Festival review: Froth and Fury, Adelaide

Live review: Froth And Fury Fest, Adelaide Showground, Sunday, January 31 2026

By BRIAN GIFFIN

COMPARED to the crushing heat of the previous 24 hours, Adelaide turned on warm but far more survivable weather when the day of Froth and Fury finally dawned.

For the fifth time out the event has now taken up residence at the former home of Big Days Out – the Adelaide Showground – but the scale hasn’t increased all that much, with the promoter taking a softly, softly approach to festival growth. Putting on a medium sized music festival in a city far away from the major east coast hubs seems counter-intuitive on one level but the goal when it began was to revive the SA capital’s live music scene in the wake of COVID. Twenty twenty-four’s version was one the best festivals I’ve even been to, so nothing short of a catastrophe was going to stop me from getting here this time.

Catastrophic would have been missing out on grabbing Blood Duster’s exclusive merch design after promising a friend I’d get her one, so it was (close to) first in line when the gates open. With that side quest completed, it was time for the main mission – 12 hours of metal and punk in more flavours than an ice-cream shop.

Continuing the tradition of giving newcomers a go, the main stage is opened by the polished metal of Control The Sun. They’re playing their first ever show but they’re clearly all old hands at the game with professional, well-crafted and catchy songs. Inside the huge air-conditioned barn behind the main arena, locals Broken Loose and Bone Reaper are welcoming the early arrivals to the party with solid sets of thrash metal, the first with a more traditional sound inspired by the old school, the latter injecting a good dose of death metal and some gnarly harmonised leads.

Back outside the atmosphere was a little more relaxed with veteran surf punk campaigners The Bearded Clams dishing out some rollicking good times. In between reminding everyone how old they were, they punched out a set of fun and energetic punk bristling with humour and metal-edged guitars.

Brisbane hardcore upstarts Zukø hit the stage like a grenade in a nursery, fired up from recent tours with bands like Stray From The Path. Before the first song was halfway through, the pit opened and punters were two-stepping everywhere. Zukø was an explosion of white-hot energy across the arena, but more metal was calling to me from The Compound.

I Choose Violence is both a band name and a mission statement. Another Adelaide band maintaining the city’s standards for metal, these guys are the heaviest act to play so far, thoroughly crushing the crowd under the immensity of their assault. They are more than an adequate warm-up for the first of my Must Sees today.

It’s been over 15 years since Adelaide groove metal giants Double Dragon played their last gig. They have not been forgotten. More than one person seemed to have come along today specifically for them. During the week I’d promised to meet Simon from Daysend “front and centre” for this band and there we were, singing along with the buzzing crowd to “You’re The Voice” when the Dragon returned to the stage and got down to business. They were immense. Lee Gardiner stalked the stage while his band rained down thick grooving riffs and harmonised guitars, breathing fire once again as if they’d never been away. “Dead But Still Killing” descends like a storm as the pit began to swirl. Old-school melodic metalcore was back and smashing it. Then festival organiser Jason North stepped out to go toe-to-toe with Gardiner and it was magical to see them both onstage again bringing the action. Double Dragon were over way too soon, both back then and now – maybe a complete return is due?

Stumbling back out into the light, it was time for a feed to keep this engine running for more action-packed adventures. The lines for the food trucks weren’t too bad just yet so I managed to enjoy some tacos and a beer and still have time to catch Where’s The Pope? as they brought some old-school hardcore attitude to the main arena. Up until now there hadn’t been a lot of politicking but WTP didn’t hold back, unloading on racists, bigots and One Nation in their whirlwind punk onslaught, dedicating their last song to Big Noter as that band got ready on the next stage.

Tossing up whether to catch Briggs’ rap/funk metal crew or Melbourne monstrosity Algor Mortis, it came down to deciding on both of them. Why not? It’s a long day. Might as well stuff as much into it as possible.

Big Noter kick off into the life-affirming ‘Free Yourself”, Briggs affecting a light and breezy swagger while one-time Sleep Parade guitarist Leigh Davies chops out some Morello-inspired moves. The delivery gives off heavy RATM/Prophets vibes with bounce and attitude, Briggs’ vocals more straight rap than snarl, even when he’s dishing it out like in “Talk Straight”. I’d be down with seeing them again.

Ditto for Algor Mortis, a demonically-voiced death metal wrecking machine, stomping all over The Compound like Godzilla. Stepping in at the last minute for Terminal Sleep, Algor Mortis were absolutely crushing in their brutally heavy assault, weighty riffs and Cecilia Keane’s vocals unleashing next-level pit carnage. It was a fine starting point for the rest of the afternoon, headed up by the return of Mortal Sin.

