SURG TAKES ON KNOTFEST 2024

Image by George McMillan

ROSINA EXPLAINS WHY IT’S ACTUALLY NOT NOT KNOTFEST WITHOUT SLIPKNOT

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. So metal.

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 on 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 an over-priced drink, observing how Melbournian festival-openers King Parrot draw enthusiastic early-risers to the green with their vulgar grindcore and equally tawdry banter. As my mate and I get free air-brush tattoos, we look up to find frontman Youngy with his shorts riding mid-thigh on the screen, mooning the audience and furiously spitting out his signature jagged vocals. The first modest circles of death form pre-noon to new track “Fuck You and The Horse You Rode In On”.

Brand of Sacrifice start up only minutes later, taking Stage 1 in what is totally inappropriate head-to-toe black military gear given the arid forecast. The Canadian deathcore outfit tears through a setlist of cliche-y metal track names, “Ruin”, “Exodus”, “Purge” and “Lifeblood”. BoS run into technical issues, with the member enthusiastically manning the electronic drumkit blissfully unaware that his output is buried in the mix. Choral backing throughout tracks like “Eclipse” supplement recovering frontman Kyle Anderson through a sub-par vocal delivery affected by illness, which is sure to explain why other Australian dates had seen the band perform an instrumental set in his absence.

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 appears eager to shed tired conventions. After issues with the microphone volume are finally sorted, Windwaker wrap up their set with the infectious “SIRENS”. Its overt melodicism and anthemic chorus prompt me to join an enthusiastic crowd of singers, sad to see them go. 

The Australian hardcore unit Speed are utterly grateful to be gracing home soil, continually eulogising the Sydney scene where they cut their teeth. To their credit, they hold down solid basslines and manage to engage a crowd of metalheads that are most likely not there to watch 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 Star Wars’ “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 bass. Benji Webbe, wrapped in scarfs and studs, guides the crowd through his choruses beforehand, stirring surmountable audience participation throughout. 

Escape the Fate follows 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 runs through a cross section of their two-decade long discography, although primarily curated to include songs 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 turns me into an instant fan of this current iteration. I can sense the men around me are largely unimpressed.

Thy Art Is Murder’s set marks a turning point in 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 hands 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 scope the less than stellar portables and take another stab at the alcoholic slushy machine. Not enough kick, I’m afraid. I watch their performance from afar. Sorry, Wage War.

Further up the bill, Asking Alexandria’s set reveals a lot of the already firmly packed crowd to be fans. My ears fill with sounds of the audience singing along to “The Final Episode (Let’s Change The Channel)” as singer Danny Worsnop’s own vocal drowns in the mix. The band expertly works through some technical issues, whilst guitarist Cameron Liddell and bassist Sam Bettley furiously play off each other’s backs. The first acoustic number of Knotfest sees Worsnop dodge and weave through flying foam balls playfully lobbed from behind the barricade, softly strumming guitar in hand.

Before long, the Mongolian folk Metal of the Hu spreads thick over a crowd of bobbing heads. Easily the most out of place act in a chorus of -cores and double kicking, the Hu sport traditional morin khuurs and the tovshuur, tying each song together with formidably monotonous throat singing in their native tongue. 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 line-up of musicians in customary combat wear, I resort to watching someone play solitaire on their phone over their shoulder.

Lzzy Hale enters stage alone with guitar resting on her knee, lunging out to a ravenous audience and addressing the front row intimately. She extends her arms to us, face contorted to acapella a section from searing metal ballad “Raise Your Horns” as hands fly up to salute the sole female performer of Knotfest. 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 leading rock-influenced band on the bill, Halestorm’s SGs and hard rock hooks are muddied with the unhinged drumming of Arejay Hale and Lzzy’s wrenching vocals, pushing their sound into darker territory. Their set ends to fanatical applause from those surrounding, with one of Arejay’s drumsticks flying into my hands as he thanks the pit. With my spoils of war tucked snuggly in waistband, I exit the compress to regroup for our headliners.

Lamb of God ushers the crowd from twilight to dusk on the blackened wings of neo-thrash. The whispered gothic intro of “Memento Mori” stirs over the Parklands before the band steal back 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. It’s clear the promise of Lamb of God has drawn a great portion of attendees to see the band who haven’t 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” off 2003’s As The Palaces Burn in quick succession before we bid them farewell.

David Draiman is a menacing figure as he appears affront of a digital backdrop emblazoned with lyrics to bark out the opening song “Hey You”. Another rallying cry of “Ten Thousand Fists” repairs the festival’s momentum as metalheads raise arms in response to Disturbed’s triumphant chorus. The stage scenery hurtles through 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 preserved technique. Fulfilling her media promise, Lzzy Hale joins Draiman on stage to perform friend and creative partner Ann Wilson of Heart’s role in “Don’t Tell Me”, a heartfelt duet showcasing the honed versatility Disturbed bring to a headlining spot. Leaving the audience charged for Pantera, Disturbed closed their set with visceral megahits “Down With the Sickness” and “Inside the Fire”.

With breaths abated, we anticipate this new amalgamation calling themselves the new Pantera. The stage explodes with the searing intensity of “A New Level”, a characteristic 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 belligerent slew of offerings from 1994’s Far Beyond Driven. The screen lights up with found footage of Dimebag Darrel and Vinnie Paul as Zakk Wylde holds down the famous sludgey guitar solo with a honed dedication. 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. “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 metalheads to negotiate lightrails home the neighbouring Sydney Swans fans. 

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 much better way. Encore, Knotfest.