Metal Onslaught: A Night of Unrelenting Chaos

In the dark, unforgiving heart of Tilburg Poppodium 013, amidst a backdrop of festival chaos and train traffic mayhem, The Next bore witness to an apocalypse of sound. It wasn't just a concert; it was a brutal, unrelenting assault on the senses that defied all expectations.

The venue, though not officially sold out, was a seething cauldron of frenzied metalheads, hungering for an auditory baptism of fire. The lineup was a testament to eclecticism, drawing in a crowd as diverse as the music itself. The fusion of early post-hardcore and modern death metal created an odd juxtaposition, but that's precisely what made this night unforgettable.

The youngbloods, sporting shirts adorned with cryptic band logos that screamed rebellion, came for the opening acts. Meanwhile, the elders, decked out in polo shirts and summer dresses, arrived to bear witness to the headliner. These two worlds collided, clashing in a maelstrom of musical discovery.



Frontierer, hailing from Scotland, brought the crowd to the precipice of madness with their djent-infused deathcore. The air was electric with noise explosions and unpredictable song structures. The very first dissonant note sparked a mosh pit frenzy that knew no mercy. For those seeking refuge with a cold beer in hand, Frontierer offered an engrossing spectacle. However, as the night unfolded, it became abundantly clear that volume wasn't always synonymous with greatness.





Archspire, in all their chaotic glory, seemed to embrace the absurd. They stormed the stage with a proclamation that they weren't there to perform, but to channel the essence of five hapless individuals. Of course, the music followed, but it was punctuated by relentless adolescent humor—endless jokes about taboo topics. An over-the-top gimmick manifested as a colossal Twister mat for mosh pit hijinks. Now, let's delve into the brutality of decibels... When the venue's walls seemed to threaten imminent collapse, and even the most professional-grade earplugs couldn't stifle the auditory assault, it was evident that the sound levels had crossed into the realm of sonic warfare. The subtleties in the music were obliterated, rendering Archspire's intricate tech death a mere whisper in the tempest. Amid the onslaught, crude humor took center stage, drowning out the music. A track like "Drone Corpse Aviator," which should have transported listeners to sci-fi realms of wonder, was reduced to the gutter with relentless jests.

Thankfully, Dying Fetus entered the fray with sonic precision. Vocals and instruments forged an unholy union, and our eardrums were spared the worst of the devastation. Amid the drumming blitzkrieg, the guttural grindcore vocals, and the bone-shattering riffs, a groove emerged—a savage rhythm that compelled headbanging and moshing. The setlist was an unapologetic barrage of classics like "Grotesque Impalement" and "Subjected To A Beating," peppered with newer ferocity like "Compulsion For Cruelty."

Finally, the night culminated in the arrival of the band that had birthed countless imitators: Converge! Their distinctive blend of noise, groove, and organized chaos served as a blueprint for the evening's opening acts. Three decades ago, Converge had reshaped the very essence of hardcore music, and tonight was a testament to their enduring reign of sonic tyranny. The setlist was a relentless onslaught, including apocalyptic detonations like "Heartless" and "You Fail Me." Naturally, a generous helping of tracks from their iconic "Jane Doe" album, featuring the likes of "Hell To Pay" and "Thaw," left scars upon the crowd. Jacob Bannon's visceral, near-psychotic screams were a sonic scourge, and he spared no breath for chit-chat between songs.

It wasn't just a night of music; it was a descent into aural madness. Converge, without question, emerged as the indomitable overlords of the evening, leaving a trail of auditory devastation in their wake.