A Triumphant Return on Atlas’s Wings, Draped in Maya’s Veil (2013)

Arhiv Arhiv Last updated 11 June 2026

Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Photos: Jerneja Jerak

Venue: AKC Metelkova, Gala Hala, Ljubljana
Concert date: 02.07.2013
Attendance: 500 – 600
Ticket price: 16 € presale / 20€ on the day of the show

After the Australian metalcore wunderkind cavalry, Parkway Drive, first landed on the summer stage of Ljubljana’s Gala Hala, a new era began for a lot of people. After a heap of metalcore gigs, this juicy (and, quality-wise, sunny golden) quintet’s show draws the line between average poser fiascos and a quality string of juicy, metalized music – and let’s leave aside for now whether the buzzword metalcore is even apt, an umbrella under which almost any music played with the handbrake on gets thrown into the same unhygienic packaging. A good reason to occupy Gala Hala’s summer stage came just a week after the convincing British domination at the by-now third Beach Party: the big comeback of the masters who started the summer-party trend in Ljubljana in the first place – yes, we’re talking about the jolly, positive guys of Parkway Drive. This time they took over Gala’s stage to back their fourth record Atlas with better, louder, higher-quality support. Atlas has, at least in Australia, already been coated in a golden sheen since Deep Blue, and here at home, with last year’s release, plenty of teenage boys and girls and older reps of the more mature generations use it to shorten the moments of a pessimism-filled everyday life.

I found myself an extra reason to visit Metelkova in the announced appearance of the outstanding charges of Summerian Records, Veil Of Maya, who rival the eminences of metal math, Meshuggah, in progressiveness and punch, while together with The Dillinger Escape Plan they round out the label’s superior fan of more advanced rhythms. But the main reasons for going required a bit more patience, since the first on stage were New Zealand HC straight edgers Antagonist A.D.. The youngsters, who shake and shake out a quality blend of old-school HC on new metalcore foundations, and who after as many as five albums, three label changes and a search for the right balance between generic and orthodox rawness represent the peak of the Auckland scene, come alive on Gala’s stage in one swoop. The intro of A.D., then right after it a screaming reckoning with war crimes and all the capitalist bearers of terror – the track War Crimes. After the critical year of 2005, when a whole squad of native bands from the land of the Maori threw in the towel, Antagonist A.D. grafted a gritty work ethic into their core and, slip-ups notwithstanding, a refined devotion to the right values. Music without a heart is dead, and the New Zealand quartet sincerely and devotedly stands against all faked orgasms and phoniness. Kris Bosman serves quality guitar riffs and a well-rehearsed knack for posing for the cameras, and he’s nicely matched in the fight for attention by both bassist Josh Moffitt and the tattooed, strikingly skinny kamikaze in the form of singer Sam Crocker. Drummer Israel McDean moves and grabs attention the least, but that’s kind of the curse of musicians hidden behind cymbals and skins. Politically engaged lyrics and opposition to Western cultural rot, the whole thing steeped in vegan activism and a more ethical view of the world – that’s the foundation on which a fairly solid performance is built, with no shortage of aggression on stage or action below it. The solidly packed floor in front of the stage was already seasoned with signs of life after a couple of songs from the latest record Nothing From No One. Sam, knees raised up to his chin, throaty vocals going, claims the front monitors, while classic pogo and moshing wake up below the stage after the first circular stampedes. Despite all the rage, though, something’s missing. Antagonist A.D. pull the handbrake too often and, for all their Hatebreed-style sharpness, kill the urge to go all in – and then there’s the stage banter of the visibly good-humored Sam, whose Auckland accent isn’t exactly easy for the sub-Alpine crowd to follow (hand on heart – even I wondered at first, genuinely clueless, what language these cockney-ish monologues were even in). Among the punchier trumps of the short half-hour display of a learned HC compendium, the more dominant sounds were those of Epsom, matched by the slightly aged brilliant of brutally sweet excess that is Wolves And Cowards, which doesn’t work all that well live, though, since you could barely hear Sam on the spoken parts, and the throaty parts were, I bet, fatal for his vocal cords – or will be soon. The rest of the set, thanks to its rather monotonous form, stays in a hazier, more indistinct memory – even though the guys, I believe, gave it a full dose of fury and oomph …

