New Wave of Classic Rock – Live Fest 4
27th / 28th September – KK’s Steele Mill Wolverhampton.
A couple of ‘firsts’ for me – 1. Sampling Wolverhampton’s finest and most renowned music venue and 2. – New Wave of Classic Rock festival.
Ok, lets talk about the venue. Easy to get to with ample nearby parking and a lovely warm welcome by all the staff I encountered. Interesting to discover this grade 2 listed building was once home to the Star Motor Company in the early 1900’s a pioneering mass production car manufacturer. Fast forward over a century later, we find ourselves fastening our seatbelts and revving up for a seat-gripping two-day road trip whilst a new Wave of Classic Rocks blasts out the speakers.
I can see why KK’s Steel Mill is one of the UK’s premier grassroots rock venues. Over two electrifying days, the festival delivered a musical feast that celebrated both legacy and innovation in rock music.
I’m not going to pretend that I am some big rock connoisseur or that I know every band or song that played. I came to these events by accident. After being requested to photograph and review a Rock Festival (Firevolt) in Stockport, I was bitten by the ‘rock bug’ and to be honest, it just won’t seem to let go. I already have the foundations laid as a massive fan of 70’s rock, Hendrix, Floyd, Zeplin and The Who so I didn’t think I could put a foot wrong while I find my feet on the ‘New Wave’ territory. What I’ve decided to do is sample everything that looks and sounds tasty on the ‘tapas bar of rock’ and decide for myself what I want more of.
So, lets get to it – The line up!
Day One – Saturday
• Yaki Dah kicked off the festival with a high-energy set, blending Welsh charm with jagged new wave rock.
• Shape Of Water Absolutely stole the early spotlight with their dramatic, genre-defying performance. Their mix of heavy electronic art rock, theatrical visuals and a flavour of Matt Bellamy of Muse with a sprinkle of NIN. Enigmatic and addictive.
• Juliet’s Not Dead brought a visual punch and hard-hitting tracks like Fist Fight by The Waterside. High energy and infectious.
• The City Kids and Austin Gold showcased the spectrum of classic rock—from punk-infused grit to smooth, melodic grooves.
• Empyre Delivered atmospheric hard rock with finesse and intensity.
• These Wicked Rivers, Derby’s blues-rock powerhouse, closed the night with a soulful, gritty performance that felt like a living room jam session turned arena-worthy spectacular.
Day Two – Sunday
• White Tygër and Leadfeather exploded onto the stage with raw, heavy rock energy.
• Gone Savage powered through illness to deliver a solid set of honest rock.
• Ashley Sherlock added a bluesy flavour, while Sweet Electric from Germany turned up the heat with Brad Marr’s charismatic frontmanship.
• Ward XVI brought theatrical shock-rock flair, blending horror aesthetics with musical intensity.
PERSONAL HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE WEEKEND
EMPYRE – Intense and emotionally fulfilling
Emerging from their roots as a covers band, Empyre—based between Birmingham and Northampton—have carved out a distinctive identity in the UK rock scene. Since solidifying their current lineup in 2016—Henrik (vocals/rhythm guitar), Did (lead guitar), Jack (drums), and Dan (bass)—the band has evolved into a formidable creative force. Their early jam sessions soon gave way to original songwriting, culminating in the birth of their own sound and the formation of Empyre as we know it.
Their journey has seen them grace stages at Camden Rocks, Wildfire Festival, Breaking Bands, and even the prestigious Silverstone F1. These performances helped cultivate a loyal following, ultimately leading to their signing in 2022. Their debut album Self-Aware (2019) laid the foundation, followed by the critically acclaimed Relentless, which I had the pleasure of sampling on my drive home from KK’s Steel Mill. With four albums released in just five years, Empyre have proven themselves to be both prolific and uncompromising in their work ethic.
In 2024, they joined Canadian rockers The Damn Truth on a UK tour, bringing their Waking Light tour to audiences across the country. Their live performance seems to be where they truly shine.
