There was nothing small about this gig – except maybe the venue. The Corner is one of the most loved and revered concert halls (perhaps in spite of its awkward architecture, pillars obscuring much of the view from various angles) dotted around the (arguable) rock capital of Melbourne but there was nothing modest concerning the sound blasting forth on this mini-festival of monstrous metal manifestations. Unfortunately for some, the surprisingly well-populated niche crowd used the occasion as a late-week catch-up session instead of concert; but their efforts to socialize would prove fruitless.

Bronze Chariot rode all the way from SA riffed on the Neurosis end of the sludge spectrum infusing a southern twang to their huge swinging riffs suggestive of the Canadian doom stalwarts Woods of Ypres. A few punters seemed to enjoy their aping of Cult of Luna. Power trio Scul Hazzards that hailed from Melbourne by way of Savannah, GA around the turn of the century unleashed a dissonant and entropic rock force anchored by audience-shattering bass. They almost looked (and sounded) like "Kylesa Lite", especially where the lineup was concerned. Coerce were definitely rooted in the “pre” side of “post-hardcore,” brandishing colorful dredg style minimalist melodies. Rich in ideas but sparse in songwriting, they put on an admirable show despite their influences glowing prominently on their sleeves. The red velvet curtains were drawn and the crowd now thick and brimming with anticipation nervously waited for their barons of sludge metal to arrive.

By the time Russian Circles set themselves on stage our ears were already shot to pieces from the sludge and post-hardcore onslaught. But as they opened with wintry gusts of sound as vast of the plains of their namesake “homeland,” the audience was transfixed by "Harper Lewis" in near silence (I solemnly wished good luck to those trying to maintain conversations as the wall of sound bore down on us.) Dervish like drums beat on as riffs took hold and exploded across the room while the band took on a ghostlike pallor with lights beaming from behind. One could see a dedicated yet glacial mosh grooving to their haunting, heavy sway.

Laying down impressions of bygone eras on us in "Youngblood", wandered with a spider-like melody on the guitar as granite-edged riffs blunted our ears yet again with heads banging in unison. "Philos" felt like an all consuming whirlpool of sound, spiraling downward until emerging into stillness pierced by crashing slugs of bass. Russian Circles’ brave command of dynamics was on point throughout and nothing short of superb – they were masters of painting pale in shade right across their spectrum of tinctures and musical textures. 309 marginally drove the tempo up and ground through riffs as if they were played with the swing of hulk-armed brute just like the sludge metal of old. Bassist Brian Cook pivoted to face his amp in an effort to tease out even more sound from already maxed out circuits.

"Station" galloped and throbbed with urgency, engulfing us in a storm of riffs whipping with percussive thunder. Solid passages took off and soared before dropping like a stone to the ground in "Death Rides a Horse"; the rests in between were crackling with as much power as the actual notes played. Departing as wordlessly as they arrived, they exited briefly as a punter cried “Fucking Awesome!” to which all cheered in approval.

Not one for rock clichés, the band returned briefly to lash us with Carpe, evoking the passion of the Celtic highlands and virgin cloud-topped mountains before segueing into trickles of electronics, backed by sweeping arcs of monumental fret-bending sounds. Gear nerds rejoiced at Mike Sullivan's rapid switches between all manner of guitar pedals. When they finished their bone-rattling and eerily ethereal last track, it became apparent that we had witnessed a conjuration of some of the heaviest sounds one could yearn to hear. What they lacked in physical presence they more than made up for with the incredibly sheer force of sound.