Brisbane's The Fortitude Music Hall is packed to the rafters with punters still queuing to get inside.
This sold-out show (7 September) is heaving before the first note as local metalheads line up for beers, shirts and anything Sabaton-branded at the merch stand they can get their mitts on.
With no Aussie talent on offer, Amaranthe are up first rolling out with a massive Manifest backdrop and drummer Morten Løwe Sørensen perched high on a riser, right in front of Sabaton's waiting kit that's elevated even higher than his!
Amaranthe - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Our intro leads into 'Fearless' kicking things off hard, Elize Ryd belting it out clean while Nils Molin and Mikael Sehlin trade grit and growl. The triple vocal attack is slamming through the room, no one hogging the spotlight for long.
'Viral' and 'Digital World' fire up the pit, punters bouncing like it's a Euro dance floor gone metal. 'Damnation Flame' and 'Maximize' are blasted in quick succession, the band barely pausing, just hammering through hooks and grooves. 'Strong' has arms up and phones out, then 'PvP' rips into game-core territory.
Amaranthe - image © Clea-marie Thorne
When 'Re-Vision' and 'The Catalyst' drop, Olof Mörck's shredding sharp and precise, locking in with Johan Andreassen's bass while the vocals tear through harmonies. The crowd sways for 'Amaranthine', couples clutching onto each other in that big sing-along moment before it all erupts again in 'The Nexus'.
Of course, Molin is inciting that territorial vocal war Brisbane loves to win at. Rattling the walls left against right then united, punters rejoiced claiming the title with a Viking-style chant of “Queenslander! Queenslander!".
'Call Out My Name' slips into a cheeky bit of Queen's 'We Will Rock You', our stomps echoing back from the floorboards. They close on 'That Song', which won't let us forget Sørensen is a master on the tubs. Then my all-time favourite 'Drop Dead Cynical', leaving the place rowdy and sweaty.
Amaranthe - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Intermission turns into chaos at the merch stand, punters snapping up every last patch, tee and stubby cooler.
Sabaton finally storm the stage, sporting the same Sabaton camo pants, Swedish War Machine patched shirts, except Hannes Van Dahl in a muscle singlet and Joakim Brodén wearing his iconic, custom-made metal-plated bullet proof-looking vest. This is the same get up they wore for Good Things 2022, but this time it's not daylight robbing them of atmosphere.
The room is plunged into darkness, lights blazing only when they want them to strike and it is a stark contrast! Playing against a giant Sabaton backdrop, 'The March To War' sets the battle tone, straight into the cannon-fire of 'Ghost Division'.
Brodén's sunnies are glinting, Pär Sundström's bass is rumbling like tank tracks, Chris Rörland's guitar is slicing through, and Van Dahl is pounding the uber-kit with military precision. Thobbe Englund, rejoining after eight years away, is looking right at home, trading licks with Rörland and digging into the new-era line-up with fire.
Out front, the crowd is going off but it's the middle of the floor where a crazy circle pit of mad moshers has formed – drinks flying, fists raised, voices already hoarse two songs in. A few punters are up on shoulders smack bang in the middle of the room, so deep that security haven't got a hope of reaching them.
Sabaton - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Every chorus is a roar back at the band, every riff answered with cheers. 'The Last Stand' has punters bellowing along, 'The Red Baron' comes with scarlet lights sweeping across the crowd, and 'Great War' locks everyone into chorus mode.
'Fields Of Verdun' feels almost triumphant before they pull out 'Bismarck', the shipwreck anthem that has heels punching the floorboards. A cheeky nod to Metallica with a slice of 'Master Of Puppets' sneaking in, the crowd loving it, and a pink Hello Kitty guitar illicit raucous cries. Then it's into 'Resist And Bite' and 'Soldier Of Heaven'.
A few crowd surfers sail across heads here and there, landing grinning and sweaty in the pit before running back to mosh some more. Most fan are more than content to raise horns, beers, voices and fists from the stability of the venue floor.
One from their new album, 'Hordes Of Khan', charges through with galloping riffs, then the eerie sirens of 'The Attack Of The Dead Men' drop the room into chaos as punters howl the call. 'Carolus Rex' in Swedish feels regal as hell, the language barrier irrelevant with that kind of delivery.
Sabaton - image © Clea-marie Thorne
'Stormtroopers' has Brisbane marching out as one, loud, sweaty mob into their own frontline karaoke, and every punter's a willing recruit. 'Christmas Truce' has arms with mobile phone lights swaying like spruce trees in a winter wind.
'Night Witches' slams with its own flavour, the crowd staying locked in, horns high and voices never faltering. It's a jovial, jolly, boisterous mob tonight – the kind of engaged, responsive crowd every band dreams of playing in front of.
'The Art Of War' leads into the emotional gut punch of 'Cliffs OIf Gallipoli' with a nod to the Aussies, silence hanging for a beat before it bursts open again with the war cries of 'Primo Victoria'.
Instead of buggering off for the sanctimonious ritual, they tell us how they're going to take the piss and just keep firing. Like true Swedish pagans, they don't need theatre, just another round of noise.
Sabaton - image © Clea-marie Thorne
The crowd are already chanting for 'Swedish Pagans' before the band even strike it, drinks flying, shoulders refusing to come down, the whole joint detonating as soon as the riff drops. They charge into 'To Hell And Back', a final artillery strike that levels The Fortitude Music Hall in one last roar.
As punters spill into the night, drenched and grinning, the recording of 'The Ballad Of Bull' drifts over the speakers. It's got that loping cattle-drive feel – a metalhead muster rolling out like the Ekka cattle run, horns high and stomping through the gates after battle.
Noisy and untamed, but well and truly spent for now. Sabaton smashed Brisbane like a battalion gone troppo, every track hitting like a tank shell and the extremely engaged fans bellowing it back twice as hard.
Amaranthe sparked it up early, then Sabaton drop the double blast that doesn't let up till the last shot. By the end we're cooked. Our voices shredded. Shirts stuck to us. Grins plastered on like lunatics who just survived the best kind of battle.
I would charge headfirst into it again, no questions asked, so long as that same soundtrack's rattling the walls.
More photos from the concert.
