Just days past Halloween’s shadow, Wednesday 13 crept into Islington Assembly Hall to kick off the UK leg of the Mid Death Crisis tour. On the 4 November 2024, London became the first stop in a horror-punk procession, complete with glam decay, snarling theatrics, and support acts that turned gratitude into spectacle.
Wednesday 13
Islington Assembly Hall, London – 4 November 2025
Words: Rhys Tagg
Photography: Ash Nash
The Nocturnal Affair and The SoapGirls brought early chaos and charm, from drum solos to mic glitches and acrobatics, to a crowd-thrilling cover of Haddaway’s What Is Love.
But the real invocation came later, when Wednesday 13, the gothic ringmaster of menace and mischief, emerged, ready to exhume old anthems and summon new screams from the faithful.
The Nocturnal Affair
The Nocturnal Affair opened proceedings with a punchy drum solo that felt more like a ritual than a warm-up, setting the tone for a set steeped in gratitude and charm.
Despite a few brief microphone hiccups, the band leaned into the moment, visibly enjoying themselves and connecting with the crowd from the first beat.
Their cover of Haddaway’s 1992 hit What Is Love was a surprise highlight, sparking a chorus of voices across the room because really, who can resist shouting “Baby, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me no more,” in unison under moody stage lights?
They also gave a nod to their rising momentum, proudly sharing that their single Cross Me Out had broken into the Billboard Rock Radio Top 30 back in the States, a moment of triumph wrapped in theatrical sincerity.
The SoapGirls
If The Nocturnal Affair brought gothic charm, The SoapGirls came swinging with full-blown Grunge-punk provocation, channelling their inner Ultimate Warrior in what presented as wrestling-inspired attire and launching into acrobatics before the first chord had settled.
Bassist and contortionist Camille Debray hit the splits while strumming into Society’s Reject, setting the tone for a set that was an athletic spectacle and raw rebellion.
Between snarling growls and wild-eyed stares, Camille spoke of freedom and societal strangeness, urging the crowd to “Fight for what you believe in.”
The second SoapGirls track, Johnny Rotten, followed fast, punctuated by another off-kilter life mantra: “Be like a weed.” Guitarist Noemi Debray kept the crowd engaged, checking in with a grin to make sure everyone was having a good time before introducing Devil.
Camille bent and twisted through further back-breaking contortions before the set closed on Real, leaving behind a trail of sweat, snarls, and punk-fuelled defiance.
Wednesday 13
As the evening ticked by and the support acts cleared the stage, the lights dipped, the crowd leaned forward, and the atmosphere thickened with anticipation.
Fog crept in slow, blood-red backlighting flickered, and then there he was. The unmistakable silhouette of Wednesday 13. Our undead preacher, all menace and mischief, had arrived. The crowd was primed, the ritual ready.
He stepped from shadow into light, shrouded in a cape and dressed like motherfucking Dracula, a glam ghoul, all theatrical precision.
From the first guttural growl to the last glam-drenched scream, Wednesday 13 exhumed fan favourites and fresh cuts alike, summoning chaos with razor-sharp flair. The faithful howled back every word, in a communion of noise, nostalgia, and horror-punk devotion.
He wasted no time slaying into Look What The Bats Dragged In and Too Fast for Blood with venom. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy as new track Rotting Away hit, fresh chaos, same undead preacher.
Midway through the set came a moment of pure nostalgia, the Murderdolls classic Summertime Suicide, delivered with spectacular grit. Then came a pause, as Wednesday 13 stepped back from the mic to praise the support acts and the fans, declaring, “Couldn’t do it without you.” The Hall bounced with delight as he promised a return, teasing “See you next year at Bloodstock 2026.”
As the night drew to a close, I Walked With a Zombie filled the air, fans screaming every lyric like a ritual chant. The band stepped away briefly before returning for a feverish encore.
Wednesday 13 grinned and growled, “Don’t take it personally London, but I want bad things to happen to each and every one of you.” The Duke of Spook ripped through Bad Things, then raised his umbrella high, middle fingers shot up across the crowd like a punk call to arms.
The final track? I Love To Say Fuck, a chaotic, cathartic climax, leaving the Hall howling. The undead preacher had delivered his sermon, and London had answered in kind.
