Lorna Shore, Whitechapel, The Acacia Strain @ Entertainment Centre Theatre, Adelaide 17/10/2026
“How fathomless the mystery of the Unseen is! We cannot plumb its depths with our feeble senses … for they are sprites which miraculously change movement into sound, a metamorphosis which gives birth to harmonies which turn the silent agitation of nature into song” – La Horla et autres contes fantastiques, Guy de Maupassant
As perplexing as the mysteries of life are the dualities of death. Above all, in almost every circumstance, is the natural inclination for our senses to respond to one in splendour, the other with trepidation. Somewhat understandable, seeing for so many is believing and life epitomises that, while the journey into the Unseen and its finality intimates the very opposite. Yet, in nearly all of its incantations, the poles are not so clear – the brutally beautiful deathcore creations of LORNA SHORE are testament to this phenomena.
Blood-red downlights flicker as THE ACACIA STRAIN arrives on stage. Commencing the heaviest night on the Australian concert calendar, an aggressive performance of Whoa! Shut It Down, contrasts lead singer Vincent Bennett’s call to “fuck this place up!” The sole surviving founding member of the legacy act, Dr. Doom curses “this fucking barricade” and invites crowdsurfers to crush it; simultaneously, a flash of HOLY MIDNIGHT lights a path through the pit for an already fallen soldier. Unperturbed, bodies form a CHAIN upon command, mirroring the back-and-forth movement of rhythm guitarist Mike Holland & bassist Griffin Landa to the platform’s precipice, they share a SWAMP MENTALITY.
A moment of sentimentality breaks the chaos, Bennett pays homage to those lost but reminds us “what’s more important are the ones still here”. Life imitating artists, FRESH BONES in the form of Nick Chance unleashes the Beast within Devin “Big Slime” Shidaker. Staring intently, the monolithic guitarist appears to hear A CALL BEYOND, unheard by the mere mortals before him. The communique to Send Help falls on deaf ears, and his replies with harmonised growls are superseded by instructions from Bennett to “two step, two step, two step!” Flinging water bottles into the swarming pit, saviour becomes savage in the blink of his Eyes; THE ACACIA STRAIN throws one more Carbomb to bid farewell.
Diabolical drummer, Brandon Zackey, is the first to grace the Adelaide Entertainment Centre stage. Positioned centrally to the almighty black flag slashed to reveal WHITECHAPEL and nod to their namesake’s vocation, surrounded by cymbals adorned with the synonymous biomechanical skull, the Prisoner and his cellmates break free with the crowd roar of “666!” In concert with the inimitable Phil Bozeman, the columns of stagelight shudder, not in choreographed strobes but along with the powerful Hymns of Dissonance. The Visceral Retch, Bozeman convulses from the waist and, curling one open fist and disguising his countenance behind the so-called ‘Craig’ mask, conjures Bedlam and Dante’s Ex Infernis all at once.
Captivated in the Hate Cult Ritual unfurling, heat intensifies with guitarist Ben Savage’s ascension to the leader’s dais for the track’s incendiary solo. Dripping honey before spitting poison, Bozeman thanks the rabid audience for “appreciating heavy music” in all its La Douleur Exquise, as the sextet reform for The Somatic Defilement. An avid follower but first-time parishioner, I, like so many others, stand hypnotised by WHITECHAPEL. Obedient students of their Devirginization Studies, as the prophets stand in near total blackout, pleas heard around the theatre catalyse Bozeman’s final ascension. Extending a single finger to summon us, he growls: This is Exile and the last rite, “so, sing it with me & show me all you’ve got!”
A Rorschach-embellished veil spans the full panorama of the stage; returning for their biggest headline AU/NZ tour to date, the elevation of LORNA SHORE’s performance is immediately apparent. Shifting, befittingly, between sunset illumination and Total Eclipse, the crowd shadows the late, great Bonnie Tyler’s voice, before the cataclysm of colour is struck pure white. Falling in time with the acapella cry of Will Ramos, screens telecasting the spiral into Oblivion are revealed. Guitarist Adam De Micco & bassist Michael Yager act as the angel and devil, one stoic and still, the other frenzied, the crowd also split in mimicry. Transfixed, Ramos acknowledges, “Adelaide, you go fucking hard, that was like the first breakdown!”