I was more tempted by what came next! Especially one of the pillars of Sumerian Records, the label whose Asking Alexandria shook Ljubljana a week earlier, and The Dillinger Escape Plan are also part of that outstanding soldiery. This time it was the turn of the outstanding Americans with a sense for progressive meter, Veil Of Maya. Is it possible that in eight years of existence they never djented in Slovenia? This time, my dear made-up kids with an obscure taste for metalcore, you couldn’t escape djent! Four full-length albums radiate less of a bloodthirsty devotion to the murderous sacrifices of the Maya and more of a Hindu toying with the illusoriness of Maya, I’d add. Heart on a platter, with metronome-precise surgical cuts into syncopated rhythms, I’d struggle to single out a first among equals. The lion’s share of the band’s brilliance undoubtedly comes from the outstanding metronome behind the big drum kit, the venerable Sam Applebaum. No less graceful is the band’s latest acquisition, bassist Danny Hauser, and alongside founding member and now sole guitarist, the outstanding Marc Okubo, the picture is topped off by the charismatic and hugely, suggestively convincing thunderer with an outstanding voice, Brandon Butler. Veil Of Maya are a well-oiled machine that matches the heavyweight masters of rhythm, the outstanding Meshuggah, in every element of insanely technical playing. Pillars break new ground; after the collapse of the common man, one of the many integrals of busted rhythm from the record The Common’s Man Collapse , the fun is only getting started! Outstanding guitar work, destructive bass and, fuck, damn irritating yet so technically, sweetly bewitching doses of pauses and squeals – it’s all only beginning! With a bow to the almighty aura, Marc proves he’s one of the most distinctive voices of the modern deathcore djent scene, and the whole thing crushes, if I may be slightly crude, fucking unbeatably. With their twists and turns, Veil Of Maya are anything but music for thrashing about or dancing, and tonight, seeing all those confused faces that expected something more melodic, that suits me so damn well! And the pleasant mathematical punishment for disobedient and non-listening ears is hellishly sweet – in the form of the extremely precise abscess from the album Eclipse, the track Punisher, or the kindred Numerical Scheme, Divide Paths, 20/200 or the demonically reversing, rhythmically extroverted Crawl Back. More than djent, I hear a touch of Chimaira on steroids here, Daath, brutal death metal on the perfect meter of academically trained musicians. Outstanding! And despite all the arrhythmia of syncopated rhythms to the nth power, life starts happening on the front lines. Behind the veil of the demonically destructive Maya there’s so much beauty and layering that even the pickiest individual can easily succumb to it, but it’s by no means, as the phrase »everyone’s cup of tea« has it in the English-speaking world, for everybody. The combo – I’d bet of just the last two records – hits hard and feels deliberate, and the never-winded sonic wrecker embodied by all four members of Veil Of Maya delivers a brilliant sonic show. Harmonies, heavy guitar parts played with feather-light, nonchalant simplicity, jumping around the stage, dancing, getting into it and ecstasy made the not-so-scorching air over Ljubljana foam, while many, instead of getting ecstatic, preferred to check their watches and count down the minutes to the night’s headliners. Others of us were having the time of our lives (»bubreg u loju«, as they say) and, eyes half-closed, counted successive supernova flashes at successive eargasms that could’ve been even stronger if Okubo’s guitar had been a notch louder and more backed up. A matter of personal perception, I guess … And after Glass Slide came the moment for the final provocation with the track It’s Not Safe To Swim Tonight. Water too shallow, waves too high, or oversized specimens of white-and-blue cartilaginous fish with a murderous appetite swimming about? Going by the association with the latter, I expected the arrival of aces who are still damn well acquainted with the danger of great white sharks …

