[Gig Review] GAEREA (POR) w/ IRONSTONE & GHOSTSEEKER (AU) @ Max Watt’s, Melbourne (AU), 11.07.26.
Writer:
Brady Irwin
Photographer:
Chris Dynia (@chrisdyphotography )
Artists:
Gaerea (Porto, Portugal), Ironstone & Ghostseeker (Melbourne, AU)
Organised By:
Soundworks Direct Touring
(refer to end of article for relevant links)
Today’s ADHD Writing-Assistant Albums:
(see links for Bandcamp stream/album order, etc):
Mindforce (New York, USA) - New Lords LP (2022)
Demilich (Kuopio, FIN) - 20th Anniversary of Emptiness LP (2014)
Gaerea (Porto, POR) - Loss LP (2026)
Skyharbor (New Delhi, India/International) - Blinding White Noise: Illusion & Chaos LP (2012)
I’ll admit it - I wasn’t ready for this Gig Review, that’s for sure.
With our assigned ISC contributor off due to personal/family circumstances (not to mention myself owing said contributor one for covering a gig I couldn’t cover, recently), it took a hot minute to recalibrate and adjust my head for the gig-review game.
A hangover of pure tiredness and a good couple days’ worth of social-battery drainage wasn’t helping prospects, either.
Compounding this, and very relevant to the thematic subject of Loss itself, we as a friend-group were freshly back from a long trip to regional Victoria to our our respects and homage to a friends’ recently-lost mother. The freshness of all that was a biochemical and emotional cocktail that made a last-minute review prospect daunting, to say the least.
Feeling some solace in the fact that at least I wouldn’t be assailing this burnt-out husk of think-meat with my usual penchant for ‘more extreme isn’t extreme enough’, I for one would not be joining the very small, whingy contingent of folks decrying Loss as an album that is a bum-steer or misdirection. Personally, I think it anything but - yeah, sure, there’s some points to be made about a softening of edges where extremity is concerned.
When it comes to acts like Portugal’s Gaerea, too, Loss is an album is an undeniably expansive and well-welcomed step forward into bolder, more experimental territory. I’m with the so-called ‘bandwagon’ that Dorito-encrusted neckbeard elitists love to hate. Their loss, pun intended. I’m here to have fun, not score points with dudes in Burzum shirts that reek of needing a shower.
(Heck, if you haven’t listened - have a sample via ‘Metamorphosis Pt III’ via Gaerea’s Youtube Channel below, then circle back to the top of the article to check out the full Loss LP via Bandcamp.
It’ll only help contextualise their set, and in my opinion pairs like wine and cheese for reading a live-music recollection. Especially from one so over-inclusive, pretentious and wordy as myself:)
If anything, I was walking through the miserly wet grey of Melbourne’s Siberia-coded winter chill with a renewed sense of gratitude. A gig review is always a welcomed opportunity, for me. Not just because of the door-spot, and certainly not for any sense of internet-glory (I’m delusional, not THAT delusional though). It’s a reprieve from the stupidity and inane bullshit we increasingly face in emotionally-draining, complex late-stage capitalist times. It’s a rare chance to viscerally, physically and perceptually engage in joy, catharsis, entertainment and more.
Life has ways of brandishing a cudgel of gratitude, like that. Beats singing Kumbaya and smoking trash weed with some tryhard on a park bench in Huntington Beach, anyway.
Thus, descending the steps of Max Watt’s with leery, fatigued vision, I made an immediate swipe for a very unhelpful hair-of-the-dog treatment from a surprisingly lineup-free bar (definitely not the case later!). Being as perpetually broke as I am, the merch on offer was a little too minimalist for my should-i-buy decision matrix, but it’s also interesting to see a heavy artist not go the route of maximalist image-splatter on their shirts. The cursive band-logo font was also both nicely relevant and a little cleverly withholding in terms of communicating what a stupendous emotional range they’d soon elicit onstage.
With a relatively sparse initial showing of punters, myself and our varying degrees of dusty/alert gig-group brethren spaced out amongst the oddly-wide crowd flanks. It always garners a chuckle from me seeing the caps-locked signs calling for NO MOSHING OR STAGE-DIVING when the venue is parted like The Red Sea. It’s a crowd-parting you don’t normally see in other Melbourne venues, and always raises an eyebrow.
