As I push through the hordes clustered around the merch area of The Fortitude Music Hall, it's icky-sticky out in the mall and I'm chasing that aircon before the punters turn this place into a full-blown sweat lodge.
The collective body heat is primed and ready for thrash metal giants Anthrax – one of the Big Four – kicking off their first show of this tour (23 March). Van Halen's 'Jump' is getting everyone's pipes warm. Especially the over 45s in the room.
Alien Weaponry are first up tonight. I haven't seen them since my first taste at Download many moons ago.
In good time, Henry Te Reiwhati de Jong (drums) takes the stage twirling his sticks before claiming his tubs, puffing out his chest and showing off those arms while throwing up his chin.
He kicks off 'Rū Ana Te Whenua' with its tribal intro chant. No it's not a traditional haka, but it's a powerful chant nonetheless. It's one that commands punters to pay attention. To listen up, in fact.
Alien Weaponry - image © Clea-marie Thorne
My mate from The Long White Cloud tells me it also honours their ancient and familial ancestors. Well with the conviction it is being delivered, it definitely sets the scene for the Māori-influenced thrash metal being unleashed upon us.
Ooh, and here it comes. There's that low-end rumble humming through the floor like the room's about to crack its knuckles.
I edge closer as Lewis Raharuhi de Jong (vocals/guitar) stalks the small amount of stage he has amongst the cloaked Anthrax gear. His shoulders squared, eyes locked like he's about to start something ancient and violent.
Henry is already tapping out a tribal pulse while leading that impressive intro chant. He keeps it thumping. It's not just sound. This is soul-shaking vibrations, like it's crawling up through the soles of everyoene's shoes and into our chests.
They kick-in with a-fuelled groove of handpicked tracks. There's fans in the crowd too. Pocket pits are warming up – on their way to prematurely detonating. No hesitation. Just bodies immediately being taken over by the noise.
Lewis is spitting te reo Māori like it's weaponry (yeah, pun unavoidable), and there's fans trying to shout it back with varying levels of success. They're chucking in something newer, maybe 'Hatupatu' – a bit more groove, a bit more stomp – but no one's calming down.
Alien Weaponry - image © Clea-marie Thorne
There's a girl on the barrier that is catching my eye. She's screaming every word perfectly, eyes shut, like she's somewhere else entirely.
Even without Randy Blythe making an appearance, a couple of songs in and they're swinging into what I believe is 'Taniwha', and it's got a more modern bite, but still carrying that weight. Big applause rolling through the crowd.
Tūranga Morgan-Edmonds (bass) is just locked in, head-banging like a piston, anchoring the whole thing while the guitars grind overhead. After a shout out to Anthrax, we're asked if we want one more.
Of course, we do and with that 'Kai Tangata' hits our ears, rattling our teeth. It's feral. Proper feral. A circle pit opens up like someone's pulled a plug out of a bathtub in the middle of the floor. From the wings, I see my mate getting dragged sideways, someone's yelling "GO!" like he's starting the sprint of their life.
Man, the chorus – if you can call it that – well it's just a wall of noise and fists and it's massive. So loud. A round of rowdy applause. Lights going deep blue, smoke hanging thick, everyone swaying instead of smashing. They walk off quick. No fluff. No nonsense. Job done.
There's barely time to breathe before the stage gets reset and the crowd shifts. Older heads are pushing forward, patched vests, faded 'Among The Living' tees that I bet have seen a thing or two.
A calico sheet now covers the whole front of the stage – we're getting a Kabuki drop tonight! Whoo!
'The Number Of The Beast' blares over the PA and everyone's shouting along. "Six, six, six. The number of the beast!" Beers in the air, horns up, like they're summoning something stupidly loud, while I reckon someone, somewhere is praying: "Let there be thrash!"
On cue, there's this intro animated imagery associated with their recent era revolving around their mascot Not Man on the front drop.
Anthrax - image © Clea-marie Thorne
It's brightly coloured, dark in humour and the flickering light builds the anticipation as we watch Not Man and then. . . the sheet drops. No countdown. Just impact; and yes, ye gods heard that single prayer and there was THRASH!
