No scores for this one as it's a charity/fundraising gig - Ed
Matters opened the night and honestly, it was heavy in a way you don’t shake off easily. An audio-visual electronic duo, they built a slow, dark ambient tension that crept under your skin, the music unfolding patiently beneath the visuals. The opening slide hit like a punch to the chest; over 19,000 children killed since 07/10/23, and then the names started rolling. Name after name after name, carried by low, pulsing electronics that let the weight of it land without rushing or sensationalising it, tension building piece by piece until the whole room felt held inside it. It was immersive in a way that didn’t demand attention but quietly commanded it.
What really worked was how much space they gave the music to breathe. They let repetition do the heavy lifting, letting the sound coil tighter and tighter, creating that uneasy, cinematic pressure where you’re waiting for something to break, but it never quite does. Instead, it pulls you further in. The visuals ran alongside it seamlessly, not as a distraction or a gimmick, but as part of the composition.
The video spoke for itself, and the music gave it weight. No one in the room forgot why we were there, but it never tipped into discomfort or performative shock. People genuinely connected, you could feel it. Heads nodding, bodies moving slowly, eyes fixed forward. It was affecting and poignant without being heavy-handed. The tone for the entire night had been set: focused, intentional, and deeply human.
Total Luck came on like a release of pressure, not a mood break, but a jolt of momentum. They sit in that sweet spot between punk, post-punk, and post-hardcore where things feel urgent without tipping into chaos. Angular guitars, locked-in rhythm, and a sound that’s rough around the edges in a way that feels intentional. From the first song, they had the room moving, not because they demanded it, but because the energy coming off the stage was impossible to ignore.
All Mics set the pace straight away, tight and urgent and they never let up after that. Wired Up and Say Nothing kept that tension coiled, all jagged turns and forward motion, the kind of songs that make people shift closer without thinking about it. There’s no dead air in their set; everything feels purposeful. They play like a band that trusts each other completely, hitting changes cleanly but still keeping that raw edge that makes it feel alive rather than over-rehearsed.
The guitarist was relentless, genuinely inexhaustible, pushing every track forward with heart and soul rather than flash. No posing, no filler, just constant drive, like the songs might fall apart if they stop moving for even a second. Total Luck don’t do polish or comfort; they do momentum. By the time Wound landed, the room was fully with them, caught up in the noise and the movement. It was one of those sets where you walk away knowing you’ve just watched a band on the right path, playing like it really matters to them, because it clearly does.
Meatdripper took the night somewhere darker and heavier, dragging the room into a psych-sludge doom fog that felt thick enough to lean on. Walls of fuzz rolled out across the floor, slow and ugly in the best possible way, with vocals that came through warped and alien, almost Dalek-like, cutting through the low end rather than sitting on top of it. It wasn’t clean or polite; it was oppressive, immersive, and exactly what the crowd wanted.
Without a neat setlist to hang onto, the performance felt more like a single, shifting mass than a run of separate songs. Riffs stretched and collapsed, tempos lurched, and the noise built until the pit cracked open almost by instinct. You could feel the push and pull between the band, moments of restraint giving way to sheer weight, and it made the whole thing feel unpredictable in a way that kept people locked in. This wasn’t background heaviness; it demanded attention.
There was an emotional edge running through it all too. With this being drummer Kai’s last show, the connection between the band was impossible to miss. Between the crushing sections, there were hugs, glances, banter with the crowd; small moments that made the set feel personal rather than just punishing. It landed as both a release and a goodbye, and that combination made it hit harder. Heavy music works best when it feels honest and sincere, and Meatdripper delivered exactly that.
Flesh Creep are my band. I’m not impartial and I’m not trying to be, this is the point where objectivity goes out of the window because they’re always this good. Not “good on the night”, not “tight for a local band”, just consistently and relentlessly excellent. Flesh Creep have a way of turning a room feral within seconds, and once it tips, there’s no pulling it back. They don’t warm up, they don’t ease in they arrive already at full throttle and that’s rare. They make hardcore feel dangerous, inclusive, and fun at the same time: everything’s fast, clenched, nasty, but there’s still this buzz of joy in the room like everyone’s in on the same secret. They don’t come on stage to “perform”, they come on to do the job, and the job is to level the place.
The set was a proper battering ram of absolute bangers; Gold, Heads Will Roll, Like Dogs, False Flag, Turf War, Video Nasty, the kind of run where you stop thinking in individual songs and you’re just hanging on while the room turns into movement. King Of The Hill went off too, and it still hits like getting shoved forward by a wave.
And then there’s the thing you can’t fake: how much they mean it. They led the chants of “free, free Palestine”, thanked the support acts, thanked the crowd, and still had enough gas in the tank to go above and beyond, even playing an extra song. That’s Flesh Creep in a sentence: no excuses, no coasting, no “that’ll do.” It helps that the crowd around them is always part of it, Tom’s mum there, Lexi (Misgendered) and Fenn getting stuck in with mic grabs, two-stepping… the whole glorious mess of it. They’re not just one of the best bands in Birmingham; they’re one of the best bands out there, full stop, and the annoying thing? They make it look easy.
