Carcass stormed the stage and went straight for the throat. No buildup, no mercy—just instant impact. The setlist was a warpath through their entire catalog, from the grinding filth of the early days to the razor-sharp precision of Heartwork and the crushing weight of their reunion era. The Heartwork material hit hardest, those riffs slicing through the air like scalpels, every note a controlled detonation.
Bill Steer was a monster. A ‘70s-style guitar hero buried under distortion, peeling off leads with effortless brutality. Jeff Walker, all venom and bite, commanded the stage, his bass locked in with Daniel Wilding’s relentless drumming. The whole thing was a machine, grinding forward, crushing everything in its path.
The crowd erupted on impac: the pit was a war field. Carcass didn’t need theatrics or satanic poses. Just riffs, speed, and blood in the water. Running the gamut from grindcore to melodic death metal, two genres they helped create, Carcass reminded everyone why they still stand tall in the realm of extreme metal.
A Carcass gig isn’t just a show—it’s invasive surgery without anesthesia, and everyone in the room signs the waiver willingly. The riffs slice, the bass drills, the drums hammer like bone saws against the skull. Jeff Walker sneers through the carnage, Bill Steer wields his guitar like a scalpel, and the whole thing feels less like a concert and more like an operating table where the patient is awake and loving every second. No sterile instruments, no clean incisions—just blood, sweat, and a crowd begging for more.
