…And you’re back in the room. Our glasses are charged and we’re ready for some more rock’n'f’in’roll!

Ratt
Ratt seem to have re-found their feet after some disappointing London shows and hammer home classics with a renewed vigour. The band’s sleazy hair metal credentials of old are still valid as a wanton crowd lap up every note they’re given. Stephen Pearcy’s wizened features suit the visceral sentiments and he seems not to have gained a pound since 1989. As befalls so many other bands, Ratt seem not to have become a band who are simply going through the motions because they failed to apply their limited talents elsewhere when grunge killed hair; all members rock to and fro and play every riff and lick with an excitement that makes them just as relevant today as in 1988. Lay it down they do!

Check out our review of Hysterica, Delain, Korpiklaani and Black Spiders.

In between sets we all huddle in the bar where the bands have come let their hair down, or tease it up. We are lucky enough to meet Toby Jepson who has just come off stage singing with Scottish rockers Gun; an absolute gent the Scarborough singer informs us that he is not only supporting Skin on their UK tour next week, but that he will be performing lots of Little Angels material! Oh, the memories…

Monster Magnet
We were all shocked the last time Dave Wyndorf came to town, having gone from sex god space waif to moon pie in a couple of touring cycles. So it with less surprise that we welcome the Monster Magnet frontman to the packed, sweaty and smoky arena for a much anticipated set of cosmic rock. It’s clear that with his big leather coat and guitar slung round his neck that rarely gets more than a strum, he is aware of his stature; but the hiding it makes it more obvious. Few people go to see Meatloaf and say with mild surprise, ‘He’s quite big isn’t he?’. But once you’re past the shock you head deep into a universe where size and shape have no meaning anyway – nothing physical exists – only sound: a long rhythmic groove like doing a microscopic bobsled round a record, the sonic terrain making you wonder if you’re smaller than an atom flying around inside the nucleus or bigger than a galaxy cluster expanding slowly at the speed of light. The bobbing heads of the guitarists seem to feed riffs, licks and raunchy solos directly into the brain as if by telemetry, all the while the newly broad shoulders of their astro-ring leader to-ing and fro-ing to the mike to tear a stoner-rock lyric out of the music. The Magnet’s set proves that just because you have long songs it doesn’t mean you have to lack groove or hooks, or be boring. You just sink beneath the water line into and submerge yourself into a rock trance swimming between dimensions. Come visit our planet again soon!