The Californian garage king's T Rex covers album shows his melodic muscle
Birthdays, London, February 2
As Metz prepare, the audience braces itself. The band’s shows have developed a reputation for physicality, and tonight they deliver instantly with ‘Dirty Shirt’. With the stage up-lit in a warm orange glow, vocalist and guitarist Alex Edkins lurches around in a cauldron of noise as drummer Hayden Menzies flails his head and torso about, simultaneously wild and precise. Chris Slorach, on bass, is a solid beast of a man with a guitar sound to match. A deep-throated rumble pours from his guitar, the low-frequency thrum propelling bodies about the floor like human dodgem cars. During the intro to ‘Wasted’, Alex halts proceedings because the thrashing limbs in the moshpit are interfering with his stage set-up. “This is crazy up here, my shit’s all broken,” he says, before instructing the people closest to him to “please protect this stuff for me”.
‘Sad Pricks’ sees Slorach leap into the crowd to show them how to surf properly, before he finds his way back to the stage for Metz to end abruptly on ‘Rats’. It’s a blundering behemoth of a tune, a squall of grunge underpinned by that forceful bass hum. Ears ring. There’s no encore. Metz cut the night dead.
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