Live Review: Ice Nine Kills – London

A Symphony of Slaughter! Ice Nine Kills Transform Wembley into a Cathedral of Carnage!

On Friday, 12th December, there is a distinct, vibrating electricity that hums through the steel bones of Wembley Arena! An electricity that is only witnessed when a band finally ascends to the throne they have been carving out for years. For Ice Nine Kills, the path to this moment has been paved with B-movie gore, intricate storytelling, and an unyielding dedication to the macabre. And tonight, 12,500 fans, decked out in gothic rock finery and blood-splattered metal attire bore witness to a massacre drenched in visceral, cinematic glory.

First Blood! Chaos, Noise and Vampires!

First to the stage were TX2, who kicked off proceedings with a ferocious onslaught that shattered the "opening band" stereotype. Frontman Evan Thomas wasted no time, challenging the crowd to "fucking prove" their hardcore roots. The floor erupted into a mass of head-banging bodies as Thomas demanded a circle pit, diving into the fray himself and shrinking the cavernous arena to the raw intimacy of a basement hardcore show.

They are poster boys with a conscience; amidst the distortion of "So Numb" where thousands of phone lights pierced the darkness in a beautiful vigil for grief, Thomas declared, "Trans rights are our fucking rights," a rallying cry met with a roar of approval. A guest spot from INK’s Miles Dimitri Baker and a tearful admission that playing Wembley was a childhood dream cemented TX2 as the night's breakout stars. They left with a promise: "You're going to be dealing with us for the rest of your lives", and if tonight’s performance is anything to go by, then this might just be true!

Next up were metalcore royalty The Devil Wears Prada. There is no denying their status as genre titans, and they arrived with the weight of a twenty-year legacy and a visibly passionate fanbase. Frontman Mike Hranica remains a captivating figure, throwing his body across the stage with an intensity that hasn't dimmed in two decades, proving he still possesses one of the most distinctive screams in the game.

However, despite their undeniable energy and effort, their set was hampered by a harsh sound mix. It became a muddy wall of noise, dominated by an overpowering double bass drum that unfortunately buried the intricate guitar work the band is known for. Hranica demanded the crowd "open up my fucking moshpit," and while thousands obliged with a synchronized bounce, the connection felt slightly more mechanical compared to the opener. They brought the fury and the loud "fuck yous," but tonight, the technical gremlins stopped a good set from becoming a great one.

Creeper, however, resurrected the night with a vision of edgy black leather. Frontman Will Gould, the self-proclaimed "horny vampire," commanded the stage with theatrical grace as the "She Executioner" menaced the front row with her axe. The band looked incredible, like a gang of goth-punk outlaws as they unleashed the high-octane "Parasites." Hannah Greenwood’s vocals on "Black Heaven" were spine-tingling, cutting through the air with haunting clarity.

What truly sets Creeper apart, however, is the absolute commitment to their own lore. Witnessing them live feels less like watching a band and more like entering a cult; they don’t just play songs, they weave a tapestry of tragic romance and camp horror. The chemistry between Gould and keyboardist/vocalist Hannah Greenwood on “Blood Magick” provided a dramatic counterweight to the evening's aggression, channelling a Meat Loaf-meets-The Sisters of Mercy energy that filled every inch of the arena. They are a band that understands that rock and roll is, at its core, a form of theatre, making them the perfect spiritual predecessors for the madness that was to follow.

During "The Ballad of Spook & Mercy," the arena transformed into a galaxy of lights, and by the time a banana-costumed fan surfed over the barrier during "Cry To Heaven," the stage was perfectly set for the headliner.

The Homicidal Spectacle! Ice Nine Kills!

The support acts were merely the shadows flickering on the wall; Ice Nine Kills was the visceral, screaming nightmare that tore through the screen to consume us whole.

The stage production was immediately striking, dominated by a colossal inflatable serial killer looming over the pit, clutching a knife, a silent sentinel promising violence. The tension in the room was suffocating as the PA system crackled with the ominous notes of Nick Cave’s "Red Right Hand." A Hannibal Lecter-style character, strapped to a trolley and muzzled, was wheeled onto the stage, a chilling prologue that hushed the thousands in the packed auditorium.

