Fucked Up / Titus Andronicus / METZ, SWG3, 28 May

“Can we kill these lights, please?” METZ guitarist / vocalist Alex Edkins asks bluntly, rejecting unnecessary theatrics as the Canadian power trio erupt with a combination of turbulent guitar wails, cranium-bending bass tones and thunderous drumming. The chemistry is astounding: Edkins violently shakes his entire body as he howls into the mic, bassist Chris Slorachs and drummer Hayden Menzies meanwhile thrash out whilst maintaining a Zen-like focus. Whether it's the punchy grunge-punk assault of Get Off or the corrosive slow-burn of Headache, the songs are overwhelmingly loud and leave the SWG3's clientele visibly stunned, setting the bar high for the two headliners.

 

A couple of blown van tyres delays Titus's arrival, so Fucked Up step up to play in their place. Pink Eyes' presence washes away the collective tension that comes with the news; he pushes through the crowd, hugging standers-by and wrapping the extra-long mic cable around his face. Though faithfully delivered, the multi-layered guitar sonics from the David Comes to Life jams sound messier and more chaotic in a live setting. Bassist Sandy Miranda and guitarist Ben Cook are grinning frequently throughout the set, proving that the band are capable of having a lot of fun together in spite of rumours that they don't get on behind the scenes. The skate-punk sprawl of Son the Father ends the set on a high, but a couple of melodic new songs from their upcoming LP are also aired which sound incredibly promising – and more inviting – than anything recorded prior.

 

When Jersey boys Titus Andronicus do show up, they play to a noticeably depleted audience, but the front-centre is full of die-hards who jump around tirelessly, screaming the lyrics to triumphant underdog anthems like A More Perfect Union and In a Big City. They're played flawlessly, but still carry a rough punk rock energy which can only come from a live performance. Their decision to opt for a run-through of the repetitive, fifteen minute Battle of Hampton Roads in favour of older classics like My Time Outside the Womb is the only ill-judged decision in an otherwise stellar, highly energetic set. “Fucked Up opening for Titus Andronicus? Now that's fucked up”, insists ringleader Patrick Stickles in a moment of mid-set banter. A modest statement indeed. Tragedy (quite safely) averted.