Nursing the cold one piped straight from the keg, I can feel protests of physical complaint at 1. My absent impulse-control the night prior, yet again (I’m the worlds most 18-year old 37-year-old, apparently) and 2. Hair of the dog being more Black Dog than anything else, this go ‘round.
What’s more healing than substance abuse, or taking a break from healthier options to focus on more substance abuse, you ask? Heavy goddamn music, if you ask me. It’s as much a salve for the stupid-brained for their post-antics languishing as it is an uplifting, positive and mental-health-improving force. ‘least that was the mantra.
On cue, I feel immediately healthier and more perked up by the immediacy of Melbourne’s Ghostseeker, our opening act for the night. I’ll come clean from the outset and admit that the dual-vocal, female-fronted, prog-tinged metalcore these guys purvey feels attached to a general cluster of djent-adjacent, cleaner proggy metalcore that is far less outside my current or even recent taste wheelhouse (unless we’re counting Between The Buried and Me and, according to some, Loss - the latter a sentiment i both agree and disagree with heartily.)
But I’m not planting my feet just metres from the barrier to either sit here and whinge about self-induced internal organ injury, nor run you through individual preferences. I’m here to report back on performance, musicianship, and other more important things than the latter.
In fact, it’s precisely the big, swinging, hooky chugging and lead work rolled out by perpetually floor-stompin’, gyratin’ guitarists Tim Campey and Corey Walkeden that piques my interest, following your seemingly-now-legally-mandated heavy metal act synth-drenched introductory ambience. Furthering said interest, and again a trope I’m less into in my own time, the powerful vocal dyad of Celeste Dudeson and Daniel Breen on vocals is as intertwined musically as it is performatively.
Whilst the guitarists swing their thick-gauged axes around as though swatting invisible bees, the male-female vocalist pairing is accompanied with all sorts of intricate gesturing, facing one another and keeping movement consistent throughout the set. Daniel Gay’s drumming is no footnote, either, swinging through everything from punchy breakdowns, hectic d-beat and jazzy fills with ease.
After a searing opener that garners an immediate applause from the quickly-filling (aside from the pit, notably… cold feet?) room, Daniel Breen as MC announces the second track in a way that earns ‘em a chuckle: “This one’s from… ah, I’ve forgotten the album… Divergence!”. With that save, the band hook into upper-fret punching in a deliberately-stilted, mechanical fashion, reminding me very much of Skyharbor’s early material as subtle leads wind through both Celeste’s ethereal refrains and Daniel’s punchy barks/post-hardcore styled growls.
Watching a ponytail-haired bloke in simple garb weave around a woman wearing a flowing black dress as two axe-wielding souls gyrate endlessly isn’t something on most folks’ bingo-cards, but the dynamic works and receives more applause from a warming-up audience.
“We’re not really a big ‘moshy’ type of band” Daniel admits, looking out over the cavernous abscess in bodies that is one hell of a gun-shy moshpit so far. “But we’re not a scary band, so come one down!”. That seems to allay the fears of some, or just the fact as a herd we tend to follow a frontperson’s whims, and more bodies join the floor behind a row of eager, perpetually-headbanging barrier—benchers for ‘The Looking Glass’. Mercifully, whilst the title may suggest otherwise, it’s not in fact a Dream Theater multi-dozen-minute prog scale-fest like their own track of the same name.
I’ll save my podcast-length rant about those guys and their peddling of variations-on-an-album-for-20+-years as ‘progresssive’ for another time. The prog’s here and now with the new blood, as notes are fretted, beaten and sung into steel. Our openers’ next one sojourns through crushing, detuned breakdown riffage, more of that soar-and-snarl vocal tradeoff from our vocalists, and even a very subtly sinister John Carpenter-esque wash of dark ambient synth. Daniel’s drumming adds both heft and flair to the performance, his arms flailing down to crack hard on the snare between tightly-coiled rolling toms to give the track an overall tribalistic and melodic (if not slightly sinister) vibe.
We veer off into even more melodic territory, with ‘Make Love Like War’. This one feels more akin to that mid-era Bring Me The Horizon in having a just-right (in my opinion, and not as a big BMTH fan at all at that) balance between aggression and lilting, poppy harmonies. The tempo shifts to a more rock-steady pace, vocals warping into croons and cleans. I had moments where I felt for Green especially, who was visibly pushing hard to get his high-range clean vocals through a booming, busy mix.
