Three years. It was three blooming years ago that this show was meant to happen. It is so long ago that both main acts are on different album cycles to the one that the show was originally meant to be part of, and the undercard has changed at least four times since it was originally announced. There has been so much to-ing and fro-ing at the bottom end of the bill that there seems to be a general sense of bewilderment as the masses wander to be greeted by the frat party thrash of Municipal Waste. Tony Foresta is not one to be backward in coming forward to declare the absurdity of things and he gleefully points out that it seems like only yesterday that they were in this very room supporting Anthrax. 

 Municipal Waste was the linchpin of the thrash revival long before the thrash revival came into being. For around 10 years they were number one in a veritable field of one as they gleefully revelled in thrash’s juvenile absurdity and its obsession with the three B's (booze, bongs and boobs). Then suddenly and rather inexplicably they found themselves thrust into the limelight as part of thrash’s wonderful rejuvenating rebirth. There is a distinct comedic angle to their approach, but they have managed to not wear the joke thin (Steel Panther I'm looking at you) by staying just the right side of parody. They are not laughing at thrash’s ridiculousness, they are laughing with it and rejoicing in the utter farcicality of the whole thing. 

Tonight, we get 13 songs in under half an hour and it's a frantic celebration of the communal joy that is heavy metal. The hall rapidly fills as they plough through their set and Tony F seems rather chuffed with the reaction that they receive (he goes as far as to announce that this is better than the aforementioned Anthrax show). There is a primal beauty to what they do and even though most of us have seen it all before, the crowd succumbs as one to the utter joy of screaming “Municipal Waste is going to fuck you up”.

Over on the continent not only is this tour ripping through monolithic-sized arenas, but it is actually a doubleheader between Lamb of God and Kreator, with the latter taking on top draw status in most territories. Yet now we have arrived in the good old U of K, the whole billing has been swapped around and Kreator have been unceremoniously demoted to main support. However, nobody seems to have told Mille Petrozza, as for the entire duration of their hour on stage, he rules the roost like some headlining rock god. There is no support act humility at play here, like some demented ringmaster Mille demands audience reaction and by Jove, he's going to get it. We are not even two songs in, and we are getting the whole "which side can scream loudest” malarkey. 

The fact of the matter is that over the years Kreator have evolved into a slick arena levelling machine. They might have had to squeeze their gigantic production into the same hall where I did my finals, but nothing is going to detain them from putting on a show. They are gloriously entertaining and utterly magnificent. Their USP is that they have managed to create a whole catalogue worth of extremely catchy heavy-metal ditties. They inexplicably manage to fuse the throwaway refrains of pop with the tumultuous mite of metal. Every chorus tonight is a singalong, and they are so gloriously simplistic that even those who were completely ignorant to Kreator’s existence before the show are soon heartedly yelling “Satan is Real” at the top of their voices.

What we get is essentially a Kreator greatest hits set. Neither they nor Lamb of God seem quite sure what album they are promoting with this tour and instead both elect to just give us the bangers. Kreator’s set is a wonderful smorgasbord of anthemic driving metal and it's all precision engineered to be sung along by hordes of thousands. It's so beautifully choreographed, that the time just flies away with itself and before you know it Kreator are tumbling into their final number. ‘Pleasure to Kill’ is as gloriously infectious as the ten songs that preceded it. Simple but also simultaneously resplendent in its metallic girth, it brings the set to a fitting and triumphant conclusion. Then with the now obligatory parting shot of "the Kreator will return” they are gone. 

By the time they hit the stage, there is no doubt that Lamb of God are the main deal on tonight's bill. The Academy has moved beyond heaving and is meandering towards bursting at the seams. The pit is in danger of becoming a sentient being, born out of the blood, sweat and kinetic energy being poured into it. Lamb of God are the most thoroughly dependable of bands and that is meant as the hugest of compliments. You know exactly what you are getting get from a Lamb of God performance and they never give anything below 155%. 

Aside from resigned mentions of three years, there are no onstage apologies for the multiple delays to this tour (some caused by COVID and some by the band itself) but they seem intent on making up for any inconvenience on our part by whisking the room into a tumultuous trough of pulsating energy. There are no down moments, instead it is a breakneck rush through the veritable highlights of their back catalogue. ‘Walk with me in Hell’ is chucked out early doors and creates a wonderfully frantic scream-along moment.

Whilst it has blurred into one whether they are currently promoting 2020’s self-titled album or last year’s “Omens” they don't seem to be in a particular hurry to overdose us on either record, and we get just two songs from each release. Instead, they major in on their finest moments and give us three songs a piece from the raw titillation of “As The Palaces Burn” and “Ashes of the Wake”. There is something wonderful about the life-affirming familiarity of the material aired. I have experienced ‘11th Hour’, ‘Now You’ve Got Something To Die For’ and ‘Laid to Rest’ live more times than I care to remember but that still doesn't stop them from being huge corrosive and pulsating slabs all-consuming of heaviness that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Lamb of God will never disappoint as a live proposition as they are just too good to do so. The set is frenetic and tumultuous, but is also masterfully stage-managed by all involved, staying on just the right side of anarchic. Randy Blythe is as affable as he is antagonistic. He flits between espousing the virtues of his afternoon wander around our city to then goading us into creating the biggest circle pit the venue has ever seen. He becomes a conductor of the chaos, egging the pit on to increase its velocity.

It ends with Redneck, with Randy signalling that he wants to see every person in the room move. There are very few exceptions as the whole audience shuffles as one. And then with very little ceremony, it's all over. A scant hour and a quarter after they hit the stage. Yes, more would be nice but there is no lingering feeling of being undersold or underprovided. Lamb of God have reached the point where every performance feels like a special moment and as we wander blinking out into the night sky the collective impression is quite simply one of, wow.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!

Lamb Of God, Kreator, Municipal Waste