Having an addiction to live music is not a cheap pursuit. Club gigs are now coming in at around twenty quid and to see a more “name act” in either an Academy, Apollo or various O2 establishments is probably going to set you back the best part of fifty notes. If you are parting with that much hard currency for a night out, you want dependability. You want to be reassured that you will have a good time and are getting adequate bang for your buck. Cannibal Corpse are nothing but dependable. Their rapid ascent to 3000 capacity venues is clearly fuelled by the fact that the average punter knows what they are getting from Corpsegrinder and the crew. They never give less than a hundred percent, they never put on a poor show and they never disappoint. 

They have become a regular fixture in this country (this is their fifth visit to this city in 10 years, alongside various Bloodstock and Damnation appearances). However, they still command an impressive and expansive audience. For once familiarity is not breeding one hint of contempt. Yes, we as punters know exactly what we going to get, but when the brand of death metal is this ferocious and so meticulously structured then we are more than happy to stick with what we know.

Manchester's battalions of metalheads have obviously taken the afternoon off work, as the O2 Victoria Warehouse is miraculously packed from the moment the grand industrial doors swing open at 5.30. One of the other reasons we keep coming back to witness the might of Cannibal Corpse is that they always bring along a succulent undercard. Tonight is no exception. Openers, Schizophrenia hail from Belgium (though twice this evening they are incorrectly labelled by their tour mates as being Italians). They trade in an interesting amalgamation of death and thrash metal's meaning that they come across as sounding an awful lot like the mighty Slayer. Front man and bassist Ricky Mandozzi is obviously highly influenced by Tom Araya in his gruff, forthright demeanour. He commands the vast confines of the stage, marching from one side to the other with malignant intent.

The O2 Warehouse is essentially a massive open space with a stage at the end. The early door crowds need no encouragement to start up the pits and to beat merry shit out of each other, even though the evening is deceptively young. Schizophrenia make a perfect soundtrack to the joyful violence that unfolds in front of them. Not necessarily original, they still manage to sound breathtakingly brutal and crackingly corrosive. A highly impressive start to the evening. 

Immolation have been around the block and then some. They are rapidly ascending on their 40th anniversary, with lead guitarist Robert Vigna and bassist/vocalist Ross Dolan around for the entirety of that journey. Musically this is a game of two halves.  In places they are a highly competent old school death metal act, forged in the same furnace as Suffocation, Benediction and Possessed. Tracks from earlier in their career, such as ‘Father, You're Not a Father’ and ‘A Glorious Epoch’ are full of the stripped back, fire and brimstone that you expect from minimalistic veteran death metal.

But when they delve into newer material their sound morphs and wanders into the territory known only as Goth. ‘Noose of Thorns’ is a stunningly elaborate track, full of emotional depth and ethereal power. It is fuelled by death metal but it moves massively beyond the confines of that genre. The elaborate diversity is in the main brought by rhythm guitarist Alex Bouks, who seems intent on adding immaculate flourishes to death metal's usual blunt roar. However, for all their deviation and dalliances, we end right back at point zero. Final track ‘Into Everlasting Fire’ comes from their 1991 debut and is as no fuss, back to the wall death metal as you are going to get. A really interesting exercise in showing that you can indeed show an old dog new tricks.

If you wandered into the building not knowing tonight's billings, from the reception they are afforded you would have automatically assumed that Municipal Waste were headlining. As they nonchalantly stroll on stage and ease into ‘The Executioner’, the place goes utterly ballistic. We may be midway through the first number, but it is already raining crowd surfers and the bevy of official press photographers are unceremoniously pulled out all the front of stage area for their own safety. In fact official sources (thank you for the tip-off) document that 308 people pass over the barrier during their set, a new house record. It is a beautiful picture of organised chaos but Municipal Waste are not content to rest on their laurels and Tony Foresta spends the duration of the set trying to up the level of anarchy unfolding in front of him. He berates those on the left of him for not inciting enough carnage and he threatens to cut off their speakers unless he sees more of an effort being exuded. 