When you’re dealing with an atypical setup (multiple guitarists and heavier tunings to compensate for lack of bass, a rich backing track, etc) it’s got to be a bastard to wrangle mix and levels. I noticed Green’s vocals were quite subdued in the mix for a healthy portion of the set, with the growls piercing through the din more easily.
Anyway, not even really a complaint so much as an observation, and none of the band members were stymied in their efforts to punch the song crisp, clear and clean, albeit with some nicely-thick wall-of-sound guitar tones. The melodic nature of the track overall served the impending huge breakdown a huge service, too, even getting some pit-action finally going to boot.
Having given shoutouts to follow-ups Ironside to a booming applause, the easiest carrot-dangle in the frontman’s playbook in asking us “are you guys excited for Gaerea, or what?!” is followed with another observation: “Watching those guys do their thing in soundcheck was absolutely mind-blowing" (more feverish applause ensues). To espouse a bands’ ability to blow minds before they’ve even hit the stage is a handy primer, and not just for the headliners. for a punchier and more metallic follow-up track filled with movement across the whole band. An increasingly restless crowd clamors them with praise, suitably stirred-up by the faster number.
‘Cursed Until The End’ drops things back into a more subtle and harmonic direction, and whilst there was a tangible energy shift in the crowd (and myself) as a result, I wouldn’t call the end-product disappointment. If anything, it was cool to watch Daniel take prominence through a simplistic backbeat, riding more minimalistic riffing and vocals for a quieter but still heavy track.
The pinnacle of the bands’ set for me, and honestly something I’d love to see even more of, is the comparatively tighter and more punishing heavy closer ‘Wake Up (Impostor)’. Rising from the din of the prior track, the band barrels through their final salvo with a renewed sense of punishing urgency. As the band stood back to crowd beneath warbling synths, the drop into that staccato prog-metal-core riff feels blistering and almost dangerously haphazard.
“If you came to move, come join that lonely man in the pit!” Daniel barks to us wallflowered spectators, rustling up some more pit-action for a stupidly thick breakdown riff. Finishing up on your most pulled-back punch is always a surefire way to imprint your brand on a brain via the recency-effect, and I think the massive applause on the sets’ end spoke for itself.
Again, potentially not my own musical cup of tea whilst hammering out reviews such as these, but brought to life onstage well enough that even an extreme-metal saltyboi like me can dig it. Nice one!
GHOSTSEEKER (Melbourne, AU):
(See for: Album Streams/Streaming Links, Music Videos and Social Media (Tiktok, Instagram (@ghostseekerau), Facebook, Apple Music, X/Twitter, Threads, etc))
Braving the moribund weather outside for a few chance puffs at the electric cartridge of nicotine-death, as well as some decidedly also-not-worth-it Hungry Jack’s, I notice I’ve picked up in both mood and composure now. The fatigue from the past few days lingers, but there’s an undeniable uptick created by the loud assault of amplification, drumkits and booming PA speakers.
On my return inside from this little bad-habits sojourn, I take momentary pause to note the room’s appreciably filling out now, including that formerly near-empty circle-pit area. Perks of having more punters piling in; someone’s eventually got to occupy that space.
Speaking of occupying space - that is something our second act for the night, fellow locals Ironstone, do with a much more vitriolic and bristling fury than their stage forebears. I’ve mentioned in past reviews that I like to chop and change my experiences, sometimes studiously devouring whole discographies of support bands, sometimes deliberately opting for the element of surprise. For these guys, I chose the latter - especially with their moniker leaving anything open to interpretation.
From the interesting mix of sleek black casual attire to the relatively nonchalant entrance, the bands’ getup doesn’t imply anywhere near enough an invocation of violence as what is employed throughout their bruising set. On entry, they’re excitable but calm, approaching the seemingly equally-unknowing majority with devilish just-you-wait-and-see grins band-wide.
Looking like he’s just drifted onstage from a trad-metal gig himself, the long and black hair and slender frame of vocalist Edward Warren completely betrays the belching, caustic furor that seems to roar from a cavern much deeper than those lungs would allow. I can almost feel the collective eyebrow-raising; mine were certainly up in “Oh-kay, mmm-kay, mmm-hmmm!” sass of appreciation. Seems the extreme-metal beast was about to tuck into a nice pre-dinner entree of gnarliness, dude.
