Live Review: Deafheaven, High Tension, Hope Drone

6 June 2016 | 2:35 pm | Tom Peasley

"The band is impossible to pigeonhole."

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It doesn't get more exciting than this. The Black Sabbath escaping the front doors and gracing the streets, the sea of band tees and tattoos as far as the eye can see all combine to create that unmistakable fuzzy feeling of anticipation that accompanies the biggest metal gig in town. Or maybe it's the beer. Who knows.

Brisbane locals Hope Drone open the night with a gloominess that accompanies the sea of black shirts oh so fittingly. The four-piece trawl through a set of dark, sludgy crawls laced with blast beat passages to create a sound that will put European black metal bands on notice when the band tours overseas later in the year.

Juxtaposing the preceding darkness and doom, Melburnians High Tension (as always) ignite the whole venue with contagious, manic liveliness. The set serves as an opportunity for vocalist Karina Utomo to remind everyone in the crowd that she is really the queen bee of Aussie female vocalists. Utomo is in the crowd more than she is on stage, manoeuvring herself to crowdsurf/walk upside down along the low-hanging roof, but never missing a syllable of her ear-piercing, demonic screeches.

For all the failed attempts so many bands make in redefining metal subgenres or becoming the next 'new sound', few have come as close as Deafheaven. Needless to say, there's a great level of intrigue around whether or not the San Francisco crew will be able to translate their unique qualities to a live context, but as the band erupts into opener Brought To The Water, any doubts are quickly quashed. It's a spectacle that on paper seems nothing short of a bad experiment or cruel and unusual punishment. But Deafheaven somehow find the sweet spot between two extremes, producing hypnotising blast beat-fuelled black metal that seamlessly weaves into slower atmospherics featuring graceful melodies to create a truly unique, multi-dimensional spectacle with unrivalled emotive depth. Vocalist George Clarke, donning all black, continually commands attention by verbally assaulting the microphone with an immense intensity, conducting the crowd and busting out some moves not too dissimilar to a '60s soul singer. Limbs flail, beer gets spilled and overall mayhem ensues to the sound of Dream House, which closes the set. The whole exhibition put on by the band is impossible to pigeonhole and unlike any other currently in the metal world. It may be an acquired taste, but judging by tonight's crowd, a lot more people are acquiring it.

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