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Rating: Given the pleasant trend of proposing live reports, even in “amarcord” version, I too was waiting for the right moment to present something of my own; and since today marks the first anniversary of the Truemetal Festival, at Legend Club in Milan, which featured Manilla Road as headliner, what better occasion to commemorate all this?
I arrived in Milan in the late afternoon. The trip was calm and pleasant, thanks in part to continuous stretches of overcast sky that kept lessening the July heat. The navigator led me directly in front of the venue, away from the downtown chaos, so I found parking easily, right behind the location. The park was very inviting, with its stony paths lining trees and flowery meadows, so I took a walk to stretch my legs, stiffened from the long journey, then marched towards the Legend. I ate immediately, although it wasn't yet dinner time, but I knew the event was all about heavy/epic metal, so I preferred to satisfy my hunger right away, so as not to miss a single note of that massive concert!
I entered a few minutes before the start. I was disappointed when I gauged the size of the interior, which could barely hold a hundred people. It reminded me of the concert at Buddha Café in Orzinuovi six years earlier, when I saw my favorite band for the first time: the venue was much larger and for the occasion, we managed to gather nearly a thousand people. This time, nothing of the sort would happen. A more cramped and intimate location, for the few chosen ones, so to speak. I gulped bitterly as I tried to reason with myself. Shortly thereafter, the first performance began, in front of a handful of people. It was a shame because the performance by the Aeternal Seprium was raw and powerful; I really liked it.
The first group had just left the stage when I headed towards the exit to get some air, while Battle Ram was engaged with the soundcheck. It was then that I experienced the highest emotional peak of the entire day: Mark Shelton and Bryan Patrick were leaning at the bar counter! Excited, I approached them with a shy smile. Mark took it upon himself to alleviate my shyness by hugging me as if I were a friend, as if he had known me forever. A thrill of joy invaded my body: my musical legend was alive before my eyes, and I could finally touch it firsthand! We took a picture and exchanged a few words. We understood each other, despite my faltering English. I had to leave them shortly after because several fans were gathering around the Road, and unfortunately, I had already exceeded my turn. Mark wished me a good concert, while unwillingly I parted from him.
In the meantime, the festival continued to reveal its incredible offerings, such as the granular Battle Ram and the indomitable MainPain. Following them was a group that particularly struck me, namely Icy Steel, of whom I own the eponymous debut, and I must say that their dark, rhythmic, and romantic metal is something that penetrates your soul. I was stunned even by the pieces I didn't know, so much so that I promised myself to recover all their albums: after the headliner, that was for me the most beautiful performance! More beautiful even than that of the Lombards Wotan, a historic band for Italian epic metal: the band that traces its roots back to the late eighties and authors of masterpieces like Epos and Carmina Barbarica, stormed the stage with all its wild theatricality! A Vanni Ceni in great vocal form, enjoyed wearing helmets and bronze swords, resurrecting the deeds of historical and fantastic characters, evoked by his songs. However, a disaster was lurking: only on the second piece, the bassist broke a string and was forced to improvise almost the entire performance. An idiot to my right shouted: "Someone give that man an E string!" as if what happened was the musician's fault. Luckily, just before the conclusion, one of the organizers finally handed over a functioning bass to Sal, who delighted the audience by exploiting his real potential. Everyone applauded; I, relieved, just smiled.
When Wotan left the stage, I felt a sudden acceleration of my heartbeat: it was finally time for Manilla Road! The venue was now packed. Flurries of sweaty bodies clung in front of the stage, panting and anxious like warriors waiting for the final battle. I had no problems moving through the crowd: I had been in front of the stage for some time, just one step away from the barriers. When the riff of Flaming Metal System opened the dances, I let out a hoarse and choked shout of joy! But it was only the beginning; the subsequent pair was heart-stopping: Masque of the Red Death and Death by the Hammer! I was already gone mad, and the audience with me, aided by definitely better audio than the one heard at the Buddha in 2008, and above all a great bond among the band members, including naturally Bryan "Hellroadie" Patrik, whose tone was increasingly similar to Shelton's nasal voice, so the duets between the two vocalists turned out, even on that occasion, curious and pleasing to hear. Kudos also to Neudi, the drummer, who surprised me because I had found him a bit underwhelming in the Mysterium album (his first work with the band), just because that record had rather sparse and rhythmic parts, in contrast to the Road philosophy, which is unpredictable and articulate drumming; a character that Neudi managed to express anyway, beating the tempos of the old songs!
Among the best pieces were a misty and psychedelic The Ninth Wave and an heroic and captivating Cage of Mirrors, in a rendition much superior to the studio version from '82 which has too muffled sounds. I particularly remember the acoustic parts, interpreted by Mark, and I also remember my eyes wet upon hearing the notes that came from his weak but expressive voice, almost as if he were an aged bard who replaces vocal richness with a professional sense of interpretation and poetry, still managing to thrill the audience. After all, it's well known that Mark has had chronic voice problems since the Open the Gates days, issues that have worsened over the years, making the support of the equally valid Hellroadie inevitable. Listening to the guitar work instead, I realized (I already knew it) that it was a whole different music! Raw, shrill, resounding, fast, and melodic virtuosity, executed even with a pinch of theatricality, like in Witches Brew when the old shark performed part of the solo putting the guitar behind his neck (a tribute to Hendrix, almost certainly). A shower of classics at the finale, among which were the massive and furious Up From the Crypt and the essential gallop Necropolis: it was sheer madness, to the point that we were exhausted when together we chanted the last refrain of the evening, constituted by Heavy Metal to the World, a tacky ode to heavy music, meant to leave every self-respecting defender hoarse! After all this divine goodness, the Road finally bid farewell, before the Legend rose in one lastemotional ovation. I knew that Mark and the others would come out for the final greetings, but it was already one o'clock at night and I was running out of time. The return trip occupied me for the entire night. I arrived home at dawn and allowed myself a few hours of sleep before going to work.
Do not ask me what my definitive thought is about that evening because I don't know it myself: such a shower of strong emotions that I can't even understand them! I can only say that I live the present with the pleasure of the memory, hoping that the dream can resume from where it was born… just like that… all of a sudden…
Federico “Dragonstar” Passarella.
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