The sweetly astringent scent of already ignited pyro swirls, as do the juxtapositions of sound and sight couple the dichotomies of evolution and destruction, the terror of life and peace in death. Pausing to address his disciples, Ramos asks, “Who here has seen us before? This one goes out to every single one of you!” The track’s anthemic lyrics projected like an effigy, our hearts burning with them: ‘We are Unbreakable’, albeit a little bruised from the fury of the opening duet. As much happening on as off stage, camera in hand, the band’s videographer and metal musician in his own right, Nick Chance cameos for the second time tonight, teleporting to join the War Machine for the final assault of the third song.
“This is the fucking best,” Ramos announces, “night number two of the Australian tour, and I’ve already seen a dude in a banana suit!” A recurring affection for the Adelaide audience (and the costumed individual, who will later inspire a flash of the frontman’s matching undergarments), the Everblack festers once again. A tectonic sonic boom synchronises the band’s swoon and, from In Darkness, De Micco resurges, his zebra-striped instrument unsheathed by a column of pure light. Rejoining his voice to that of the loquacious instrument, Ramos screams “You are all so fucking beautiful right now!” As only LORNA SHORE can, there is simultaneous interplay between the elements Of the Abyss and heavenly pleasures.
Producing sonically an out-of-body experience, Ramos anchors himself, the band and the audience Into the Earth once more with a soulful prologue, alluding to the sentiment of the following composition. “This song is very special to me, so I hope it is to a few of you too”, he emotes, as golden dappled light twinkles between the thousands of raised fingers and hands, replicating the autumn leaves of Glenwood falling on stage. Chants in time with Ramos, “Take me home”, haunt the amphitheatre, before, demonstrating the depth of deathcore, he quips: “that was a fucking sad one, so it only stands to reason that we bring that energy back up”. He roars emphatically, “THIS IS PRISON OF FLESH!”
Rhythm guitarist Andrew O’Connor coming forward, hair twitching in animation to the machine-gun fire of Austin Archey’s drumline assault, the attack pauses a moment for the room to rearm. “We’ve only got a couple of songs left but, admittedly, one of those is a trilogy. I hope you’ve got your beer, I hope you’ve got water; this is going to be a long one, y’all.”His words of warning introducing the Pain Remains saga, around the room dozens can be seen Dancing Like Flames to the epic series. Taking a purposeful pause, between the final intermission Ramos makes his “one request tonight. Get those phones out, let’s light up this room like a Sea of Fire”, which, supported by the stageshow, is granted in spell-binding style.
The magic of twilight descending into shadow, for the final time Ramos addresses the audience. “I need to say something. I intended to write this down, but I didn’t get too far, so I just want to be in the moment with you and speak from the heart. When we started, we didn’t have nearly enough production like this. There is no way we could have ever done that without every single one of you; it is fucking beautiful, you have no idea. It feels incredible to be back in your beautiful country, thank you so much for having us, and it feels even more incredible to share this stage with the bands that inspired us to be who we are today. So, on that note, we’re going to play the song that inspired every one of you to listen to LORNA SHORE…”
De Micco’s unmistakable introduction intertwined with the surging crimson of stage lighting, “the last one” throws the theatre into pandemonium and, of course, To the Hellfire. Bodies in the pit cavort and crash, as others further back hold hands or to each other; on stage, all four members stand in perfect parallel, spaced to include their quincuncial drummer. The beautiful sight only more miraculously changed by the unfathomable sound of twinned guitar serenade and the singer’s synonymous pig-squeal, tonight the Unseen became visible; through this exquisite performance of death we were all the more brought back to life.
Live Review By Belinda Quick