They may have been up against Bleeding Through today, but my allegiance to the Sinners was never in doubt. From my first live encounter with them in 1987 through endless line-up changes, break-ups and reformations, here I am almost 40 years later, still right at the front surrounded by lifers as ‘The Curse’ announces their re-entry to the ring. It would have been easy for them to just fall back on their 80s classics but their set includes tracks from all the Mat Maurer-fronted albums, “Deny” introducing any new blood in the crowd – and there was plenty – to their catchy, classic-style thrash wares.

Some of the earlier acts seemed a little reluctant in using the big stage to their advantage but these seasoned campaigners had no such qualms. Both Maurer and Andy were as upfront as possible with the audience as Ryan and Nathan crisscrossed the stage and drummer George Delinicolis, in his first live show with the band and after a solid week of touring with Bastardizer, nailed his parts like a machine. Almost exactly 40 years after the event that inspired it, “Voyage of the Disturbed” is still one of the best Australian thrash songs of all time and Mortal Sin are playing like they’ve been on the road for months, not back together again for the first time in 14 years. With “I Am Immortal” they wrap their allotted time with the energy and vigour of younger bands, serving notice that their upcoming anniversary shows cannot be missed.

There was just enough time to grab a beer and catch my breath before Blood Duster came stomping and grinding their way into the Compound.

If there was anything to assuage the disappointment of The Mark of Cain cancelling, it was having the uproarious and totally unpredictable madness of this band take their place. At Blacken Open Air Blood Duster were completely off the hook, and if they were in any way restrained here it was only slightly. “Rock N Roll Jihad” got the fun underway, their lewd, high energy rocking grind taking command. An inflatable penis instantly appeared above the crowd. PC tossed beers to the punters. Tone Bone demanded someone produce a full bag of cocaine. A guest was welcomed to the stage to play guitar on “Chunky Bit” (all eight seconds of it). There was full frontal male nudity. Somehow, they still managed to rip through all the hits, finishing off with a massive “Drink. Fight. Fuck.” that didn’t involve a stage invasion or waves of stagedivers but went off just the same. Wildly irrepressible and bordering on the illegal, Blood Duster were highlights once again.

Festival kings and equally irrepressible upstarts Frenzal Rhomb have already kicked into action when I emerge from the darkness of the Compound, blinking like a newborn. With immaculate comic timing, bouts of hilarious social observation and bursts of quick-fire punk rock, Frenzal are always a good time. Lindsay and Dal zap around the stage striking ridiculous rock poses as they fire off a string of endless hits about drugs and other dodgy lifestyle choices and the general banter between Jay and his guitarist is as good as any stand up routine.

It’s a good fun break ahead of plunging into the darkness again for Belgian atrocity Aborted and their gallery of splatter gore and violence. The hulking presence of Sven de Caluwé loomed above the crowd, stirring circle pits and two walls of death, as well as apparently revelling in being in a country “where it’s OK to say ‘cunt’”. He said it a lot as Aborted dragged the masses through the bloodshed of their recent Vault of Horrors, but try as I might, I simply couldn’t get into it. There should be more to this than bludgeoning.

Archspire offer exactly that. I wasn’t exactly sure where I’d stand with this band because their music is incredibly busy but as a live act they are simply astonishing. The speed at which this band attack the time signature-defying intricacies of their songs is bewildering; the stop-start turn-on-a-dime arrangements executed with neck-snapping precision. If I was a metal musician watching Archspire, I’d be inspired to either practise constantly or kill myself for being a failure. As a new fan seeing them for the first time, I was completely blown away. Oli Aleron’s vocal style is incomprehensible to the point of absurdity. I don’t know if he was singing cake recipes or paragraphs from Lord of the Rings but it works with the music, so who cares? Between songs he made jokes at new drummer Spencer Moore’s expense, invited punters onstage for a shoey contest to win a shirt with “I Don’t Fuck Kids” scrawled on it and generally took the piss. Their sense of fun is part of their appeal and it was almost bizarre to see balloons and inflatable crocodiles being thrown around during “Drone Corpse Aviator”.

With Nailbomb about to make their appearance, the Compound emptied faster than a crate of Jack Daniel’s in Lemmy’s dressing room. The exodus was so complete, I had to feel sorry for Battlesnake who were about to go on there, but to be fair, the chances of ever seeing Nailbomb again are pretty low.

And yes, they ruled.

