(((O))) Live: Couch Slut • Death Goals – Downstairs at the Dome, London

We find community where we can. It’s a human want. Scratch that. It’s a human need. In difficult times – and, let’s face it, the word “difficult” there is doing some pretty significant heavy lifting right now – we need it more than ever.

Many of those browsing the pages of Echoes & Dust no doubt find solace, recognition, and validation through the prism of their alternative taste in music. You might also find like-minded individuals you can be more comfortable around than normal at gigs without ever swapping a word, perhaps some do become a gig buddy or eventually a close friend, perhaps even more. . .

These is often a danger that such scenes that were once welcoming to people, sharing this initial similarity – in this instance a taste for heavy music – can slowly start gatekeeping, become increasingly inward-looking; eventually draw lines, form borders; fall into endless arguments over what the scene is and who it represents; suddenly closes those borders, and then begin to expel newer members for not being quite aligned; until inevitably some start to question and challenge the look and legitimacy of those that had been part of it for much longer.

Not sure where I was going with that, but anyway, the day’s headliners were from the United States of America. It was their first time in the United Kingdom.

I decided to type out the full “U” part of both countries for reasons unknown, although some might say that irony must surely rank highly.

Couch Slut’s debut on these not-so-hallowed shores came amid a heatwave, and yet, dear reader, there’s just something that doesn’t sit well right now when asking for ICE in any drink. Weird capitalisation glitch there – forgive me. Sure enough, though, a chill rides its way up the spine and the blood runs cold, if asked or offered, so job done, thankfully without diluting the drink.

Funnily enough, a scene can dilute itself. Not through welcoming a growing community of new members, but through the employment of different iterations of the frozen H₂O nom-de-guerre, to expel those that make the collective so rich (take your pick in terms of culture and/or economy). In other words, a scene will lose coherence and identity if someone decides only a certain image is correct. Despite that image having been one that has only ever been shifting throughout time (and yet consistently true to itself), with upheaval and definition, it loses its soul and, ironically, its multifaceted original identity. Irony is a dead scene, after all.

Many of those that may currently feel uneasy within the initial community they were attracted to [alternative, heavy music] may cling to it, despite potential issues, due to the wider world they sought to find a place of sanctuary from being even more toxic. The intersectionality of their other interests and – more importantly here – of their very identity, is necessary to protect them, the scene, and to resist, give voice, and amplify from that very niche community out into that wider world. Our heavy collective is enriched by a rainbow and cornucopia of other identities blending into and yet also remaining distinct within it.

So, while Couch Slut and Death Goals in a very sweaty Downstairs at the Dome venue didn’t make much sense on paper in terms of audio attack, their message of resolute support of LGBTQIA+ people (particularly trans rights, given the relentless media and political attacks) within the heavy music sphere and the wider world defined the evening, as did the overarching call of ‘Until all people are free, none of us are!” with specific reference to Palestine, but also many more.

The duo of Death Goals rattled through a set of live favourites from their discography, with super pumped fans bouncing from the first note of practically every song. (Many missed their excellent split with Dreamwell last year, so there’s an aside, just to implore you to listen to that, if it did pass you by.) 

They attacked their set with fervour, inviting audience members to take the mic to scream along, and insisting on stagediving, despite the (initially) sparse front of the audience before being encouraged to step forward to catch, as so many were giving wide berth to the especially fun, yet emotional and potent moshpit. It did happen, though, including the guitarist/vocalist themselves, and any uninitiated beforehand were on-side by the end of the thunderous, squealing mathcore/metalcore hybrid romp.

Repeatedly speaking out for trans rights, proclaiming themselves to be proudly queer, and the clear power of music to bring people together, as well as to work through a myriad manner of problems, including one’s own identity and place in the world, was deeply affecting for all present. It brought people closer together despite everyone already being in the same room. It felt important (as well as delightfully powerful to bang your head to).

Couch Slut are a unique band, in my opinion. Talking of blending yet remaining distinct from before, they are a group that merge noise rock and sludge metal together, into something that has a coherent sound and vision, while each element still also manages to be audibly defined and visible in the mix. Think of a delicious sauce on a fine restaurant dish split by an equally delectable, flavoured oil. It is resplendent on the plate, the two are sublime on their own, but combined they are divine.

Here lies the strangest description of the New York “slovenly weirdos” that you’re going to read for a while. Just imagine that heavenly Michelin-starred sauce stealing the show in a NYC devilish dive of a diner, okay?  They make “unkind music”, but they sure are kind and welcoming people. That feeling was reciprocated as they took to the stage to make their first audio levelling of London to date.

That same sense of welcome that transcends international borders within the alternative and heavy music scenes could not be said for the sorry state and legal entity that is the UK. Laaaarverly ol’ Brexit had struck again, as Megan Osztrosits, inimitable frontperson of the visceral quintet, went on to describe to the crowd the red tape that had affected their entry into the country.

It’s sad that so many music aficionados in London are so well versed in the mores of working visas into the UK, import charges, music streaming’s tax dodging and general accountancy being tantamount to fraud, the painful logistics of touring and so on and so on. It seems increasingly a part of the scene. Perhaps it’s a good thing (knowledge is power, after all) but it can sometimes feel deflating, and I’ve seen commentary on these issues stymie the momentum of a set before or indeed derail it entirely.

At another gig, as the room began to become rather more sweltering than before, a crowd may have become exactly that kind of restless, but due to the appreciation of an incredible band taking the time and effort to travel and play for us, despite the hurdles still only fairly recently put in place; their inarguably awesome set; and the good-will that both the band and Death Goals prior had conjured, and continued to foster throughout the evening, there were plenty of “Thank You’s!” shouted, boos at the costs referenced, and I’m sure I even heard a humorous, but also oddly apt and pleading, “Free the UK!” These weren’t empty words from artist or indeed audience alike. A whole hour after the band wrapped up their powerful, concise set, there was still a queue buying records and merchandise.

Couch Slut and Death Goals played two fantastic sets. As a music reviewer, I know you would have probably liked me to dive into whether they played this or that song. Did they play new stuff, you might ask? I can answer in the affirmative for the UK noiseniks – a song from a forthcoming release that is on the way, although when that is coming and through who, was not conferred on the night. The USA weirdos played from across their discography, although highlights for this writer came from their most recent LP, You Could Do It Tonight. They did have a new vinyl release in tow: a recording of their amazing 2024 set from Roadburn. Happily, I was privileged to witness that, too.

But more importantly than any of that was the sense that I’m part of a wider scene, and one that is inclusive, but that needs to remember to be so and to cherish and overtly celebrate that fact, and fight against any insidious influence, from outside or from within.

We continue to let people in, to be part of something, to feel safe in all respects of their identity, not just what horrendously heavy music they subject their eardrums to. The only individuals that ought to be ejected from our space are those that really like things like ICE. And no, not for their drink on a sun-baked London evening.