Part One: Headbanging in the Heart of Siem Reap
By Kim Beamish
A brutal hangover, an early flight, and the oppressive Cambodian heat—it’s the perfect storm for a night of metal. I arrive at Atlantis Metal Bar in Siem Reap, a dark, intimate venue that feels more like a Tokyo basement than a Southeast Asian dive. The reason for my visit? A Swiss hardcore band with a name as cryptic as their sound – People Die at the Fair – gearing up for an early sound check ahead of their set at Slam City 2025.
The brainchild of Japanese metalhead Chihiro, Atlantis has been a haven for Cambodia’s small but dedicated metal community for the past five years. The bar sits tucked away behind a tourist strip, where passing travellers are lured with offers of cheap massages and blaring EDM. But inside, it’s a different world—walls plastered with gig posters, flags draped over the stage, and a skull-and-crossbones-inspired logo claiming its presence among the dim red and blue lights. It’s Siem Reap’s only metal bar, and Chihiro makes sure I know it.
PDATF’s sound check is a rough one—rented guitars, borrowed amps, and a bit of improvisation. Drummer, Tom, tells me the band was born from the ashes of an old punk outfit, their sound forged during lockdown in the Swiss town of Bülach. “We wanted something harder,” he says, “and we finally got the chance to take it on the road.”
That road has led them through the heart of Southeast Asia—Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Medan, Jakarta, and Singapore—before landing in Cambodia for their final stop.
“The metal scene is so established here, especially in Jakarta,” Tom tells me, shaking his head in disbelief. “Some of the gigs we’ve played on this tour were bigger than what we get back home in Switzerland.”
Siem Reap’s scene may be smaller, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in passion. The bar doesn’t officially open until 8 p.m., but by nightfall, a small but dedicated crowd starts filtering in —local metalheads, curious tourists, and even an older Japanese woman who I suspect might be Chihiro’s mother.
PDATF’s gig marks the unofficial launch of ‘Slam Fest 2025’, a raw, no-frills festival that’s now in its third year. Unlike the polished, corporate-sponsored events that flood social media with curated photo ops, this is pure DIY—held together with duct tape and sheer determination.
Festival organiser Mia Priest —who also fronts Cambodian metal outfit ‘Nightmare AD’— along with Chihiro, and Paolo from 7th Street Tattoo, have been working tirelessly to bring together some of the best hardcore, punk, and metal acts from across Southeast Asia. This year’s lineup includes international acts such as ‘Rabies’ from the Czech Republic, a riot grrrl act from China called ‘The Dummy Toys’, and international wild cards like PDATF. Next year, Mia tells me, she hopes to expand into neighbouring countries.
Back in the green room, PDATF’s frontman Ivo is battling his own voice, frayed from the relentless schedule of back-to-back shows. The band sits in quiet anticipation before stepping onto the dimly lit stage at exactly 9 p.m.—Swiss precision in action.
The first note shatters the silence. PDATF’s sound is a blistering mix of hardcore riffs, bone- crushing breakdowns, and death metal growls. Despite his strained voice, Ivo digs deep, delivering guttural roars that echo through the tight space. Sven, on bass, and Francesco, on lead guitar, thrash wildly, barely contained by the small stage, while Nicola, guitar, and Tom, on drums, the founding duo, keep things brutally tight as they tear through a setlist that includes ‘A Venomous Breed’, ‘War in my Head’ and the namesake, ‘People Die at the Fair’.
The crowd, packed into Atlantis like a pressure cooker, erupts. A mosh pit forms almost instantly, bodies colliding in chaotic unity. Somewhere in the melee, I spot Chihiro—no surprise. But what does surprise me is the older Japanese woman leading the charge, fist formed into the metal salute.
The next evening, my hangover has evolved into something more existential. I drag myself back to Atlantis, where Chihiro has opened the bar early for Czech hardcore band ‘Rabies’ to run through a quick rehearsal.
Fronted by Karolina, a heavily tattooed whirlwind of fury, ‘Rabies’ is pure, unfiltered punk chaos. They refuse to engage with social media, reject digital recordings, and insist on releasing their music exclusively on cassette and vinyl.
