The music reaches its deepest notes and the darkened pit of Melbourne’s HiFi Bar crumbles into a heavy melting pot of hair and evaporating sweat. Black tees are jettisoned at every opportunity because these kids don’t need the protection. The slamming scrum raises its hands in fists, giving the finger at a few choice opportunities to the rhythmic nodding of Mazurkievics’ thumping double kick. Steam wafts through air conduits and coagulates on the walls effectively making the venue sweat – in the darkness it could be rich oxidised blood. It drips from the rafters onto punters while they watch Cannibal Corpse tap the fretboard and stomp the kicks in earnest. It’s a spectacle in itself to watch Fisher swing his metre of hair around like it was 1992.

I was a little dismayed that no church-goers protested this gig like they said they would. Running the gauntlet of slathering god-fearers would have made my night. For seventeen years being death metal’s most proud and most feared revolutionary rulers, the Corpse had nothing to prove. When you can upset governments and do-gooders with your presence all you need to do is keep doing it. The stage lights dim as the Corpse retreat to their own sections of the stage where they store their water and other potions. As Fisher addresses his black congregation the lights shine from behind the stage and offer a halo around his mop of hair. They begin with a personal favourite, Decency Defied, and the PA groans with Fisher’s unearthly dirge:

You mark your skin it gives you pleasure/
I take your precious art, it becomes my leather/
Taking your hide before you have died/
Decency defied.

Cannibal Corpse continues with I Cum Blood after which Fisher’s wit takes charge and moves the hulking death metal singer to dedicate the next one: “this one’s for all the ladies here tonight,” he says before launching into Fucked with a Knife. The band plays on, including I Will Kill You, Make Them Suffer, Covered with Sores and The Wretched Spawn into their set.

From my staked-out position I have a good view of the stage and the punters. In front of me some 18-year olds are being harassed by an untamed security guard, who is being irrational. This man with attitude seems to have no reason for harassing a group of about five boys who didn’t seem to know what he was on about. He positions his rotund belly and rams the group with his weighty frame. The boys shrug without much of a clue why they’re getting so much negative attention and they move on.

While this goes on a jelly-legged punter tumbles past. He looks like he’s taken all the beer, mushrooms and speed for himself. Literally the most wasted guy of the night, he is still coherent enough to apologise to everyone he crashes into, which was nice. It brings home what this crowd really stands for – the angry metal-head stereotype is a misnomer. At a gig they get the sort of entertainment that placates them. It’s all jokes and banter, but no harsh words. There are even girls in the crowd and they seem to like it, though only a fraction of the sea of black t-shirts could be classed as female.

Pat O’Brien shreds from the right of stage in a complete concise solo with technically lightning speed. The crowd stop their shenanigans to watch in awe. The Corpse plays Make Them Suffer with a call to the pit to start moving. Fisher amps the crowd with “if I don’t see this whole place turn into one big pit I’ll come down there and wring your necks!” He gets a massive applause.

Fisher’s banter doesn’t stop there. He incites interaction as he announces they are going to play their last song, Jim Carrey’s favourite, Hammer Smashed Face. With this the crowd begins chanting “bullshit” which the band loves. After ripping out their most infuriating red rag to the church goers, they decide to play just one more. Stripped, Raped and Strangled bleeds from the PA in one last gurgle. The Corpse have taken the best of the back catalogue, from Eaten Back to Life to 2006’s Kill and the thousand or so fans lucky enough to get into this sold out show witnessed the best of death.