Like Cannibal Corpse, Municipal Waste are no strangers to these shores. This means that they have learnt exactly which buttons to press with a British crowd and the early inclusion of ‘The Thrashin’ of the Christ’ hypes the whole place up to levels of euphoric delusion. When his tongue firmly in his cheek Tony states that their half-hour set time (actually it's 50 minutes, but who's counting) means that they can only do 30 songs (actually they play 20 but who's counting). It's that irreverence and rightful impertinence that makes Municipal Waste such an enticing live proposition. There is no pretension here or illusion of grandeur. They are playing party thrash because they love party thrash.

The bodies keep coming and the chaos exudes itself across the whole arena. From our aerial vantage point in the relative safety of the accessibility section, it looks like the floors has come alive and is convulsing in random asymmetrical patterns. This is glorious pandemonium at its best and an utterly beautiful example of band and adoring audience in perfect synchronisation. As ever ‘Born to Party’ provides a cacophonous finale, as the entire inhabitant of the warehouse screams in unison “Municipal Waste is going to Fuck you Up”. It may well feel that Municipal Waste are the support on every metal tour that winds its way around these parts, but when they are this good who is complaining?

 Lesser bands would feel slightly apprehensive about having to follow each night the alcohol-fuelled bedlam of Municipal Waste. But Cannibal Corpse are not any other band. They have ascended to the point where they are now an institution, a cornerstone of our world. They are no longer a death metal band; they are the death metal band. With 16 albums to choose from it doesn't actually matter what they play, it's how they play that’s important. Cannibal Corpse throw everything into the performance. Nothing is left on the sidelines. This is the most committed and laser like focus you will ever see in any band. Their set times are sub 90 minutes not because they haven't got the material, but because it is humanly impossible to play at this level of intensity and ferocity for longer than that.

Corpsegrinder may well now be an elder statesman of metal community but that hasn’t blunted his impudence and discourtesy. The frequency of their visits does mean that you realise that his saucy slights are highly scripted and repeated verbatim night after night. But that doesn't take away anything from his anti-hero persona. By giving the air that he really doesn't care he manages to command with ease the 3000 people spread out in front of him.

The churn of stage divers never quite matches the magnitude of Municipal Waste and that's because there is a lot more reverence at play here. Whilst their special guests allowed everybody the opportunity to blow off a week's worth of steam, the response to Cannibal Corpse is eminently respectful and fuelled with awe. It feels bizarre to cite a band with song titles such as ‘Fucked with Knife’, ‘Unleashing the Bloodthirsty’ and ‘Kill or Become’ as being legendary but that is exactly what Cannibal Corpse have become. People are here to witness the myth and the undulating chaos that comes with it.

Corpsegrinder and co-are such experts in their craft that time flies by in an instant. None of their songs could be described as "singalong” but they deftly manage to hold the attention of everybody in situ. The atmosphere ratchets up as they career into ‘Staring Through the Eyes of the Dead’. Corpsegrinder orchestrates the crowd into a pantomime-like choruses of affirmation and dismay as he announces that ‘Stripped, Raped and Strangled’  is their final track,. We all know the score and we all know that crowd killer ‘Hammer Smashed Face’ is hidden sneakily behind his back, but that doesn't stop us being strung along and wallowing in the playful banter. The latter may well have been written over 30 years ago but it doesn't stop it from being the last word in musical extremity. It is four minutes of discordant musical inharmony. It is spectacular in its viciousness and its savagery. It is unsurpassable and it is insatiable. There frankly is not a song like it and its harsh refrains hang in the air long after the band have exited the stage. A blistering finish to a blistering evening and if Cannibal Corpse decided to turn up in town again next year frankly they going to need an even bigger boat.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
Cannibal Corpse + Municipal Waste + Immolation + Schizophrenia