Q is for Qantice

This is how this French band describes itself, and seriously, I would not dare add or subtract a word. 

"More than a progressive/power/symphonic metal band. Qantice is a universe where the epics of a sci-fi saga spread over a story and music, mixing ancient and modern instruments, fantasy atmospheres, and jaw dropping virtuosity, with no limit but the wildest imagination."

Way to talk yourselves up fellas. I don't really like progressive metal, or symphonic metal, nor is power metal my favourite genre, so it goes without saying that Qantice is not really my cup of tea.

This Parisian band may have been formed in 2002, or as late as 2009, depending on your source. The current regular members are Tony Beaufils, David Akesson, Yosh Ortias (violin), Aurelien Jouela, and Christine Lanusse.

It seems they hire singers on an album by album, tour by tour basis. Pellek is the vocalist on this track which is called Hoverland

G is for God Damn

Not the British rock band, but the French southern metal band from Lyon. Formed in 2004, they are Charly (bass), Pich (guitars), Renato Di Falco (vocals), Jerem (drums) and Julien Alves (guitars.)

They've released two full length albums: Old Days (2009) and Back to the Grindstone (2012). Other than this sparse information, I can tell you nothing more. They don't even have a wikipedia listing. According to their Facebook page (last updated late 2016) they are working on a new album.

This track is called All In

In the late 80s, I was a regular binge drinker and often went to pubs and clubs to see bands play. I may have been under age, but I didn't look it, so I was never hassled for ID. One night my friends and I went to the Petersham Hotel (Sydney) to a live music venue called Max's. They showcased a lot of local metal bands, and we were metal fans.

I recall not being greatly impressed by the amateurish bands that night, but decidedly more interested in a young lady who was there. I spent most of the night imagining starting a conversation with her, which never eventuated.

On our way back to the train station, someone called out to us from behind. We stopped, as you do. The speaker was a punk who spoke in an accent so thick we had no idea what he was saying. From his increasing tone and agitation we suspected something might be wrong, and had that confirmed when he hit one of us, then pulled out a butterfly knife.

We ran. Thankfully, he didn't follow.