Speaking of gnarly dudes… bassist (they have one! It’s even headless! Justice for Jason, etc) Sam Angove, and guitarists Remy Giuliani/Perry Warren are a whirling triplicate of force, gnashing and stabbing and whirling about the place as though their instruments were made of air. The bands’ in full motion from the get-go, driven by a pummeling procession of death-metal tremolo, devastating breakdowns and all manner of lead guitar subtlety in the mix. Drummer Jackson Whyte is a damn hurricane, unfurling tight, swirling blastbeats one moment, relenting slightly on the sticks whilst clattering out an endless typewriter-chatter of thudding double-kicks. It’s fast, hard and immediate that’s what she said. ‘The Innocent Bleed’ ends itself on a metaphorical and literal choke to a stunned crowd, who erupt on conclusion.
With ‘No Price Too High’, our vocalist starts flexing an impressive range between guttural belching, Dani Filth-esque banshee shrieks, snarls, and forlorn crooning that melds with the backing synths to create a very Lorna Shore style musical environment. The riffage that pours from our fret-bearers’ busy hands is punctuating, blackened and thuggish all at once, a heady mix for sure.
I really enjoyed the little back-and-forth of lead flourishes over double-kick triplets, one of many fun little flourishes in their set that helped a lot to distinguish from concerns of Oh Great, Yet Another Deathcore Support Band. A very anthemic, synth-heavy latter half culminates in a meaty, crushing breakdown that sets the pit on fire good and proper, earning appreciative wails as the track ebbs out.
Edward and Co give an impassioned thanks to us as punters, their fellow supports and Gaerea, as well as their similar disbelief at the headliners’ stagecraft. The brown-nosing/shoutouts are kept to bare minimum though, there’s heavy shit to be flung at us. Like boulders, apparently, with ‘Forge Me Anew’ seemingly hewn both from jagged basalt and the mantle itself. This one really impressed me, an uptick in savagery that bolts right past the ‘core and goes for the blackened-death throat, brutal breakdown riffs notwithstanding.
Angove pulls out from the old-school death metal cupboard, tapping thick strings over chugging riffs, swapping roles with the guitarists to create a constant warble of notes whilst Whyte continues decimating that poor drumkit (just kidding, they love it). The hyper-speed double kicks almost flatline into a solid wall of noise, competing with frantic and tremolo-filled, palm-mute heavy riffing that has death-thrash urgency and groove aplenty. A crushing trifecta of breakdown riffs feel like copping a greataxe to the neck, ringing the song out with a hoot from the crowd.
As if that wasn’t a hectic enough cranial onslaught, my necks' forced into more feverish headbang-urgency along with the rest of them as ‘The Waning Shadow’ scoffs at the previous track’s extremity, clasps the baton and simply charges brutally into stage-battle. By this stage, the lads are a whirring mess of mop-hair and chopping, writhing, swaying movement, Warren’s hands gesticulating as though preparing some form of intricate necromancy. Appropriate, too, considering the very symphonic blackened death vibe permeating the hardcore foundations of yet another blistering track.
“This one’s for all three of you who’ve heard us before!” Edward grins with that same impish grin, right before the band descend back into barbarity with the decidedly classic-metal infusion layered across the otherwise high-octane, up-tempo whirring that is ‘Handsome Fee’. A track title that’s equally commentary on the state of ticket prices these days and itself, it’s another punishing number, driven hard by the frantic stabbing of a rhythm-section who aren’t interested in the pit or front row ever being at rest. As a pretty big but not fanatical lover of all things deathcore and adjacent, it’s often frustrating to wade through what feels like multiple requisite breakdown-as-song or slower, doomier numbers. None of that on this track - none of that through the set. Well-placed to warm up for and round out Gaerea’s brand, then.
“We’ve got a new single coming out, it’s called ‘Commence the Culling’ - it’s about killing the rich!” Warren proclaims proudly, introducing the track with the most Melbourne-friendly of anti-capitalist sentiments. Hey, half the reason we’re enjoying being barked at by dudes in black shirts is how pissed we are with the state of things. And boy oh boy is the uptick in sheer old-school death metal just deliciously evil, here: tightened and more frantic dual-guitar tremolo runs, ripping bouncy d-beat drumming straight from the old guard, urgent and serpentine leads wavering through a storm of complex riffing, punctuated only by sparse breakdowns. Y’all been listening to a bit of Altars and Demilich or something? Either way, I dug the absolute hell out of that, and so did the crowd.
