Annisokay – The Abyss Pt. II Tour at The Garage, London

There are shows you attend because you enjoy the band, and then there are shows that feel almost necessary, like checkpoints in your emotional timeline. Seeing Annisokay live has always belonged firmly in the second category for me, and on January 15th at The Garage in London, that feeling was amplified tenfold. It was a collision of passion, vulnerability, aggression, and community; everything I love about this genre, condensed into a single night.

The Garage, already well-known for its intimacy and raw acoustics, felt like the perfect pressure cooker for a night like this. And by the time the doors opened, the queue spilling down the block was already a mosaic of metalcore and post-hardcore lovers from all corners of the city, crammed into the iconic venue for a triple-threat lineup: The Narrator, Heart of a Coward, and headliners Annisokay.

The Narrator

Opening the night for their first ever UK show were The Narrator, who approached their set with a quiet confidence that felt deliberate rather than restrained. Though relatively new to many in the crowd, the German band immediately commanded attention with their taut, emotional melodies paired with jagged, visceral riffs. Vocally, the contrast between harsh and clean passages added a dynamic push and pull that kept the crowd fully engaged.

But what struck me most about their set was their emotional honesty. Songs like “Aurora” brought a reflective silence to brief pockets of the crowd before exploding back into raw noise and rhythmic intensity. As an opener, The Narrator did exactly what a great support band should do: pulled people in, earned attention, and left a strong first impression without overshadowing what was still to come.

Heart of a Coward

Following them, Heart of a Coward shifted the night into a heavier gear. Hailing from Milton Keynes and known for blending djent-inflected complexity with melodic metalcore sensibilities, they wasted no time demonstrating why they’re a cornerstone of the UK heavy scene.

Frontman Kaan Tasan commanded the stage with his intense but focused presence; the kind of control that comes from experience rather than ego. Guitarists Steve Haycock and Carl Ayers forged an onstage synergy that was hypnotic: their harmonised riffs danced atop pounding rhythms laid down by drummer Chris Mansbridge and bassist Vishal Khetia. Each member seemed locked in on the same visceral frequency, pushing the music’s tension with crushing precision.

The pit began forming early in their set. Hesitant at first, then suddenly unavoidable. Heads nodded harder, shoulders loosened, and bodies started moving in instinctive response to the band’s crushing rhythms. Their sound is heavy without being chaotic, and that translated perfectly live. And when “Hollow”, their most beloved song and the one that closed the set, finally hit, the entire room erupted. Their set felt like a controlled detonation: tight, aggressive, and unrelenting. It was the moment when the crowd fully woke up, shaken into readiness for the headliners.

Annisokay

Coming back to the German side, when Annisokay finally took the stage, the reaction was instant and overwhelming. Not just cheers, but recognition, relief, and something close to reverence. This was a band that meant something to the people packed shoulder to shoulder inside the venue. Their strength has always been balance: chaos and clarity, brutality and melody, despair and hope; all coexisting without cancelling each other out. And live, that balance becomes visceral.

Christoph Wieczorek, pulling double duty on guitar and clean vocals, carried himself with a calm, almost grounding presence. His voice cut through the room with emotional precision, soaring above the instrumentation without ever losing its sincerity. Standing beside him, Rudi Schwarzer was the perfect counterweight. His screams were raw, explosive, and cathartic, cutting through the room with a ferocity that sent immediate shockwaves through the crowd.

From the opening song, “Into The Abyss”, the band had complete control of the room. Silas Fischer on drums was relentless, driving each track forward with punishing accuracy, while Peter Leukhardt’s bass filled the venue with a low-end weight you could feel in your chest rather than simply hear. Together, they formed a backbone that allowed Annisokay’s emotional peaks and valleys to hit with devastating impact.

Their setlist felt like a curated narrative arc: blistering opening bangers like “Throne of the Sunset” that gave way to moments of melodic clarity, introspection, and pure collective catharsis. Tracks like “Ultraviolet”, “Human” and “Friend or Enemy” featuring the interplay between Christoph’s soaring cleans and Rudi’s feral screams turned the venue into a theatre of tension and release. Each chorus evokes a surge of fists in the air, each breakdown prompting earth-shaking movement in the pit.

The physical reaction from the crowd never waned. Circle pits opened and closed like living organisms. Crowd surfers appeared during the most explosive moments, carried forward by raised hands and shouted lyrics. Yet even in the heaviest sections, there was a sense of unity rather than aggression; people looking out for one another, pulling each other back up, sharing water and space.

As the set reached its final stretch, the intensity only grew. They closed their set with two fan-favourite old tracks, “Coma Blue” and “STFU”, playing them as if fully aware that this wasn’t just another date on a tour poster, but a shared memory being created in real time. Every word felt like a shared mantra, every beat a heartbeat synced across hundreds of people. You could see it on faces all around: ecstasy, release, and unabashed joy in the sheer power of the music.

When the final note rang out and the lights came up, the room felt changed. Drained, sweaty, hoarse, but fulfilled. Walking back into the cold London night, surrounded by strangers who suddenly didn’t feel like strangers at all, I was reminded why this genre continues to mean so much to me. Annisokay turned The Garage into a place where vulnerability could be screamed at full volume, where heaviness wasn’t something to carry alone, and where feeling too much was not only allowed, but encouraged.