Conan, Chained To The Bottom Of The Ocean & KULK – Waterfront, Norwich, 23.11.25
Sadly, the official headcount on the night was tragic. A few days before payday, on a miserable Sunday night in Norwich, the crowd was sparse. But here is the immutable truth: the size of the room does not dictate the power unleashed inside it. The dedicated few who showed up were treated to a stellar line-up that served as a necessary reminder that Doom is not a genre; it is a physical state of being.
The night was a three-part descent into sonic oblivion, where silence was banished and bass frequency became a lethal weapon.
The assault began with Kulk (8), the two-piece who demonstrated the true meaning of making a huge racket with minimal resources. Forget superfluous guitarists. this unit delivered a monolithic wall of sound powered solely by a bass and a drum kit that had clearly mortally offended the drummer. She beat the hell out of that kit with a furious, precise energy, delivering a devastating, rhythmic foundation. Kulk is essential friction, using minimalist instrumentation to prove that if your percussionist is angry enough, you don't need melody. Their sound was a crushing piece of work, perfectly priming the audience for the coming tectonic shift.
Next up, the pure, distilled sonic decay of Chained To The Bottom Of The Ocean (9). This Massachusetts sludge-doom unit specializes in thematic weight and crushing density. They delivered a set without a single pause, no crowd chatter, and zero request for validation. This was a ritual of sound with the atmosphere so thick it felt like being submerged in the very name of the band performing. The only interaction was the sheer, suffocating density of the noise itself. The guitarist and bassist spent as much time facing their amps, squeezing out that thick, venomous wall of feedback and drone, as they did facing the faithful crowd.
I doubt there is a better way to spend a cold Sunday night in Norwich than getting your soul crushed by the combined weight of these three acts. The sparse crowd proved that only the truly dedicated brave the Sunday night Doom pilgrimage, and they were justly rewarded with total annihilation. All three bands deserved a bigger crowd, this was a brilliant night of sludge and aggression.
The assault began with Kulk (8), the two-piece who demonstrated the true meaning of making a huge racket with minimal resources. Forget superfluous guitarists. this unit delivered a monolithic wall of sound powered solely by a bass and a drum kit that had clearly mortally offended the drummer. She beat the hell out of that kit with a furious, precise energy, delivering a devastating, rhythmic foundation. Kulk is essential friction, using minimalist instrumentation to prove that if your percussionist is angry enough, you don't need melody. Their sound was a crushing piece of work, perfectly priming the audience for the coming tectonic shift.
Next up, the pure, distilled sonic decay of Chained To The Bottom Of The Ocean (9). This Massachusetts sludge-doom unit specializes in thematic weight and crushing density. They delivered a set without a single pause, no crowd chatter, and zero request for validation. This was a ritual of sound with the atmosphere so thick it felt like being submerged in the very name of the band performing. The only interaction was the sheer, suffocating density of the noise itself. The guitarist and bassist spent as much time facing their amps, squeezing out that thick, venomous wall of feedback and drone, as they did facing the faithful crowd.
Their deliberate self-sacrifice in noise created a genuine deluge of sludgy, doom-laden metal that felt like the earth rupturing beneath the venue. Their capacity for maintaining that monolithic, unbroken weight across their entire set was epic, a testament to their uncompromising vision. The fact they arrived on stage, never spoke a word to the crowd, delivered an epic set and drenched it is feedback made this my personal stand out of the night.
Finally, Conan (9) arrived to do exactly what was expected. Loud, Heavy, grinding metal. Their sound is elemental, built on monolithic chug and riffs that operate at a pace best described as glacial inevitability. Known globally for their sheer volume and mythological themes, the trio performed with the brutal certainty of a storm front, ensuring every person in the room absorbed the full, necessary impact of their low-end power. Conan doesn't perform songs; they perform acts of sonic geological change, delivering crushing weight with undeniable groove. They left no doubt that they are the kings of the colossal riff.
Finally, Conan (9) arrived to do exactly what was expected. Loud, Heavy, grinding metal. Their sound is elemental, built on monolithic chug and riffs that operate at a pace best described as glacial inevitability. Known globally for their sheer volume and mythological themes, the trio performed with the brutal certainty of a storm front, ensuring every person in the room absorbed the full, necessary impact of their low-end power. Conan doesn't perform songs; they perform acts of sonic geological change, delivering crushing weight with undeniable groove. They left no doubt that they are the kings of the colossal riff.
I doubt there is a better way to spend a cold Sunday night in Norwich than getting your soul crushed by the combined weight of these three acts. The sparse crowd proved that only the truly dedicated brave the Sunday night Doom pilgrimage, and they were justly rewarded with total annihilation. All three bands deserved a bigger crowd, this was a brilliant night of sludge and aggression.
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