Wednesday 13 - Rock City, Nottingham – 9th March 2013 (Live Review)
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
Written by Alec Chillingworth
Okay, I feel like I should apologise to you, dear, lovely reader. I should apologise to you and the bands who supported Wednesday 13 tonight. Due to a massive malfunction on my camera’s behalf, I spent the majority of the support acts’ stage time sat in a corner, weeping uncontrollably whilst trying to get it to work again. Due to this unfortunate smattering of fate bestowed upon me, I didn’t really pay as much attention as I should have done. What I can tell you is Skarlett Riot are ones to watch out for; their balls to the wall, garage-tinged hard rock made for an entertaining opener, with front-woman Skarlett’s voice proving to be an absolute powerhouse of melody. They’re worlds apart from Stockholm’s favourite sleezeballs, Sister, who took to the stage with all the subtlety of a Frankie Boyle gag. They had the crowd eating right from their filthy, gloriously nasty palms before they even played a note of music. Their stage presence alone was enough to keep the eyeballs firmly glued to the action, coming across like Mötley Crüe’s homeless cousins. Of course, the music helped; songs such as ‘Spit On Me’ had enough muscularity and power to appeal to the baying crowd, with the lyrical content also lending itself nicely to the witty smut that Wednesday 13 fans are used to. They were both admirable support bands, but now I must switch to the present tense in order to keep things rolling.
As much as the crowd greedily laps up Sister’s wickedly playful spin on glam metal, they’ve all come here tonight for something suitably more evil. A gaggle of freezing cold, rain-sodden goth kids have been casting a sordid shadow over the streets of Nottingham all afternoon, and this is what they’ve been waiting for. Their make-up may be smeared and their leather trousers may never peel away from their pasty legs, but as ‘Death Arise – Intro’ blares from the PA system, all memory of the day’s bestial British weather seems to be wiped away. Wednesday’s ghoulish entourage crawl from the backstage labyrinth/pits of Hell in which they once resided, receiving an insane amount of applause from a modestly filled Rock City. The band viciously launches into new cut ‘Blood Sucker; we all know what that rhymes with, kids? If you’re not completely sure, then Wednesday 13 has just come on stage, and he’s letting you know what it rhymes with. How the man manages to slip the word ‘Motherfucker’ into just about every song is beyond me, but he does it in such a way that never fails to entertain. And entertaining is certainly what he’s set out to do tonight; stalking the stage clad in a fur collar and ghastly pale face paint, every one of the man’s movements being observed to the audience’s delectation. His vocals are on top form as per usual; each harsh shriek and sarcastic snarl is delivered with the conviction and rage that we’re used to with Wednesday.
For the most part, fans seem to get a bit hot and bothered when their favourite artists end up flogging their new album like a dead, decrepit horse. Let’s use Iron Maiden as an example. Everyone loves Iron Maiden. Then again, how much did people love Iron Maiden in 2006, when they decided to play their 70-minute opus, ‘A Matter Of Life And Death’ in full? Whilst I personally loved that album, I can understand why fans were left sobbing as they left the gig without hearing ‘The Number Of The Beast’. With that in mind, the majority of Wednesday 13’s set tonight is frothing with tunes from his classic debut ‘Transylvania 90210’, and latest effort ‘The Dixie Dead’. Seeing as the former album is considered to be his best, and the latter is considered to be a close contender, nobody should really mind. New songs such as ‘Hail Ming’ and the title track are received with ecstatic enthusiasm, lodging themselves comfortably amongst fan favourites such as ‘Rambo’ and ‘Till Death Do Us Party’. But it really is the gems from ‘Transylvania 90210’ that do the show justice. Musical nuggets such as ‘I Walked With A Zombie’ and set-closer ‘Bad Things’ are just undeniable anthems, inciting obscene levels of inappropriate sing-along madness. Lead guitarist Roman Surman really is in his element whilst shredding these tracks, casually laying out the solo to ‘Bad Things’ like it ain’t no fuss.
Tonight is a spectacle, really. Wednesday 13 has returned from the proverbial grave with one of the best albums of his entire career, and he bloody well knows it. Alright, so he hasn’t played ‘Skeletons’, ‘Curse Of Me’ or ‘From Here To The Hearse’. But he’s running around the stage right now, brandishing an umbrella with a big fat ‘FUCK’ emblazoned on it. Can you really argue with that? I thought not.
Check out Stereoboard's interview with Wednesday 13 prior to the gig, here, as well as a recent review of 'The Dixie Dead' here. Wednesday 13 continues his UK tour tonight in Wolverhampton.
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As much as the crowd greedily laps up Sister’s wickedly playful spin on glam metal, they’ve all come here tonight for something suitably more evil. A gaggle of freezing cold, rain-sodden goth kids have been casting a sordid shadow over the streets of Nottingham all afternoon, and this is what they’ve been waiting for. Their make-up may be smeared and their leather trousers may never peel away from their pasty legs, but as ‘Death Arise – Intro’ blares from the PA system, all memory of the day’s bestial British weather seems to be wiped away. Wednesday’s ghoulish entourage crawl from the backstage labyrinth/pits of Hell in which they once resided, receiving an insane amount of applause from a modestly filled Rock City. The band viciously launches into new cut ‘Blood Sucker; we all know what that rhymes with, kids? If you’re not completely sure, then Wednesday 13 has just come on stage, and he’s letting you know what it rhymes with. How the man manages to slip the word ‘Motherfucker’ into just about every song is beyond me, but he does it in such a way that never fails to entertain. And entertaining is certainly what he’s set out to do tonight; stalking the stage clad in a fur collar and ghastly pale face paint, every one of the man’s movements being observed to the audience’s delectation. His vocals are on top form as per usual; each harsh shriek and sarcastic snarl is delivered with the conviction and rage that we’re used to with Wednesday.
