Fuck you, Glasgow. Seriously, blame the promoter, blame the venue. I don’t care but this is Soilent fucking Green & you can’t put together a crowd of 60 people on a Friday fucking night. Fuck you right in your lazy, sagging cunts. Anyway, a couple of overpriced pints later we are stood in front of the stage with enough room to swing a particularly large sack of donkeys just in time for London’s newest musical export.
This might only be their third (or so, I lost count) gig but they are certainly no strangers to dingy, deserted venues & the smell of piss. Ex/current members of Ted Maul, Pure Negative, Labrat & Leave the Hall favourites, River Freshney, DripBack‘s brand of manky hardcore deathgrind is about as raw as you can get & leaves a palpable soggy feeling in your Y-fronts. Opener Kick Out Time is a fuckton heavier than the 5 Soilent Green fans attending expect & the blastbeat driven hardcore leaves them looking pretty disconcerted. Blowing through their entire EP, slowing only to dedicate a track to the one & only Nicholas Barker who seems to have been adopted by the Freshney boys as their official mascot/tour manager, their groovy grind & gang vocals get exactly 2 people moving. Short, sharp & very fucking dirty, it’s just a shame there’s no crowd to reciprocate & circle pit covered in handfuls of their own bodily fluids.
Yes, it’s the band we all came for. All 8 of us. Actually I can count 2 people here just for DripBack so we are down to 6. I could go on for hours about this low turnout being a tragedy equal to that of the deaths of Glenn Rambo & Scott Williams but you’d probably just call me a cunt so let’s move on to the set. Opening with (relatively) new track Mental Acupuncture, the Green waste no time in flooding the venue with sludgey riffs, blastbeats & Falgoust’s distinctive low register barks. Sticking with Inevitable Collapse, the irresistible groove of Blessed in the Arms of Servitude finally sees a flicker of life from the sparse crowd but I’d still have their life-support machines turned off. It is Slapfuck taken from their debut that finally kicks the 6-man pit into action. A solid mix of classics & more recent efforts serves only to highlight their ability to deliver their intricate insanity live as the jarring sludge assault leaves a sweaty mess in the middle of the room. It’s just a fucking shame that, having been away from these shores for 11 years, one of the most influential bands in metal is met with such a wet fart of a crowd. Closer Antioxidant is followed by the kind of apologetic small talk you’d give the bereaved family leaving the funeral of a co-worker you had no feelings towards whatsoever as the band depart the stage & I don’t fucking blame them.