not to like this band. Click on the MySpace page; listen for yourself.

But with all prog I always feel a bit empty. Damn that fucking egg sandwich.

The pits

A week that kicked off with Metallica on the Monday ended with Rise Against on the Friday. Let's just take a wee minute to appreciate how fucking intense a week of music that is!

Finished?

Good.

I'd been out since 13:30 pounding beers due to a well-timed leaving do at work so by the time I met Bro Dude, I was on my way to being well oiled. We hit the Crobar, London's premier heavy metal dive, for a couple of cheeky Newcastle Browns and a couple of rollies, and offski.

I've never been to Camden Roundhouse but my first opinion was "My, how awfully civilised", as the legions of punk rock reprobates poured in. We met with Hot Chick beforehand, and got into the venue for about 20:00. Just in time for Flobots. Oh great; fashionably political rap.

Hell no. I went in completely ambivalent expecting little and was hugely impressed. The blend of hand-plucked violin, smooth rap, rhythmic drums and bass groove completely got me and you could tell that, although 90% of the crowd probably had no idea who these guys were, the opinions were high. Flobots got a fierce reception when they finished with recent single "Handlebars" and left the stage; they thoroughly deserved it.

But then the band we were they to see kicked us all in the fucking face. I can't even remember which song came first (perhaps due to the frankly hilarious amount of booze I had consumed by this point) but I left Bro Dude and Hot Chick, and hit the pit. And shit my ballsack, was it a pit. The majority of songs in the early part of the set came from my favourite "Sufferer And The Witness" album and despite my trying to leave the pit, songs like "Injection" and "Bricks" kept me going shitfuck pony buggery crazy. "Drones" caused a ridiculous frenzy (that might have been the first one, actually...) and as they kicked in to "Collapse" from their newest album "Appeal To Reason" I went over the top. A successful surf to the front was combined with the realisation that I had lost both of my shoes. And t-shirt.

There is something haunting about Tim McIlrath's vocals; the guy just commands that you listen to the lyrics as well as the harsh yet melodic tones. I think only Angela Gossow from Arch Enemy sounds so similar live as on record. Although Tim didn't interact a huge amount with the crowd, Rise Against did exactly what they came to do. The passion of the politics, the ferocity of the crowd and the stealing of the shoes all combined to make an epic experience. We left feeling like we'd been to a seminar on how to be a fucking hardcore punk rock band.

Going through Rise Against's back catalogue, it's difficult to find any stinkers. I mean, some of the acoustic protest songs are a bit simple, but so what? They're a punk band, retard. They play with a fire that singes your bollocks. The fans are insane. The pits are violent but compassionate and the band really give a fuck. I mean, really give a fuck.

Political bands that matter are hard to find today; Rise Against may be a decade old but with their constant relevance, there's another few years in them yet. I fuckin' hope.