Tonight, Mancunian maggots are squirming their way back to 1999 – and they’re doing it in style. From mobs clad in red boiler suits to children skipping along in grotesque, hand-made masks, everyone has put the effort into honour Slipknot’s landmark anniversary. Over the last 25 years, the Iowa gang’s self-titled record has only ripened with age – and punters are hoping to experience every inch of its nauseating, bile-spattered noise as viscerally and authentically as grotty basement crowds did all those moons ago.
Before being treated to an evening of laceratingly deep cuts, crowds are treated to some of Glasgow’s finest, Bleed From Within, immersing the Co-Op Live arena in a wave of rumbling metalcore and overwhelming grooves. Frontman Scott Kennedy handles the pressure like a pro, confidently commanding crowds to move, even garnering a sly wall of death. And, if his intimidating growls weren’t already convincing, the bagpipes featured on new track In Place Of Your Halo certainly win the masses over.
Soon, however, comes the pain. As the arena is plunged into darkness, the infernal whirring of 742617000027 and unnerving calls of “come play with us…” scratching at people’s eardrums, Slipknot tease the crowd of delinquents, drawing out the tension before everything crashes into action. (sic) kicks the set off, the nefarious clash of whiplash-quick drums and tormented vocals instantly raw and nostalgic. By Eyeless, fans are swarming, revelling in the chaos of 99 – and Iowa's finest are too, decked out in classic red boiler suits and feasting on the nu metal carnage unfolding.
When Corey Taylor finally addresses the crowd, it slightly bursts the nostalgic bubble. And that’s because he’s not deranged in the slightest; the warmth in his voice is far removed from the rabble of rascals that would drink their own vomit and huff roadkill in a jar before going onstage. “This country was the first to really fucking embrace Slipknot as a family,” he says. “For one night only...welcome back to 1999 motherfuckers!”
But that’s just a fact of life – you can’t truly go back in time. While Slipknot is a record designed for dank little clubs, sweat dripping from the ceiling as eager maggots climb up the walls, that’s just not going to contain the magnitude of what the record has since become. Right now, we’re in a rather impressive arena – the largest in the UK, in fact. While it’s a step-up to be proud of, it does leave things feeling a touch sanitised: the set is a little too clean, the guitar chugs aren’t low enough, tone not quite rumbling in your guts as you’d want them to.
But, all things considered, the show is still a mighty celebration. From the ferocious Eeyore to Taylor’s maniacal, guttural rampage throughout Me Inside, to the maggot national anthem Surfacing, fans are delighted. And additions to the band since 99 also help amp up the chaos, Michael Pfaff’s percussive energy electric as his devil horned head darts back and forth, climbing onto his drums and rolling around on the floor.
As we draw towards a close, Taylor leaves us with on final dose of that 90s nightmare lingering within him. Donning the psyche of a madman for closer Scissors, his scarily calm demeanour and unsettling performance is still unhinged and as sharp as ever. It’s a perfect end note, reminding people that, no matter what, Slipknot can never entirely be tamed. Maybe the whole thing is still as sick as ever.