Noticing an eager but overall sparse pit, for their final salvo Warren encourages “those of you who’ve got some pent-up energy, it’s time to take it out in the pit!”. His dare seems to invite the wary and energy-conserving to step forth and give ‘em the push-pit they so deserve, and so final number ‘Moments Lost in Time’ carries out a delicious uptick in pace and tempo throughout, soaring to a blistering conclusion and sundering applause.
Damn, fellas. Do I ever have you lot clocked for future reference too, eh? Great stuff, keep that brand of deathcore barbarism coming, dudes!
IRONSTONE (Bendigo/Melbourne, AU):
(See for: Streaming Links (Apple Music, Spotify), Social Media (Facebook, Instagram, TikTok) Mailing List, Ticket Links, Music Videos, Merch, Bandcamp, Email, etc)
Now thoroughly warmed up by the adrenaline-surge incited by the Victorian brutes, the ascension up the stairs feels more flighty and excitable. The vestiges of my own burnout seem to ebb away, especially with the atmosphere - one absolutely packed by a surging throng. We had more than a few latecomers, it seems, but hey, there’s no prescribed modus operandi for how to attend your gigs. All I know is that the return back to my previous posting by the barrier was nigh-impossible, so densely packed was the venue on my descent.
I’m okay with this, particularly since I wanted to get a birds’ eye on how the collective vibe and reaction would be to such a momentous initial meeting with Portuguese greats Gaerea. That strategy was a complete oversight, it’d turn out - I would spend the next hour-plus entranced in a level of enthrallment that felt more akin to mind-control than mindfulness. If that’s the case, scoop out my brains and hand ‘em to these Beholders, ‘cause you can summarise the entire set with two simple words: Holy. Shit.
This is a Brady Irwin ISC review, though, and until you thumb back to reels for the dopamine or join me on my gasbagging, you ain’t getting brevity.
Or, perhaps you are?
Because the magic that ensued henceforth felt almost impossible to pen in English - or indeed any other language.
The tinkling of slow piano keys of opener ‘LBRNTH’ could easily be misconstrued to the uninitiated as yet another passable exercise in opening a gig. That’s even factoring in the uniquely interest contrast between the surges of bright-red and orange lighting against the iconic full-body black suits and esoteric markers of those currently present onstage. It’s also the powerful, clean and striking highs of guitarist Delta (Sonja Schuringa) that set the room ablaze with just one members’ powerful, clear oratory.
As the synths build with the crescendo of her dulcet tones, I can already feel an emotive stir in the chest that’s a step beyond the usual speed-and-power-drenched heartbeat surge of metal music. A feeling not in the least invoked also by her theatrical and careful gesturing, articulate and reminiscent of KILAT’s careful choreography.
See below for a little clip from the above song/follow-up track
(I’ve had to delist track titles due to Youtube and DMCA):
As the track comes towards a climactic build, the rest of the band adorn the stage: The imposing, tall and ever-expressive Alpha (Guilherme Henriques) under a mic-stand stretched to limits and pointed squarely downwards, bassist Rho (Lucas Ferrand) and drummer XI (Diogo Mota) moving subtly into view but also in that uniquely-Gaerea brand of esoteric imagery on black face masks. It’s like a Portuguese progressive-metal Squid Game!
“Join us, Melbourne! Let us see your fucking energy!” Alpha roars over the melodic, blastbeat-laden chaos that is ‘Nomad’.
The initial blackened furor of yore relents for catchier and more anthemic riffing, Alpha leading the first of very, very many fist-pumps, oi-oi-oi’s and two-hand claps for the night. The audience participation is immediate and total, as though the mysterious getup and progressive blackened tones have a certain occultic charm that spellbinds us to do so. The numerous haughty cheers piercing the loud amplification attests to free will, however, and folks are absolutely beside themselves. I clocked at least three people bawling before the first number was up - that’s how you know you’re doing a damn good job of it.
Twirling the mic-stand as much as he’s swishing, pointing, stabbing, crouching, kneeling and swaying, Alpha’s onstage presence feels like Nergal set to hyperactive-type ADHD in motion. The man’s relentlessly weaving a tapestry with his hands, often followed by similar rhythmic writhing by Rho and Delta as XI lays down both hellish firestorms and ample breathing-room. The anthemic “I am a nomaaaaaad!” is a battle-cry given off by singer and crowd alike, a clarion-call for outsiders to come together.
