Fields Of The Nephilim solstice shows now exist on their own continuum – with little new material, they’ve become social gatherings for a community bound to one of the most enduring and potent visions to have emerged from the underground as well as a rite of observance, forged around music whose resonance feels constantly recharged. Moved back by one day, tonight is still steeped in the usual ceremony, the banks of dry ice gradually revealing the array of trenchcoats and Stetsons, the captivating figure of Carl McCoy leaning into the mic as if weathering a storm, and the organic, stately grace with which songs unfurl, so perfectly suited to a celebration of renewal. This is a slow-burn set but immersive to the point of delirium. At The Gates Of Silent Memory weaves storm clouds from the most gossamer of riffs, Dawnrazor is the most sensual of invocations and the groove-massaged Psychonaut a sublime act of deliverance. Decades old these songs might be, but FOTN can still enchant the here and now like no other.
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