A decade past their Rubicon, Parkway Drive simply deserve to put the crown on an already truly outstanding evening. During the break the last corners and last patches of emptiness began to fill in the courtyard of what I assume was a completely sold-out Summer Garden of Gala Hala. Temperature and expectations hit boiling point, while on stage the sound engineers patiently and pedantically ran one last sound check before the evening’s big act. Parkway Drive have plenty of achievements strapped to their belts – besides four full-length albums, an EP and two whole DVDs, there are the scalps of countless fans they won over on endless cycles of festival and headline tours. The guys from Byron Bay are on a clear mission to dominate the world, with a sound that matches As I Lay Dying, Unearth, Underoath, Bleeding Through and many other flagbearers of the metalcore genre (or, well, melodic metal infused with screamo ethos). To the sounds of an intro – without which you’d wonder whether the gig was missing something – both guitarists take the stage, Jeff Ling and Luke Kilpatrick, Ben Gordon sits behind the drums, Jia O’Connor straps on the bass, and as the expected cherry on top, the burly, bulked-up Winston McCall bursts out in front of the warmed-up Ljubljana crowd. The latest record, the album Atlas, deserves to be presented to the Slovenian crowd! Melodic guitars and the lovely, melodic, pompous predictability of the nice intro Sparks lead to the explosion of what follows, the eruption of emotion that is Old Ghost / New Regrets. Unearth-style energy in Crocodile Dundee mode! Atlas really does sound darker than anything Parkway Drive have made so far, but for all the blackness and heaviness, Parkway Drive are still in tune with their party-boy past. Above the crowd’s heads inflatable props from the lost souls appear – they’ve clearly forgotten we’re not at a Beach Party this time – while Winston’s dark lyrics thunder from the speakers: »We’re born with nothing / And we die alone / Regret is all we have / Death is all we know« and nearly every throat joins in on the chorus. It’s all ecstasy, the ecstasy of death, I think, and give myself up to the swaying. The dynamics of the crowd’s collective feeling are outstanding, and the band on stage carries its set on with flawless professionalism. The past mustn’t be forgotten, and the album Deep Blue gets its nod with Sleepwalker, which is significantly more danceable and positive, but no less penetrating. Barking, outstanding vocals, balanced guitars, goofing around with a circular run of all the bearers of more or less stringed instruments, and behind it all the damn massive rhythm of well-miked drums build a wall of sound that makes the solar plexus ripple, while the sound waves thumping against your chest massage a sore, sentimental heart. And once more the right questions at the right moment, brought on the wings of a melodic calm-down by the last gasps of Sleepwalker: »Not one more step in the name of progress, / In the name of blind ambition. / Not one more step in the name of progress, / In the name of blind ambition, / How the fuck am I supposed to feel when everything I know lies broken at my feet?« A picture of a world spinning too fast, time running brutally relentless, opportunities slipping through our fingers no matter how convulsively we clench them. That’s part of our karma, and right on cue, Karma roars in. Damn sweet sequence! And after that, a strategic return to Atlas with the track Wild Eyes. Outstandingly radiant guitars and then the crowd’s voice joins in! Like at an Iron Maiden show, you’d think, but then comes a stampede of brutally syncopated staccato rhythms and a brutal smack of sticks on drum skins! »We are the bastard sons. / We are the ones that refuse to grow cold / We are the thorn in your side / We are the thieves in the night / And we are coming to take whats ours!« thunders Wilson melodically, and the screamed-out parts fit damn well! Parkway Drive came back in style and with the dominant note of great musical emperors!

Boneyards slightly breaks the sine wave of elation with its rawer note, from the almost archaic, old-timey songs of the album Horizons, followed by Anchors And Idols and Dead Man’s Chest. OK, so it’s time for sentiment and history? Just for a few moments, as Parkway Drive get back on track to more modern, recession-dark times with Dark Days, and after Heart Is For The Heartless the lucidly thought-out set is clearly winding down. Sweat drips from the faces and bodies of the crowd and the visibly in-high-spirits Australians. The crowd parties until nearly the last breath, and in the scant patches of personal space the barriers of reserve evaporate for everyone, while the imposing tones of shattering sweet noise become the prayer house of a new generation of freshly raised critics of the system who aren’t yet aware of their critical edge and power. Romance is over, dude, Romance Is Dead, and after one last Swing it’ll be time to head home, right? Almost, because after the crowd’s noisy insistence, a return and the evening’s final act are expected. And that’s reserved for a song with a promise of return – an outstanding balladic-destructive final outpouring of heart titled Carrion. As the last verses sing, the return is inevitable, and this time we’re damn happy to take the Parkways at their word, since Slovenia handed them its otherwise proverbially cold, hard-to-win heart, purely on the strength of the aces and arguments of brilliance and style that the Aussies just somehow have, and they never stink of America’s artificiality.

The night, despite the rich offering of musical treats, ended too fast, and three courses were filling enough for many that it was time to head off into Ljubljana’s evening dark. Emptiness and cold everywhere, but in the heart a warm feeling of satisfaction and happiness that we’d love to shout to the world but often can’t. Then we hand that mission over to those who dare and know how. I had quite a few moments of total culmination and then mental release this evening. No two ways about it, the international alliance of this time’s occupiers of Gala’s stage was a success and left nothing unlived, unsaid, or lukewarm. After the show only trampled props were left on the floor, the needless clutter of superficiality and the masks of phoniness. People walked out of the venue, at least for a moment or two, free of all worries, smiles on their lips and ringing in their ears. I hope at least they heard, even for a moment, the woven-in shreds of perfection, beauty and unconscious wisdom that the heralds of a new generation work into their lyrics. A bit here and a bit there, in countless versions of a new sonic covenant, that stands for Music, written with a capital M.