Parkway Drive put the OVO Arena Wembley in a vice grip as they lean into theatricality for their astounding 20th anniversary celebration.
It begins with a spotlight shone into Wembley's furthest corner and the waving of a flag. Is this a ceremony or a show? Parkway Drive’s 20th anniversary stopover in London could be both at first, the Byron Bay metallers arriving not from backstage but striding through the crowd., with vocalist Winston McCall wearing a white toga/dressing gown/jiu-jitsu uniform hybrid makes him look like he’s about to start a boxing match.
In the wrong band’s hands, such a grandiose opening would look pompous. But as he looks each fan in the eye and grabs their hands as he passes, it appears anything but – it’s human, it’s intimate, and it momentarily breaks through the glass wall that comes up between a band and their fans when the band gets big enough. When they get onstage, Winston lets fly the best possible word for this moment: 'CAAAARRRIIOOOOONN!' From here, they're a knockout.
The atmosphere is febrile already. Not surprising, when the punters have been pitting since half 6 on this windy evening. It’s busy early for The Amity Affliction, the first of an all-Aussie line-up who drum up an appetite for violence with their thudding riffs and the bellows of vocalist Joel Birch, who sounds like he’s gargling rocks. Their heavier moments shine brighter than the slightly thinner moments of melody, but they amalgamate beautifully for closer Soak Me In Bleach.
Thy Art Is Murder, meanwhile, lurch dramatically from their opening music, of all things, We Like To Party, into the skull-smashing Blood Throne (with blood red lighting to match). They go heavy, heavy, heavy in merciless fashion, not that the crowd seem to mind, the circle-pit stretching to an oval as they drop the slashing closer Puppet Master.
Though both bands offer a thorough warm-up, there’s no way to be truly prepared for the jaw-dropping scale of what Parkway have concocted. This is the most theatrical they have ever been, and it’s astonishing. There’s a walkway between the main stage and the B-stage that raises and lowers – in one glorious moment, lead guitarist Jeff Ling shreds while the ground beneath him rises and sparks spurt from its base. The hulking Glitch introduces a troupe of contemporary dancers, whose performance for an extended introduction of The Void transforms it into something of ritualistic proportions. There’s a string trio, indoor fireworks, enough flames to have the local fire brigade wetting themselves. They even got some – brace yourself – indoor rain. Bands who could sell out this room three times over wouldn’t even dare to attempt this. It’s ridiculous. It’s fucking amazing.
And, of course, Parkway sound earth-shattering. Newbie Sacred is as titanic as songs they’ve been playing for years, Vice Grip is a big, silly, chest-beating moment of collective euphoria, and Boneyards slams and slams with Joel Birch and Thy Art’s Tyler Miller bringing strength in numbers. There’s even a cheeky Killing With A Smile-era medley for the day one fans that might just crush your vertebrae to dust. Through all of this, when he gets a moment to breathe, Winston is awed by it all, but he’s just as eager to have fun. “I have become the roundabout!” he yells as fans pit around him for Idols And Anchors, while Darker Still is twice as beautiful when put in a huge rooms lit up by phone torches.
Their finale curiously relies on contrast. Crushed finds them outdoing themselves even more than they already have – first, Ben Gordon’s drum riser flips him upside down, and then, it – as with many other parts of the stage – is engulfed in fire. They send it home on far more minimalistic terms, stripping back their production for Wild Eyes to rely on their musicianship, their good old fashioned mosh pits, and their colossal ‘whoa-ohs’ that fans will be singing all the way home. It’s brave, and it’s earnest, and it works.
This spectacle – which almost feels like an unflattering word given what they’ve undertaken – takes up two and a quarter hours. Every minute of it is justified, and they make every second count. Somehow, with this show, Parkway have taken almost every band who plays rooms bigger than this by the scruff of the neck, forced them to the floor and used their faces as mops. It’s the greatest of what live music has to offer. Show of the year? No contest. A Download headline spot, at this rate, has to be in their future…
