Kevin “Bloody” Wilson’s “Absolute C**t of a Day” ushers out King Parrot. And to be fair, if your Sunday is sub-optimal, then his fellow Aussies might be just the ticket.
Anger, frustration, catharsis, primal screams—it’s all in “Get What You’re Given.” By the time “Bozo” hits about 10 minutes later, frontman Youngy (you can’t call him a “singer”) is urging the moshpit to “squash this guy” who was apparently stroking his beard.
There’s a charm to this most nihilistic sound, though—the feeling of nightmarish terror that pervades “Target Pig Elite” or the insane beatdown that is “Home Is Where the Gutter Is.”
Napalm Death belong to this parish, and they’d be proud of “Hell Comes Your Way,” which amounts to stream-of-consciousness rage. Or “Shit on the Liver,” and by the time “Fuck You and the Horse You Rode In On” plays, they’ve got thousands of Brummies with middle fingers in the air.
You’re never going to get King Parrot singing “Who’s a pretty boy then?” And they’d never do children’s parties (unless you wanted the drinks laced with bleach and the razor blades in the pass-the-parcel), but they’re not without a certain charm.
From the outset of “Soul Sacrifice,” it’s clear that Dallas mob Power Trip are the band that put the groove into groove metal.
They are thunderous and heavy, but they understand hooks too, as “Executioner’s Tax (Swing of the Axe)” explains—with a baseball bat to the face.
Seth Gilmore, who has stepped manfully into the shoes of Riley Gale, is formidable and carries the likes of “Firing Squad” by sheer force of will.
They could start a moshpit in a morgue, and “Hornet’s Nest” stirs another up, although its slower middle section is arguably more crushing.
“Drown” is dedicated to Gale and literally shakes the venue, and “Crucifixation” salts the earth on the rest of it.
“Waiting Around to Die” is a testament to their skill, but there’s more than that.
It’s impossible, I’d wager, to watch “Manifest Decimation” end the set, see all the fists in the air, and not get swept along on Power Trip’s—well—power, yes, but so much more.
“Because of great parenting,” says Phil Anselmo before the mighty slab of metal that is “Becoming,” “there’s a whole load of y’all that have been listening to us your whole lives.” He’s tapped into the vibe.
The whole night, it feels like, has been waiting for the moment.
That moment when the curtains went down to reveal Pantera standing there. Anselmo in the middle, fists up, surveying his flock. And Christ, there’s enough of them—thousands. This is big.
And the production matches. Arena rock to its core. “A New Level” is. They never toured like this back then.
Now? Now they’re as big as it gets. “Mouth for War” hits deep. Before it, Anselmo says, “Everything we do, everything we play, it’s for Dimebag.” There’s a roar and a riff from his friend Zakk Wylde, filling in tonight, while Charlie Benante of Anthrax fame, is on drums.
Obviously, the Abbott brothers will always be missed, but celebrating the outright brilliance of “Strength Beyond Strength” is still special.
“Slow and heavy,” warns the ringmaster before the breakdown, and you forget—maybe – just how heavy they were.
Or how good they were? Listen to them screaming “Look at me now!” from “I’m Broken” and go back 30 years. Like the best, if it came out tomorrow, you’d still love it. This ain’t of its time. It’s for all time.
“Crack your knuckles, this next song is ‘Suicide Note Pt. 2,'” says Phil, clad as ever in his shorts, and the nihilism levels go up. What a journey the song is, though, and their subtleties shouldn’t go under the radar in the tide of emotion.
But they ride it brilliantly. “Five Minutes Alone” sends waves of headbanging everywhere you look—and a word, too, for bassist Rex Brown, who anchors this down just like back in the day.
Playing them one after the other gives a sense of just how good Pantera were (are?). “This Love” lurks in the shadows with its sledgehammer hook. It’s the one that made Beavis and Butthead ready to break stuff, and judging by the reaction here, it still can.
After this, there’s an emotional tribute to Vinnie Paul and Dimebag Darrell on the big screens during “Floods,” and their spirit lives on throughout. Their music does too, as “Walk” reminds us.
Look, if the home of metal had been at boiling point before, here’s the eruption. Members of the support acts are here for the chorus, and perhaps it underlines the bond between all of them.
Wylde is a brilliant guitarist, which he shows yet again in “Hollow/Domination.” And simply put, if you don’t like “Cowboys from Hell,” you don’t like ’90s metal. That ends the main set for a reason.
Let’s be honest, you never had Benante banging a cowbell and Anselmo knocking out “Mississippi Queen” as the start of the encore, did you?
No. But you might have considered “Fucking Hostile,” which acts as a shotgun blast. The outsider’s anthem. Never has “We stand alone” sounded so menacing!
And speaking of things you never expected—if you’d given me a million guesses on how tonight was going to end, “Revolution Is My Name” being played for the first time on tour wouldn’t have been on the list.
It sounds phenomenal, though, and this, perhaps, is your reminder of how you get to play to 10,000 people. Your songs connect. On a massive level. For 80 minutes tonight, Pantera showed every metal band on the planet how shit gets done. They were jaw-droppingly good.
