London was already bleeding into darkness by the time we hit Highbury. The air hung heavy with drizzle, neon lights glimmering off puddles and pissy pavements like broken promises.
The cheap perfume of passers-by chasing a good night out hung thick in the air. Outside The Garage, the queue curled down the street – velvet, latex, lace, and leather twisting together in one long gothic serpent. The night pulsed with anticipation, the kind that makes your skin itch for noise and release.
Inside, the smell of sweat, smoke machines, and anticipation invaded the nostrils like a sweet narcotic. You could feel the frequency of excitement – that low, carnal throb of something wicked about to happen. A harmonious gathering, a communion of outcasts, freaks, and beautiful misfits – the kind of crowd that only ever truly comes alive when the lights go black.
Barely time to tighten the shoulder holster and shake hands with Nelson – it was an early start for the creatures of the night, ten past seven to be precise. deadfilmstar came on at full throb and wrapped twenty-five minutes later in a full-blown orgasm. Don’t ask for a setlist – we were too busy getting mentally and musically jacked off. Easily their best set to date.
Lesbian Bed Death have never gone down too well in our books before, so with the lack of light and a shaky start vocally, we’d all but written them off. But then Chains hit, and everything ch-ch-ch-changed. Suddenly we were aroused again, feeling slightly guilty for the earlier dismissal. By Satanic Suicide Sex Cult and I Use My Powers for Evil, we were fully re-engorged – alive, unholy, and absolutely in it. Never thought I’d say it, but LBD had us completely fluffed up.
By the time The Birthday Massacre took the stage, the room was heaving – a dense fog of eyeliner, synth static, and human humidity. Even for The Birthday Massacre, the room was throbbing more than we thought possible; every kind of kook was out tonight – the glittered, the ghoulish, the heartbreakers and heartbroken. The lights dimmed to ultraviolet, bathing everything in that signature bruise-purple glow, and Night Shift dropped and heads exploded.
Chibi was throwing out more heart-shaped hands and pointing into the crowd like they were long-lost family – and in a way, they were. She’s fuelled by their adoration, and they’re made whole by hers. That mutual devotion powered the night; it was an unholy communion.
They twisted through the decades like shadow dancers – Sleep Tonight, Superstition, To Die For – every note a neon blade cutting through memory. Kill the Light and All of You hit with cinematic precision; Vanishing Game shimmered, and when Under Your Spell poured out, ’twas nothing short of transcendence.
The crowd swayed, half in love, half in trance, until they ripped us back to 2002 with Happy Birthday and Blue – the kind of full-circle moment that makes you remember why you fell for this band in the first place.
The Birthday Massacre held a beautiful séance. And we were all the ghosts – summoned, spent, and still begging for one more resurrection.
The Birthday Massacre played The Garage, Highbury – 08-11-2025
Support from Lesbian Bed Death and deadfilmstar
