There is something nourishingly cathartic about unadulterated noise. To the ear of the uninitiated, this four-band bill probably sounds like chaotic clatter, a cacophony of unconnected hullabaloo with no discerning rhythmic touchstones. However, there is an utter beauty to be found within music that skates this close to being an unrefined racket but still manages to maintain a coherent shape and form. In many ways there is much more structure and complexity to be found within the four acts showcased tonight than you find in the banal musical outputs consumed by the mainstream, it's just scuzzier, dirtier and requires more effort to appreciate. 

Unyielding Love win the prize for the band whose name least fits their musical output. Hailing from the Emerald Isles they skilfully and irreverently combine the majesty of Black Metal with the utter nihilistic chaos of grindcore. What you get is a depraved sonic mash-up that doesn't just skirt the boundaries of white noise, it regularly, and with gleeful intent, scales the barriers and frolics through the forbidden pastures.

The stage is shrouded in smoke and is very hard to make who is doing what. However chief screecher Richard Larson burns off the stage like a man flowing with malicious intent. For the entire length of a short and pungent set, he howls into his microphone possessed by the inequalities of the world as he sees it. Simultaneously discombobulating and eternally hypnotic, it feels as much an art statement as it is a musical experience.

Antichrist Siege Machine cleverly deal with the fact that there is only two of them by displaying ceiling-to-floor banners on either side of the stage. This creates a claustrophobic tunnel vision with the platform never feeling sparsely occupied. Their amalgamation of black and death metals is really interesting and rather unique in that they don't combine them, instead they operate concurrently.

The opening few tracks are pure Black Metal, full of malevolent intensity and harsh nihilism. But then they crossed the Rubicon and move into Death Metal territory. Still jagged and corrosive, but possessing much more variance and light and shade. They remind me of my beloved Tuskar, if they had been left to ferment in hell for a couple of millennia.  Even though there are only two of them they systematically avoid getting stuck in any genre-based rut and the set feels like a magical mystery tour around metal's more outlandish subgenres. However, it is that evil inherent nastiness that boils through the most. This is not nice music and there's no way you would ever consider playing it to your Gran. But it is full of power, a power that oscillates off the stage and circulates through the packed venue. 

Jarhead Fertilizer make perfect touring companions for Full of Hell, especially considering they share two members. This however is their first visit to Manchester and in fact the first-ever tour of the UK. There is a supernova level intensity to their delivery, and I find myself frequently reminded of Slayer in the mid-80s. Brandon, David, and Sam trade grunts and groans like some bastardised version of Chris and Gene. Whilst there is a burning power to the music, it is also visibly minimal, and it feels driven by what is not there as opposed to what is there.

They regularly skirt near communal garden Death Metal but then in a thoroughly appetising and enticing way, throw themselves in a completely different direction. There is a groove here but is distorted and degraded, adding to that whole feeling of sonic distortion and hyper-concentrated conviction. Whilst the audience’s reaction and interaction has been exemplary since the doors opened, the pit wretches itself open for Jarhead Fertilizer and the bodies swirl around in a convulsing maelstrom of flailing limbs.

David Bland’s drumming is utterly insane and his sticks blur as he conjures up hyperspeed blast beats. He looks like he's ready to collapse between each track and the pace of delivery just adds to the incessant intensity. There are no down moments and therefore, even though they are utterly incredible, there is almost a collective sigh of relief as their set jutters to a halt as we finally all get to take a collective breath.

Full of Hell are dystopian jazz. There is a formless freestyle feel to their convulsing sonic oscillation. It feels like the most evil and discombobulating jam session ever concocted. All the niceties have been removed and instead, we have pure unadulterated nastiness. It is also utterly astonishing. Dlyan Walker's use of electronics and samples gives the whole sound an additional resonation and strangulated depth. He growls into a contraption that looks like a cross between a breathalyser and something McCoy would use the scan things in Star Trek. Everything feels chaotic, everything feels like it's on a knife edge and everything feels deliciously dangerous. There is nothing safe there and that is both its elegance and its joy.

This is music as pure unadulterated power and escapism. You cannot withstand its whirling tempestuous potency. It's akin to being swept up by a storm and assimilated into its vigorous might. Dylan prowls the lip of the stage like some caged beast howling in unrelenting anger. His vocals are astounding and ping-pong in numerous directions. His heartfelt and polite thanks you feel alien coming at the end of tumultuous episodes of bloodcurdling screeches.

In juxtaposition to the preceding acts, Full of Hell constantly fluctuates their speed, moving from galloping acceleration to slow ponderous lethargicness within the blink of an eye. The ever-changing tone and tempo means that the whole thing feels like you are being consumed by consistently altering waves of ever-changing noise.

The intensity of performance and the brevity of the tracks means that the set feels painfully short. It is not even 10 PM when we reach the final number. Fittingly it is liberatingly anarchistic with Richard Larson adding additional screams and Spencer Hazard trying to make holes in Rebellion’s ceiling with his guitar. Everything ratchets up to an explosive conclusion and then Dlyan casually mentions that that is their set.

The audience is understandably unsatisfied and cries of one, two and even three more songs bellow out from the standing area. The band seem moved by the outpouring of adulation and concur with the command. Fittingly for a band operating at a right angle to normality, the encore is fleeting and the requested "one more song” lasts mere milliseconds.

Full of Hell have deconstructed metal and rebuilt it is something ugly, jugular, and seismically powerful. I cannot underplay the level of energy that pulsated off the stage. What to many would have sounded like random unconnected noises, merged together to create the most astonishing and invigorating forty minutes of music (and please note I use music in the most loose of definitions).

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
Full Of Hell, Jarhead Fertilizer, Antichrist Siege Machine, Unyielding Love