Killing Joke
London Chalk Farm The Roundhouse
Post-punk veterans end their 40th anniversary tour in style.
Jaz Coleman, his eyes wide open and teeth gritted behind a hideous grimace on a face painted deathly white, is shuddering to such a degree that you’d be forgiven for thinking he was plugged into the mains. All at once there’s drama, tension and menace, and scenes of pandemonium breaking out in front of him… It’s business as usual at the climax of Killing Joke’s 40th anniversary tour.
Despite the rare moments of sentimentality by Coleman or bassist Youth’s heartfelt praise of his bandmates, there’s little tonight that feels like a band performing a victory lap or a roll of honour. Instead this is a continuation of Killing Joke’s 40-year journey into the heart of darkness and the worst aspects of human nature. And with the band having made some of their best music since the turn of the decade, the spread of material tonight covers a satisfyingly amount of ground.
Delivered at a substantial and punishing volume, Wardance has lost none of its ability to thrill and terrify in equal measure. Geordie’s scything guitars drive the brutality of Eighties, while the mutant techno of European Super State pumps with a hideous relevance.
Unless the apocalypse hits any time soon – and it might – only a fool would bet against Killing Joke making their half-century.