CONAN

 HEAVY TRANSMISSION VOL.3

Hotel Radio likes to put crushingly relentless Doom Metal icons Conan on a tiny boat on the Thames and secretly hope they turn it into dust within the first few bars.

Some people like to fire guns at targets. Some people jump out of planes. Some like to strangle themselves while they jerk off. Hotel Radio likes to put crushingly relentless Doom Metal icons Conan on a tiny boat on the Thames, secretly hope they turn it into dust within the first few bars, shaking all in attendance from they’re once-trusted roots and into the sea itself:

“HUNDREDS PULLED FROM WATER IN BIZARRE DOOM METAL DISASTER RITUAL”

As the load in began it became increasingly obvious that such a scenario might indeed warrant brain powered considerations; the magnitude of firepower being dragged up the ramp to the dock was triggering fight or flight instinct from deep within Hotel Radio’s quivering chromosomes… “What have you done!? There are actual human people coming here..! Mammalian bipeds..!” Fight instinct became a humiliating joke of coruscating impact upon sound-check. Flight was all that was left. Apologise, shut everything down. RUN! Even such thoughts as these became pale and scared the longer soundcheck went on. Apologising and shutting everything down was no longer on the table. Just slip away into the giant coffin of cowards that looms across the annals of history.

One thing maintained attendance, and even began to instil an attitude more akin to the fight or die spirit so espoused by the soaked loincloth of many a Manowar member – Conan were utterly awesome!! Through all the worries of turning ticket holders into biological life-rafts and turning the Thames into a mini-replica of a Libya – Sicily crossing with maritime rescue vessels scrambled to the scene, Conan still pounded sheer belief into Hotel Radio’s veins. This WILL happen!

And happen it did… The importance of the band to so many from so far was re-inforced; they poured into our tiny aural dreadnaught from all corners (Jersey??). And as breath was drawn in anticipation of the first doom-rich chord, Conan switched their devastating armoury of stacks from “standby” to “on”. Proving why they have made it to the top of the Doom scene, the three-piece trounced the vessel chosen to encase them. The space might have been small, but the sound was big. Undeterred by errant connections and sockets, the three piece ploughed on in an incredibly intimate sonic examination of the baying crowd who seemed to sway like the tide keeping them afloat. After an hour and a half, the examination halted and the ecstasy of the Conanesque alternate reality abated. The job was done. Rule Conan.