Glittery glam metal into the electric night
The world is getting more cynical; the audience told me so. Having missed The Defiled, second band of the evening are the up-and-coming Marionette. The bloke standing behind me summed the whole thing up a few songs into the set: “There’s two gigs here: the twenty people at the front, and the rest of us.” You can’t fault the energy or the enthusiasm, although it was easy to get distracted. They clearly had a creditable fan following, but the Trivium-style hammer clearly didn’t interest the majority of the room. The highlight was the Dr-Who-meets-The-X-Files synths, inching the songs into the territory of progressive metal. It wasn’t a bad show, apart from the banter. What there was of it was quite unfortunate, and ending with “See you at the merchandise” brought to mind Pink Floyd’s mockery of Leary’s soundbite: turn up, shell out, get lost.
It’s difficult to say which began first; the ominous drumming and cathedral synths, or the girls screaming. The audience reaction threatens to overwhelm the sound of the band at times. Deathstars certainly have cultivated a devoted following, and brought in a good selection of the mildly curious tonight. They open with the glittery thud of Night Electric Night, the gothic wail of the synths and odd growl of singer Whiplasher Bernadotte (Andreas Bergh to his friends) hitting the audience with full force. We’re not even five minutes in, and he is already addressing the enthusiastic crowd in his unhurried way: “We appreciate you wanting to be close to us right now, but please move away.”
Launching into Motherzone with a yell of “I wanna see your hands!” which is met with ardent grabbing and more screams. Bernadotte is the consummate frontman, preening and posturing with the obligatory black uniform and glittery hair. And the rest of the band respect that while working their way around the stage. He shifts between singing and addressing the crowd with ease, before the euphoric rumble of 'Mark Of The Gun'. They tease and twist their way through their set, gently heckling the audience with heavy murmurs of hotel rooms, and declaring themselves tutors to the audience’s willing students. The crowd lap it up, although they fall short of taking Bernadotte up on his suggestion that the girls undress. 'Tongues', 'The Fuel Ignites', and 'New Dead Nation' ensure that Deathstars’ students get “full marks” from their headmasters. At some point Bernadotte has regained his hat, and punctuates the space between the noise with heavy sighs and moans, along with drum-rolls, sirens, and explosions in the music.
Of course, if you rely so heavily on banter with the crowd, expect a few replies. One rather forward young lady demands a kiss from Bernadotte, who dodges the question by spewing forth some incoherent babble about blondes, humanity, and blood. Aw, maybe he suddenly went all shy. More likely he was introducing the next track, followed by fan favourite 'Cyanide' as it’s shoved down our collective throats with a dose of water thrown from the front of the stage. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos bassist Skinny Disco has ‘misplaced’ his top, and one poor unfortunate recipient of the water is declared “to be excused” by Bernadotte. His announcement that a ‘star pupil’ will get a backstage invite drives the die-hard group barmy. Even more so than the screech of 'Death Dies Hard', before we’re all kicked out into the rain.