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Review: Orange Goblin/Saint Vitus, Fleece
Chief Goblin Ben Ward has spoken, a tad gloomily, about this being a make or break time for his band as they struggle to progress to bigger venues. You can see his point. Orange Goblin have been packing out the Fleece ever since they first played here nearly 20 years ago supporting Queens of the Stone Age. Their people’s band reputation has been hard won, but cult status rarely pays the bills. So it must be sobering to tour with LA doom grandfathers Saint Vitus, who’ve eked out an existence at club level since 1979, with a couple of lengthy breaks, and are currently enjoying a 35th anniversary upswing in fortunes with their reunited more-or-less definitive line-up.
“Hey – they’re really old,” mutters someone behind us as the grizzled, grey-haired doomsters take to the stage and immediately set out to teach the young ‘uns how it’s done, with Mark Adams’ ribcage-rattling bass; Dave Chandler’s unsophisticated yet effective slabs of heavy riffage alternating with squealy solos; and Scott ‘Wino’ Weinrich’s primal howl. It’s an appealing downbeat racket, with plenty of material from the fan favourite Born Too Late album, evincing absolutely no inclination to stray beyond the boundaries of their chosen niche.
With due respect to these venerable figures, Orange Goblin are the clear headliners here. You really wouldn’t want to see Saint Vitus trying to follow them, as they’ve been doing on alternate dates during this tour. There’s still a slightly comical Land of the Giants contrast between hulking great Ward and fun-sized guitarist Joe Hoare. One half expects the frontman to scoop up the little fella and pop him in his pocket. But while roaring Ward’s charismatic melding of rabble-rousing Viking berserker and drunken metal fanboy buffoon remains the focal point, it’s Hoare’s outstanding, surprisingly bluesy guitar playing that supplies the band’s backbone, even if he does forget the intro to Round Up the Horses. Factor in the super-tight, road-hardened rhythm section of Martyn Millard and Chris Turner and you have a formidable live act. Highlights include newie Sabbath Hex (all about how people who don’t like Black Sabbath shouldn’t be allowed to live, apparently, which seems reasonable enough), The Fog (who could resist a song about John Carpenter’s second-greatest movie?), the evergreen Quincy the Pigboy and thunderous set-closer Red Tide Rising. On record, these songs often struggle to transcend the sum of their influences (The Devil’s Whip, for example, is manifestly Motorhead’s Iron Fist with different lyrics), but on stage even the meat and potatoes is served like haute cuisine.
is needed now More than ever
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