There’s a “Simpsons” episode, before it went to shit, where Marge makes Homer go to an evening with Philip Glass and he tries to feign excitement by saying: “Just an evening?!”
Dear Reader, can I admit to a bit of that before this?
Two reasons. First, I have the attention span of a very small child and have genuinely been told off by both my nieces at various times for not concentrating. At the time of writing they are seven and four. Second, I am not always the best with a long set. So, upon buying the ticket and reading that this was going to be around three hours, it wasn’t exactly the best news I’d had all week.
Then there was the not inconsiderable point that the last time I saw Machine Head, they were less than stellar. Worse, they were blown off stage by Amon Amarth, who preceded them.
My mood was not helped by Queen being on the intro tape. The worst band in the history of recorded music.
But then.
“Imperium”.
And, within seconds, the words “I vow” seemed less like a lyric and more like a statement of intent. The sheer power of it was astonishing. Circle pits opened, the Civic Hall heaved, and Machine Head looked like a band reborn. The scale of the production surprised too. This wasn’t just a band turning up and doing the old warhorses. This was an event.
“Ten Ton Hammer” was Robb Flynn in full command mode: “Get your phones down and your fists up.” And frankly, when the song crushes like that, you obey. “CHØKE ØN THE ASHES ØF YØUR HATE” was as vicious as thrash gets, while “Now We Die” underlined something that sometimes gets missed with Machine Head: they deal in texture. The drums pierced through the classical strains, the lead guitar was superb, and suddenly the idea of three hours didn’t feel quite so daunting.
“The Blood, The Sweat, The Tears” saw Flynn throw a beer into the audience and brought one of the night’s more hard rock moments, before “Is There Anybody Out There?” showed that when Machine Head are fast and furious, they are still untouchable.
And then there was the old stuff.
“A Thousand Lies” is more than 30 years old now and still sounds like a masterclass. That first album remains one of the records of its generation, and hearing this live only reinforced the point. “Struck A Nerve” was dusted off in Wolverhampton for the first time in years and the circle pits appeared like they’d been waiting decades for permission.
“Unhallowed” was surprisingly mellifluous, but as it built, the crowd surfers got busy. “Clenching The Fists Of Dissent” was incredible: vast, ambitious, brutal, and almost the centrepiece of the whole night. “Aesthetics Of Hate” won the audience vote like you wouldn’t believe, and the reaction it got suggested that, had they played it three times, nobody would have complained.
“Game Over” carried a quieter menace, before things got funky and, for a moment, people actually danced. That’s the thing with Machine Head at their best: they can be murderous one minute and almost loose-limbed the next without ever losing the threat.
Then “Old” arrived as the pyro burned, fuelled by the anger that still imbues the song. It felt huge. It felt timeless. It felt like metal doing what metal is supposed to do.
“Circle The Drain” saw the acoustic come out for a song born out of the pandemic, and “Darkness Within” was reimagined too, introduced as a song about the depression that follows touring. With phone torches raised to offer light to the world, the Civic Hall briefly became something else: less pit, more communion.
“Catharsis” followed, the acoustics gone, but it remains an oddity in the Machine Head catalogue. Still, when Flynn sings “you’re gonna watch me crumble”, he delivers it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
“ØUTSIDER” made the contrast between the new material and the old abundantly clear. The sound has changed, the attack has shifted, but the attitude remains. “Locust” soared, but even when Machine Head soar, there’s menace underneath. “BØNESCRAPER”, from what some might call a maligned era, became almost a singalong moment here, and that told its own story.
By the time “Bulldozer” hit, things changed gear again, almost like the band were racing towards the finish. “From This Day” remains arguably their best chorus, and “Davidian” is still, arguably, their best song. I was 19 when I wanted to let freedom ring with a shotgun blast. Now I’m 50, and I just want to see an end to far-right scum marching. Time changes you. Great songs somehow change with you.
There was even time for snippets of “Iron Man” and “Crazy Train”, before “Halo” brought the whole thing home. And good grief, that song absolutely crushes.
So, yes, I was wrong.
Wrong about the length. Wrong about my attention span. Wrong to let the last time I saw them colour this one too much. Wrong to think three hours might be indulgent, because this didn’t feel like indulgence. It felt like a band taking stock of everything they’ve been, everything they are, and everything they still can be.
At one point, Flynn reckoned this was the Wolverhampton he remembered. He wasn’t wrong. This was sweat, noise, circle pits, raised fists and a room absolutely losing itself in the moment.
Machine Head at Wolverhampton Civic Hall weren’t less than stellar. They were immense.
And as evenings with go…..
