While metal’s sludgy progenitors and thrash evolutionaries have latterly received overdue critical kudos, such respect has yet to be afforded to their moody, misunderstood late-90s descendent: nu-metal. The subgenre’s sins were manifold: a pervading lyrical self-pity, a wilful misunderstanding of rap as little more than crotch-grabbing machismo, and a malign habit of recording godawful covers of 80s pop hits.
Korn, however, were a cut above, thanks largely to troubled, offbeat frontman Jonathan Davis, whose murky childhood of abuse informed gnarly hits such as Blind and Freak on a Leash. The band’s more intriguing nuances seem a little lost, though, amid their production values: blinding lights and a vast, distracting screen showing what appear to be video game cut-scenes of cities collapsing and merry-go-rounds being obliterated by lasers. The cavernous Brixton Academy, meanwhile, seems to swallow everything but Davis’s sawdust whine and the bombastic Bonham-esque Levee breakbeats for the first batch of songs, reducing their anthems to an enervating airing of grievances.
It’s not that Davis doesn’t have charisma enough to fill the room. Unmistakable in his trademark stringy dreadlocks and a natty silk floral skirt your auntie might buy from M&S, he clearly graduated magna cum laude from the Paul Stanley School of Between-Song Banter. He plays heavy metal bagpipes, and gets the Academy to give the finger en masse and scream “Fuck that!” because, as he says, “It feels good to say, ‘Fuck that!’ every once in a while” – in that breath perfectly nailing nu-metal’s brutish, cathartic appeal.
But it’s only when Korn play their boldest, biggest songs tonight that they truly hit their groove, beginning with a mid-set blitz through Clown – its dumb/genius riff like a dentist’s drill revving up – and riding that momentum through to the encore. We get the sleazy grind of Shoots and Ladders, turning childhood nursery rhymes inside out; a massive, wall-shaking Coming Undone, unabashedly morphing into We Will Rock You; and the glammed-up stomp of Somebody Someone, which sounds tonight like Pour Some Sugar on Me for the Adderall generation.
There’s nothing subtle about any of it, but barns like this weren’t built for subtlety. And when the skull-cracking crunch of Blind kicks in during the encore, it confirms that Korn can do the big, brawny rock thing better than most, translating Davis’s nightmares into button-pushing, bounce-inducing, thrill-delivering entertainment.
