Gallery, ReviewDitch This MagazineFebruary 15, 2025gallery, live, melbourne, Odin Imaging, Nathan Goldsworthy, odin imaging, Solkyri, Lune, Angelmaker, Sylosis, Max Watts

Sylosis + Angelmaker + Lune @ Max Watts 14-02-25

Gallery, ReviewDitch This MagazineFebruary 15, 2025gallery, live, melbourne, Odin Imaging, Nathan Goldsworthy, odin imaging, Solkyri, Lune, Angelmaker, Sylosis, Max Watts

photos: Nathan Goldsworthy @odin.imaging

Max Watts venue loomed in the heart of Melbourne like a monolith, its walls vibrating with the low, ominous hum of anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and the faint metallic tang of spilled beer. It was a night for the faithful, the kind of night where the shadows seemed to dance on their own, and the crowd—a motley congregation of death, thrash, black, deathcore, and prog metal disciples—gathered like moths to a flame. They were there for Sylosis, a band returning after a decade-long absence, and the promise of something dark, something primal, hung heavy in the air.

First to take the stage was Lune, their presence announced not by words but by the low, guttural growl of amplifiers coming to life. Nathaniel Smith, their frontman, moved like a man possessed, his voice a weapon that cut through the haze. The crowd swayed as if under a spell, their bodies moving in unison to the band’s heavy, groove-laden riffs. Smith’s declaration, “We’re here to piss off elitists,” was less a statement and more a battle cry, a middle finger to the gatekeepers of the genre. The crowd roared in approval, their voices rising like a storm.

Then came Angelmaker, and the atmosphere shifted. Two vocalists prowled the stage like predators, their growls and screams intertwining in a macabre dance. Three guitarists wove a tapestry of sound, their riffs sharp and unrelenting. The music was brutal, unapologetic, and yet there was a strange beauty to it, like watching a wildfire consume everything in its path. The crowd thrashed and surged, caught in the maelstrom.

But it was Sylosis who truly owned the night. When they took the stage, the venue seemed to hold its breath. The first chord struck like a thunderclap, and the crowd erupted, a sea of bodies moving as one. Sylosis’ music was a force of nature, a perfect storm of technical precision and raw, unbridled power. Each note, each riff, felt like a hammer blow, driving the audience deeper into the frenzy. The band moved as if they were one entity, their chemistry undeniable, their sound a living, breathing thing. The mosh pits were chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of limbs and sweat, and yet there was a strange sense of unity, a shared understanding that this was more than just a concert. It was a ritual, a communion.

By the time the final note faded, the crowd was spent, their voices hoarse, their bodies bruised and drenched in sweat. The air was heavy with the weight of what had just transpired, the kind of heaviness that lingers long after the lights come up.