The Italian band Ponte Del Diavolo, who have just released De Venom Natura, their brilliant second album (review), presented their mystical blend of doom, post-punk and black metal to a French audience for the first time during a short tour organised by Sanit Mils. We were at the Paris show at La Boule Noire ("the black ball") and the evening promised to be perfect for the ritual: a Friday the 13th, a rainy day... enough to get you in the mood!
WITCHORIOUS
When it comes to dark, heavy, occult rock in the Paris region, the mind soon turns to Witchorious. The trio had already opened for Dool a few months ago, and their horrific blend of stoner and doom suited the tone of the evening particularly well. “You’d have to be mad to play at La Boule Noire on a Friday the 13th,” quips singer/guitarist Antoine Auclair: it’s surely a billiards player’s joke, but we understand that this is the sort of thing that attracts the evil eye.
Good. Witchorious will cast plenty of evil spells our way during the set’s nearly hour-long run. The evil eye? Just look at Antoine’s eyes over there, bulging out of their sockets: as expressive as ever, he’s pulling all sorts of possessed faces from the very first sinister riffs of Watch Me Die. Bassist Lucie Gaget’s voice responds to his growls, creating a theatrical, incantatory dynamic that’s rather fun to watch. The influences are there, obvious: Black Sabbath, Electric Wizard, Mastodon... but with an extra dose of malice, a thrilling, dynamic bite that really grabs you.
Monster, The Witch, etc.: we’re starting to get to know the tracks from their eponymous debut album pretty well. Great, tonight the band treated us to a few new numbers like Beg for Evil and Lost in this Insanity, which hint at the imminent arrival of a new album with the same haunting atmosphere. These guys know how to blend the gloomy with a love of riffs – a formula that really gets heads banging. It grooves, it’s menacing, it’s crushing, and they do it with an enthusiasm that’s a joy to behold!
PONTE DEL DIAVOLO
It’s not yet midnight, but to make us believe that “the witching hour” has arrived, Ponte Del Diavolo takes to the stage to the sound of Un bacio a mezzanotte (“A Kiss at Midnight”) by Quartetto Cetra… a cheerful song that’s completely at odds with the ceremony to come. Phew, quickly enough, darkness envelops us with Spirit, Blood, Poison, Ferment! and its frantic rhythm. The guitars pounce on us hungrily, then slow down to give the singer Erba del Diavolo space to recite her lyrics. On stage, her slow movements contribute to the ritualistic atmosphere: she strides across the stage ceremoniously and strikes poses whilst staring intently at the audience, fully embracing her role as the evening’s high priestess.
The blend of screeching gothic guitars, black metal assaults and post-punk intensity works a treat. Recorded theremins and brass instruments creep in the background, creating a mysterious and esoteric atmosphere. On the walls at the back of the venue, the mirrors of La Boule Noire reflect a distorted, Giallo-esque image of the stage. Having devoted the first half of the concert to De Venom Natura, Ponte Del Diavolo returns to its original spell and launches into tracks from Fire Blade from the Tomb: the exhilarating and ferocious Nocturnal Veil and the lamentations of Demone delight an audience of connoisseurs. We follow the singer with our eyes as she prowls, crawls, bursts into maniacal laughter, growls... It is when the lyrics are in Italian that the ritual works best, as the language lends the text the air of a magic spell.
‘Do you like Bauhaus?’: Of course we like Bauhaus, and we weren’t about to leave without a little cover of In the Flat Fields! The crowd calls for an encore. ‘Va bene, va bene,’ Erba replies, amused. We part ways with the very gothic, hypnotic Covenant and its doom and theremin conclusion, which seems to come from another reality that our feeble minds cannot fully grasp. Ponte Del Diavolo, on stage, is absolutely brilliant. With its mix of influences, the band navigates between heaviness, harshness, and a dangerous, dark allure. It was mystical, rich, with just the right amount of blasphemous solemnity to give us the impression of having joined a strange cult, like “the followers of the black ball on Friday the 13th”. Blimey, nobody brought a baby to sacrifice. That will be our only regret. Next time, perhaps?
