Review: Primrose Path at Amplifier Bar

Primrose Path at Amplifier Bar
w/ Neomantra, Buried Shallow, Breed
Saturday, April 26, 2025

On a night that felt like a coronation, Primrose Path stood triumphant at Amplifier Bar, delivering a breathtaking front-to-back performance of debut LP Ruminations that crowned them as one of Australia’s most vital heavy acts.

The atmosphere was electric from the outset, with Breed, Buried Shallow, and Neomantra each raising the temperature in their own way, setting the stage for a set that transcended the boundaries of a typical album launch. This was more than just a gig; it was a celebration of identity, vision, and the powerful sense of community that underpins Perth’s heavy scene.

It’s bold to kick off a set with lines that sound ripped straight from a Monty Python sketch, but Breed vocalist Alexander Coombes nailed it without breaking a sweat. He also bellowed, “Look who forgot their fucking uniform,” throwing side-eye at guitarist Brad McLennan, the lone holdout against the band’s otherwise uniform tropical holiday aesthetic. Seconds later, Coombes theatrically removed his crab hat, ready to baptise the entire crowd in madness.

For veterans of Perth’s heavy scene, it was like déjà vu of the best kind. At a glance, it felt like a KIN show with Kris Falconer at the helm. Coombes, sporting stylish sunglasses, dreadlocks, mischievous facial hair, killer effects pedals, and an utterly incredible vocal range, looked every bit the master of ceremonies for what was about to unfold: equal parts chaos and theatre. It’s apparent that Breed doesn’t play shows. They simply happen to the audience.

As McLennan’s delicate intro to Precious Remedies Against Wanting Nothing (The Little Song of Calm) floated over Amplifier Bar, Coombes’ vocal slowly built momentum, before the band detonated into life like a kraken ripping a galleon in half. Drummer Gene Perrett, guitarist Matthew Golightly, bassist Daniel Franklin, and the aforementioned McLennan unleashed a technical tsunami, a dizzying display of precision so violent and beautiful the audience half-expected Poseidon himself to crash through the ceiling and commence throwing his weight around.

Coombes ditched the stage entirely, stalking the audience with his wireless mic like a jungle cat sizing up its prey. If Sleep No More in New York is immersive Shakespeare, Breed are pioneering immersive metal. A full-body, full-sensory experience that left Amplifier Bar shaking at its foundations and emphatically entertained.

Throughout the set, animated graphics of sharks, muscle-clad crabs, and assorted deep-sea lunacy roared across the backdrop. It felt less like a gig and more like the audience had been sucked into some Lovecraftian aquatic fever dream. Regardless, the punters were all in!

Coombes strutted, lunged, and grinned his way through each track, peeling off his sunglasses just long enough to deliver a stare so devilishly cunning it could start a small war.

Trying to categorise Breed’s sound is like trying to wrestle a live shark in a phone booth. Imagine if System of a Down, Mike Patton, and The Dillinger Escape Plan had a genius, unhinged child. Well, that’s Breed. It’s operatic, it’s violent, it’s absurd, and it’s fucking brilliant! Songs like The Spaniard of Chinatown, Swallowing Hornets, and Wetwaltz didn’t just push the boundaries; Breed rebuilt them underwater!

Between songs, Coombes’ banter was a masterclass in comedic timing, channelling a delicious hybrid of John Cleese absurdity and Matt Berry swagger. He kept the crowd locked in whether they were headbanging, dancing, laughing, or simply wondering what just hit them.

When the time came to close it all down, Coombes turned to Franklin with all the drama of a movie villain and yelled, “Bring us home, Danny!” Franklin dropped the bassline of 2wet2waltz, and for a moment, the audience may have felt like they were all in that decompression chamber from Licence to Kill. Yes, the James Bond movie where the guy’s head explodes.

If this is the quality of opening bands in Perth, then every other city in the world is officially on notice. For those who love Australia’s heavy music offerings, Breed aren’t just a recommendation; they’re a fucking necessity.

Breed didn’t warm up the crowd; they dragged the audience into the deep end, held them underwater, and dared everyone to love their glorious madness! What. A. Start.

For those in search of bone-breaking heaviness and riffs thick enough to wreck a neck, Buried Shallow delivered in fucking spades. No frills, no gimmicks, just straight-up demolition.

Opening with a sonic punch to the throat, Charlie White’s vocals fought their way through a savage front line of fiery distortion and Matt Crossley’s machine-gun double kicks. It took a minute to find the perfect mix, but when it locked in, it hit harder than a wrecking ball tied to a freight train.