Their rehearsal is an explosion—short, fast, and uncompromising. Karolina’s voice is a demon’s snarl, tearing through tracks in Czech, broken only by the occasional Napalm Death cover. The band bickers over setlist choices, arguing about whether the guitars are loud enough. It’s messy. It’s intense. It’s exactly what I came here for.
As ‘Slam Fest 2025’ gathers momentum, one thing is clear: the heart of metal beats strong in Southeast Asia. And for a few nights in Siem Reap, in a tiny, sweat-drenched bar run by a die- hard Japanese metalhead, that heart is pounding louder than ever.
Part Two: Hell’s Gates Open in Siem Reap
By Kim Beamish
Another night at Atlantis Metal Bar, another assault on the senses. My hangover has now become a permanent companion, a necessary tax for surviving Slam City. The bar opens early again for sound check, but the moment the amps crackle to life, it’s as if hell itself has thrown open its gates. Metalheads and hardcore punks emerge from the shadows, drawn by the sheer force of the noise.
The sound check morphs into an impromptu gig as Rabies and Dummy Toys push the limits of the tiny venue, shaking its very foundations before they even take the stage properly. The crowd – sweaty, packed in tight – braces itself.
Barefoot and covered in sweat, Rabies frontwoman Karolina marches into the cramped space between the stage and the audience. There’s no introduction, no small talk—just a throat- shredding “Jdeme na to!” (Let’s go!) before they launch straight into a brutal barrage of noise.
It’s a relentless set—short, fast, and loud. Songs barely last a minute, but each one is a sonic explosion, a Molotov cocktail of distortion and fury. Drums pummel like a war machine, guitars shriek, and Karolina snarls Czech lyrics with venomous intent.
Beer flies through the air, bodies collide, and suddenly, there’s no line between performer and audience—just a churning, chaotic mass. The bar, meant for maybe twenty people, now feels like CBGB’s in its lawless heyday. Karolina, eyes wild, throws her head back and lets out one final roar before storming off stage, leaving only ringing ears and wreckage in her wake.
No time to recover. And Dummy Toys waste none.
Drummer Qingqing — who I’ve heard plays flute in her downtime, though nothing about her performance suggests she has a quiet side — counts them in. Then, all hell breaks loose.
Bassist, Huanzi, and guitarist, Birdie, with her towering orange Mohawk, slam into a distorted instrumental opener that shakes the bar’s foundations. Qingqing is a force of nature—her pink hair a blur behind the kit as she beats the skins with the ferocity of Animal from ‘The Muppets’.
Then, Xiaokui, the band’s lead singer, launches herself into the crowd. The pit, stunned for a half- second, instinctively takes a step back. Big mistake.
Dummy Toys are pure, unfiltered punk energy. Their setlist is a relentless barrage—“Street Punk Girls”, “Stop Your Control”, “Fight Against Domestic Violence”. Each song slams into the next with barely a breath between. This is riot grrrl punk at its rawest—sweaty, dangerous, and undeniably thrilling.
The only pause comes when Birdie snaps a string mid-song, forcing a brief moment of silence. The crowd collectively exhales, drenched in sweat and beer, before the chaos erupts once more.
And just when you think the room can’t take any more, the floodgates burst open. More people— locals, tourists, punks, metalheads—cram inside. It feels like the entire town of Siem Reap has come to witness this pure punk onslaught.
By the time Dummy Toys play their final note, Atlantis is a war zone. Bodies limp against walls, voices hoarse, the floor slick with spilled drinks.
This is Slam City at its purest—no sponsors, no influencer-approved photo ops. Just music, sweat, and chaos that only exists in the moment before disappearing forever.
Tomorrow, the festival kicks into overdrive. Tokyo’s Seventh Son and Eleanor join Singapore’s Opposition Party before everything moves to Phnom Penh for the grand finale.
For now, Siem Reap belongs to the punks and the metalheads.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this—it’s that Cambodia’s metal and punk scene isn’t just alive. It’s breathing fire.
