Mason Hill
Bristol, The Fleece
Rising Scottish hard rock stars take their Top 20 debut across the border, and are met by much rejoicing.
There’s a glorious moment when Mason Hill’s composure – their sweetly earnest, humbled delight at the audience’s cheers – is shattered. The band have just torn through a triumphant Against
The Wall, topping a slick, razor-sharp set built on the album of the same name (the first rock debut to crack the UK Top 20 since Royal Blood in 2014). Support acts Empyre and Hollowstar set the bar with gusto, but now the headliners are surpassing the response generated earlier by their cover of the Foo Fighters’ Best Of You. Suddenly, vocalist Scott Taylor spins round to face arm-wheeling drummer Craig McFetridge, eyes wide. Is it all about to kick off?
“Did you just hit me in the fucking testicle with that drum stick?!” Taylor exclaims in broad Glaswegian tones that filter pleasingly into his singing.
It’s a moment of levity that cuts through tonight’s muscular, mature collection of riff assaults, elevating harmonies and singalong choruses. Parallels with the likes of Alter Bridge feel perfectly legit, with Taylor and lead guitarist James Bird filling Myles Kennedy and Mark Tremonti-esque roles. School friends back home in Glasgow, the two of them came of age watching bands like Five Finger Death Punch, ultimately soaking up that biting heft for their own music.
There’s a lot of feeling in The Fleece tonight. The space is generously peppered with
T-shirts bearing the names of all three of tonight’s acts. Punters seem pumped but mindful of one another’s space. Taylor must declare “Oh my god!” and “We love you!” about 600 times during the 80-odd minutes Mason Hill are on stage, hand on heart as he does so. Usually this might have our inner sceptic rolling its eyes. Isn’t it all a bit ‘worthy’? A bit too consistent with that black T-shirted look, slick chops and slightly unsexy band name that, at first glance, screams ‘safe hands’ rather than ‘badass muthafuckers’?
But these are not normal circumstances. It’s been a bizarre year and a half. Their debut was already a long time coming, beset by delays back in 2017 (threatening to derail the band altogether). Then a pandemic, tours postponed… That emotional response isn’t ‘worthiness’, it’s sheer bloody relief.
“I’ll never forget the anti-climax of when it was released,” guitarist James Bird told us backstage pre-show. “It was weird. Without gigs and things I didn’t feel like it was out. But I think there’s hunger now. I’ve been writing more songs. I want to chase whatever it was that was missing.”
Tonight drives all this home. Beneath the moody facade, Mason Hill are young, hungry and, crucially, all about the songs: tunes that stick; riffs that sing (even the heaviest ones); solos that really count. From the opening chords and thunderous beats of No Regret, the band’s joy at finally being able to see fans singing these songs back at them is evident, covid restrictions or not (like all bands we’ve spoken to recently, they’re having to forego their usual pre/postgig fan interaction).
“This is fucking brilliant!” Taylor exclaims, beaming, as the cheers continue in waves for a groovy, beefy DNA. Find My Way brings in an extra layer of bite, devilish mania flashing through Taylor’s eyes, the Dr Jekyll to his Mr Hyde. That same tight heaviness finds its way into the groovy We Pray, offset by the emotive dynamics of Out Of Reach and stirring ballad Who We Are. By the time Against The Wall has raised football victory-style crowd chants, we’re thinking they could give the likes of Shinedown, Black Stone Cherry et al a serious run for their money.
Just another bunch of modern hard-rock boys in black? Not so much.