Behind him, bassist Brett Burzkowitz, alongside guitarists Greg ‘Googz’ Hall and talisman Mark Honey, drove the crowd into absolute chaos. Pit etiquette? Nah.

Between tracks like Schizofrantic and Paint with Pain, the mosh turned into a full-blown fight club with slam dancing, limbs flying, bodies skanking, and at one point, what looked suspiciously like Jackie Chan in a circle pit. Somewhere, a shoe was lost. It was a fair trade.

Buried Shallow’s vibe is pure blue-collar brutality: just hard-working riffs and sweat-soaked sincerity. Breed opened a portal to madness; Buried Shallow blasted it wider with a sledgehammer.

In a rare moment of tenderness amid the carnage, White hoisted a $100 note skyward, pledging his own cash to Primrose Path’s Kickstarter vinyl campaign. “I’m a wax junkie,” he grinned, inviting Primrose Path’s Lindsay Rose onstage to accept the donation. It was a reminder that underneath the riffs and roars, Perth’s heavy scene is built on loyalty, blood, and mutual respect.

Newer material saw the band toy with nu-metal bounce, layering thick, stomping grooves over their metalcore-come-deathcore sound. It was a fresh twist that kept longtime fans moshing and caught plenty of new ears in the crossfire.

As Buried Shallow’s set drew to a close, White summed it up perfectly, “Grab some merch! This is what keeps local bands alive.” Then without warning, the band detonated into their final war cry, Suffer Unto Me. A track so tight, so ruthlessly heavy, and so full of hard cuts, it felt like Amplifier Bar might just crack in half and sink into the earth.

Buried Shallow didn’t just win the room; they flattened it. This is what heavy music looks like when it clocks on for a shift and doesn’t clock out until the bloody job is done.

If Breed cracked the veil of reality and Buried Shallow tore through it with primal force, then Neomantra were the architects of the dreamworld that lay beyond it—constructing something ancient, vast and unknowable.

With the LED backdrop cycling through visions of lost civilisations, planetary voids, and glitched-out Vitruvian geometry, Neomantra opened their set with the sprawling and immersive Solipsism. The mood in Amplifier Bar shifted instantly from pit chaos to a collective hypnosis. This wasn’t a set; it was a sonic ritual.

Royce Zanetic led the charge with swirling tones and signature textures from his gorgeous maple-fretboard Ibanez, which shimmered like starlight under the stage lights. Besides him, Jarod Callow’s guitar work was tight, deliberate, and full of flair, while bassist Lee Afentopoulos and drummer Greg Turner locked in like the tectonic undercurrent of the cosmos itself, building pressure, wave by wave.

In Enter the Void, the band revealed a new dimension: Zanetic’s clean vocals glided ghostlike above the haze, before giving way to abyssal growls and high shrieks that felt like transmissions from some derelict lunar temple. Afentopoulos let out a final bloodcurdling scream that could have shattered basalt like glass. It was the perfect punctuation mark on what may be their most experimental track to date.

As the set deepened, Boltzmann Brain (Thought Experiment) offered a masterclass in restraint and release. Callow’s delicate high-string melodies floated like ice crystals in zero gravity, while Turner’s drumming landed with the subtle violence of a meteor shower.

But it was the closer, Bardo Thodol (Tibetan Book of the Dead), that cemented Neomantra’s status as soundscape sculptors of the highest order. A slow-building drone of throat-singing, chimes ringing out like a ritual in progress, and then wave after wave of massive riffs and philosophical fury. Zanetic’s declaration, “Gandharva! This is your karma!” echoed like scripture, wrung from the core of some forgotten subcontinental palace. It wasn’t just heavy, it was sacred.

Neomantra don’t just play songs, they summon landscapes. They’re the kind of band that makes you forget where you are, forget who you are, and then hand it all back to you, slightly reassembled.

As the lights dimmed and ambient bass drones filled Amplifier Bar, Perth’s heavy faithful were summoned into a liminal space far beyond any previously constructed dreamworld. Primrose Path appeared on stage not facing the crowd but the shadows behind them, cloaked in LED and sound design, as the pulsing set a mood of pure anticipation. With theatrical precision, the band launched into a ferocious rendition of Irrelevance, a statement of intent so commanding it felt like a veil had been lifted. This wasn’t just a gig—this was a ceremony, part invocation, part exorcism, part awakening.

Frontwoman Lindsay Rose was immediately a spellbinding tempest of poise, purpose, and psychotic control. Her singing, haunting and otherworldly, seemed to summon something ethereal from the depths. Her scream cut through the air like a force of nature, commanding the crowd’s attention. She then proceeded to guide the audience through the labyrinth of Ruminations with the charisma of a cult leader and the vocal range of a fallen angel retraining for the throne.

