Gallery, ReviewDitch This MagazineFebruary 15, 2024gallery, live, melbourne, Odin Imaging, Nathan Goldsworthy, odin imaging, Kreator, In Flames, Destroy All Lines, forum melbourne

Kreator + In Flames @ The Forum 14-02-24

Gallery, ReviewDitch This MagazineFebruary 15, 2024gallery, live, melbourne, Odin Imaging, Nathan Goldsworthy, odin imaging, Kreator, In Flames, Destroy All Lines, forum melbourne

photos and words: Nathan Goldsworthy @odin.imaging

The Melbourne Forum, a concrete coliseum usually bathed in the sterile light of fluorescent bulbs, tonight pulsated with a different kind of glow – the sickly green of envy emanating from the stage lights. Klash of the Titans, a guttural roar more fitting for a descent into hell than a concert, echoed through the air, summoning thousands of metalheads –to witness a clash that would make the gods themselves tremble.

Melbourne, a city that wears its darkness like a second skin, didn't disappoint. The air hung heavy with anticipation, a storm brewing not in the clouds but in the pit below, where bodies thrashed like limbs in a meat grinder gone rogue. When In Flames stormed the stage, the storm broke, and the Forum became a charnel house of ecstasy.

First came the classics, a guttural symphony of their 90s and early 2000s anthems. Behind Space , its melody a siren song for the damned, ripped through the crowd like a banshee's wail, followed by tracks from the "green album," Whoracle, each song a sonic tombstone marking the death of innocence and sanity.

But In Flames weren't content to be mere gravediggers. After a solid 55 minutes of nostalgia, they plunged the dagger into their latest album, with State of Decay, dragging the crowd into the present with its raw, untamed fury. The singer, Anders, unleashed a primal scream that could curdle milk a kilometre away, pushing the crowd back, back, back until the entire lower level of the Forum transformed into a writhing vortex of bodies, a human mosh pit that Dante himself wouldn't have dared to describe. It was beautiful, terrifying, and utterly captivating, like watching a supernova birth itself in the bowels of the earth.

As the final notes of I'm Am Above faded, a hush fell over the crowd, broken only by the ragged breaths and the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor. Anders, his voice hoarse but his eyes burning with the fires of hell, offered a heartfelt thank you that wasn't just lip service; you could feel the genuine gratitude radiating from him like the heat from a dying star. He knew what these songs meant to us, how they provided an escape from the gnawing emptiness that consumed the world outside, a shared experience in the face of the endless darkness.

And then, Take This Life. The final song, a defiant anthem against despair, echoed through the venue, leaving a bittersweet taste in the air. We were left exhilarated, drained, and strangely hopeful, knowing that even in the darkest corners of the world, there was still music, there was still community, there was still catharsis. The set ended, but the echoes of the mosh pit, the screams, and the music lingered, a reminder that sometimes, the only way to survive the darkness is to headbang right into it.

But the night was far from over. As the stage was shrouded in a mammoth drop sheet bearing the Kreator logo, the tension crackled like electricity in the air. You could feel it – this wasn't going to be just another concert; it was going to be a descent into madness.

The lights dimmed, and "Sergio Corbucci is Dead" started playing, its sinister melody rising in volume like a banshee's wail. The drop sheet fell, revealing a feast for the eyes as horrifying as it was magnificent. Corpses draped in sheets hung from the ceiling like macabre decorations, some impaled to the side of the stage, while a giant, grotesque figure resembling the cover of "Violent Mind" loomed ominously over Jürgen on the drum kit.

It didn't take long for the bodies to fly. Miland "Mille" Petrozza, a man possessed by the spirit of a thousand thrash gods, demanded to see some "Melbourne madness," and the crowd responded in kind. The Germans proved they were truly one of the best thrash bands of all time, with the entire venue chanting along to every word of "Satan is Real" and "Hordes of Chaos."

The music was a sonic hammer blow, pulverizing everything in its path. Bodies slammed against bodies, sweat rained down like a biblical deluge, and the mosh pit became a churning sea of pure, unadulterated chaos. It was a scene straight out of Dante's Inferno, but instead of fear, there was exhilaration, a shared communion in the face of sonic oblivion.

As the final notes of "Pleasure to Kill" faded, the Forum was left reeling, a battlefield where the only casualties were sanity and eardrums. But no one cared. We had witnessed something special, a descent into the heart of darkness that left us feeling strangely alive. We had headbanged into the darkness.