Bathed in atmospheric blue lighting, their stage presence was captivating—so much so that I found myself momentarily abandoning my photographer’s instincts just to take it all in. Their music builds with deliberate intensity, like musical foreplay, they create a sense of anticipation that pays off in a powerful rush of emotionally charged choruses. Goosebump-inducing ‘Waking Light’ was a perfect example. It rises like tide at dusk — vocals twisting, trembling, reaching skyward with aching grace. Each note danced on the edge of collapse, raw and radiant. Then, silence — sudden, sharp — like a candle snuffed mid-prayer. You’re left in the hush, heart still echoing, hand already reaching for repeat. As a long-time Pink Floyd fan, I couldn’t help but notice subtle echoes of that influence—though Empyre’s sound carries a colder, edgier tone that’s entirely their own.
The lighting design was stunning, perfectly complementing the mood of each track, and the band’s performance left a lasting impression. I walked away not only impressed but eager to dive deeper into their discography.
Planet Rock has described them as “one to watch,” and I wholeheartedly agree. Empyre are not just rising stars—they’re a band with staying power, and I’ll be following their journey closely.
THESE WICKED RIVERS – Soulfully satisfying
I’d heard good things about TWR. When the band change-over commenced, I was amused and fascinated at the emerging detail of the stage set-up which began to resemble the lounge of Wallace and Gromit. Cosy lamps, jars of sunflowers and homely hearth rugs gave an instant warmth to the performance before they’d even entered the stage. Born n bred in Derby these bluesy hairdressers’ nightmares entered the stage with a demeanour that said, “we’re here and we’re bringing the bo**cks to this show”. Dressed to impressed in three-piece suits, with sleeves that played peekaboo with their spiritual tatts and accompanied by ‘ban the bomb’ necklaces and Indian-style talismans, these guys put as much into their image as they do their music, and as someone who loves attention to detail, I absolutely loved it. I could not wait to hear them. Being drip-fed the sounds of the Rolling Stones by my dad since the age of 5, I loved the bluesy flavour and that is what TWR bought for me. Blues-infused gorgeousness that made me wonder if I’ve been living under a rock. Controversial to say but not all rock bands are made equal and there is a feeling that after a while some bands can all sound very similar. I like light and shade in a band, and this is why TWR stood out for me. Their songwriting is key, travelling the spectrum from uplifting and anthemic to the heavy and gritty. Vocals were exceptional from John Hartwell whilst lead guitarist Arran Day force-fed the audience juicy riffs and high kicks. Their energy matched perfectly by keys, drums, and bass in the shape of Rich Wilson, Dan Southall and Adam Jones.
For me, they captivated the essence of classic rock, evoking everything I love about 70’s rock and giving it a fresh makeover putting them into a realm of their own, not to be copied. A bunch of ridiculously talented lampshade-lovers that are a ‘Force of Nature’. They made Saturday ‘A grand day out’.
ASHLEY SHERLOCK – No gimmicks needed
From the moment this Madchester-based singer-songwriter stepped onto the stage with his band, there was a quiet confidence in the air — the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself. And then he sang.
Sherlock’s vocals were the heartbeat of the performance — rich, soulful, and so effortlessly delivered it felt like he was channelling something far older than himself. There was a rawness to it, a lived-in quality that made every lyric feel personal. He looked like he had stepped straight out of the deep South, and then sang like he’d lived a million lives.
Each song landed with weight and warmth. They were memorable in that rare way that makes you want to pause everything and just listen. From the very first track, I was hooked. So much so that I found myself wondering what he’d sound like stripped back, just him and a guitar. I wanted to hear that voice in its barest form — no band, no production, just the man and the music.
I even snapped a sneaky photo of the setlist — though I’m still not entirely sure it was his — because I needed to find a song I believe closed the set: Hurricane. Stunning.
The kind of song that lingers in your chest long after the final note. I’ve been searching for it ever since and as much of a storm this man created, Google gives me weather info on the history of ‘Hurricane Ashley’ instead of the beautiful song that deserved the repeat button — if only I could find it.
