Live Review: METZ, DZ Deathrays, The Mercy Beat

Fans of all things hard and fast have gathered tonight under the neon glow of Electric Playground's bold lightning horse logo for a veritable smattering of eardrum-shattering hardcore noise rock. A small yet enthusiastic crowd welcome The Mercy Beat to the stage where they ladle forth rich creamy bowls of high-octane goodness with some nice hooks hidden within the bombast. The shirtless drummer anchors it nicely as they get things off to a propulsive start.
Local reprobates turned international buzz band DZ Deathrays are next on the agenda and for two guys they make one helluva racket. It's all Sabbathy licks and sharp thrashy beats as they are joined onstage by Seamus, a Tolkien-esque figure who supplies ample tambourine backing and shots of mysterious black liquid throughout the set. They litter the set with plenty of new material and it's a slight pity the sound is so sludgy and the vocals so far back in the mix but in the end it matters little; they tear the Playground a new one and absolutely pummel the growing throng into submission. Exiting to an aptly distorted haze, these guys demonstrate why they are the drunk thrash party connoisseur's duo of choice.
Toronto power trio Metz unassumedly sneak onto stage but this is about the last subtle thing that happens tonight. They open with Dirty Shirt, it's two-plus pummeling minutes like Nirvana on speed. Alex Edkins ends this opening number with an electro-shock therapy primal scream of sorts that acts as a pointer for tonight's upcoming ferocity, his intensity backed up by Chris Slorach's immense bass and Hayden Menzies' chaotically powerful drumming. The T-Dot's finest rip through an amazing set, brutal numbers like Get Off, Wasted and Can't Understand all delivered with clinically messy precision. Live, Edkins seems to inhabit the same space as Cloud Nothings' frontman Dylan Baldi: mild-mannered geek in appearance, deranged mental patient lunatic in action. The sound system struggles to contain Metz's power live, and it would be brilliant to witness this group with a clearer mix in a slightly larger room but the 20-strong slam-pit at front of stage cares little for such meagre concerns; they just wanna faux-aggressively bump stuff, and fair play too.
Sometimes the oddness of the band/venue mix creates a kind-of Gonzo alchemy that for some reason just works and even though deserving of slightly more fitting surrounds it's Metz's pure exuberance and unabashed punk chops that make tonight a deafening success.