Look. Honestly, I really like Gaerea. I’m not a super-fan, and I’m well-acquainted enough with Loss to still be spinning it often. But I can just tell by the sheer desperate energy with which the audience are howling and caterwauling that Loss is an album that sunk to even deeper emotional depths than the way it pierced my own alexithymic layers.
“How the fuck are you doing, my friends?!” Alpha cheers in the baritone it seems all Portuguese dudes come built with off the factory-line, to a harrowing cheer of acknowledgement. The energy in the air is veritably crackling, and it ain’t just the myriad of pulsing, ebbing lights. “We are Gae-rea(hyphenated to accentuate, well, the accent) from a land far away called Portugal, and we are so beyond excited to be here in Australiaaaaaaa!” he roars along with us.
As silence settles momentarily, the tension is thick, unfurled by the line that precedes ‘Phoenix’ - “I want you to absolutely destroy this fucking place.” An ultimatum in that guttural an accent from a band that just proceeded to blast heads apart was guaranteed to incite mayhem, but it’s the frantic gnash of blastbeating from XI, underpinned by Rho’s studious and nimble bass, that propels that formerly sorry stageside floor into a whirling butter-churn of bodies. The melodic tremolo and dextrous picking of Delta keeps the pace in tandem with the rhythm section, pulling up for Alpha’s grandiose crooning and gesticulating with a much more post-hardcore/Jesus Lizard style haggard bent.
“We waited ten long, fucking, years for this! Jump! Jump!” Alpha bellows, bouncing like a pogo-stick in time with the Mexican-wave rippling throughout the pit. It’s one of so many snappy moments the man takes to incite mayhem, ensure movement and ensure we walk away thinking very differently about progressive metal bands. I could triple the review word-count if I stuck even most of them in there. Bro is absolutely relentless. It feels like that sing-song-filled set I saw from Boston hardcore-punkers Haywire in terms of audience participation and energy, the climactic blackened build of the song serving only to whip the crowd into fiercer headbanging, cheering and wailing. It’s like a freakin’ proggy black-metal Beatles concert.
Silence casts another breathy shadow on all of us, giving Alpha another moment to reflect more somberly after being so animated and frantic in belches, shrieks, clean singing and endless theatrical gesturing. “It’s a fucking dream to travel across the world. To be jetlagged for four days straight, to see this place is absolutely packed. THANK YOU!” Alpha screams with almost incredulous wonder, back at one equally stunned and appreciably howling pack of punters.
“We’re going to go a little further back in time, with a track called ‘World Ablaze’!” he roars proudly, as the punchy and driving main riff from this classic Coma album cut bursts into the room. It’s an immediate and rolls towards us in the crowd with an insurgent insistence, filling the air with punching, powerful chugs and staccato drumming. As the beat lapses back into a super-punky d-beat that feels straight up like Melbourne crust-punks Resistance, the pit gets really animated. Mid-twirl, Alpha pauses, pointing and waving in that unmistakeable circular gesture. “That’s it!” he cries, “I want to see a fucking circle-pit!”.
And on his admission, the previously barren pit comes alive in a frenzied whirl of bodies. He does so as Rho engages what must be a bunch of core strength to hold that bass aloft, notes booming from frets overhead into deep rumbling as Alpha spreads his arms in a Christ-like pose. The reverence is all ours, mind you, as blast-beating ebbs between very dance/moshable riffing, rolling thunderous toms and a delicious push-pull dynamic from front to back. It works a treat on the surging mass of animals now throwing themselves around like it’s Guttermouth, not progressive metal.
Hey, if the mosh-shoe fits, right…?
Things take a decidedly different and very mindful, meditative turn as the heat of our clamor dies down into another pondering silence. “I want you to breathe. Breathe…. deeply…” Alpha intones with a low, slow Portuguese baritone. “Straight up! Raise them. Raise your hands for me, Melbourne…” he commands, and we follow - a kelp-forest of upheld arms over crooning cleans and the verbal invitation “Melbourne…” he whispers, leading a slow audience-wide clap over tinkling keys and synth, “… let’s dive into the unknown…”.
