(((O))) Live: Paradise Lost • Messa – Islington Assembly Hall, London

Roughly 1,000 merrily gloomy fans fill the Islington Assembly Hall tonight, keen to experience a triumvirate of doom-engaged metal bands in one of the capital’s grandest venues. 

First up is High Parasite, the “death pop” band formed by Aaron Stainthorpe in 2021. It won’t have escaped the attention of many – perhaps any – here this evening that Stainthorpe parted ways with one of the UK’s most cherished death-doom bands, My Dying Bride, earlier this month, after over thirty years as their vocalist. I’m not here to fan the flames of speculation any higher than their current summit; it’s just difficult not to feel slightly overshadowed by this recent revelation as High Parasite take to the stage.  

Decked out all in white, Stainthorpe certainly sings and performs like a person who’s been exploring the darkest recesses of the human soul for decades, such is his powerful baritone and prowling stage demeanour. It’s a fine voice, that’s for sure, full of power, sorrow, and personality. While he can tend towards the slightly melodramatic on record, Stainthorpe eases back a little on that live, delivering what is objectively a brilliant vocal performance.  

As we’ve come to expect from death-doom – amongst the very gloomiest of metal sub-genres – his stage banter is down to earth and humorous, verging on silly; a trend that our headliners will follow, a little later on.   

I have to admit that I’m not hugely into High Parasite, though, so I’m afraid this show didn’t do a lot for me despite how good Stainthorpe sounds on key tracks like ‘Wasn’t Human’ and ‘Let it Fail’. No shade on the band either who are clearly pretty pleased to be here, delivering energy, melody and smooth heaviness. It’s just not particularly for me. If you’re into Forever We Burn and haven’t seen them live yet, do so soon for you won’t be disappointed. 

On the other hand, I am a Messa fan. If you haven’t heard their fourth and latest album The Spin, I give you permission to tear your eyes away from this page long enough to get it pumping into your ears. It’s a fantastic record that synthesizes everything they established previously into a forty-minute masterpiece of eerie and ethereal melodic doom rock – and they’re touring it right now.  

I was lucky to catch Messa perform The Spin in its entirety at Roadburn earlier in the year. While they executed it amazingly well, that day was already an abundance of riches and I wasn’t in the right place to fully appreciate it at the time. Not the case tonight. Messa almost squeeze the full album into tonight’s set, playing six out of seven tracks minus opener ‘Void Meridian’, and plus ‘Robedo’ from Close (2022). 

Standing a few rows from the barrier, it’s safe to say that all eyes this evening are on Sara Bianchin, Messa’s singer and frontwoman, clad in a slick black suit. Her voice is variously warm, sensual, slightly eerie, intimate, and also capable of serious power. Her gaze is focused yet calm, sometimes intense and unnerving, often happy and genuinely appreciative.  

Sara Bianchin, Messa. Photo: Diana Revell

Messa’s guitarist is good; really good. Alberto has a wonderful style that passes fluidly through jazzy modes and chords, emotive blues scale leads, and vintage, crunching doomish riffs. This much is clear from the records, but it strikes me harder when he’s a few metres away, voicing bittersweet feeling from his sunburst Telecaster.   

“This song is about having a sense of guilt but not knowing why.” About three quarters of the way through Messa’s set, they play my favourite track, ‘Immolation’; and clearly I’m not alone in this preference, as the piano intro inspires feverish applause. We are deep into a melancholic rabbit hole being lifted out by the sultry blues refrain: “It is like a beautiful weight upon my heart…”. Every eye singles out every word that leaves Sara’s mouth. “…please run away, please…”. When the band finally enters mid-way – with a crashing distorted chord and another lithe, classic rock solo – her guilt lifts or peaks and Alberto goes full-Slash – before using his metal slide to segue back into the lead vocal melody – which Sara resumes until close.  

(It does occur to me that maybe, just maybe, there are slightly, just slightly, too many solos going on here, but I best not think that out loud!) 

Alberto Piccolo, Messa. Photo: Diana Revell

Alberto keeps the slide out for ‘Reveal’, laying down a traditional blues, which morphs into a catchy Sabbath-esque groove – and Messa are back in full doom mode, with Sara showcasing some of the lower regions of her vocal range.  Most members seem to be screaming now, and the band executes a perfect gradual slow-down to close.  

It feels like a slightly rowdy crowd tonight; definitely like a sold-out show. Everyone seems to be drinking a lot, even for a Friday night metal show; some folks get chucked out for it.  

Messa. Photo: Diana Revell

But – just as Paradise Lost have mastered the musical art of combining mournful melody, a specific kind of epic heaviness, the Goldilocks amount of dissonance and grit – Nick Holmes has learned to contrast a dry wit with a voice that is the very epitome of Gravitas. Wishing “Happy Christmas” to an October crowd is only funny if you’re the singer of an utterly miserable, wonderful, death-doom band – and some folk seem genuinely confused.  

You might be aware that Paradise Lost released their seventeenth album Ascension this year; you might also be aware that it’s bloody great. There are not many bands with such an excellent track record: seventeen albums in over thirty years with no clangers (tracks from then-controversial electronic-oriented Host tonight are warmly welcomed after all). Comparable to someone like Enslaved, I guess, although Paradise Lost seem less about experimentation and more about refining their own sound to perfection.  

Gregor Mackintosh, Paradise Lost. Photo: Diana Revell

Their confidence in the new material is obvious, as they open and close with new songs. Their sound is phenomenal, with each beat and chord producing a serious heft, and founding guitarist Gregor Mackintosh delivering lead lines as piercing as they are beautiful. I seem to recall Paradise Lost gaining a reputation as a rather static band on stage, but you can’t accuse them of that tonight: they’re playing their instruments, absorbed in the sound, directing it all at the audience. They’re all clad head-to-toe in black of course and – bar a huge logo at the back – there are no frills, no indulgences, no distractions: just a very confident, very experienced band somehow still at their peak after all this time.  

And, in my experience, Paradise Lost always deliver. Even last year at Rockstad following some obviously frustrating technical complications and a delayed, late-night set, they got going and impressed. Tonight, they are on fine form. The set-list is career-spanning, stretching back as far as Shades of God from 1992, with Ascension and the popular One Second album from 1997 the only two albums that warrant multiple tracks included.  

Paradise Lost. Photo: Diana Revell

Like all the jokes varnishing the gloom, death-doom can be a surprisingly catchy kinda sub-genre: it hadn’t occurred to me until we’re seriously stuck into the chorus of ‘One Second’ quite how much I enjoy having a good old sing along to Paradise Lost.  

I’m a Draconian Times guys at heart, so I was elated to hear ‘Once Solemn’ once again, as I was pleased to recall how much I enjoy ‘Say Just Words’, and how surprised I was to appreciate ‘Mouth’ from Believe in Nothing (2001), a little explored mid-career album. That’s one of the joys of such a prolific band: discovering those obscure works, tucked behind more popular albums, with stronger artwork.  

Overall, this makes for a brilliant tour package, showcasing that even some of the seemingly rigid sub-genres are capable of versatility and variety. With this Doom Triumvirate, the gloom, the misery, and the melancholy are all very real; but so fortunately is the joy, the passion, and the melody.  

Paradise Lost. Photo: Diana Revell