Live Review: Helmet, Warped, Batpiss

Meredith may be over, but the fun continues from the moment local troublemakers Batpiss take the stage. Having almost a year to tour their Nuclear Winter record has made the material sound even more ugly and antisocial, which is brilliant, and the trio tear it up in their opening slot.
Picking up a coveted second night playing main support at the venue, swingin' dick rockers Warped do more of what they do best; namely hit some skuzzy, vintage-tinged fuzzbox rock. The riff merchants peel off a nice tight set to remind everyone just why they're supporting bands as good as The Melvins and Helmet.
It's been three years since alt-metal titans Helmet released Seeing Eye Dog, but tonight it seems like the band is still touring to sell the album. The band is in excellent form – the rhythm section of Dave Case and Kyle Stevenson is particularly adept in backing up frontman Page Hamilton's legendarily crunchy guitar – but the song selection is amiss.
It's been over a decade since Page Hamilton copped an ungodly amount of heat for deciding to reform Helmet, with himself as the sole original member. Now, of course, every band that's had something remotely close to a hit has followed the New Yorker's lead, but tonight it feels like Hamilton remains cognisant of the scrutiny his move received. Helmet's setlist ignores some of the best songs of that maligned mid-'00s period. There's no Smart or Money Shot or any of the pissed-off, sardonic gems Hamilton produced during the tumultuous period.
Speaking of sardonic, Hamilton is pretty much on fire tonight. Riffing on everything from men's dubious fashion choices to his string of actress ex-girlfriends (apparently much of Helmet's Size Matters was inspired by his relationship with Winona Ryder. Respect). But Hamilton's charismatic presence onstage isn't enough to make up for the lack of hits tonight. Or so it seems. Just as the crowd's interest in proceedings appears to wane, Helmet unleash the monsters everyone wants to hear. There's a ploughing, straightforward rendition of Unsung, a punchy reworking of Wilma's Rainbow (where Hamilton plays off guitarist Dan Beeman) and a barn-burning version of In The Meantime to close out the set.
In the afterglow of these numbers, Helmet's show is redeemed. But Hamilton and his band shouldn't be promising to simply make do when their catalogue of material is so good.