Matters opened the night and honestly, it was heavy in a way you don’t shake off easily. An audio-visual electronic duo, they built a slow, dark ambient tension that crept under your skin, the music unfolding patiently beneath the visuals. The opening slide hit like a punch to the chest; over 19,000 children killed since 07/10/23, and then the names started rolling. Name after name after name, carried by low, pulsing electronics that let the weight of it land without rushing or sensationalising it, tension building piece by piece until the whole room felt held inside it. It was immersive in a way that didn’t demand attention but quietly commanded it.
What really worked was how much space they gave the music to breathe. They let repetition do the heavy lifting, letting the sound coil tighter and tighter, creating that uneasy, cinematic pressure where you’re waiting for something to break, but it never quite does. Instead, it pulls you further in. The visuals ran alongside it seamlessly, not as a distraction or a gimmick, but as part of the composition.
The video spoke for itself, and the music gave it weight. No one in the room forgot why we were there, but it never tipped into discomfort or performative shock. People genuinely connected, you could feel it. Heads nodding, bodies moving slowly, eyes fixed forward. It was affecting and poignant without being heavy-handed. The tone for the entire night had been set: focused, intentional, and deeply human.
Total Luck came on like a release of pressure, not a mood break, but a jolt of momentum. They sit in that sweet spot between punk, post-punk, and post-hardcore where things feel urgent without tipping into chaos. Angular guitars, locked-in rhythm, and a sound that’s rough around the edges in a way that feels intentional. From the first song, they had the room moving, not because they demanded it, but because the energy coming off the stage was impossible to ignore.
All Mics set the pace straight away, tight and urgent and they never let up after that. Wired Up and Say Nothing kept that tension coiled, all jagged turns and forward motion, the kind of songs that make people shift closer without thinking about it. There’s no dead air in their set; everything feels purposeful. They play like a band that trusts each other completely, hitting changes cleanly but still keeping that raw edge that makes it feel alive rather than over-rehearsed.
The guitarist was relentless, genuinely inexhaustible, pushing every track forward with heart and soul rather than flash. No posing, no filler, just constant drive, like the songs might fall apart if they stop moving for even a second. Total Luck don’t do polish or comfort; they do momentum. By the time Wound landed, the room was fully with them, caught up in the noise and the movement. It was one of those sets where you walk away knowing you’ve just watched a band on the right path, playing like it really matters to them, because it clearly does.
Meatdripper took the night somewhere darker and heavier, dragging the room into a psych-sludge doom fog that felt thick enough to lean on. Walls of fuzz rolled out across the floor, slow and ugly in the best possible way, with vocals that came through warped and alien, almost Dalek-like, cutting through the low end rather than sitting on top of it. It wasn’t clean or polite; it was oppressive, immersive, and exactly what the crowd wanted.
Without a neat setlist to hang onto, the performance felt more like a single, shifting mass than a run of separate songs. Riffs stretched and collapsed, tempos lurched, and the noise built until the pit cracked open almost by instinct. You could feel the push and pull between the band, moments of restraint giving way to sheer weight, and it made the whole thing feel unpredictable in a way that kept people locked in. This wasn’t background heaviness; it demanded attention.
There was an emotional edge running through it all too. With this being drummer Kai’s last show, the connection between the band was impossible to miss. Between the crushing sections, there were hugs, glances, banter with the crowd; small moments that made the set feel personal rather than just punishing. It landed as both a release and a goodbye, and that combination made it hit harder. Heavy music works best when it feels honest and sincere, and Meatdripper delivered exactly that.
Flesh Creep are my band. I’m not impartial and I’m not trying to be, this is the point where objectivity goes out of the window because they’re always this good. Not “good on the night”, not “tight for a local band”, just consistently and relentlessly excellent. Flesh Creep have a way of turning a room feral within seconds, and once it tips, there’s no pulling it back. They don’t warm up, they don’t ease in they arrive already at full throttle and that’s rare. They make hardcore feel dangerous, inclusive, and fun at the same time: everything’s fast, clenched, nasty, but there’s still this buzz of joy in the room like everyone’s in on the same secret. They don’t come on stage to “perform”, they come on to do the job, and the job is to level the place.
The set was a proper battering ram of absolute bangers; Gold, Heads Will Roll, Like Dogs, False Flag, Turf War, Video Nasty, the kind of run where you stop thinking in individual songs and you’re just hanging on while the room turns into movement. King Of The Hill went off too, and it still hits like getting shoved forward by a wave.
And then there’s the thing you can’t fake: how much they mean it. They led the chants of “free, free Palestine”, thanked the support acts, thanked the crowd, and still had enough gas in the tank to go above and beyond, even playing an extra song. That’s Flesh Creep in a sentence: no excuses, no coasting, no “that’ll do.” It helps that the crowd around them is always part of it, Tom’s mum there, Lexi (Misgendered) and Fenn getting stuck in with mic grabs, two-stepping… the whole glorious mess of it. They’re not just one of the best bands in Birmingham; they’re one of the best bands out there, full stop, and the annoying thing? They make it look easy.
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