Then, the red curtain dropped, and the silence was shattered by "Meat & Greet." A ruthless onslaught of emotionally charged metal erupted, hitting the crowd with physical force. Flames flew into the air, the heat washing over the front rows, as the band, decked out in razor-sharp suits unleashed a masterclass in theatrical music mastery. This was not just a gig; it was a murderous horror film come to life. Huge screens filled the background, transporting the audience into a slasher flick where the line between the stage and the screen blurred into a "homicidal magic."

The pacing was breathless. They wasted no time diving into "Funeral Derangements," the heavy riffing sending the pit into a frenzy, before the iconic opening of "Hip to Be Scared." Spencer Charnas channelled Patrick Bateman with terrifying precision, delivering the "Hey Paul!" execution with a theatrical flair that is unmatched in the scene.

But the visual peak of the first act came during "Stabbing in the Dark." As the Halloween-inspired track reached its crushing crescendo, a prop severed head was raised high into the air like a trophy, a gruesome beacon of victory that had the crowd roaring their approval.

Amidst the props and the pyro, it is easy to overlook just how musically tight this band has become. "Ex-Mørtis" was a prime example, transforming the mosh pit into a grotesque ballroom dance with its infectious Evil Dead-inspired swing-metal groove. Spencer Charnas has evolved into a master ringmaster, balancing his duties as a vocalist and a stuntman with uncanny ease. His vocal interplay with guitarist

Ricky Armellino was razor-sharp, their harmonies cutting through the dense mix of orchestration and blast beats. Every lyrical reference was decoded and screamed back by the "Psychos" in the crowd, creating a feedback loop of fanaticism that made the massive venue feel like a secret club for the deranged.

The band’s ability to balance horror with humour was on full display. In a jarring but brilliant interlude, they broke into a cover of Katrina and the Waves track, "Walking on Sunshine." It was a surreal, manic moment of levity that only made the return to darkness in "Rainy Day" feel heavier.

A massive highlight was the inclusion of a live brass section, comprised of members from the legendary ska-punk outfit Reel Big Fish. To describe them as merely "backing musicians" would be an insult; they were raw, brilliant, and steeped in genre history. They added a sleazy, authentic edge to a cover of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones "The Impression That I Get," before absolutely tearing the roof off during "IT Is The End." The brass punched through the mix, adding a chaotic, carnival texture to the Pennywise-inspired anthem that was simply spine-tingling.

The main set closed with a run of hits that felt like a "greatest kills" compilation. "The Shower Scene" brought the Psycho strings to life, while "Farewell II Flesh" was an epic, emotional masterpiece. When Charnas commanded the crowd to "get your hooks in the sky," the arena became a sea of raised hands, the "Candyman" tribute soaring on the back of the brass section and pyro. Finally, "Welcome to Horrorwood" left the arena shaking, a meta-commentary on violence that had 12,500 people screaming every word.

But the real "Work of Art" was saved for the encore!

Returning to the stage for "The American Nightmare," the energy was at a fever pitch. Then, the screens went black. A phone rang. The teaser video for Scream 7 x Ice Nine Kills played, sending a shockwave of realization through the crowd. As the video faded, the band launched into their latest single, "A Work of Art." The stage was invaded by the Killer Clown (Art from Terrifier), who stalked the band with a mime’s grace and a butcher’s intent, performing a grotesque "kill" with practical effects so visceral they made you wince.

And then, in a final stroke of genius, they ended not with a breakdown, but with a party. A metal cover of Wham!’s "Last Christmas" turned the mosh pit into a festive, chaotic dance floor, sending the crowd out into the December night with ringing ears and a wicked, bloodthirsty grin.

As the final festive notes faded, the feeling in the room wasn't just adrenaline, it was belonging. Ice Nine Kills have done more than write songs about movies; they have created a sanctuary for the weirdos, the outcasts, and the horror-obsessed. Tonight, amidst the flames, the severed heads, and the ska-punk brass sections, they didn't just entertain us; they validated us. It was a glorious onslaught of homicidal magic that proved, once and for all, that sometimes the monsters are the heroes we need. Wembley survived the night, but our souls were happily claimed by the silver screen.