KNOTFEST Melbourne 2024

words & photos: Nathan Goldsworthy @odin.imaging

Knotfest Australia Is back, and stop number one is melbourne

The gates of Flemington Racecourse creaked open on March 21st, not for the usual parade of thoroughbreds, but for a different kind of beast altogether. Melbourne Knotfest 2024 wasn't a race, it was a bloodbath, a sonic ritual that summoned legions of leather-clad disciples from the shadowed corners of the city.

Pantera, resurrected from the crypt after two decades, shambled onstage. The Abbott brothers were gone, a void no musician could truly fill. But in their place stood a legend: Zakk Wylde, a six-string gunslinger with enough swagger to fuel a thousand headbangers.

Wylde wasn't just filling a spot; he was a conduit, channeling the spirit of the late Dimebag Darrell. His fingers lightning across the fretboard, a blistering tribute that had the crowd roaring with a mix of reverence and primal joy. Every note echoed Dimebag's brilliance, every squeal a testament to his legacy. It wasn't an imitation, it was a continuation, a way to keep Pantera's music alive for a new generation of headbangers. "Walk" wasn't a song, it was a goddamn eviction notice this time served by two guitar gods, barking orders to every head to start banging. The moshpit churned, a roiling human stew fueled by nostalgia, pure, unadulterated aggression, and the knowledge they were witnessing something special.

Disturbed arrived like a ravenous crow, frontman Draiman a charismatic undertaker leading his murder towards a glorious oblivion. His voice, a barbed-wire caress, wrapped around melodies that burrowed deep into the primal brain. "Down with the Sickness" became an anthem for the afflicted, a celebration of the beautiful ugliness that binds us all. Their cover of "The Sound of Silence" wasn't a mere rendition, it was a sacrilege, a twisted eulogy for a world teetering on the brink.

Lamb of God piledrived the crowd with a relentless sonic assault. Blythe, a possessed preacher, barked pronouncements of apocalypse over a maelstrom of riffs. Moshpits became battlefields, bodies flailing like demented marionettes. The air hung thick with sweat, blood, and the primal scream ripped from a thousand throats. This wasn't just music, it was catharsis, a purging of the soul through pure sonic violence.

The undercard pulsed with its own dark energy. Halestorm's Hale, a warrior queen in a tattered leather vest, commanded the stage with a voice that could shatter glass and mend broken hearts in equal measure. The HU, ghosts from the steppes of Mongolia, brought their throat singing and tribal fury, a haunting counterpoint to the Western aggression. Every band, a facet of the same obsidian mirror reflecting the fractured soul of metal.

The energy didn't wane throughout the day. King Parrot Opened the day, drawing the masses early, Australia's own breed of feral metal, tore the place down with a chaotic energy. Brand of Sacrifice, rising stars of the deathcore scene, unleashed a torrent of brutality that left audiences gasping for air. Windwaker, with their progressive soundscapes, offered a brief respite before the sonic onslaught resumed.

Speed and Skindred kept the party going, fusing punk rock energy with a healthy dose of groove. Escape The Fate, veterans of the emo scene, brought a touch of melody to the proceedings without sacrificing the aggression.

Thy Art Is Murder brought down the house with a savagery that defied description. Their music wasn't just aggressive, it was a sonic assault weapon, aural shrapnel tearing through the crowd. Wage War, with their blend of technical proficiency and catchy hooks, proved that modern metal could be both brutal and beautiful.

Asking Alexandria, veterans of the metalcore scene, delivered a potent blend of catchy choruses and searing riffs, proving that melody and aggression can coexist in perfect harmony.

The Knotfest Museum wasn't a museum, it was a mausoleum, a chilling testament to the darkest corners of Slipknot's twisted minds. Masks leered from the shadows, instruments of torture disguised as guitars and drums. Each artifact whispered of pain, rebellion, and the glorious oblivion that awaited us all.

If you weren't a metalhead before, you were one by the time the last note faded. This wasn't just a festival, it was a baptism by fire. A baptism you wouldn't soon forget.