Now before we get too deep into this, a quick disclaimer: I’m a blogger, not a music critic. I don’t analyse chord progressions, I don’t interview bassists about their “creative process”, and I definitely don’t sit there judging whether the drummer is in 4/4 or just having a minor stroke, I’m just a bloke who likes going to gigs, drinking things that probably shouldn’t be mixed, and then writing about the chaos that follows, so if you’ve arrived here expecting a detailed set‑list breakdown, a hard‑hitting exposé on why I think the lead singer can’t carry a tune in a reinforced industrial‑grade bucket, or a deep philosophical discussion about the band’s artistic evolution… you’re tragically lost. What you may learn however is that I drank way too many JD and Cokes (again), my back gave up on me (again) because apparently chairs are illegal at venues these days, and as is tradition, the band didn’t sell t‑shirts in a size to even go over my head let-alone fit.

Until my mate Si messaged me out of the blue a couple of weeks ago, I’m ashamed to admit I’d never even heard of the band LN, despite their Pagan Viking Metal style of music being so far up my street it practically knocks on my door, and despite them having an upcoming gig at one of my natural habitats, The Giffard Arms in Wolverhampton, or simply ‘the Giff’ as it’s more affectionately known. Naturally I launched myself onto Google like a man on a mission, hoovering up every scrap of information I could find and binge‑watching every YouTube video the algorithm could throw my way before panic‑buying tickets like they were going extinct.

Our evening began in one of my favourite pubs, The Wheatsheaf, conveniently located a short 5 minute stumble from the Giff, and despite it being Wolves through and through, it’s a place where even us Walsall supporters are offered a warm welcome, and more importantly, it’s a place for us to enjoy a few quiet beers before the inevitable carnage kicks off and all sense of direction and dignity goes out of the window… and then the Jäger Bombs came out to play.

First band on were local eclectic art‑rock quartet Le Bone, whose set was basically finished by the time we’d navigated the epic quest of getting to the Giff, acquiring drinks, and hauling ourselves up to the Dark Room, the Giff’s own little upstairs lair. From the tiny sliver of their performance I did manage to catch however, I can confidently say we didn’t miss much. They weren’t terrible, just… not my cup of tea, more like someone else’s lukewarm herbal infusion if I’m brutally honest. Who knows? maybe I’d think differently had we managed to catch more of their set, but what a bizarre choice to open the night, a bit like booking a mime act to warm up for a demolition derby, especially when the rest of the line up was full‑on Pagan Viking Folk Metal. Nothing says “prepare for battle” quite like a little interpretive art rock apparently.

Next to grace the stage were South Wales Post‑Folk‑Metal outfit Adfeilion which according to Google Translate, means “ruins”, though thankfully their set was anything but. Now this band I did like. Their dark, melodic, theatrical, mostly‑instrumental performance, interrupted only by the occasional ominous, story‑time‑with-a-druid monologue conjured vivid visions of lying stark naked on a log in Sherwood Forest in the rain, clutching a battle axe in one hand and a Viking horn of mead in the other, gazing majestically at the treetops while hordes gathered at your feet, ready for battle and awaiting your command… or maybe that was just the Jäger Bombs and JD beginning to stage a coup in my bloodstream, either way I thoroughly enjoyed the band so much that I just may or may not have “accidentally” bought more vinyl to feed my ever‑expanding collection, plus yet another patch for my battle vest, which now boasts 40+ patches, patiently waiting to be sewn on like tiny black and white embroidered reminders of my own procrastination.

If you’re into dark, haunting doom‑metal riffs and battle drums that sound like someone summoning an army using nothing more than a saucepan and sheer determination, all delivered with a delightful Spinal Tap-esque Stonehenge vibe, then you really need to check out Adfeilion, I promise you won’t be disappointed… or at the very least, you’ll experience a pleasant level of confusion mixed with mild surprise and imagination.

Next up were the headliners: the mighty Newcastle based Pagan Viking Metal warriors, LN. Covered head‑to‑toe in pagan warpaint and bursting onto the stage like a berserker flash mob, they wasted absolutely zero time establishing dominance over the unsuspecting peasants (aka: us) gathered before them.

Front and centre was Ellen Hirst, the foot‑stomping, stage‑leaping, possessed-like whirlwind of a vocalist who looked more than ready to summon an ancient deity just for fun. The band’s thunderous riffs, feral energy, and general “we definitely know at least three spells” vibe made it feel like they were powered in equal parts by a concoction of Norse mythology, witchcraft, and whatever eldritch dark arts they’ve managed to find behind some pub in Newcastle at 3am in the morning.

As predicted, my back decided to betray me the moment LN hit the stage, so I spent most of their set parked at the back of the room on one of the few available seats staring at the backs of people’s heads like I was reviewing some sort of niche art exhibition, my view of the stage, just a collection of pixelated slivers of movement between two shoulders and nothing more, but what I heard was pure, unfiltered folklore‑drenched, spiritually chaotic, mildly satanic Metal excellence. It was like being stood front‑row at a ritual… except I was actually sat down at the back, gulping down yet more JD, trying not to pull a muscle in my neck while the soundtrack to the apocalypse roared all around me, only taking to my feet again at the end of the show in an attempt to get my face on what appears to be every bands end of the night “photo with the crowd” photo opportunity.

After the show we shuffled back down to the bar which by this point was heaving, wall‑to‑wall bodies, zero chairs, like a tin of sardines that had just discovered alcohol. Much to Sonia’s despair, Si and I made the bold, reckless, and mutually terrible decision to retreat to the beer garden, where the benches were wet, the rain was pretty heavy, and our drinks were refilling themselves from the sky almost as fast as we could empty them, but at least it was a sit‑down, and it was at least ten degrees cooler than the human sauna happening indoors, so we counted it as a win.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before a space opened up inside, and we scurried back in to finish the night with a couple more drinks and a taxi home, damp, slightly chilled, a bit worse for ware, and more than ready for bed.

Overall rating for last night’s shenanigans, a good 8/10.

Adfeilion: Image courtesy of doomed-nation.com.