In an age when Black Metal is getting increasingly complex, intricate and experimental, Abbath's approach is refreshingly reactionary: like Motörhead or Venom, the band named after its Norwegian leader strips it all back to basics. Their sonic assault is raw, primal, simplistic even. They're not here to make you think, or make you dance. They're here to fuck shit up, so get with the program: down a few beers, jump into the pit and let loose. Their last show here was in September 2022, which I guess means that the stereotype is true: the French only have Abbath every year or so.
Emerging from a blizzard of feedback and dry ice, Abbath opened hostilities with an epic from 2019's Outstrider and proceeded to level the venue with their martial anthems of war and Northern mythology. With an slight emphasis on the new album Dread Reaver and several nods to Abbath (the man)'s legendary former band Immortal (and even a detour through his mid-naughties project I), the setlist was short and to the point.
On paper, a man in his fifties wearing corpse paint and playing that kind of music might appear a little laughable but the monstrous, grotesque presentation is part of what we've come to expect from Abbath and the entire Scandinavian Black Metal scene. The frosty musical landscapes sculpted by the trio just wouldn't have the same impact without it, this is one instance where style and substance are inextricably intertwined.
But the best aspect of the show, as is often the case in Metal gatherings, was the audience: banging its collective head, pumping its collective fist and wetting its collective whistle throughout, the crowd carried the band through its enterprise of total aural devastation. And no doubt that, as they looked down from Valhalla at the ungodly paean, watching their demonic minions raping and pillaging the City of Lights, the ancient Northern Gods were slamming a few ale-filled skulls themselves, toasting a job well done.
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