This is a band who have mellowed over the years. Gone are the days when a pre-show ritual included one of their number pissing into his hands and splashing it over his face and through his hair as we witnessed at Ozzfest at the Milton Keynes Bowl in July 2001. But that’s not to say they’ve turned into a bunch of Horlicks-drinking bores.

The atmosphere as they prepare to take to the stage is electric. As they’re rounded up for a photo shoot in the Hall’s exercise room, percussionist Shaun Crahan jumps on a nearby exercise bike while others grab hockey sticks off the wall for mock sword fighting to expel some excess energy that’s building up.

But it’s not until they hit the stage that the full force of the Slipknot tornado is unleashed. And considering it’s been three and a half years since their total sensory assault has been felt in the UK we’d frankly forgotten how brutal they are. Often dismissed – mostly by elitist pricks – as a style-over-substance band, all image and no integrity, on this tour they’ve chosen to stick mostly to ‘album tracks’ – particularly from their self-titled cut – to underline their relentless fury.

We’re relieved that Sid ignores the little voice in his head compelling him to jump as he climbs to the top of the stage scaffold during Before I Forget. A lesson learned the hard way this summer, we feel. There’s a standout moment when it’s clear that metal is an international language. When Corey Taylor tells the crowd, ‘you know what time it is’ mid-Spit It Out, and all 8,000 metalheads dutifully crouch down on the floor ready to ‘jump the fuck up’ without requiring further instruction. It’s an old trick, but still quite a spectacle to behold.

“You don’t have a drink!” Joey observes after the show, clearly a million miles from the unapproachable metal monsters we were led to believe. “What’s your poison?” he asks as he amiably leads Hammer into their dark and dismal dressing room for a post-gig corrective. Aside from guitarist Mick Thompson, who is shooting the shit with one of their crew, the place is deserted, sweaty towels, discarded drinks vessels and food wrappers left in the wake of the absent band members taking advantage of a rare hotel room before the next stop in Oslo.

You look happy, Joey. Good show?

The reply is short and to the point. Not being rude, just sometimes less is more as he reflects on how good it is to be back in Europe after all these years and we’re left surveying the damage caused by the none-more-metal maelstrom that’s just swept through Tampere.

“Completely fucking awesome!”

We couldn’t agree more.