If I thought drink was expensive in Dublin in the middle 80s, then being in a new century hadn't reduced the price any. I handed a barman a £20 note in the Temple Bar Music Centre and got £9.80p change for two pints of lager and something orangy in a bottle with vodka in it. My cheaper suburban sensibilities were mildly shocked. It was Saturday, 24th March, 2001 and I was there to hear Corrupted play the final set at the "Blast 2" gig. The doorman branded me with the word 'Complimentary' on the back of my right hand and I took stock.

The venue was made for music, so the bar was small, leading onto a wide corridor that angled down towards the stage-end of the main hall. From time to time a rumble of music erupted from the twin doors that insulated the outside world from the performance area, and the sounds were those of indy music -- "It's still rock 'n' roll to me" as the man said -- though Corrupted promised some "seriously heavy metal" and I was interested to know if the disembodied guitar chords that floated down nightly from a certain upstairs room in a certain house I visited would unite with the sounds of the other band members to make something good.

I was reminded of a Community School at dinner hour. In the corridors along the handrails lounged small knots of teenage punters. Today the rules on school uniforms were relaxed, and baggy trousers and loose shirts over black tees were the orders of the day for the lads. More licence was given to the girls (as always) and fashions ranged from shapeless outfits like the lads wore to red windbreakers, PVC halter tops, bare midriffs and low-slung bell-bottoms over chunky platforms. Rucksack bags and purses added to the 'school' impression; understandable, as many of these people would be sitting exams this year or the next, or were in the lower college years. Occasional groups of heavy metal fans clumped by in long leather coats, enough fishnet on their female friends to threaten salmon stocks. I was old and out of place, but I adopted my old Bruxelles-days attitude -- head up, look like you own the building -- and they adopted theirs when a 35-year-old man stalks through the crowd: look sober, over 18, not-guilty your honour. Somehow, despite feeling strange here, it was comfortable to be in this type of crowd again and I was looking forward to the gigs.

There was time to see one of the other acts before Corrupted took the stage. This was The Revs -- a three-piece rock band from Donegal -- young, smiling, they seized the crowd by the throat and had them po-going to their pseudo-nu-punk sound. You could see this band was on its way. Their bass-playing lead singer is charismatic, with a loud, clear voice and their songs were clever, youthful, humourous.

When The Revs wound down, Corrupted ambled on. Technical hangers-on adjusted symbals, twiddled amp knobs and plugged in various jacks. The spare figure of drummer, Antony Weston, settled himself behind a barricade of drums. On his extreme left, Emmet Quinn plucked thoughtfully at some bass strings, then nodded his readiness. Vocalist Morgan Deane, who seemed seven feet tall on stage, growled something into the mike behind his mop of frizzy hair. Rhythm guitarist, D.G., looked on in stony concentration. Lead, Kevin Doogan screeched a few test chords through the ubiquitous Marshall amp. There was a short, best man's speech from a companion player, a "Time of the Gathering" intro by a recorded Sean Connery that no-one could hear, then the band launched their musical skiff on Dublin waters.

They began with "Godfuck.com", a surprisingly sedate intro abruptly punctuated by heavy bass drumming and a quickening of tempo. Morgan projected an attitude of an attack dog, but one, it transpired, which gave itself away by wagging its tail at you between snarls. The looping, hypnotic guitar rhythm seemed to end too soon, as indeed did the whole of the song. It was as if the band was testing the waters; seeing how far it dared go. The impression was compounded by troubles with the monitors on stage. Corrupted was not getting the proper feed from the sound desk. Adjustments were made, and they began their next number, "Oddball".

This one had a short intro like a Black Sabbath song. Morgan's chanted lyrics were tracked faultlessly by D.G.'s rhythm guitar until Antony elbowed his way in with a frenetic drumming and percussion section. The song snapped shut like the blade of a guillotine and the crowd roared approval. "This song is autobiography", Morgan had said. It seemed the audience agreed.

Then came "Circles of Nine", by far the band's strongest number. From the miltaristic drumming introduction to the strange gunshots effect as the song waned in its mid section, "Circles of Nine" is obviously the most practised song of the set. The bass sang true throughout the piece, while the lead and rhythm pulled synchronous chords from the air. Each musician seemed comfortable, at ease, anticipating the moves of his companions. Morgan hurled himself into the song, to the point of breathlessness by its end of this, their longest one. When it finished, the audience was as drained as the singer. They wavered, limp, exhausted, almost dreading another fast song.

The band provided a chill out break with their "Solitude". It's soft intro, reminiscient of Iron Maiden's "Strange World" led into a smooth changeover of chords which showcase the band's musical talent. The drummer was impressively restrained on this simple, unembellished melody made pleasant by a careful harmony between the three guitarists. The piece fades out at the end to sudden silence, the kind that takes an audience a moment to fill.

The powerful guitar-based introduction of "Devil's Breath" changes a little too soon before resuming under a hail of blows from the ever busy A. Weston. The song has a second section which is complicated and seemed to break the progress of the singer through the melody. For good measure, Corrupted added a third movement in which the lead guitarist stuttered through a cacophony of notes before it was Morgan's turn again. I was frankly surprised when the song finally ended. It seems the type of show stopper that should go on for at least ten screaming minutes at the end of a stadium gig.

But if "Devil's Breath" delivered a little less than it promised, "Goregasm" is a murderous, bread and butter song of the heavy metal band. The machine-gun drumming and combined string section drills deep into the soul. Perhaps because they were less dramatic, the changeovers in this one were more smooth than in "Devil's Breath".

t seems out of character for Corrupted to play a song that's too long, so I was relieved when in "Preacher" the intervention of a strong backbone by the rhythm guitar saved the song from that possible fault. The tune, of course, began with the Patented Weston Gattling Gun introduction, then evolved into something that would have Beavis & Butthead headbanging on their sofa... It made the crowd leap like hares in spring, and Morgan joined them in spirit, at times forgetting his need for oxygen.

Their eighth, and final song was "Shadowmaster". Now on its homeward leg, Corrupted played with confidence. Morgan seemed truly warmed up to his job, and the band was tight, smooth. I thought that Kevin Doogan was finally going to let rip in a long wailing lead guitar solo, but the band yanked him back into the formation just in time. Pity. They should give the man more work. When he was given some rope, his howling chords and jailhouse siren wails were impressive.

And so it ended, and the roof of the Temple Bar Music Centre proved itself to be made of stern stuff... The crowd spilled out onto the lanes and the quays, heading home or to other gigs or to nearby pubs. Early days... it was about six, maybe, in the evening. I nabbed a taxi outside the Virgin Megastore on Aston Quay and reluctantly told the driver how to bring me home. Feck it... I wanted to stay in town....

Willie Walsh

April, 2001

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