Simon Rushworth
It’s a while since a band has made me physically sick.
My stomach churned throughout the mid-90s as grunge grabbed hold of the rock high ground and almost destroyed my favourite kind of metal.
I felt pretty nauseous the first time I saw the reformed Twisted Sister sweat their way through a live show at Newcastle’s Arena.
And I think I actually puked when first faced with Celine Dion. Or at least the time I saw Gwar.
This week it was like a night with those monster metallers all over again. And I can’t even blame it on fake blood or bad beer.
I’ll say it here and now. Dragonforce should come with a health warning.
Throughout Turisas’s war-mongering, alcohol-worshipping, nubile young women-pillaging set I felt fine. Absolutely top notch.
Nothing whatsoever was going to upset my stomach on this magical night of old school metal.
And as the Finnish warriors finished off a stunning set in style I couldn’t wait to watch Herman and his pals tear through a fret-burning set.
The first few tracks got the adrenaline flowing as Dragonforce did the business. Anthem after anthem and all delivered at breakneck speed.
Perhaps it was the unforgiving pace. Maybe the lights set me off. Or perhaps it was the fact that crazy Vadim boasted a keyboard that looked like vomit.
Anyway, half an hour into Dragonforce’s set I started to feel a tad queasy. At the 45 minute mark I was swaying. And after an hour my mate was driving me home faster than a Herman solo to avoid his freshly valeted car being peppered with that evening’s meal.
In the cold light of day Dragonforce is a blur. But maybe that’s how it’s meant to be.
Maybe there’s something in those solos that messes with your karma. Maybe keyboards have always made me feel sick.
Or maybe it was the pork scratchings.
Simon Rushworth