It’s an equal parts spiritual, heartfelt and deeply brooding moment, which only serves to incite a full eruption from every single person in the room as that absolute Loss-banger ‘Submerged’ begins to swell from the speakers. It’s one of my favourite tracks off the latest album, which is a very tall order indeed. “Melbourne! We fucking love you!” he screeches to our resultant applause, wisps of leads that feel very early Dark Tranquillity emanating from the amps behind him. Deep, crunchy, gritty bass hand-holds the guitars into a more furious and frantic tremolo section as the pace picks up, the entire song an exercise in post-metal crescendo build, albeit with both modern and black metal touches alike.
It’s another testament to the wondrous weave these guys have across sub-genres, and the exploratory nature just makes all the breakdowns and death-metallish tremolo runs that much nastier. Needless to say, both pit and necks are in constant motion throughout - mine’s definitely straining, but it can’t be helped. That’s a tomorrow problem for the foam roller, Gaerea is here and now!
On a roaring conclusion, Alpha asks if we’re ready for something faster. On a lacklustre croak from us breathless punters he cusses: “Oh for fuck’s sake Melbourne! Come on! That’s nothing. I’m highly disappointed… I fucking said, are you ready to go faster?!” he screams. Nothing hits a kid like “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed” and it’s testament to how fast they build loyalty amongst the flock as we cheer gloriously over the brutal, hyperblasting introduction of follow-up track ‘Hope Shatters’ (also from Coma) delivers exactly the opposite of what’s on the tin. With the transition from the initial few solid minutes of blackened fury, the drop back into a stomping breakdown into jagged, gnarly arpeggios is near head-spinning but deliciously metal all the same.
Alpha drops to his knees, almost curled in a foetal position, crooning softly with that low, gritty edge across his vocal range. It’s a meditative moment, conflicting with the writhing movement of his bandmates onstage, but it gets the crowd roaring. Not only that, but the absolute-cinema moment of him springing to his feet, punching the air and growling with renewed vitriol adds a huge set of huevos onto the track’s already meaty latter half.
And before the track’s conclusion, our frontman strips everything right back once more. Calling for quiet once more following his own soulful clean vocals in near-silent ambience, Alpha softly croons a request for us to lift our smartphones lighter-style, and to have the house lights brought up. It’s an interesting juxtaposition of the icy-blue globules of phone-light against the harsh white, but it gives everything a very ceremonial feeling. This ethereal moment makes the blistering juxtapositions both within and between tracks ‘Salve’ and ‘Wilted Flower’ feel like precious islands, floating and punching with the emotional and musical dynamic they’ve been plying with effortless dexterity and plentiful physical movement.
As the songs’ final strains ring out to applause, that moment we’ve all dreaded is here. I’m beat, hungover, tired, punished, exhausted, fatigued, dead on my feet. Yet there’s no small degree of sadness that pangs me when Alpha announces “This is the time where we call for one more song? Let’s do that, Melbourne, and we’ve saved something special for this moment" he bellows.
With a sobriety and somberness in the reflective, low tone of voice he adds in stillness: “This is a song about all those we have lost across this shitty fucking life, and to the ones we’ve lost that we miss so much. So, Melbourne, without much further ado… this, is ‘Stardust’” he intones deeply, before vocally extending a smidge higher to a sombre, isolated vocal croon that feels like an entire Bluesfest’s worth of soul packaged into a few simple lines. Absolutely psyche-shattering in a good, important and existentially-challenging way. This is good art, then.
It’s at this point where I’m the one joining the waterworks. I can’t help it. My own context and that of my friend? The delivery? The sincerity? The wavering emotional resonance threatening to choke up even that gravelly, stoic Portuguese growler onstage? Those mournful vocals? Yeah. It’s Agalloch all over again, it’s time to relent and cry. That’s okay. It’s fine. Everything will be fine, Brady. Heck - I feel a tinge of increased self-respect in moments like this. Moments that transcend ‘a gig’ or what is considered etiquette, overcoming decades of social engineering to allow myself to be as vulnerable as many others clearly are in this moment. Probably not a lot of dry eyes, overall.
You see, metal music I’d argue is not really within the purview of ownership by the tropey, toxic-masculine parts of our congealed nature. It’s inherently emotive, often tackles psychologically, philosophically, intellectually or even spiritually-challenging topics - grief being one of them.
