It may feel like the world is returning to hell in its ever-reliable handcart, but if we are going to go down the crowd tonight at Club Academy are going to go down partying. I am not quite sure why there is such a jovial atmosphere tonight, maybe it’s the time of year or maybe it’s the promise of being in close proximity to living breathing superstar, but there is an air of a runaway hen do from the off. Openers Stitched Up Heart benefit greatly from this. The crowd may not initially be familiar with their gothic Metal, but the mood they are in they are going to go wild for anything and they inevitably do. This is not to take anything away from Stitched Up Heart, as they are good…really good. 

They avoid the pitfalls of contemporaries like In This Moment and New Years Day by being less interested in the concept and more focused on the songs. Also, frontwomen Alecia Demner can sing, really sing. She uses all the space the small stage allows and bounds around, her blue/green hair flowing. Her vocals are astounding, absolutely astounding. She goes from sultry to crushing melodic melodies and throws in a few death growls for good measure. Second track in ‘Warrior’ cements their emerging relationship with the crowd and has the rapidly filling Club Academy joining in like it has always been their favourite song, ever. Tonight, is conclusive proof that a good band can cure all ills. They are uplifting, euphoric and effortlessly forge an unbreakable bound with everyone in the room. ‘Monster’ brings the set to a crushingly finale and it provides an opportunity for Alecia to let rip one last time, showcasing her remarkable range. As they shudder to halt the crowd go headliner mental, it really is a remarkable thing to see a band at the arse end of the undercard to get this sort of adulation, but God do they deserve it. You can sense The Treatment standing backstage looking nervously at each other….

 Well if The Treatment feel in any way intimidated by how well Stitched Up Heart up heart went down, then they don’t show it. This is route 101 Boogie Rock. Yes, they are borrowing their entire sound from AC/DC, but so have countless bands for the last four decades (Airbourne and “Electric” era The Cult I am looking at you). The secret to this stuff is to up the energy levels to past eleven and throw every ounce of vim and vigour that you have at it. This is the approach that The Treatment takes, and it works. An impassioned band that is firing on all cylinders, hides any level of plagiarism and soon their no-nonsense foot to the floor approach has the crowd eating out of their hands too.

Not sure whether the Treatment finished early or whether it was always the plan, but there is a forty plus minute wait for Fozzy. Rather than become bored and restless, the crowd, tipsy on the fumes of anticipation, use the time to drink the bar dry and engage in communal sing-alongs. By the time Chris Jericho and co do arrive, the crowd has gone beyond fever-pitch and are somewhere between ecstasy and religious experience. Like Steve Harris last night at Rebellion (with his band British Lion), Chris Jericho can’t be doing this for the money. He is one of the biggest names in Wrestling and a veritable living legend, there is no way he would be in the sticky, stale beer smelling confides of the Club Academy by anything but personal choice. Fozzy lets him live out his rock n’ roll fantasies and remarkably, he is really rather good at it.

I don’t know much about wrestling, but I do know that it is pure 99% entertainment and 1% gladiatorial combat. Chris Jericho is an utterly incredible entertainer and owns the stage with his larger-than-life disposition and eminently likable persona. His voice isn’t great (think eighties Ozzy) and the band are nothing special, but in terms of personality he knocks it out of the frickin park and half way to Mars. It is rare to see a frontperson connect this impeccably with his audience and the nearest comparison I can find is Nick Cave in the way he entrances his crowd. Chris banters, he croons and he jovially interacts, the songs seem to actually get in the way of him conversing with his adoring public. In fact, when the show is curtailed because of a fainting fan, we get an impromptu fifteen minute stand up set, yes he is that good. 

When we do get music we get a cover or two (Frankie goes to Hollywood’s ‘Relax’ ushers in a mass sing along) and we get some other stuff that sounds a bit Marylin Manson and a few that sound a bit Rob Zombie, but really this is all about him. The music frankly left me cold, but this was still an incredible show and that was because of how the audience reacted with being within spitting distance of their hero. It was like Beatle-mania but with added lager and machoism. Chris Jericho is probably one of the greatest frontmen I have ever seen. His actual material maybe a bit pants but, as I keep saying, this doesn’t matter as he could be reciting the phone book (remember them) and it would still sound magnificent.