core. @ The Hug & Pint + Woodside Halls, Glasgow, 2-4 Aug
An impressively diverse lineup of metal, rock, punk and experimental music floods Glasgow's west end for the second instalment of core., leaving us thirsty for more
It’s Sunday night and the charismatic frontman of Scotland’s biggest rock band is stripped to the waist, tattoos slick and hair drenched in sweat… in a community centre with the pastel decor of an inside-out wedding cake. This is the exhilarating Empire State Bastard, led in their sonic assault by Biffy Clyro’s Simon Neil, and they’re continuing core. festival’s proud tradition of bringing the best, loudest music to some truly incongruous settings.
Now in its second year, the boutique core. bills itself as a “celebration of noise”, and its 2024 edition has cemented its role as Glasgow’s premier platform for the exploration of eardrum-challenging sounds. Held over three days, this year’s edition sees a black-clad community flock to Woodside Halls and The Hug & Pint for an impressively diverse, international lineup of metal, rock, punk and experimental music.
On Friday evening, Glitterer sees former Title Fight bassist Ned Russin explore melodic post-hardcore grunginess, with a strong flavour of hard Lemonheads. They inspire the first mosh of the weekend – a lolloping, cheery affair.
Saturday opens with a much harder hardcore from the impressively in-your-face Ochre. Within 30 seconds, the mic stand has collapsed in the face of their frontman’s assault – all the more impressive in the sweltering little upstairs room in Woodside Halls, where the skylight bathes us in full daylight. Downstairs in the main room, English noise rockers Part Chimp obliterate all thought with thrillingly primitive chunky riffs.
Image: Part Chimp live at core. by Christopher Devine
Back in the upstairs hothouse, all-female Mancunians Witch Fever snap a melting room to attention with the standout performance of the day. Electrifying, confrontational, they take their Black Sabbath and Nirvana influences and grind them into an utterly vital, rallying battle cry. Slight and five-foot-nothing singer Amy Walpole breaks loose of the stage to stare down men twice her size. Sign me the hell up and we’ll burn the patriarchy together.
Ukrainian-German post-black metallers MACHUKHA (their name Ukrainian for mother) resemble nothing so much as the house band of an industrial bar run by vampires in a 90s movie, which is clearly excellent, but there’s depth there too. Aiming to evoke “resilience and the human ability to endure atrocities” and sung in frontwoman Natalya’s native Ukrainian, they’re a powerful exemplar for the power of heavy music to make us feel profoundly connected to each other, at our most deeply human.
Dublin four-piece Gilla Band round out Saturday, back in the main room. Their noise-rock guitars, techno beats and vocalist Dara Kiely's deadpan delivery inspired fellow Dubliners Fontaines D.C., but tonight they fail to fully connect or live up to that headline spot. They’ve simply been outclassed by bands earlier in the day.
The Rhubarb open Sunday with some 70s heavy rock, passed through some seriously doomy places. Bassist Hannah White is having a bit of a nightmare as her bottom string pops (one can only assume from her sheer pounding power) but bravely ploughs on regardless. Her soaring vocals could give Robert Plant a run for his money, a mighty fine counterpoint to Seán Maguire’s bass range.
Dressed in black robes, faces smeared in facepaint, Gravis Tristus take their cues from Trey Spruance’s avant-garde Secret Chiefs 3. Atmospheric and occult, they herald the surprise appearance of a trombone, but it’s when their Gregorian chanting descends into a landslide of heavy guitars that they really get the (sacrificial) blood flowing.
Over in The Hug & Pint, the basement is so rammed for Philadelphia metalcore band Kaonashi (named for No Face in Spirited Away) that we fail to even get in the door. They sound great from upstairs! Lesson learned, for Denmark’s HEXIS we're in early to find them plunge the room into darkness, strobes lighting a sonic assault so relentless, it’s almost soporific.
Back over to Woodside Halls and in the main room, DVNE provide Edinburgh’s answer to Mastodon with their proggy post-metal. Super-charming Seattle band The Fall of Troy marry complex twiddly guitar with serious groove. They’ve clearly got some major fans in as recipients of both an “I love you” (screamed by a grown man in the crowd to singer Thomas Erak) and an audience drums singalong (a rare sound indeed). There’s also an entertainingly unruly guest spot from Kaonashi, very welcome for those of us that missed them earlier.
Image: OMO live at core. by Christopher Devine
Set up across an L-shaped desk featuring the legendary “These machines kill fascists” are the custom-made ‘drone machines’ of Author & Punisher. Created by one-man band, mechanical engineer and artist Tristan Shone, they conjure a huge industrial noise supplemented with live guitars. Nihil Strength is the bone-splintering highlight.
In the smaller upstairs room, the temperature has become volcanic for supergroup OMO (featuring members of Mogwai, Desalvo, Aerogramme, The Twilight Saw and Take a Worm for a Walk Week). They ask for our patience (“We’ve only ever rehearsed before”) but – for us at least – it's the sheer heat rather than their pleasingly SUNN O)))-tinged show that proves to be the undoing. Next year’s festival has moved to September, so let’s hope for a slightly cooler climate!
Closing out the main stage, and eminently worthy of the headline slot, Empire State Bastard are undoubtedly Sunday’s winners. Closer The Looming is a crescendo to the hopeful non-compliance that thrums through the whole weekend. 'They can't control you', howls Simon Neil, 'Fuck what they told you / Let's take it over'. A massive get for the festival, Empire State Bastard are visceral, powerful and compelling, leaving the core. faithful thirsty for what this challenger festival will do next.
core. – a celebration of noise returns to Glasgow in 2025 on 12-14 Sep; find more info at corethefestival.com