There were moments when his falsetto soared that reminded me of Jeff Buckley — that same spine-tingling purity that never fails to give that gut-wrenching emotional pull. The kind of performance that makes you stop mid-thought, mid-breath, and just feel. He made it look so easy, but what he delivered was anything but ordinary.
Ashley and his band created a sound that felt both familiar and entirely their own — textured, soulful, and full of intent and meaning. It left me wanting more. Not just to hear him again, but to understand the stories behind the songs, to follow the thread of that voice wherever it leads.
He’s an artist I want to experience alone. No gig-buddy, distractions or small talk. Just me listening to a voice that knows exactly how to reach you. There lies a beauty in simply enjoying a man who knows how to sing.
SWEET ELECTRIC – WHAT THE HELL?!
Really don’t know where to start. Eagerly awaiting the entrance of this spoke-about band who I knew absolutely nothing about. The words ‘Sweet’ and ‘Electric’ had me expecting something of maybe a glam-rock nature which I love. Who doesn’t love a little nail varnish n liner on a chap?
Minutes later, on they came!!!
Sweet Electric did not just start their set — they launched themselves like a glitter-fuelled rock ‘n’ roll missile straight into the crowd. Boom!
This German-based, Aussie-fronted glam-rock gang came in hot, loud, and unapologetically shiny. Jesus Christ he was shiny.
Frontman Brad Marr literally ran on stage firing in all directions like a golden bullet. The shimmering mosaic printed bomber jacket had you mesmerised, teamed with shades and shorts and charisma with enough swagger to power a small city. Vocals were a total contradiction to the packaging, think high-octane soul with a side order of gravel — delivered at a pace that made your heartbeat feel like it was trying to keep up. I didn’t know where to look next. Trying to keep track of this feller was difficult, photographically, a sniper’s nightmare. Fast in every direction, never stopping to rest.
Their sound I’d say would be like Guns N’ Roses and AC/DC had a lovechild at a disco, then raised it on barbie-cooked sauerkraut with a sprinkling of chaos. Put it in a Delorian and send it to headline an ’80s stadium tour.
“Leading the Blind” and “Monster” weren’t just songs — they were full-blown rock spectacles, complete with enough swagger to make Mick Jagger raise an eyebrow. What I love about Sweet Electric is their complete lack of ego. They’re like the rock gods who never got the memo about taking themselves seriously — and thank the glittering heavens for that.
At one point, I genuinely laughed out loud — not because it was bad, but because I couldn’t quite process the glorious contradiction unfolding before me. Here was a man, proudly describing himself as looking like a “gold condom,” belting out vocals with the power and precision of a seasoned rock deity. It was like watching a Vegas Elvis front a stadium band — ridiculous, brilliant, and somehow… perfect.
Livin’ It Up sounded like RHCP funk fest which was frankly formidable followed by Brad’s between-song banter which was part stand-up, part rock sermon. “We’re from Germany, but I don’t sound German. That’s because I’m Aussie,” he grinned, before launching into Hard Times — a track that felt like AC/DC on amphetamine with some added cow-bell action from a beautiful lady in the audience.
Each member of this band was mesmerising matching Brad’s energy perfectly particularly riff-master Michi Krol, the glitter-chested glam-rock god pulling all the moves with an infectious smile that you couldn’t help but mirror.
And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more wholesome, Brad leapt off the stage like a glam-rock messiah to shake hands with the faithful. A golden handshake, quite literally. What more could you want — ok, maybe some communion wine.
If this gig is anything to go by, their tour will be a success. Sweet Electric are not just a throwback — they’re a reminder that rock ‘n’ roll should be loud, fun, and just a little bit ridiculous.
Ward XVI – Just when you thought things could not get any weirder
ME: “I can’t talk now, I’m waiting for the next band to come on and it looks like they’re erecting a mental asylum on the stage”
My Friend: “WTH are you photographing?
ME: I don’t actually know!
My conversation on the phone with my mate before this visual feast of gruesomeness reared its ugly heads. ‘Ugly heads’ are – Psychoberrie, Dr Von Stottenstein, Wolfy Huntsman, Bam Bam Bedlam, Rico Rameras, Martt Attack and Nurse Betty.
