One of the finer things about Mastodon is they were once an act that evolved on an album by album basis – fusing wild conceptual narratives with equally wild instrumentals to create some of the most revered metal that the modern era had seen. The band’s recent albums have resulted in Mastodon playing a show that departs from these roots, failing to reflect what made the band so successful in the first place. However, their show at Festival Hall proved they still knew how to work the crowd.
In terms of the band, there was plenty of stage space for Mastodon to run around. Vocalist/bassist Troy Sanders constantly bobbed his head about in between howls like a bobble head doll, guitarist Brent Hinds ran up to the edge and shook the sweat off of his beard as he thrashed out some intense solos, with plenty more showboating as members chugged out riffs next to each other at intervals. Arguably, the showmanship was still on point, especially with thunderous drum-work that shook the room with near seismic force.
Crowd participation is a dead giveaway to the quality of a show, and there was a noticeable difference between times when people were gently nodding to when they were at risk of giving themselves whiplash. This boiled down entirely to what was playing as tracks off their heavily conceptual albums, Blood Mountain and Crack the Skye, had the entire hall in arms, whereas their later songs barely caused a stir. Even the band were putting most of the effort in for the old tracks – Hinds’ solos, his leaning off the stage and the several picks he discarded into the crowd all happened during the songs that the fans had actually turned out for. Besides that, some absolutely God-awful lighting plagued the final 15 minutes of the set as three painful white lights blinded onlookers with the sharp, blinding irritation of flash photography. If the lighting world needed an equivalent of water board torture, Festival Hall had perfected it.
As the set closed, interaction from the band towards the crowd warmed up as Brann Dailor stepped from his drumkit to the microphone – sharing a few warm words, throwing around a bit of banter and chucking a set of drumsticks to a guy who air drummed the whole set from the front row. The show was over, and while it wasn’t by any means a bad show, it left a certain lack of satisfaction. Maybe the fond thought stuck that if Mastodon ever did a Blood Mountain or Crack The Skye album reissue/tour, fans would see the band at their finest.
BY THOMAS BRAND
Loved: Catching metal-heads peeing in public post show. Everywhere.
Hated: Sherlock bouncer who was convinced my bag had hidden beer in it (it’s usually in my jacket, detective).
Drank: Very little.
