Sunn O))), The Dome, Liverpool. 30th June 2026

Well this is a nice surprise. After a stormy drive over to Liverpool with the rain lashing down, I find myself in The Dome in the city’s Grand Hall. It’s already busy and pretty warm as our ears are treated to some dust bowl psych from Amber Webber & Stephen McBean. A duo deploying some lusciously lazy roadside alt rock. The tempo is effortlessly slow as a single guitar drawls over the backing track and duel vocals. It’s pretty effective if not groundbreaking, but holds the audience. Not easy when this lot have come to get their ears destroyed.

Downstairs, as you enter this lovely building, there’s a box of earplugs open on a table. If I’d not come with my own, I’d be grabbing some, for tonight’s main act is Sunn O))), the loudest band you’re likely to hear anywhere. I’ll admit, encased inside this stone dome, I’m both excited and fearful. The customary smoke fills the stage as the mass of speaker stacks vaporise, sound bites tease their entrance, before they sneak on in the dark, aided by their hooded cloaks, wait for us to raise our hands, the earplugs go in and my ribcage begins to vibrate. I’ll forego song titles, honestly they’re pretty redundant. They explore the deepest depths of a guitar’s bass notes, all at beautifully drawn out lengths. I’d guess we get about half a dozen songs over 90 minutes, each movement layering into the next. The idea being that you get joyfully lost in the drone. The sustained notes and fluttering oscillations are wild and near impossible to describe. Sunn O))) are a band you feel as much as hear, it’s an all encompassing soundscape that quite literally makes the room vibrate. Not just the floor, the walls, the safety barrier, the beer taps. I spot several patrons without ear protection and marvel at their stupidity. If I’m honest, the whole thing is a ridiculous concept. Two hooded blokes pulling pulverising notes from downtuned guitars as smoke billows around them. Not a word spoken, no lyrics, no chat. It’s nuts, but it works and it’s a genuinely unique live experience. There is really no one else pulling this off this well. There’s a couple of hawkeyed techs running around behind the frankly terrifying wall of amps, diligently checking and monitoring, I’m assuming to ensure the whole rig doesn’t simply detonate. It doesn’t, but it feels gloriously on the cusp. Despite the intensity, it’s one of the most relaxing gigs you could go to. No one’s worried about missing their favourite song, no one’s jumping around or singing, there’s very few phones out because by-enlarge, there’s very little to see. Some people mill about a little, others stand stock-still in awe.  It’s an industrial zen sound bath. Eyes closed, you’re wrapped in sound as your breathing slows, a calm descends and for a time, everything is okay in the world. I’m right at the front for the first hour, but the smoke and the heat do take a toll, so I decamp to the back of the room where the door offers a tantalising breeze. They don’t sound any different 50 metres back. I feel fairly confident that they sound the same downstairs and possibly outside on the street. I pop an earplug out for a second, just to see and quickly press it back in as the contents of my head melt. When the world implodes, any day now. This will be the sound of the post apocalyptic churches that will rise up in the ashes of what remains. All hail Sunn O))).