When Aaron Stainthorpe announced his departure from My Dying Bride and the formation of High Parasite, many wondered if the frontman synonymous with grief and grandeur could reinvent himself. Tonight answers that question in spades.

Words & photos by James Crisp (@james_taking_pictures) | Oct 23, 2025

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Dressed in white, face painted and smiling like a ghost who’s finally learned to laugh, Stainthorpe leads his new band with unexpected vitality. Forever We Burn and Grave Intentions hit with confidence and character. Gothic doom shot through with a swagger rarely seen in the genre. The riffs are enormous, the bass thick and propulsive, and there’s a looseness to the performance that feels entirely deliberate.

High Parasite’s greatest triumph is that they’re not trying to escape doom, they’re redefining it. The melancholy remains, but there’s humour and showmanship here too. As openers, they command the room from the first note, proving they’re far more than a side project.

If High Parasite ignite the night, Messa are the slow-burning ritual that follows. The Italian quartet glide onto the stage surrounded by red light and haze, and within seconds, the venue’s energy changes completely.
Frontwoman Sara Bianchin has a rare magnetism, part shamanic, part ethereal. Her voice moves between fragile beauty and primal wail, guiding the listener through shifting landscapes of sound. The opening track Pilgrim feels like a descent, spacious, hypnotic, building into waves of distortion and tension.

Messa’s music doesn’t just sit within doom really, it expands it. There are shades of post-rock, jazz, even Eastern melody woven through The Dress and Reveal. Guitarist Alberto Piccolo’s tone is rich and expressive, every bend feels deliberate, every pause heavy with atmosphere. Bassist Rocco Toaldo and drummer Marco Zanin anchor the set with precision, their rhythm section creating a gravitational pull that holds the entire room captive.

This isn’t a band that demands attention through volume, they command it through mood. Each song feels like an unfolding vision, patient and immersive. The crowd stands motionless, transfixed, until the final feedback fades and the applause explodes.
In a scene that often prizes aggression, Messa remind us that heaviness can come from restraint, tension, and vulnerability. It’s not just music. It’s a form of possession.

There are few bands in heavy music who’ve earned heir legend like Paradise Lost. For over three decades, they’ve shaped the sound of British doom, evolving from deathly beginnings into gothic grandeur and electronic experimentation and somehow circled back to redefine heaviness all over again.

Tonight, they prove exactly why their legacy endures. Serpent On The Cross, the opener from 2025’s Ascension, lands like a thunderclap. The band sound colossal, unified, confident and oh so ferocious. Nick Holmes stalks the stage with quiet authority, switching seamlessly between demonic growls and mournful clean vocals. His voice has lost none of its power, if anything, it’s gained weight and texture with age.

Gregor Mackintosh and Aaron Aedy’s twin guitars are nothing short of iconic. The interplay between melody and distortion remains their secret weapon, and tonight it’s as sharp as ever. Jeff Singer’s drumming gives the material real muscle, while Steve Edmondson’s bass rumbles through the floorboards.

The setlist is a masterclass in dynamics and history. Pity The Sadness bleeds perfectly into Beneath Broken Earth, One Second still sounds futuristic, while newer tracks like Tyrants Serenade sit comfortably alongside the classics. A testament to how consistent their songwriting has remained.

Between songs, Nick’s trademark sarcasm is out in full force too. Part Jack Dee style comedy part gothic rock god. It’s a small reminder that beneath all the gloom, there’s warmth, humour, and humanity. The same qualities that have made Paradise Lost such an enduring presence.

The closing one-two of Ghosts and Silence Like the Grave is pure catharsis. The crowd sings every word, united in the dark joy that only Paradise Lost can conjure. When the final note fades, there’s a collective exhale, a release of something bigger than sound.
Three decades in, Paradise Lost aren’t just surviving, they’re thriving. Still evolving. Still defining what darkness in metal sounds like.