Orange Goblin are welcomed to the stage in a unison of raised (full) pints and metal horn hands. Having set up their own gear and positioned their own drinks before stepping out to play, the foursome humbly reiterate a simple truth before they've even stuck a note; if there was ever a band who did it for the pure love of a riff rather than the hype, fame or the cash; it's these hairy bastards.
We Know That Your World Will Hate This makes an early appearance, cementing the return of the Goblin to their Underworld home with a raucous outburst of proper sweaty, messy moshing; none of the rubbish hardcore acrobatics that too often take place upon the pillared floor these days. Forthcoming material is given an marvellous introduction in the shape of The Ballad of Solomon Eagle. A menacing blues riff and resounding crescendo’s see Joe Hoare’s ZZ Top style shining through the slightly muddied mix.
The P.A. could have cut out completely during Blue Snow for all the fans cared though, as every word is barked along from the opening line, proving that their oldest material works just as well as their most recent, even if the lyrics have moved on from Lord of the Rings-esque fantasy since the Time Travelling Blues days.
Jumping forward to their new release, Cities of Frost and Hounds Ditch ring out with force, and Ben can’t help but smile as Some You Win gets its traditional crowd line roared back by the whole house. Their young thrashing devotees pressed up against the stage are subdued slightly during the newer numbers, but there’s no such reservation when Round Up the Horses makes its devious presence felt. Undoubtedly the heaviest track this band have committed to tape, and my word does it transfer live, begging belief that it’s only a three piece making quite such a din.
The encore numbers might have been a preparation for their (much overdue) trip to Donnington next month, and the finest line to pass Ben’s lips this evening occurs within seconds of them returning; “It’s all about the Motorhead!” he screams, kick starting a cover of No Class before Scorpianica wraps up a blistering set from the London lads who are the life and breath of proper British metal; shame we won’t be seeing them on the cover of any so called metal mags anytime soon.
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