The weather has shifted, and the seasons seem to be shaking off their summer malaise. Hurricane Helene ravages the southern coasts, its tendrils stretching all the way up here to Ohio, where the winds whip through the city and the leaves blush with the first signs of autumn. The air has taken on that crisp, sinister edge that hints at change—just in time for tonight’s ritualistic spectacle at the Columbus Athenaeum. I’m here to photograph the diabolically captivating force of nature that is Twin Temple, the self-proclaimed Satanic doo-wop band that’s been shaking up the music scene one unholy hymn at a time.
The Columbus Athenaeum is a bizarre venue. It’s all gilded molding, sweeping staircases, and a sort of faded grandeur that should feel stately, but instead feels slightly unsettling. The acoustics are hit or miss, and the bathrooms seem to exist only in myth. But none of that matters tonight. The crowd is buzzing with energy, faces painted in homage to Creeper, the opening band. Even without their usual vocalist, Creeper tore through their set like seasoned pros, leaving the audience warmed up and ravenous for more.
The anticipation is thick as we wait for Twin Temple to take the stage. I stake out my spot, camera in hand, and watch the black-clad masses swell forward. There’s something electric about the crowd, a collective sense that we’re all about to witness something other. Twin Temple isn’t just a band—they’re an experience, a celebration of love, lust, and liberation wrapped up in a satanic sermon that would make Tipper Gore faint.
Opener: Creeper’s Defiant Presence
Before Twin Temple claimed their infernal pulpit, Creeper took the stage under a shroud of uncertainty. Their regular frontman was absent, a hole that could have sunk a lesser band. But this is Creeper—drama and defiance are their bread and butter. They didn’t just hold it together; they blew the crowd away. Each song dripped with gothic grandeur, backed by snarling guitars and a rhythm section that hit like a gut punch.
The audience, many of whom wore the signature Creeper eye paint, swayed and surged, completely in sync with the band’s dark romanticism. Creeper’s set felt like a midnight vigil at a forgotten graveyard—tragic, triumphant, and teetering on the brink of something wild. A fitting prelude to the main event. As their set came to a close, the room was electric, anticipation building to a fever pitch. It was time for the Devil’s favorite band to make their entrance.
Twin Temple: An Unholy Gospel of Love
The lights dropped, and the room plunged into darkness. Then, a flash of light as the back spotlights snapped on, casting long, eerie shadows across the stage. Two figures emerged, looking like Wild West preachers who’d just stepped off a train from Hell. They stood stoic, eyes gleaming in the dim light, as the rest of the band filtered in, tossing handfuls of unholy water into the crowd. Thirty seconds in, I knew three things: this show was going to be insane, I was about to fall in love with this band, and these photos were going to be something else entirely.
Twin Temple launched into their set with a swagger that few bands can muster. The music was tight, the performance tighter. What on the surface might seem like a kitschy blend of 1950s rockabilly and satanic imagery was, in fact, a powerful celebration of autonomy and freedom. Yes, they sang about Satan—hell, they seemed to revel in it—but the subtext was clear: it’s not about worshipping the Devil. It’s about worshipping yourself, about owning who you are without apology, and finding someone who loves you for it.
Lead vocalist Alexandra James commanded the stage like a satanic high priestess, spitting venom one moment and crooning sweetly the next. She danced across the stage, flanked by bandmates who played like men possessed. The audience was enraptured, swaying and screaming as if under a spell. At one point, Alexandra pulled out a ceremonial dagger and began slicing through the air in time to the music. A few songs later, she leaned forward, a wicked grin on her face, and spat a mouthful of fake blood into the crowd, who surged forward, hands raised like penitents eager for a blessing.
There was no time to catch your breath. It was all fire and brimstone, a relentless barrage of guitar riffs and swinging horns, backed by a rhythm section that felt like it could summon the dead if it wanted. The whole set was like that—one jaw-dropping moment after another. Bible pages fluttered through the air like unholy confetti. Alexandra tore them free one by one, tossing them into the throng. A page drifted down to my feet. Revelation. Of course, it was.
Guitarist Zachary James, the other half of this devilish duo, was a master of ceremonies, wielding his guitar like a talisman. There was an alchemical synergy between the two of them—a shared sense of humor, a wink and a nudge beneath the theatrics. They’re not here to convert anyone; they’re here to set you free.
The highlight? Hard to pick just one, but the moment when they tore into their signature track, “Satan’s a Woman,” the crowd went berserk. Everyone screamed along as if those words had been branded into their hearts. The set ebbed and flowed, dipping into ballads that wouldn’t feel out of place at a high school sock hop—if that high school were run by Anton LaVey—and roaring back with tracks that tore through the venue like a damn exorcism.
Revelations in the Dark
By the time Twin Temple took their final bow, the room was drenched in sweat, blood, and something that felt dangerously like hope. This wasn’t just a concert. This was a sermon, a ritual, a reclamation. Twin Temple isn’t here to make you believe in the Devil; they’re here to make you believe in yourself.
They make space for the misfits, the outcasts, the sinners—all those who’ve been told they’re too much, too loud, too weird. They say, “Come as you are, love who you love, and don’t apologize for any of it.” It’s a message wrapped in the trappings of Satanic grandeur, but its core is as pure as they come. Tonight, in the heart of the Columbus Athenaeum, under archways that blocked half the stage and in a room with no discernible bathroom, I witnessed something beautiful—a celebration of freedom disguised as a Satanic ritual.
Twin Temple is more than a band. They’re a declaration. And if you ever get the chance to witness it firsthand, take it. Because love, true love, is a devilish thing.
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