King Buzzo (left) and Coady Willis of the Melvins at Buckhead Theatre June 24.
Photo by Chris Campbell

On Friday, June 24, Void Manes, the Melvins, and Tomahawk played to a sold-out Buckhead Theatre. The night, it seems, was ordained by the gods of volume. Buckhead Theatre has a way of underscoring booming loud bands; its cavernous room naturally amplifies low end, allowing every kick drum, bass note, and down-tuned guitar chord to reach full bloom without dissolving into mud. Within seconds of the Melvins taking the stage, it was clear that this was an ideal setting for an evening built on bombastic riffs and fearless experimentation.

Void Manes. Photo by King Buzzo

Void Manes took the stage shortly after the doors opened at 6:30 p.m., obscured behind a maze of modular synths that glowed like a distant galaxy suspended in a balance of total darkness on the stage, and a dizzying show of lights from above. The one-man electronic project conjured a world of jagged rhythms, sub-bass swells, and truncated melodies that came into view just long enough to reveal themselves before getting swallowed up by waves of dissonance and a mechanical pulse. A complex blend of electronic noise filled the room with an intensity that pulled the growing crowd toward the stage. With every passing moment, Void Mane’s bold motions and abstract nuances established a deep emotional sonic baseline and a palate cleanser for the onslaught of heavy guitar riffage that was soon to come.

The Melvins: Trevor Dunn (left) and Steven McDonald. Photo by Chris Campbell

More than four decades into their career, the Melvins persist as a stylishly heavy and uncompromising institution. On stage, guitarist and vocalist Buzz Osborne (King Buzzo), drummers Dale Crover and Coady Willis, and bass player and vocalist Steven McDonald (Redd Kross) locked in with wicked chemistry. Their set bounced between more recent numbers such as the pummeling “Working the Ditch” and “Never Say You’re Sorry,” while longtime staples “Civilized Worm,” “A History of Bad Men,” “Honey Bucket,” and “Night Goat” reminded everyone why the Melvins remain a towering influence on generations of post-punk, metal, and noise rock. Their positively warped take on the Rolling Stones’ “Sway” proved no song is safe once it passes through the Melvins’ peculiar gravitational pull.  

Trevor Dunn joined in on a second bass for “Night Goat.” The Melvins Lite, Mr. Bungle, and Tomahawk MVP made their finale hit even harder—his cowboy hat serving as an unspoken homage to the late great Birthday Party bassist Tracy Pew.

Tomahawk. Photo by Chad Radford

Back on the road after a 13-year touring break, Tomahawk sounded refreshingly sharp. Mike Patton (Faith No More, Fantômas) remains one of the most magnetic vocalists of the 21st century, alternating between deadpan restraint, demonic absurdity, and explosive vocal acrobatics in a single musical phrase. Standing behind a laptop, a Kaoss Pad, and an array of electronic gear, Patton demonstrated that his voice can go anywhere, effortlessly navigating an extraordinary range of sounds that no machine could replicate. 

Guitarist Duane Denison’s (the Jesus Lizard) razor-wire riffs cut through Dunn’s muscular bass lines while drummer John Stanier (Battles, ex-Helmet) anchored everything with his unmistakable combination of precision and brute force.

Tomahawk threaded songs like “Business Casual” and “Doomsday Fatigue” from 2021’s Tonic Immobility alongside crowd-pleasers such as “Flashback,” “Capt. Midnight,” and “Point and Click.” Their closing stretch was especially rewarding, with a run through George Jones’ “Just One More” giving way to an encore featuring “God Hates a Coward,” a twangy rendition of Duane Eddy’s “Stalkin,'” and the crushing one-two punch of “Sidewinder” and “Totem.”

By night’s end, the crowd had witnessed three acts approaching heavy music from distinctly different—complimentary—angles, each arriving at a wildly different destination. Void Manes mapped the outer reaches of the imagination through currents of noise and electricity. The Melvins bent gravity around riffs that have only grown heavier with time, while Tomahawk landed with twisted, surgical precision.

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