Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
There’s no sneak meteorological ‘assaults’ even remotely in the day’s forecast as Friday, day two, dawns bright and blue.
Catton Park’s greenery is baking even at nine as we ready ourselves ahead of the first full day of action. Like the proverbial Olympic athlete, we’ve ensured that we have had a warm-up, one rammed full of variance, yesterday evening. Afterall one simply doesn’t go straight into one’s chosen marathon without a bit of limbering up.
Across the myriad campsites that surround the main Bloodstock arena there are, no doubt, many hungover souls whose heads will disagree, as the inside of their tents rise to unbearable temperatures, with the sagaciousness of last night’s exertions. As Lemmy, one who could always be relied upon for a good drinking quote, is fabled to have said to Captain Sensible “‘Remember: it’s not what you drink, or how much you drink, it’s how fast you drink it.”
It’s a very hardy bunch of metalliferous personnel that have gathered in the morning shade of the Sophie Lancaster band to witness Ofnus, the opening band of the day, getting matters underway. They begin as a complete unknown to me but by the end of their spellbinding half hour they’ve become a complete surprise to myself having, with their metal intellect and savvy knowhow, wormed their way into the forefront of my metalhead consciousness.
It’s an ungodly half past ten but Ofnus, bounding out of their South Wales headquarters, instantly winch the atmospherics upwards. Ethan Rees-Spargo’s drums tumble with the forces of an uncontrollable avalanche whilst bandmates Alyn Hunter, James Ponsford, and Richard Rees – rhythm guitar, lead guitar, and bass respectively – hit the stage hard to ensure parity. Someone has unmuzzled vocalist William Philpot mere moments before he is lobbed into the midst of the fray; to coin a phrase from Sheri, my fellow MPM reviewer, ‘this band slaps!’
Opening track ‘The Shattering’ raises the hairs; not something I’m used to writing about black metal. However, over the last couple of years I’ve realised that there are many shades of black and the tangible intricacies of Scandinavians Dimmu Borgir and Amorphis, here in bucketloads, are something which has grabbed my attention and consequently expanded the boundaries of my personal metal comfort zone.
The dark grooves of ‘Throes of Agony’ tear the abyssal cataclysm asunder. With imperial fringes the proggish elements are triumphal. A pack of unruly demons rage from the cathedral’s cloisters as crepuscular dynamics ascend in the tasty melodics at track-end. Dedicated reverently to Ozzy ‘Grains of Sand’ serves up fleshy slices of Opeth with dabs of Solstafir coruscant in the mix. Darkness’ Prince would no doubt be highly approving of the track’s occultic flow.
The black metal atmospherics of closing track ‘Zenith Dolour’ provide a consuming grandiose hammer of the gods finale. It may well be ultra-doomy and down-tempo, but the band have proven ineffectual in their mid-set assertations that they here (at Bloodstock for a second time in their short career) to make us miserable. More emotional than miserable in my book. Make no mistake about it these lads can mix it right up delivering the goods with a precision that most logistics companies would be envious of.
Across to the Ronnie James Dio stage as the day winds close to noon to catch Canterbury doom quartet Famyne make serious inroads in darkening an already bright Friday. Before lunchtime and I plunge into the unknown for a second time; this band, to me, are a blank canvas and all I know about their home city is a mention of Chaucer’s tales in Marillion’s story of unrequited love ‘Cinderella Search’.
With a gnarly bough over their logo the quintet gathers, much in the manner of crows settling for the night, to a doomy folk-laden intro. They’re not interested in the minutiae of splitting the atom; with their heavy Sabbath-esque grooves and haunting essence of their opening track (possibly a new as yet untitled number) they’re going for the universe. Searing demonics with a pagan touch reminiscent of Green Lung set about tearing Bloodstock a brand-new shiny one in a brusque manner. Vocalist Tom Vane headbangs as if his life depends upon it; with his piercing blue eyes ringed in black makeup, he’s a compelling figure out front.
Formed over a decade ago this is an outfit who are familiar with this festival having worked their way to this juncture from playing the New Blood Stage (2016) via The Sophie Lancaster Stage (2021). Support slots with Evile, Orange Goblin, Bokassa, and Acid Reign have paid dividends and it’s pretty evident that they have garnered a loyal following in the process.