Part Three: Hells bells remain ringing in Siem Reap
By Kim Beamish
I wake up to the dull throb of fresh ink—the thick black lines now etched into the inside of my right ankle, a permanent souvenir courtesy of 7th Street Tattoo. The tattooist, a man more ink than skin, worked with the precision of a surgeon, and although my hangover has finally dulled, it is now to be replaced by a new, rhythmic pain—a fitting trade-off for another night of sonic warfare at Slam City III 2025.
Tonight, Atlantis Metal Bar plays host to some of Japan’s finest, with a side of Singapore’s unofficial Opposition Party. Sound checks are, as expected, a chaotic mess — guitars grinding, drums pounding, amps pushed past their limits in a desperate bid to see if they truly can “go to eleven”. The line between rehearsal and performance blurs as each band battles the small space, turning what should be a technical check into an impromptu warm-up gig.
Siem Reap’s metal zombies and punks start to shuffle in, drawn by the unmistakable sound of Singapore’s original punks, Opposition Party, Francis Frightful, their founding member, rips into the opening riffs of Chaos, his snarling vocals slicing through the air, commanding the growing
crowd to “wake the hell up!”. Behind him, Ross on drums and Mark on guitar construct a relentless wall of sound. This is no passive gig — within minutes, the audience is moving. Heads bang, bodies slam, beer splashes. The Opposition Party has claimed this crowd, and punk wins another election. The bar is at full tilt, and we’re just getting started.
If Opposition Party is raw punk fury, then Eleanor, a five-piece metal act from Osaka, Japan, is its polished counterpoint. Describing themselves as ‘melancholic gothic metal’, they take the stage like they’re stepping into a sold-out stadium, not a dimly lit bar in Cambodia. Led by vocalist Shiori Vitus and guitarist Ippei J.M, Eleanor draws inspiration from European acts like The Gathering’ and Amorphis, blending dark, atmospheric melodies with sheer power.
This is a band built on spectacle—power stances, synchronized movements, dramatic hip gyrations. Every note is sharp, every breakdown perfectly timed, their lead guitarist tearing through solos with the flair of a rock god bathed in blue and red stage lights. Their signature mix of melodic riffs and chugging breakdowns shakes the foundations of Atlantis, leaving no doubt that they ‘belong’ on much bigger stages. But in true Slam City spirit, it doesn’t matter where they are. Whether it’s Tokyo Dome or a bar that smells like sweat, spilled beer, and a hint of regret, Eleanor plays like it’s the most important gig of their lives.
Then, the stage belongs to Seventh Son. Their frontman, Yama, steps forward, his closely shaven head glistening under the dim stage lights. Studded wristbands and chains catch the glow, giving him the look of a ‘Berserk’ – stylnti-hero brought to life. Their sound? Somewhere between Rush, Queensrÿche, and Dream Theater, with a large spoonful of late-night anime fight sequence. This is classic heavy metal with a distinctly Japanese twist—fast, technical, and steeped in theatrics. Every riff is sharp enough to cut through bone, guitarist Yasumoto Ohtani weaving intricate melodies before detonating into blistering solos. Genki on bass holds down the low end like an anchor in a storm, while drummer Tai Syoda is pure motion—blurry, relentless, a force of nature behind the kit.
The crowd? The crowd ‘eats it up’ and Yama has plenty to offer them. At times he is among them asking everyone to join in. Smiles flash between furious headbanging. A mosh pit forms, breaks apart, then reforms with twice the energy. Fans throw up the horns, some cling to mates shoulders, others barely dodging the whirlwind of bodies in motion. It’s a heavy, melodic, progressive metal onslaught—loud, relentless, and utterly euphoric.
As Seventh Son closes out the night with an epic, drawn-out final song, the air inside Atlantis is thick with heat and electricity. The crowd, drenched in sweat and beer, is exhausted but far from done. At 5 a.m. we drag ourselves — hungover, dehydrated, still buzzing — onto a bus bound for Phnom Penh. Slam City III moves to Cambodia’s capital for its grand finale. Bigger crowds, bigger stages, but the same DIY chaos that has defined this festival from the start.
Siem Reap has given everything it had. The city might sleep — but its ears will be ringing for days.