No, it’s not Rammstein — but what this band conjures in a venue of this size is nothing short of unholy sorcery. From the moment the lights dimmed, the air thickened with smoke and anticipation, like the calm before a ritual. Then came the first thunderous crack of the drums — not just played, but unleashed — by a brute of a drummer caged like a rabid beast, thrashing with the desperation of something that’s tasted freedom and wants more.
Nurse Betty isn’t going anywhere, a twisted vision in hospital whites with a distinct flavour of ‘Cuckoo’s Nest’, her face a porcelain mask of menace. She prowled the stage with the eerie grace of a predator, keys jangling at her hip like the tolling of a death knell. Every step she took felt like a countdown to something unspeakable. Ooooh I was so excited. More drama than a Christmas Eastenders!
In the shadows, Stottenstein and Huntsman stood sentinel — Figures stand cloaked at the stage edge. Unmoving, with lanterns casting flickering halos that danced across the stage like restless spirits, they didn’t need to move to be terrifying; their stillness was a threat in itself, like waiting for the right moment to strike.
And then came Psychoberrie — the unholy conductor of this grotesque symphony, a crimson-smeared vision of chaos and command. Her face, painted in blood and madness, wasn’t just a mask — it was a warning. She didn’t lead the show; she possessed it, as if the entire performance were a marionette and she held every string. Each movement was a twitch of her will, every scream and spotlight a note in her deranged composition. Her beautifully haunting voice sliced through the air like a scalpel through silk, delicate yet devastating. The diligence in every element — from the lighting to the props to the perfectly timed eruptions of horror — was nothing short of obsessive. This wasn’t just a performance; it was a ritual, and Psychoberrie was the high priestess pulling us all deeper into her beautifully twisted world.
Saying WARD XVI are just a “horror-themed metal group” is like saying Dracula’s a nice guy with a drink problem — it doesn’t quite capture the full blood-soaked picture. The music itself was a twisted tapestry of metal, puppetry, and psychological warfare. For me, there were flavours of Alice Cooper in there which I loved, each track was a story — not told, but extracted, peeling back the layers of the audience’s comfort and replacing them with something far more primal. Tales of debauchery and wrong doings were centrepiece and everyone loved it. The musical talents are by no means second place to the visuals, as both are needed in equal amounts to make this a success.
By the end, the line between performance and possession had blurred. The audience wasn’t just watching — they were part of the ritual, complicit in the madness, and hungry for more. I sat on the barrier step, slightly ‘cod-fish’. A photographer next to me said “you’ve not seen these before, have you”. No, I said. He laughed.
The sheer dedication and craftsmanship this band pours into their show is nothing short of awe-inspiring. Every prop, every twisted detail — handcrafted by the band themselves — which, frankly, blew my mind. In an age of pre-packaged performances and plug-and-play stage sets, there’s something deeply endearing (and slightly unhinged) about a group that builds their own nightmare fuel from scratch. You can’t help but fall head over heels for a band that commits this hard to their vision — not just for one night, but for a 14-night tour of theatrical mayhem. Now THAT is madness!
If you fancy a bone-chilling night of sordid blood-soaked storytelling, you can catch Ward XVI on their ‘Id3ntity Tour’ over the coming months. I recommend highly.
The Verdict
KK’s Steel Mill with its industrial charm, top-tier acoustics and beautiful staff created the perfect backdrop for a festival that balanced nostalgia with raw talent. The crowd were friendly and the sound impeccable, and the vibe was pure rock communion that didn’t leave me feeling out of place. I felt totally embraced and I loved every second.
NWOCR LiveFest 4 was a masterclass in modern rock festival curation. I can see why KK’s Steel Mill continues to be the beating heart of the UK’s rock revival scene.
Experiencing KK’s was like stumbling into Narnia through a pub toilet — some crazy-ass goings on over the weekend, but my god, were they delightful.
I came for the music, but I will remember the magic.
Words and Photos by Shavorne Wilbraham