Propensity followed, and what a follow it was. It’s the kind of track that leaves nothing standing. The venue may never recover. That song is a weapon, and in Primrose Path’s hands, it became a warhead. The closing section alone, a slow-burning descent into screaming catharsis, was one of the most exhilarating moments of any live show Perth has seen.

As Rose offered heartfelt thanks to those who helped bring Ruminations to life, there was no sense of filler. Every breath between songs was charged with intent. There were no awkward silences, just a seamless glide through the band’s gothic-industrial cosmos.

During Unrepent, bassist Scott Henry and Rose shared a moment of connection—the two headbanging in unison, smiling through the brutality. Guitarist and master-of-riffs, Brenton Lush, demonstrated the full extent of his artistry, his fingers gliding with ghostly precision before Rose and Henry locked back in for a devastating call-and-response “WHAT? WHAT? What are we made for? WHAT? WHAT? What are we made for?”

Then came Harm.

Holy. Shit.

The room was enraptured. The initial soothing soundscape was celestial, Rose holding the audience in stasis like a gothic oracle. Her technique here was masterclass-level: breathing life into the song’s eerie tenderness, then savagely pulling the rug with brutal vocal turns. If Primrose Path’s sound is carved from obsidian, Harm is the haunted mirror they hold up to the world.

Newer members, Ashley Doodkorte on drums and Matt Gashk on guitar, have long since shed their “new kid” status. They’ve become the missing puzzle pieces. Doodkorte’s precision was nothing short of surgical, while Gashk brought vital muscle and melodic flair, fully embracing the significance of this pivotal moment in Primrose Path’s journey. Gone are the days of crossed fingers and hoping for a tight set. This is the line-up Rose, Lush and Henry have always needed to match their calibre of musicianship.

Persona Non Grata saw the band embrace their progressive tendencies, with the debut live performance delivering one of the most emotionally potent moments of the night. The strobe lights flickered like the pulse of an interdimensional being as Henry bellowed, “You should run from” me!”—a primal warning that bled into revelation, with Rose drawing the room inward to face something raw and unresolved.

Then came legacy track Obstruct, which was greeted like a returning military hero. Its arrival met with tears and outstretched arms as Rose’s vocals soared into the stratosphere: this was the real crescendo. Henry, eyes ablaze, launched his pick into the crowd after nailing his solo, with a sense of history washing over the moment like moonlight through stained glass.

And just when the audience thought they’d survived the night, Primrose Path delivered the one-two gut punch of Shifted and HEX. These weren’t just songs; they were incantations. The crowd went wild, headbanging in unison, a sea of hair and fists. A zealous fan was handed the mic for the now-iconic line: “You wanted darkness! I’ll give it to you!” And they did. All of it. The energy was electric, as the final moments of Ruminations left the crowd in a fervent, sweaty frenzy, basking in the intensity Primrose Path had summoned.

The crowd were vibing hard and didn’t want the night to finish with the conclusion of Ruminations tracks, erupting with chants of “ONE MORE SONG!” Primrose Path didn’t hesitate, diving straight into their hit single, Viscera. Lush’s guitar tore through the air, and Rose’s delivery of “Bleeding life unto me, your prescience. Feeding sight, I can see, percipience” had the crowd hanging on every note, capturing the essence of what makes Primrose Path’s live performances so magnetic.

There’s something sacred about a Perth album launch show, especially in the heavy scene. These aren’t just gigs; they feel like reunions, rituals, and safe spaces all at once. Fans, bands, techies, engineers, road crew, venue staff, and photographers don’t simply attend; they belong. You can feel it in the way old friends reconnect at the bar, in the shared catharsis of a screamed lyric, and in the knowing nods exchanged between strangers who clearly understand each other’s battles. For a band like Primrose Path, whose music excavates the deepest trenches of the human condition, that sense of community becomes a lifeline. In this room, no one stood alone. Not in the pit, not in the dark, and not in the ache of a lyric that hit a little too close to home. This wasn’t just a celebration of Ruminations; it was a celebration of the people who lived it, together. Family and friends alike.

Primrose Path didn’t just perform Ruminations. They embodied it and transfigured it. This performance was not a recap of a record, it was the next chapter in its unfolding mythology.

Make no mistake, this was a milestone moment. Primrose Path have arrived, and the rest of the country better start paying attention.

Australia’s next great heavy export is here.

ANDY JONES

Photos by Elliott Charleston, DarkSpirit Photography and Pete Gardner