Review: Skindred at Magnet House
Skindred at Magnet House
w/ Hailmary, Sandbroker
Tuesday, September 1, 2026
Tuesdays are the new Fridays, and nu-metal is back with no apologies. These were the core findings from a fabulous evening spent at Magnet House, anchored by Welsh ragga rockers Skindred and ably assisted by not one, but two fantastic local bands. With each of the groups a step up from the one before, the overall effect across the night was that of some wonderful form of music-based Pokemon evolution.
The audience was an eclectic combination of Gen Xers in tie-dye, millennial metalheads, hipster indy types, and the so-called ‘baby bats’ of younger gothdom that showcased the extremely wide appeal of tonight’s headliners, nine albums down and almost thirty years into their career.
Musically, the evening began with Sandbroker, an up-and-coming metalcore quartet practically bursting with energy and enthusiasm, giving rock so hard one might need a good chiropractor. At various points, lead vocalist Paige Wolhuter gave distinct shades of Amy Lee or Hayley Williams, while the rest of the group also shone with an easy charisma, their drums and guitars crashed atop the somewhat muddy lyrics.
There remained a delightful sense of untapped potential with Sandbroker, a feeling that they could go anywhere or do anything into the future, but that they were not quite there yet. That was less the case with second support act Hailmary, far more fully formed as an outfit, all long hair, short beards, grinding guitars and sizzling swagger.
Hailmary, full of grunts, growls, and guttural screams, seemed most inspired by the rock and metal of the early to mid-nineties, holding firm behind their instruments as if set in concrete, approaching their music with all the intensity of stand and deliver highwaymen. Though less Adam and the Ants, more Faith No More to perhaps Pantera, Hailmary provided the audience a fun and rollicking performance, counterintuitively yet very successfully spruiking their merch by asking the crowd not to steal it.
Skindred, tonight’s headliners, ascended the stage scored to a reggae version of The Imperial March from Star Wars crossed over with another empire of distinctly Australian flavour—AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. These choices were early and very clear indicators of the group’s elevated ambition, both for themselves and their fans. Lead vocalist Benji Webbe had wrapped himself in the heaviest and most impractical coat for a hot spring night, yet his gravel-flecked voice exuded air-conditioned cool in every form, even while spitting the band’s lyrics at machine-gun speed.
Webbe easily had the crowd pogoing to the very back of the venue with Ratrace before the beat was slowed midway to all but a standstill, with Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now unexpectedly inserted a capella. The band instantly slipped back into the original song as if nothing totally off the wall had just occurred, not even paused for residual side-eye.
Bassist Tommy Gleeson undertook an extended solo in which Seven Nation Army and Another One Bites the Dust throbbed under the room as if each were a new heartbeat, and there were so many other random samples tonight that even the most experienced clearance lawyer would likely have taken pause. From Dr Dre to House of Pain, Metallica and Van Halen, ska and dancehall, the night had turned into the most delightful auditory Easter egg hunt, with even Happy Birthday for one of the tour crew splashed into the mix.
In certain parts, the concert was barely contained chaos, but so much damned silly fun at the same time, with the crowd unable to keep the grins off their faces or the joy out of their eyes. While their musical performances were visceral, crunchy, and very, very enjoyable, Skindred also kept up an almost constant patter between songs, the conversations held therein with their fans fully authentic and very expansive.
The group noted that Tuesdays were a bastard of a night to attempt to organise babysitters, thanking each and every person in attendance for coming out to see them. This appreciation from the band was returned in spades by the entire audience, from the mosh pit to the bar queue to all points beyond.
From their breakout tracks to the comparatively relaxed chill of their latest album, Skindred brought all the enthusiasm, energy, and passion to the actual songs. Almost the entire set list was a highlight, but if push went to shove, itself a common-enough occurrence in tonight’s front rows, Kill the Power was an electric, barnstorming riot of a performance whilst Nobody, the closer across the main set, was such a fun time, despite the bleak, existential lyrics.
Skindred returned for their encore to Will Smith’s Boom! Shake The Room—a semi-anticipated eyeroll that must surely be an in-joke with core fans by now—before bringing their very own explosives to the table with Gimme That Boom. Webbe then switched to a heartfelt tribute for the late Ozzy Osborne, giving the first verse of War Pigs—thematically, this night was doing more kilometres than most travel shows—before the evening closed out with absolute banger, Warning, accompanied by a full lesson by band to audience on the “Newport helicopter”.
The lead-out song on departure was Carly Simon’s Nobody Does It Better, and on all evidence, Skindred had given their fans everything they possibly could. An eclectic, electric evening that went to almost every nook and cranny of the rock repertoire, literally from Ozzy to Paramore, across all three bands on the lineup. After such visceral joy as tonight had provided, if Tuesday were indeed the new Friday, then the crowd would almost certainly need Wednesday to be the new Saturday to recover.
PAUL MEEK
Photos by Adrian Thomson
