Live Review : Eyehategod + Goatwhore + After The Abduction @ Rebellion, Manchester on December 9th 2024

Our perceptions of New Orleans is as the birth place of Jazz. That funeral scene from Live and Let Die looms large in our collective cultural iconography. But New Orleans has a musical underbelly, an “upside down” that is the ying to the more well-known yang. In the form of Eyehategod and Goatwhore it has cultivated two of the most iconic American extreme metal acts to emerge out of the desolate wastelands of the nineties. Both are still stridently underground and unfettered in regard to wide stream regard and appeal, but the staggering young demographic at play here tonight shows that they are both making great strides in a market that wasn’t even born when they both emerged.

Beholders of the much-vaunted local support berth are After the Abduction and they have brought an impressive bevy of mates. For a band shoved on literally minutes after a particularly early door opening time, they illicit an impressive reaction from a very partisan crowd. Their take on Death Metal shades itself on the avant-garde side of the movement. There are numerous times where they give up completely on the whole notion of time signatures and go brazenly freeform. Whilst they are still inhabited by an unashamed harshness, the inventive rhythmic structures bring an intriguing density to their style. 

Most interesting (to be honest simultaneously most puerile) is the second to last track which Chris Sellers purports to be about “being shat on”. Its disarming and off-kilter spoken word section brings to mind industrial pioneers Throbbing Gristle and even though its precise subject matter is decidedly infantile and off-putting, the way they present it is astonishingly brave and innovative. A really interesting and ingenious reinvention of death metal that shows much promise. 

The room has filled impressively for the first of tonight’s headliners. Whilst there is still a notable showing by the youthful contingent, there are now plenty of seasoned grizzled metalheads to be found splattered around the joint who have chosen this double bill over Obituary. We get classic WASP pumped out into the darkened stage as an aura of palpable excitement whips around the room. You see if you like Goatwhore, you really like Goatwhore. They emerged out of the ashes of the now inexplicably returned Acid Bath and have endured by being the American custodians of a very European type of music.

Up-tempo Black Metal is probably the most apt descriptor to make. Their lineage of influence by-passers the corpse-painted nihilism of the Nordic second wave and connects straight back into the scene innovators of Venom, Merciful Fate and Hellhammer. They deliver ferocious uncompromising metal that has a serrated edge but also understands the importance of song structure. There are distinct rousing choruses that allow arms to be raised in satanic praise.

Rebellion’s stage does not allow much room for gallivanting, but Sammy Duet and Robert Coleman use all the space afforded to them to jaunt around the joint, regularly swapping positions. The former is a legend of the American underground scene and starstruck fanboys upfront present him with drinks from the conveniently placed bar. He welcomes these liquid trinkets of affection and happily drinks his way through the set. Louis Benjamin Falgoust looms large upfront, breaking the seal by declaring that the last time they were here they had plenty of stage invaders. This is of course is taken as a call to arms and pretty soon there is a parade of young things clamouring onstage and hurling themselves off. 

There is something brutally basic about what Goatwhore are doing. It dispenses with the ethereal or the atmospheric and just gives us route 101 nastiness. There is no going through the motions here, this is a legendary revered outfit proving in no uncertain way why they are so revered and so legendary. They feed into that baseline urge to let the music swell through you and the pit pulsates with stoic aggression as the set rolls on. It’s just jaw-dropping to watch the intensity of the performance and witness the magical melding of tightness and tenacity. As Louis proclaims, it is the musicians that do the hard work and without them, he would just be yelping at the front of the stage for no reason. A Stunningly assured set.

Eyehategod embrace the chaos. They are a dishevelled mess of warm riffs and tumultuous intent. Mike Williams and Jimmy Bowler operate as sludge metal Slash and Axl. It is obvious that they wind each other rotten (Mike flicks the finger at Jimmy whenever his back is turned and chucks plastic beer glasses at him when he does face him) but that animosity compounds together to create the most fantastic creative fusion. Eyehategod are driven by the anarchistic disorder, Jimmy slurred unruly refrains contemplating the growling raw blues conjured forth from Mike’s guitar.

Whilst it is unlikely that any Eyehategod show is formulaic or goes to plan, tonight feels particularly beset by self-inflicted gremlins. Jimmy struggles to get his mic stand into any sort of formation that pleases him. He also is unhappy with the layout of the monitors, continually hauling them around the stage to try and get them into a configerment that pleases him. The wayward stand is soon abandoned leading to the mic wires being contorted into knots. This significantly shortens Jimmy’s lead and leaves him tethered to a small spot up front, agitating him even further. “We are not playing under idle conditions” he intones “but we will carry on”.

It is that unruly tenacity that makes them such a delicious and enticing live proposition. You truly have no idea what is going to happen and the flagrant pandemonium bleaches forth a fizzling level of spontaneous excitement. The bedlam onstage soon transfers itself to the convoluting masses up front. The stage invaders become a constant stream, and Jimmy pours inferior white wine down the throats of his euphoric disciples on the lip of the stage, “1489, shit year”.

To the left of this chaos stands Mike, the epitaph of cool. If there is a greater granular blues player then we at Rockflesh are Dutchmen. He stands at the edge of the stage surrounded by his adoring public and just let’s rip with the most amazing coarse earthly riffs. Every now and again he gets handed a beer which he diligently places on is amp cabinet. But most of time he distances himself from the unrehearsed mayhem unfolding beside and just loses himself in ushering into life these stunning groves.

There is some primordially simplistic about Eyehategod. There is no pretensions or high convoluted structures at play. This is raw unrefined scuzzy rock at its anarchistic best. It is coarse and brittle but its wonderful in that lawless disorder. This is rock n’ roll staying true to its outcast, nonconformist roots. It rebels against all conventions and it even ends in an individualistic unconventional manner in that after an hour they have done their time and without ceremony wander off stage, with the ascending house lights truncating any calls for one more song. But that is the dissenting beauty of Eyehategod. In the middle of a genre that feels rapidly sanitised they exist as a little island of improbability and that’s something to savour.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
Eyehategod + Goatwhore + After The Abduction