SURG TAKES ON KNOTFEST 2024

Whether it be by eventual death or Rapture, I hope I cross the pearly gates into something as entirely idyllic as the Centennial Parklands on March the 23rd. I sit with fellow journalists, not so subtly rolling my neck to prep for the feat of endurance that will surely be reporting 10+ hours of head-thrashing live music. To come: my friends desperately try to down as many mid-strength JD and cokes possible in a half-hearted attempt to locate the buzz, I get knocked in the back, the face, the shin, and the shoulder (and love it), and 14 of the best running metal acts fill two stages to entertain me and every other eye-linered, band-patch-wearing, long-haired freak who managed to get a Saturday off. 

The hush concern among the crowd is whether this year’s iteration of the festival will hold up to the debut. With 2023’s incredible headliners Slipknot, Parkway Drive and Megadeth driving a complete sell-out a week ahead of the event, the festival namesake’s absence and controversy plaguing every conversation about the Pantera reunion seem to have slowed ticket sales down this year. It’s hard to distinguish too much of a difference in turn-out as the first lot of punters scramble down the hill to already line the barricade.

I enjoy my first over-priced drink of the day a little out from Stage 2 to see Melbournian festival openers King Parrot draw the most enthusiastic early-rises to the green with their vulgar grindcore. As my mate and I get free air-brush tattoos, we look up to see front-man Youngy with his shorts riding mid-thigh on the screen, mooning the audience and furiously spitting out jagged vocals. The first modest circles of death form pre-noon to new track “Fuck You and The Horse You Rode In On”.

 

 

Windwaker’s singer Liam Guinane wears an oversized graphic tee and straight leg pants, attire more fitting to Laneway than Knotfest. I take to the act immediately, breathing in pop hooks dispersed amongst death growls and… rapping? It’s genre fusion that points to the future of metal, and it’s a future that seems eager to shed tired conventions. After issues with the microphone volume are finally sorted, Windwaker see out their set with the infectious “SIRENS”. Its overt melodicism and anthemic chorus see me join an enthusiastic crowd of singers, sad to see them go. 

The Australian hardcore unit Speed are entirely grateful to be gracing home soil, continually eulogising the Sydney scene where they cut their teeth. To their credit, they held down solid basslines and managed to engage a crowd of metalheads that were most likely not there to see a hardcore act. 

Back over Stage 2, dressing of an urban skyline is pulled overhead and a greyscale Union Jack is firmly planted centre stage, reminiscent of Skindred’s 2023 LP Smile’s cover art. To a remixed version of Starwar’s “Imperial March”, the Welsh regga-metalists waltz from the wings with undeniable swagger. Their set is filled with nu-metal highlights ‘Nobody’ and ‘That’s My Jam’, and newer favourites like ‘Give Me That Boom’, treating us to heavy riffs, insistently underpinned by infectious grooving basslines. Benji Webbe, wrapped in scarfs and studs, guides the crowd through his choruses beforehand, stirring surmountable audience participation throughout. 

 

 

Escape the Fate followed with what was sure to be the sexiest set of the day. Sporting their long black hair, skinny jeans and vocal intonation that is distinctly of the emo mid 2000s in which they found their footing, the surviving line-up ran through a cross section of their two decade long discography with songs majority pulled from 2010’s This War Is Ours, 2013’s Ungrateful and their most recent LP 2023’s Out of the Shadows. Matti Hoffman props his axe upon his knee, sliding through the steely guitar intro to “Gorgeous Nightmare” in a way that turned me into an instant fan of this iteration. I could sense the men around me were largely unimpressed.

Thy Art Is Murder’s set marked a turning point in crowd density with it no longer easy to sidestep a crowd, unless with elbows engaged. Calls from new frontman Tyler Miller to open a pit defy all logic as room that technically should not exist does, and I take the opportunity to throw myself into the mix. Almost immediately hitting the grass, four hand scoop under my armpits to pick me up. Moshing etiquette prevails, even under the droning vocals of Thy Art’s deathcore. 

During Wage War, I took the opportunity to piss in less than stellar portables and took another stab at the alcoholic slushy machine. Not enough kick, I’m afraid. I watched their set from afar. Sorry, Wage War.

Further up the bill, Asking Alexandria’s set revealed a lot of the already firmly packed crowd to be fans. As green foam balls were playfully pegged at singer Danny Worsnop, my ears were filled with sounds of the audience singing along to ‘The Final Episode (Let’s Change The Channel)’ as Worsnop’s own vocal drowned in the mix. The band expertly worked through some technical issues, whilst guitarist Cameron Liddell and bassist Sam Bettley furiously played off each other throughout the set. The first acoustic number of Knotfest saw Worsnop dodge and weave through flying green balls, softly strumming guitar in hand.

