13 June 2025 – Harvey Road Tavern, Gladstone – words and pictures by Brad Fry
In a town built on fuel and furnace, beneath the roof of The Harvey Road Tavern (on a crisp winter night). Gladstone bore witness to something older than its industry and louder than thunder: music. The Harvey Road Tavern, usually a haven for working souls and cold beers, transformed into a temple of torment. On this night, Make Them Suffer brought their regional tour to town, and with them came a storm of steel and sound. Before the headliners took the stage, three more fires were lit—each one darker and more intense than the last.
Diesect opened the night like a cave-in—sudden, unstoppable, and raw. Their sound was all grind and groove, every riff hammering home with the weight of concrete blocks. The drums were a relentless engine, driving the set forward in pummelling waves. Breakdowns dropped like anchors, pulling the crowd deeper and deeper. But there was more here than brute force: within the chug and snarl, Diesect found moments of melody—sharp, jagged leads that cut through the mix like a blade. The vocals were a guttural snarl, echoing the fury of the instruments, and together they built something that felt almost elemental. The set was a call to rise, to move and to matter. The local faithful answered with shoulders locked, heads banging, a wild energy unleashed. It was the sound of something waking up, and Diesect held the leash—barely.
Diesect – HRT – photos by Brad Fry
The Gloom in the Corner hit the Tavern like a tidal wave. Their brand of cinemacore was a different beast altogether—bleak, atmospheric, and crushing (often within the same song). The guitar weaved mournful melodies beneath the crushing weight of distortion, each chord ringing out like the tolling of a distant bell. Vocals shifted from soft confessions to throat-shredding screams, each word dripping with pain. Drum and bass swung from precise, measured pulses to frantic, stuttering fills, heightening the tension. The crowd swayed and writhed, caught in the push and pull of anguish and release. One moment, the room was a mass of bodies screaming in unison; the next, an eerie hush settled in. This was a séance—where past griefs were exorcised in the arms of strangers. When the band offered their thanks, the roar of support was more than polite—it was genuine. It said: welcome home.
The Gloom in the Corner – HRT – photos by Brad Fry
Suddenly the chains snapped. Justice for the Damned took the stage not to perform, but to punish. They were fury given form. Their take on deathcore was as merciless as it was precise. Guitars snarled and spat dissonant chords, like tectonic plates grinding against each other. Drums cracked like gunfire—blasts of speed and syncopation that made the floor shake. Every song was a hammer blow, a testament to the band’s tightness and sheer force. Vocals were venom—less scream, more executioner’s decree. There were no frills, no respite, just riff after riff, breakdown after breakdown. The pit erupted into chaos, a maelstrom of limbs and sweat. No posing, no pause—just survival. This was metal at its most primal. A bevy of beautiful brutality.
Justice for the Damned – HRT – photos by Brad Fry
Then the room dimmed—not by design, but by something deeper, something unseen. Make Them Suffer emerged not as a band, but as something otherworldly. “Epitaph” opened the set like a declaration, guitar and bass swirling in a haze of melody and menace. Sean Harmanis stood at the helm, a general of gloom. Alex Reade’s ethereal choruses were stymied at tonight’s performance due to her losing her voice but her key work spoke for her in volumes! The drums were a tidal force—each kick drum thump driving the crowd forward, each cymbal wash building tension and release.
The band’s dynamic range was staggering—one moment, delicate piano lines shimmered like ghostlight; the next, breakdowns cracked the air like artillery fire. Old hymns turned the room into a chorus of fury, while newer tracks showcased a band evolving, refining their melodic touch without surrendering their savage core. The guitar work cascaded in a wall of sound, at times bright and soaring, at times jagged and suffocating. Between songs, there were smiles and laughter—fleeting moments of light amidst the storm. But always, the music pulled the room back under, a gravitational force of emotion and intensity.
Make Them Suffer – HRT – photos by Brad Fry
This wasn’t just catharsis. It was a celebration. A celebration of survival, of being here, of finding something luminous in the distortion and turning it into joy. As the last echoes of the night died, the crowd—some limping, some grinning, all drenched—stood together, knowing that something sacred had happened. Not something of gods, but of grit. Of wounds shared. Of synchronicity forged in sound.
In Gladstone, a town carved from stone and honed with sweat, Make Them Suffer didn’t just play a show—they led a procession. For those who were there, it wasn’t just a gig. It was a statement. All four bands tonight offered up a defiant, resounding reminder of what regional fans have always known: We are loud. We are here and… we matter!
Make Them Suffer – HRT – photos by Brad Fry
