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Witch Fever @ Rescue Rooms, Live Review

Anya Fogg

Anya Fogg visits 450-capacity Rescue Rooms to take on electrifying and charismatic Manchester doom-punks Witch Fever.


I had requested to cover this gig for The Mic on the belief that Witch Fever

were the headline act, having quickly googled their tour and jotted down the date. Given that

they recently opened for My Chemical Romance in a 30,500-capacity stadium and supported

IDLES’ European tour in March, I didn’t think it would be much of a stretch for the pull of

this Manchester doom punk band to round up all of the slightly heretical kids of Nottingham

to the 450 person capacity of Rescue Rooms. However, as my friend and I wound through

the corridors and smoking area to the entrance, we began to notice the incongruity of our

dyed spiked hair and mesh tops to the waist-length, occasionally grey haircuts and band T-

shirts of what was increasingly clearly that of an older hardcore metal crowd.


Still unable to locate an itinerary, and suspicious but gloriously naïve of my mistake, we

picked up some drinks and were relieved we didn't miss the support as they set up. A feeling

which was immeasurably reinforced when we realised that the support were themselves the 4

darkly garbed heretics of Witch Fever. Finally thinking to read the nametag behind them:

opening for 13-year-vintage “Canadian Whiskey metal” band, Cancer Bats.


Lead singer/screamer Amy Walpole, in characteristic blood-smear red warpaint and ripped

tights, strode, commandeering, across the stage to the opening beats of Blessed Be Thy,

drooling the Catholic-tinged anathema with one boot hitched up on the central speaker. The

crowd began to jolt with headbangs as one by one they became enthralled…


With beautifully harsh riffs from Alisha Yarwood’s guitar and the sharpened cool of Alex

Thompson on bass – so deep it distorted the visuals of every video I took - the battle-march

drums of Annabelle Joyce’s unrelenting energy created the eerie atmosphere upon which

Amy played. Interestingly, the sound-board mixing of bass distortion and guitar-tone shifts to

suit the heavier headliners created a sound that noticeably differed from their studio

recordings. Nonetheless cut through by the searing bite of Amy’s range of low drawl,

impressively flexible soprano, and emotive larynx-breaking outbursts.


Halfway through the show, Amy jumped down from the stage, trailing the snake of her mic

cable through the parted crowd, before being blocked by someone absorbed in their phone

screen. She prowled around them, still snarling lyrics, as if scoping out the fate of her prey, as

they remained completely oblivious to the eyes of the whole crowd fixed in suspense. The

tension climaxed in humour as they finally looked up to the blood-dripping grin of Amy, 2

inches from their face, and sighed the way you would with a misbehaving child, as if to say –

"what do you want now?"



Powering through the majority of their 14 released tracks, their dark-room red-lit set

commanded the attention of the diverted metal veterans, seeping their sanguine sarcasm

through the black walls of Rescue Rooms.


"Interestingly, the sound-board mixing of bass distortion and guitar-tone shifts to suit the heavier headliners created a sound that noticeably differed from their studio recordings. Nonetheless cut through by the searing bite of Amy’s range of low drawl, impressively flexible soprano, and emotive larynx-breaking outbursts."

“The monarchy, the government, the fucking police - have upheld systems of racism, sexism,

homophobia, transphobia, and ableism in this country.” Amy announced from her pulpit.

“Today is a very special day, and not just because the Queen died… This is Bully Boy”. The

chorus rang with alarming poignance as the crowd repeated the royal-referencing “OFF

WITH HIS HEAD”.


Finishing the short set with Reincarnate, Amy lay drained on the floor as if bled out,

repeating - quieter and quieter - the last emotion left from her body: “You won’t break me.

You won’t break me.” The palpable vulnerability hung in the air long after they left the stage,

as the bulk of the crowd began to syphon in down the concentration gradient from the

smoking area outside.


I relished the opportunity to see this band for the first time, in a show they undeniably

dominated from the undercurrent; only reinforcing how I reverently anticipate seeing Witch

Fever in their element of a venue packed to the brim, with girls crowdsurfing for the first time

and vicious red-lipsticked moshpits – and of course their beckoning for our congregation.


Anya Fogg

 

Edited by: Jodie Averis

Cover and in-article photos courtesy of NME and Orange Amps respectively.

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