First up and fresh from blowing minds in America recently are cult UK favourites Esoteric. They open proceedings with expansive and arid desert sounding melody as dusky as the heat of this summer day. It’s akin to a gun-slinging showdown at sunset. The sound is thick and cloying, sticking to us like sweat, rugged and weathered until crystalline guitar cuts in and warps strangely into lysergic shapes. Greg Chandler’s vocals follow the music around and gnaw away with harrying intent.

It’s an unsettling sound, certainly for those not versed in it and even those veterans of many past shows find their heads on the verge of imploding. Is it a short song that follows, if so it’s the only one of the night and strange contortions are wrung out. The banks of panels the respective players have at their feet are utilised and we ride on the sonic distortions until the song suddenly and unexpectedly dissolves into ether.

Taking a step back I find the venue absolutely rammed, everyone digging in and getting ready for what comes next which is three booming drumbeats heralding the next discombobulating opus. Lights change accordingly and the band are bathed in angry red hues. The drummer momentarily blasts and things turn icy blue as terror seeps out and clutches at us like slithering tentacles.

There is no escape and as we absorb it and channel the sounds it is like being taken over by a strange alien presence. Locked in and mind-melded by the harrowing melodicism the next hypnotic passage rears up and swallows us whole. The hostile takeover is nothing short of terrifying.

For some reason I get the vision of a melting face with flesh sloughing of the skull with the words “this is your mind on drugs.” None our needed here though as Esoteric have enough tricks of their own to completely disorientate and befuddle the senses. It’s one heavy trip and we just about make it through to the other side unscathed. Although it is a case of long sets and even longer songs Esoteric’s hallucinatory assault seems over quickly, time has temporarily shifted and as the band leave to rousing applause recalibration is much needed before we move towards the high seas…

Not uncharted waters, in fact I had caught German Nautik Doom Crew Ahab back on this very ship in 2015. Judging by those on board tonight their popularity has even increased since then. They were due to play a headline length set dipping through their two-decade career to date this evening and this was made possible by a half-hour extension being added to the curfew.

It’s material from their first couple of albums that appeals to me the most and I find myself quickly submerged into the briny depths of ‘The Divinity Of Oceans.’ One second we are heaving over the side due to choppy waves, the next left languishing in a blue lagoon by acoustically sparkling guitar work. Captain Droste takes centre stage and spotlight, his shipmates clinging to the shadows like limpets. Suddenly the lights turn to the colour of seaweed which is very fitting.

Between tracks we get the sound of a shipwreck followed by a jangling guitar clamour as the Red Foam hits on the back of a mighty storm. There’s plenty of rocky ballast here as survivors are plucked from the heaving waves. Sound is again really clear, low vocal growls and bottom end reverberate as Ahab steer us through decidedly deathly territories filled with peril. The drummer shakes a tube of beads and vocals move to clean and priestly as though our mariners are seeking divine passage and redemption.

Drinking it in with rum and slices of scurvy preventing lime seems like a good choice as we settle into completely engrossing languid passages of ‘The Sea As A Desert’. By now we have our sea legs but thick fishermen sweaters are going to be needed as ice forms over the snow-capped terrain of ‘Antarctica the Polymorphess.’ Greg Chandler pops up and yells a bit at the end of the suitably turbulent ‘The Mælstrom Feat’ but for me the absolute highlight of the set is concluding number ‘The Hunt,’ talk about epic! Guitar work spears like giant harpoons as we are dragged through the oceanic depths to our very doom. A fantastic finale but a funeral is about to come.

Whether it is due to time moving on or just that Ahab are seen by many as the most popular band on the bill, it seems we lost many overboard during the course of the hazardous evening. Skepticism are admittedly an acquired taste but by the time the Finnish pallbearers take the stage the venue has somewhat emptied out. It’s not lillies and remains but white roses laid to rest on the stage and handed out to audience members. Vocalist Matti at one point almost deep-throats one long stem, perhaps the thorns account for his deep rasps. Although it is a deadly serious ceremony one cannot help think of a certain Monty Python sketch as keyboardist Eero Pöyry sits at his upright organ with a mirror in front of him at the side of the stage. Thankfully he and other members apart from the drummer who gets a pass are decked out in full mourning suits.

‘Calla’ is solemnly aired and those down the front swoon and sway along to its baroque overtures. Matti seems in a slight mischievous mood and suddenly gets down on one knee as though he is going to propose to guitarist Jani. Like the song following from latest album Companion they are somewhat Intertwined. It all adds to the theatricality and somewhat flamboyant nature of the performance. It is at this point I realise that the set is basically going to comprise of the entirety of the last album. A somewhat bold move perhaps and by ‘The March Of The Four’ with its piped organ sound we are all feeling like we are ready to shift from this mortal coil. For some no doubt the will to live is fleeting as the music becomes more ponderous and insular.

It’s fair to say you have to be in the mood for Skepticism, for many they are akin to a religious experience but are not for the fleeting observer. Those graveyard companions who stuck it out withered and wilted as more flowers are handed out. By the time they are taken home, they will no doubt be decayed in the full romance of decomposition. ‘Passage’ brings heft and weight and on ‘The Swan and The Raven’ there is serious death-tripping keyboard work reminiscent of the soundtrack work of a Jorg Buttgereit film.

Finally, the band play an older number ‘The March and The Stream’ and by now I am on last legs and close to feeling six foot under so make a respectful escape. Well you certainly don’t get to experience a show like this every day and Skepticism made this a somewhat unique wake, which will haunt the senses for quite some time to come. Perhaps we will reconvene in another decade or so if we are all still around to do so.

Review and photos Pete Woods