Elvana // Nick Cage Against the Machine // Live Review // The O2 Academy // Bristol
Written by Alex Dalby and Rhiannon Ellen
Nobody in the O2 Academy on this rainy February evening was prepared for this evening.
How could they have been?
Nick Cage Against the Machine is a parody fusion act built on a premise so absurd it wraps all the way back around to genius: Rage Against the Machine, but haunted by the spirit of Nicolas Cage. Hip hop, nu metal, theatrics, comedy, and an inexplicable amount of Nicolas Cage energy, all delivered with the kind of light-hearted, seriously cool confidence that makes you wonder why nobody thought of this sooner.
The costumes alone deserve a full paragraph. Each band member arrived dressed as a different Nicolas Cage character. The electric guitarist came as H.I. McDunnough from Raising Arizona. The bass guitarist showed up in full Ghost Rider regalia, mask included. The lead singer opened in what I’m fairly confident was the brown mohair suit of Detective Rick Santoro from Snake Eyes, eyeliner firmly in place, and the whole thing had the energy of a fever dream you’d happily have again.
He set the tone immediately. “Get ready for the night of your lives,” he told the crowd. “You’re going to dance, you’re going to sweat, and you’re going to piss blood.”
Perfectly calibrated. The room was immediately, completely on board.
From there, it only got more unorthodox.
The brown suit gave way to a Matrix smock, which then gave way to a t-shirt and pants, until by mid-set the lead singer was performing in his socks, which is honestly the most Rage Against the Machine thing you can do. Nothing says “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” quite like performing to a packed venue in your tightie whities. The casual, slightly chaotic energy it created made the whole thing feel like the most fun party you’d ever accidentally stumbled into.
Then he brought out a skateboard, climbed into the audience, and referenced Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater. Naturally.
What keeps this from being pure novelty is the musicians’ genuine talent. The guitar players in particular were impressive, with solos that cut through the comedy to remind you that underneath the Ghost Rider mask and the Nicolas Cage cosplay, these people can really play. Eclectic, captivating, and absurdly good. Beguiling, even. The kind of act you describe to a friend the next day, and watch their face cycle through confusion, intrigue, and eventual desperate curiosity.
Unserious but seriously good. Intoxicatingly fun. A perfect, cheeky warm-up for what was to come.
https://linktr.ee/nicolascageagainstthemachine
Photography: Emma Painter
Then it was time for the main event. Elvana brought their Elvis-fronted Nirvana experience to Bristol, and honestly, what a time to be alive.
Some things sound better on paper than they do in practice. Elvis fronting Nirvana could have been a novelty act, a one-trick pony you’d watch once for the curiosity factor and never think about again.
But somewhere between the zimmerframe entrance and the disco ball casting its glow over a man in a rhinestone jumpsuit crowd-surfing to Smells Like Teen Spirit, Elvana stopped being a tribute act and became something entirely their own.
It takes guts to walk out on a zimmerframe. It takes even more guts to then proceed to thrust, gyrate, leap off platforms, and eventually end up arm in arm with an audience of Bristolians while the whole room sings back every word at you. The King managed all of the above, and then some.
The setup is gloriously zesty: black, red and white everywhere, a disco ball throwing light around the room, yellow balloons tossed into a crowd already grinning before a note had been played. The costumes lean into glam rock fifties energy, and the whole thing has the theatrical swagger of a show that knows exactly what it is and leans in hard. Outfit changes kept the energy spiking just when you thought it might plateau, and the dancing never let up.
What struck me early on was the genuine warmth between the band members. This wasn’t a slick, rehearsed performance of people doing a job. These are people who clearly like each other, enjoy what they do, and find each other funny, which translates directly to the audience. When one of the band deadpanned that the King looked “stuck between sexy and constipated” in reference to his Elvis accent, the room lost it. Banter like that only lands when it’s real.
The crowd told its own story.
When the King asked who had seen Elvana before, most of the room put their hands up. A loyal fanbase at a tribute act is one thing, but this felt more cult-like in the best possible sense. The audience chanting “Bass guy!!” with the kind of devotion usually reserved for a band’s biggest hits suggests this show has inside jokes that have evolved over time, recurring moments that regulars anticipate and newcomers get quietly inducted into. I was a newcomer.
By the third song, I was chanting with everyone else.
The turning point, for me personally, was Stay Away. Up until then, you could still file Elvana under “impressive mashup.” During Stay Away something clicked, and they became a band in their own right, with their own moves and identity. The homage is still there, it’s the whole point, but it stops feeling like a tribute and starts feeling like a genuine live act with its own energy and its own magic.
By Hound Dog, everyone in the room, whether they’d been before or not, was fully locked in. And by Dumb, dedicated to the “beautiful people of Bristol” (not a dig, very much received as a love letter), the King had the entire venue under his Southern charm.
He went into the crowd. He went up to the balcony. Under that disco ball, the whole thing took on something almost spiritual. The venue really was his church, and we were absolutely his congregation.
Elvana satiates something you didn’t know you were hungry for. Two icons, one stage, zero compromise. If you haven’t been, go. If you have been, you already know, and you’re probably already looking at tour dates.
Stupid and contagious. In the absolute best way.
Come as you are, baby.
https://tix.to/ElvanaBuyTicketsNow
Written by Alex Dalby and Rhiannon Ellen
Photography: Emma Painter