 

 

 

Before long, the Mongolian folk Metal of the Hu spread thick over a crowd of bobbing heads. Easily the most out of place act in a chorus of -cores and double kicking, the Hu sported morin khuurs and the tovshuur, tying each song together with formidably monotonous throat singing in their native tongue. The strings-like instrumentation set the wave of music forebodingly, rolling over the crowd and further up the valley of the Parklands with noble insistence. To my discredit, a poor understanding of their discography and a weak ear to distinguish changes in tracks resulted in the whole set bleeding together. Locked in my position at the adjacent stage and forced to awkwardly crane my head to see the lineup of musicians in traditional military wear, I resorted to watching someone play solitaire on their phone over their shoulder.

Lzzy Hale enters stage with a guitar she does not intend to use yet, resting on her knee as she lunged out to the audience. She extends her arms to the front row, singing acapella a section from searing metal ballad off their latest album, ‘Raise Your Horns’. Hands flew up in response to salute the sole female performer of Knotfest in the only way metalheads know how. The rest of the band follow closely, promptly running through hits GRAMMY-winning ‘Love Bites (And So Do I)’ and ‘Miss The Misery’ off of 2012’s The Strange Case Of…, confidently interspersed with newer offerings off Back From the Dead ‘Bombshell’ and ‘The Steeple’. Inarguably the most rock influenced band on the bill, Halestorm SGs and hard rock hooks were insistently made harder with the unhinged drumming of Arejay Hale and Lzzy’s wrenching vocals pushing their sound into darker territory. Their set ended to fanatical applause from those surrounding me and Arejay’s drumstick striking me in the forehead. With drumstick tucked snuggly in waistband, I exited the pit to regroup for our headliners.

 

 

 

Lamb of God ushered the crowd from twilight to dusk on the wings of neo-thrash. The whispered gothic intro of ‘Memento Mori’ stirs over the parklands before the band takes the stage in a flurry of kick drums and chugging guitars. I observe from the very back of the field, looking out onto an impregnable crowd of swirling pits and hair flying through the air. It’s clear Lamb of God have a great portion of attendees here to see the band who havent graced our shores since 2016. It’s a reunion short-lived as an emergency cuts into a great part of the middle set. Randy Blythe assuages an irritated crowd that’s split in two to make way for a medical buggy. As soon as virtually possible, the doom is back and Lamb of God run through an abridged version of their intended hour setlist. We still get to enjoy the sporadically sputtering kick of ‘Ruin’ and the molten fury of ‘Vigil’ in quick succession off 2003’s As The Palaces Burn.

David Draiman is as menacing a figure as any as he appears affront of a digital backdrop emblazoned with lyrics to opening song ‘Hey You’. Another rallying cry of ‘Ten Thousand Fists’ repairs the festival’s moment as metalheads raise arms in response to the triumphant chorus. By far the most theatrical production of the night changes the stage scenery from the eerie graphics of latest album Divisive during ‘Bad Man’ to candle-lit minimalism for their Simon & Garfunkel cover ‘The Sound of Silence’. Draimain’s lackeys exit for the sombre track, as the singer’s hush crooning grows and dips in a true testament to his surviving technique. Fulfilling her promise, Lzzy Hale joins Draiman on stage to fulfill friend and creative partner Ann Wilson of Heart’s role in ‘Don’t Tell Me’, a duet showcasing the honed versatility Disturbed bring to a headlining spot. Leaving the audience charged for Pantera, Disturbed closed their set with megahits “Down With the Sickness” and “Inside the Fire”.

 

 

With breaths abated, we anticipate this new amalgamation calling themselves Pantera. The stage explodes with the searing intensity of ‘A New Level’, a signature brutality we had been sorely missing for two decades. Phil Anselmo is full of verve for this reincarnation, dissuading any last scepticism that this will not be a show ultimately rooted in tribute and honour for their departed members. ‘Floods’ slows down the tempo after a whiplash slew of offerings from 1994’s Far Beyond Driven. The screen lights up with found footage of Dimebag Darrel and Vinne Paul as Zakk Wylde holds down the famous sludgey guitar with indisputable capability. ‘Walk’ and ‘Cowboys from Hell’ are finally delivered to an audience that evidently hungers to experience such essential tracks at this scale. After a respectable one-song encore of ‘Fucking Hostile’, Anselmo acapellas the final line to Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’, condemning a sea of metal heads to negotiate lightrails home with the neighbouring Sydney Swans fans. In my heart of hearts, I believe we will never again capture the true essence of Pantera. But this makes for a very apt dedication to what once was.

I sit next to a pool of vomit on public transport. The reek makes me humble. This whole experience has made me humble… Though, in a different way. A much better way.