Combichrist, Rabia Sorda & Filter – The Marble Factory, Bristol
It is almost the raison d’être of this converted shed on the outskirts of the Bristol City Centre (even more so than London’s Slimelight), and is almost a perfect venue for tonight’s bill. From out of the dragon gas, Erik Garcia bounds to the front of the stage and doesn’t stop stomping. With a set-list swathed in newer material opposed to that of old, Rabia Sorda’s only let-down is that of lack of crowd familiarity, however, this is soon extinguished when the ‘Shed explodes to the tune of ‘Eye M Of The Blacksheep’ and ‘Out Of Control.’
The bassy-grunts of Filter may have been cutting edge in the nineties, but in 2016, they sound dated and the set quickly became labourious with the sanctimonious outbursts from Rich Patrick doing nothing to help the cause. There is slight-restbite from the din with the mud-addled ‘Hey Man, Nice Shot’ but it’s soon back-to-business for the outfit with every track almost-seamlessly fuzzing in to the next. This set was one for the long-time fans and had no intention of leading new ears on to that particular bandwagon.
By the time the latest incarnation of Combichrist hits us, The Tramshed was ready and waiting for something to give this evening’s proceedings a swift kick up the arse; love them or loath them, Andy and Co. do this with diamond-edged aplomb and without the reliance of the predictable list of crowd-favourites in their back catalogue. With the newer material sounding right at home with the inclusion of a guitar and the acoustic-drum backdrop, the shoehorning of these elements in to tracks such as ‘Get Your Body Beat’ and ‘Blut Royale’ makes it obvious that they do not belong and distracts from being the massive tunes that we know they are. Instrumental downfalls aside, Combichrist show that they can and will continue to evolve with all the speed that their hard-earned torque can afford, and if they can continue to carry on churning out and performing tracks such as ‘Skullcrusher’ and ‘Maggots At The Party’ with their cocky finesse then This Shit… will soon become a forgotten artefact in a goth-DJ’s arsenal.