Anthrax came onstage to an altogether different rapture. A rapture of silence, broken only by the cries of hundreds of dedicated followers. It was a tribal atmosphere, but it was an atmosphere independent of the hosts. Anthrax’s pet rabbits could’ve been playing up there and nobody would have given a shit either way. As long as it looked and sounded about right. The anti-war speeches came out as they knew they had to and disclaimers were made, polite insults were thrown and from then on it was all about Anthrax for everyone there, but that’s not the point…
Welsh Bands – they must just all dress that way up in Ponty. No fucking innovation. No fucking style. They all just copy each other. They’re just a bunch of fucking wasters. They should all just give up and fuck off.
Ha. No. They clearly follow the ‘Clothing Template of Cool’ TM so that they can save their indubitable talent for their music. Hondo Maclean are here to play some metal. Oh my god. They must be just another super-lame nu-metal band. Nope. Sorry. This is real metal (LOL). Metal played with the recondite riffs, the despondent hollers and the obtuse overtones missed so dearly and so damn often.
They don’t help win the crowd over with their agitated breed of stage movement, akin to choreography. I assure you it’s all off the cuff tomfoolery, in the way only bands not yet jaded by the fatigue of months of near-constant touring can do. Screamo overloads coursing through brutal riffs and other intricate axe tinkerings are pretty good ways of redeeming yourselves, however.
They shat all over Anthrax who, incidentally, were wearing matching shirts.
But anyway…