Exploding onstage with a remarkably slimmer Max Cavalera at the front, Nailbomb was instantly devastating. Appropriately frothing and furious, the rage of their industrial thrash has lost none of the potency it had 30 years ago. As the senior and junior Cavaleras spat bile and anger, the band conjured the outrage. Alex from Pig Destroyer provided the industrial tones while spinning and kicking at every moment, his bandmate Travis Stone peeling off jagged leads on a silver guitar that splashed around the early evening sun like a death ray. The set was a playthrough of Point Blank with only “For Fuck’s Sake” and the Doom cover absent, a crushing polemic of social and political ills that are somehow even more relevant today, delivered with intensity and a clear sense of purpose. A crowning moment of the festival.

With some empathy for Battlesnake, I did go check them out for a bit and they had happily found a decent and apparently parochial crowd for their theatrical, Gizzard-esque metal. They really are thoroughly entertaining and would probably have still played hard even if no one had been there. Good for them.

Nailbomb were exhausting, so I took a seat in a corner of one of the grandstands to polish off a vegie burger and a beer of some stripe while my legs recovered a little from standing around for almost 10 hours. In Hearts Wake were providing the soundtrack and while they definitely sounded better and cleaner than my last encounter with them at Good Things 2024, I admit to be rather ambivalent about them. Their hearts are definitely in the right place though even if their music isn’t my thing, and it could have been my ears but Jake Taylor seemed to be speaking with an American accent for some reason.

Probably still on a rush from his Nailbomb set, Max Cavalera was back with a vengeance as Soulfly blasted the crowd with the appropriately-titled “Storm The Gates”. Whatever rejuvenation routine or mysterious Brazilian youth spirit he’s discovered is clearly going down a treat as he throws himself into the music like I can’t remember seeing him do before. It actually adds a level of excitement to the set, which leans heavily on the debut and the latest, Chama. As “Buumbklatt” thunders across the arena and Max bellows “JUMP!” for the 68th time, I head back to The Compound for a different release of energy.

Soulfly will be back, but Private Function have made it clear they absolutely will not be. So with Chris Penney shouting “Fuck you, Soulfly!”, they exploded into frenetic punk rock chaos like they had no more fucks left to give. The full-sized Palestinian flag hanging from Milla Holland’s bass neck threatened to imperil her ability to both move and play at every moment but made no difference as she and Penney charged the stage, the crowd, the drum riser, snarling and shouting songs like “Fuck Me Dead” and “Art Sucks”. Instruments were tossed around, vocals leads swapped, Penney dropped his pants and disappeared into the crowd more than once. Wrestlers and knights in armour fight each other on stage in the background. It was unhinged, teetering on the brink of complete collapse. It was glorious. Farewell, Private Function, you bunch of crazy assholes.

Soulfly were still going when I got back outside and Max was still exhorting the punters to jump. With the set winding up, there was a magnificent viral moment when he got two kids to surf up to the stage and belt out “Eye for an Eye” with him, something that will stay with them forever and softened the faces of hundreds of stodgy old metalheads everywhere, wishing it had been them.
With two bands to go, I was just about over it. Soulfly was punishing but Private Function had been so reinvigorating that I could now push on.

After an absence of more than two years from Adelaide, the polished metalcore of Polaris was welcomed with a huge roar. I’ve grown to really like this band after watching them rip Penrith Panthers apart one night and once again they gave a commanding performance at the top of a massive day of music. Eschewing some of the affectations of their peers, Polaris rely on classic stagecraft, doses of intricate riffing, bouncy groove and bursts of blazing lead guitar to get their message across. Their catchy songwriting helps a lot too. “Landmine” is as explosive as its title, Jesse Crofts standing out front, shredding away. The crowd is surging with late night energy. A wheelie bin appears above the crowd, surfing its way toward the crush barrier. Jamie Hails stirs the tumult. There’s an emotional moment too, when “With Regards” obviously went out to the memory of Ryan Siew. Polaris navigates it all with formidable class and energy.

Back in the Compound, Abbath is performing a set of Immortal covers enshrouded in fog so thick he’s almost impossible to see. He barks his lyrics, barks an occasional word between songs, the members of his band either moving like statues or hardly at all. Riffs are repeated endlessly, droning on for ages. There’s no dynamics, no rapport. It’s time to go.

On the big stage, Polaris is closing their set with a smashing version of “Lucid” and going into “Inhumane” as I head for the gate to make my half-hour trek back to the hotel. Just before I exit, I pass the couple with the ice-cream stand who’ve been there patiently all day, and buy some. It’s really good. Kudos to them for sticking around to the very end.

And what a day! What a triumph. Once again, Froth and Fury has pulled it off. They’re showing everyone how to do a mid-sized festival. Power and glory to them.

PIX: BRENDAN DELAVERE