There are cover bands and then there is Bat Sabbath, the crazed Sabbath-obsessed alter egos of Canadian hardcore heroes Cancer Bats. Initially intended as a daft way of blowing off steam, their commemoration of the inventors of metal has morphed into its very own thing. This evening Rebellion is packed to the rafters with a mix of Cancer Bat devotees and those looking to throw themselves around stupidly to the songs that started this whole blooming endeavour. 

The reason that this bit of tomfoolery has grown legs is the fact that rather than play Black Sabbath’s back catalogue in the style of the Cancer Bats they perform these well-honed tracks reverentially but with the same level of frantic energy that they ply their own material. Essentially this is the only way to experience what Black Sabbath would have sounded and felt like in the days before they became a corporate arena-bothering juggernaut. This is what is so magical about the experience. This is Sabbath taken back into the clubs by a band that quintessentially understands how to command a dingy subterranean venue.

Openers Margarita Witch Cult share more than their Brummie origins with the Sabbath. They feel like they've been ripped from a vintage episode of old Grey Whistle test circa 1974. It’s doom, but that proto, organic style of doom that feels thoroughly retro and full of bluesy indulgence. The opening salvo is a cracking instrumental that, alongside the sparkly tops, feels luxuriously vintage. However, it is on the second track that they really come into their own. They use three-part harmonies in a grandiose way that manages to feel simultaneously decadent but also ground down by the grit of modern life.

The swagger and confidence that they deliver their material is juxtaposed with a self-aware and almost shy approach to between-song banter. They reveal that this is their first ever time in Manchester and that they are rather taken aback by the reception that they are being afforded. They also frankly look for affirmation about their almost unrecognisable version of Billy Idol’s rabble-rousing white wedding. “Do you think that works?” honestly intones guitarist Scott Vincent as the track jutters to halt. The simple answer is yes as their slowed-down and buffed-up incarnation of the track is simply rather wonderful.

What we sometimes forget about Sabbath was that, for all their alternative trappings, they crossed over into the mainstream big-time. ‘Paranoid’ was a top-five hit and they were never content with being an underground sensation. Margarita Witch Cult share that sheen of commerciality. Yes, there is an innate heaviness, but it never borders into inaccessibility. Instead, they are a highly enjoyable recycle of rock's glory days that just drips with authenticity. Manchester waits in anticipation for their second visit.

 The Cancer Bats are one of the most frenzied live propositions that you will ever encounter. They attack every track with a molten level of enthusiasm that is frankly unsurpassed. They may well be masquerading as Bat Sabbath but they throw themselves into their performance with the same level of kinetic and cathartic energy.

Before they slam into ‘Iron Man’, one man dynamo Liam Cormier proclaims that this is not a run-of-the-mill tribute act and that he wants to see mayhem in the pits. Almost instantaneously those who were stood stock still upfront letting the beauty of Black Sabbath wash over them, are replaced by flailing bodies and whirling dervishes of limbs and sweat. That simple command to go crazy sends everything over the edge, and the full-to-bursting Rebellion becomes a swirling cauldron of pulsating flesh.

We know the songs are good because frankly, they are the foundations of this music that we all adore. It would be facile for me to make any comment about the quality of the tracks because the echoes of ‘Paranoid’, ‘Symptom Of The Universe’, ‘N.I.B’ and ‘Fairies Wear Boots’ can be heard in every single metal song that was subsequently forged. Liam uses the term worship continually and that's what this is. We know the debt that our beloved music holds to all 11 of the songs that are dispensed with tonight and we welcome them like the revered holy relics that they are.

As I said earlier Liam and his compatriots don't mess with the formula or the feel of the songs, but what they do do is absolutely ratchet up the energy. The eponymous Black Sabbath may well have been concocted nearly 55 years ago but it is still the last word in creeping malevolent evil. Bat Sabbath don't mix with the formula, but they allow its raw, earthy atmospherics to absolutely shine through.

They end their histrionic Sabbath worship with ‘War Pigs’. Liam doesn't even bother singing the words and instead, he just waves the microphone in the general direction of the baying mob. We've heard it so many times before in so many different contexts that you actually forget just how perfect and archetype a metal track it is. It is utterly wonderful in its scale, scope, and blatant political nature. It's where metal's obsession with annihilation, destruction and the wanton futility of war comes from and it is still yet to be bettered. 

The fevered rampant response to the exit means that their return is inevitable. They do so shawn of their Bat Sabbath identity and now looking far more like the Cancer Bats we know and love. Liam reveals that drummer Joe has been drafted in as a last-minute super sub for the missing Mike Peters and that we have now exhausted his knowledge of the Black Sabbath back catalogue. However we are in luck that he knows one more song and that just so happens to be a Cancer Bats number. 

No matter how wild and disorderly it got during the main set, nothing prepares us for just how apocalyptic it becomes during the searing ‘Pneumonia Hawk’. Bodies fly and the pit manages to enter a hitherto inconceivable level of hyperactivity. It is a resplendent level of chaos that is both endearing and energising. The frantic jostling for handshakes and fist bumps at the end of the show illustrates that whilst we might have been here primarily to worship the Sabbath, those gathered here tonight hold the muthafuckin Cancer Bats in almost the same level of esteem. A remarkable show, showcasing remarkable songs by a remarkable band.