My first time in Dublin, and so my first time in the nice venue that is The Pint. I’m doing the tourist thing so I’m kind of late wandering in past the impressive gig posters in the front window and mostly miss the support I’m afraid but see that the good turnout were reasonably interested.

As the ominous sounds of a Dario Argento soundtrack build the expectations for this most curious of bands, I note that for a group who are not even seemingly allowed an entry in metal-archives the audience is staunchly and unequivocally metal.

With no back stage here The Devil’s Blood have a torchlit escort to the stage and they take their places silently and deliberately. There are times when you don’t know if you are watching a cult who happen to have their own rock band or a rock band who are a cult to themselves, but there is such a serious nature even to this moment that they command attention regardless.

Those few moments of silence are blown apart by the first chords of ‘ On The Wings of Gloria’ which suddenly fill the narrow venue. The sound is fine and The Voice’s static, dramatic presence is totally mesmerising. It’s like being called to prayer, but at a church very different from the ones surrounding the venue. Beside her on the tight stage, the band twist and jerk and from that opening sound pour all their concentration and fire into their music. You never doubt their belief but if you prefer to look past the philosophy you simply find a bloody tight, fine, passionate rock band with one of the best armouries of songs on the circuit. They just ooze real rocker attitude without any of the star games. The guys are all sweat soaked tangled hair figures, bare chested and running with rivulets of blood, clad in dirty leather and wielding low slung guitars while The Voice, diminutive off stage but towering on, is tightly laced into her simple black dress and I swear a young lad standing in front of her doesn’t blink all night.

Through older songs like the riotous version of ‘The Heavens Cry Out for The Devil’s Blood’ or the Blue Oyster Cult tinged ‘River of Gold’ the intensity and jaw dropping heavy guitar melody driven out into the enthusiastic crowd never lets up. On a knife edge between brilliance and the fanatic they communicate almost purely through the music, the odd set of horns raised aside, and take us on a high octane trip through their latest and greatest offering ‘The Thousandfold Epicentre’. It is a superb balance of tempos and colours from eyeball bursting rock-outs to trippy but focussed passages of guitar swirl and colour with an effortless talent and they are rewarded with a great Irish response.

Watching them is sometimes like being trapped in a speeding hot rod driven by a madman genius, chuckling it round corners at speeds it has no business managing. It is so much a total band performance from the pounding rhythmic heart outwards. When there are vocals, the still figure of The Voice commands attention and the guys make certain that the backup is worthy. When they go off into their lengthy but still compelling musical streams she turns away so there is no distraction. Three guitars means that whoever is playing the fluid leads, the wall of riff and melody never lets up. It is a beast of parts that breathes as one.

A soft and finally apocalyptic version of ‘Voodoo Dust’ and the closing powerful stomp of the classic ‘Christ or Cocaine’ and they leave us with the memory of a night of black and red, leather and blood and sweat.

Truly excellent.

Thank you Dublin for an excellent night and a friendly chat to one of the guys from Mourning Beloveth and the guy organising Dublin Doom Days on 28th-29th September 2012 (looking like a great fest) just topping off a perfect pint.