Being fresh back from a funeral ceremony where myself and others gathered in country Victoria to celebrate the much-loved, widely-appreciated and well-lived life of fellow ISC Sammy O’Flynn’s mother, Catherine O’Flynn (whom passed away quite recently), I’m reminded of a momentary pang of grief even closer to home. I’m still in the process of unpacking and sorting from a big move from the Bellarine Peninsula to Melbourne, and was brought to tears in finding an old notebook with some musical ideas a friend and I were semi goofing off with, drawing all over it like teenagers.
That friend of mine took his life far too early, and the loss of an O’Flynn matriarch was celebrated in a ceremony that demonstrated her deep, nourishing roots permeating through the community. It’s for this reason I dedicate this review to Sammy’s dearly-departed mother and also to my friend.
I also want to point out something, and not in that perpetually-online/neurodivergence-is-my-whole-personality way, hopefully. I am autistic/ADHD (auDHD), on a buttload of medication to support my cognitive function and mental health, with the former often being chronic perpetuators or inciters of depression/anxiety on a fairly chronic basis. With the innate difficulty in pinpointing emotional states (thanks, alexithymia) and the blunting that comes both with those medications and symptoms, I can often find myself eerily emotionally-flatlined at points when it calls for more intensity. Often that has to be shoehorned out of me, and typically by a strong, moving moment.
This was one such moment. I felt the faux-masculine masking of 37 years as an Australian hetero ‘bloke’ melt away like hot butter, right alongside all the pretension and Manowar-hangover machismo that probably still subtly affects how us males operate as metalheads in the community.
Needless to say, my cheer as the beautiful excursion into one’s next steps following death in ‘Stardust’ was mottled, choked-up and with more than a single tear strewn on my face throughout. An expansive, progressive and sprawling epic at over 11 minutes; runtime, it both encapsulates the stages of grief and Gaerea’s expansive musical journey outwards in the most perfect of ways.
“I can run, but I’m trying to shine as bright as you” comes one of many lyrics aimed at highlighting the celebratory praise and self-centred, emotionally devastated clamoring that comes after one is no longer walking alongside us.
As we drift into outer-space, transcending alongside some beautiful dual vocals from Delta and Alpha, the crushing and gnashing existential horror of death comes hurtling towards us in a ball of blackened tremolo-laden carnage. The collective catharsis spurs on some of the most frantic pit-activity of the evening, all of us operating with more open and genuine, honest selves. Folks are linked arm-in-arm for a good portion, swinging like Hobbits bounding around the Shire - again, this just showcases to me how well the track and the bands’ performance allow for an emotionally honest (and fun) celebrating of those past. It’s not all about what we miss, but what we treasure, too.
The denouement from blistering tremolo and blasts back into post-rock styled ambience and soaring leads, synth and that final climactic build feels near overwhelming. It’s chasmic but warmly embracing, which feels funny in a way. You’ve got a band of folks wreathed in black, marked in esoteric white paint over meshy face-masks, using pseudonyms. And yet the closeness feels familial, friendly, communal, tangible.
It’s been a long review. Sure. But this is the edited version. There’s so, so much that can be said of tonight, of the supports but especially the sorcerial Portuguese headliners who weaved a captivating, spell-binding and theatrical performance. A brilliant show on all fronts, and methinks a sign that this will be far from the last time we are joined by these mystical progressive black-metal merchants.
For those you have lost along the way, to those feeling the sting of grief deep within their hearts as we speak, I extend a warm hand on your shoulder. May your burdens be easy, but remember that it’s experiences like this very night that are things those who’ve passed would want us to see enjoying as much as possible. Thank you for the music, Gaerea, but more importantly - thank you for your gratitude, and the sense of introspective, deep fulfilment that reached my heart in a way few gigs ever could.
Soundworks Touring Australia:
SHUTTER-PIT (CHRIS DYNIA PHOTOGRAPHY):
This Article Was Written In Tribute Of Catherine O’Flynn.
You not only raised a good-natured man, you raised someone I’m glad to call both a friend and fellow contributor, not to mention a wonderful immediate and extended family.
Thank you for touching the lives of so many with your grace, dignity and passion. It was my honour to join in helping send you farewell - condolences aplenty to the O’Flynn family and relatives in this difficult time.
Rest In Peace. May Your Spirit Soar.
inner-strength check - links:
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