No easing in. Anthrax OG Scott Ian (guitar) is planted, right hand a blur, beard doing its own head-bang. Charlie Benante (drums) is just on. Every hit is landing like a thud in the chest. Joey Belladonna (vocals) is bursting out as 'A.I.R.' is ripping the room open. Immediate sprint.
'Got The Time' Joe Jackson cover hits next. Fast, tight, gone in a flash. Punters are already bouncing like we're halfway through the set instead of two songs in.
'Madhouse' turns the floor into organised chaos, bodies jumping in time, while 'Caught In A Mosh' completely throws that organisation in the bin. I'm getting shoved from three directions at once, someone's screaming "I CAN'T STAND IT FOR ANOTHER DAY!" directly into my skull. Security's already hauling someone out who does not look very happy about it.
Anthrax - image © Clea-marie Thorne
'Metal Thrashing Mad' is exactly that – no thinking, just movement. They roll straight into 'Fight 'Em 'Til You Can't, with the band taking a second to stretch it out, member intros sliding in.
Belladonna is working the crowd, pointing, grinning, like he knows exactly how cooked we already are and giving the diehard fans on the barrier special attention they'll treasure to their dying days.
'Breathing Lightning' brings that newer weight. Tonight, it is feeling darker, chunkier and no one's backing off. If anything, it's giving the pit breaking out in the middle of the room a second wind.
Then Belladonna's talking. He's telling us we're all music family – and yeah, it sounds like something you'd roll your eyes at anywhere else, but in here, packed in, dripping, half-deaf. . . it lands.
Anthrax - image © Clea-marie Thorne
It's no surprise this leads us into 'Keep It In The Family'. Suddenly everyone's yelling again, strangers standing side-by-side are turning into mates. Well at least for four minutes anyways.
'Be All, End All' is soaring. Belladonna's voice still ridiculous, still hitting those highs like it's nothing. Now 'Medusa' and it's also dragging a darker, heavier tone. Heads banging in sync like a ritual. It's an awesome sight.
Ian walks with purpose, over to the front side-of-stage. He may or may not have covered up the signage telling patrons not to do the very metal things that are absolutely a must at a thrash gig. Silent invitation accepted.
'Indians' drops and it's on. Absolute carnage near the front. "WAR DANCE!" echoes off every wall. A circle pit trying to emulate a cyclone – not too shabby for a Monday night; although a few outliers are pacing themselves, saving energy for lifting elbows to quench already hoarse throats.
Anthrax - image © Clea-marie Thorne
I'm watching a bloke who's had a few too many quenching of bevos somehow stay upright the entire time, beer still in hand. Not a drop lost. Hero behaviour.
There's no real cry for the encore. No one's believing for a second they're done. Too right they're not. It's happening before we can even insist it happens.
As the encore hits, it's messy and fun. 'I'm The Man' gets a half-run – first verse and chorus – the whole crowd taking over, shouting the words like they bargained for. Belladonna stepping back and letting it happen.
Frank Bello (bass) is stepping up, talking about a new album coming, promising they'll be back and next time we're getting the full 'I'm The Man’. Crowd cheers like it's already locked in.
Anthrax - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Then he tells us for now we get another 'I Am' track and fans go nuts as the thrashing sounds of 'I Am The Law' punch into our earlobes and rattle our brains. That riff hits and the place just erupts again like we've all suddenly found fresh lungs.
Much to the delight of everyone in the room, they close out with 'Antisocial'. It's pure shout-along chaos. No one's singing properly, just barking it – louder, rougher, more unhinged as it rolls on.
Belladonna's winding it up and tying it off with a vocal bow, yelling "RUN TO THE HILLS!" at the end, looping it right back to that Iron Maiden intro like a cheeky full-circle moment.
Lights that have snapped to blue reflect the faces of the fans on the barrier who can't believe it's over already. Way too soon. 10:50pm. Done.
Anthrax - image © Clea-marie Thorne
I'm standing fine, but my neck is absolutely rooted. Bodies thrust past me on their way out and that ick feeling of someone else's sweat-soaked shirt touching me is enough for me to turn-tail and get the hell out before the rest of the pit adds to it.
I see security scanning the exiting crowd, watching the aftermath like survivors of something loud and stupid and perfect. I'm trying to crack my neck back into place and it's not cooperating.
Seven years between drinks and they come back like that. No easing in. No mercy. Good luck, rest of Australia.