The enchanting ‘Tower’ is a ritualistic dance with the atramentous woodland spirits. The poltergeist within awakens with this heavy doom/stoner take on things of an Amorphis nature. 2015 single ‘Long Lost Winter’ is dedicated to the memory of Ozzy as the dark furrow continues to be ploughed. There are the bluest of skies above, but Famyne are ensuring that obsidian shadows reign supreme with this dystopian forewarning.
Molten lava, spewing forth from the earth’s centre, blackens the ground beneath in ‘Solid Earth’; Sabbath’s legacy cannot be underestimated in the slightest. The epic ‘Dreamweaver’ possesses Pink Floyd touches in an atmospheric intro before a mighty slow-burning detonation, with an obsidian opulence, ripples the time continuum. Apparitions swirl throughout the track’s many ‘movements’.
A veritable leviathan ‘For My Sins’ provides blessing in the caliginous dead of the night alleys whilst Babylon burns ungovernably. The track’s bulldozing might provides an apt unrelenting conclusion to enthralling 40 minutes. I’m totally drawn in and mark Famyne as yet another band for future reviewing endeavours.
Formed in the early 80s, in Phoenix, Arizona, previously known as Paradox, Dredlox and Dogz, Flotsam and Jetsam settled on their nautical moniker in 1984 allegedly inspired by the title of Tolkien’s ninth chapter in ‘The Two Towers’. Emerging in the latter part of their formative decade, in what is considered the ‘second wave of thrash’, F&J have largely flown in the shadow of the ‘Big Four’. Although very much aware of them I eschewed them, at the time, to my cost in favour of the media-domination of the likes of Anthrax and Metallica.
What follows in the next three quarters of an hour goes to demonstrate that my teenage past was sorely misguided and although I’m over 35 years late to the party I can now happily consider myself part of the band’s ‘Flotzilla’. It’s great to see the deserved reverence paid to them and their kin such as Overkill, Kreator and Forbidden.
Whilst fairly regular visitors to the likes of Germany and Netherlands this is the band’s first post-pandemic landing upon these shores; in fact, this is a rare berthing of their ship here, throughout their motley career F&J have proven to be elusive in the UK in terms of live appearances. “It’s been a while since we’ve been here!” observes vocalist and sole original member A.K. Knutson greeting the mid-afternoon crowd early on in their set.
With a nod to the likes of Holst the Arizona thrashers walk out to a palatial spacey classical intro. Guitarist Steve Conley raises the horns then beats his heart with his other hand, his six-string amigo Michael Gilbert beckons frenetically to the arena crowd. Their return to the Bloodstock turf after an 11-year gap clearly means a lot on a personal level.
Given the time scheduled, it would be a nigh-on impossible task of herculean proportions to address all 15 albums in their back catalogue. If this were to be attempted this craggy thrash monster would still be here late into the Derbyshire night; thus, the first two songs ‘Hammerhead’ and ‘Iron Maiden’ give a subtle insight that this was to be an introspection divided between the early albums and those of more recent years. It all blends neatly together leaving a thirsting for more; let’s hope there’s not such a lengthy interim before the band’s next UK visit.
Knutson surges forth banshee-like a minute into the warp-speed Sabbath of set-opener ‘Hammerhead’, drawn from 1986’s debut ‘Doomsday for the Deceiver’, with a ferocious bite. An exuberant presence he air guitars and drums his way through the opening number. The ultra-pacy NWOBHM based thrash has, by now, drawn an extremely healthy sized crowd afront the main stage.
The circle pit is in full spin for the scintillating ‘Iron Maiden’, craned in from 2016’s eponymously title release. Sumptuous twin guitar courtesy of Gilbert and Conley bows in the direction of an accelerated Maiden whilst retaining a proper old school thrash dynamic. The pulverising demolition derby of ‘Dreams of Death’ follows with glints of Anthrax herein.
The barrelling phantom ‘Brace For Impact’ switches us back to 21st century F&J and, like ‘Primal’ that doffs a cap towards Midland legends Judas Priest (‘Painkiller’ era), fits in well alongside the older classics. Hyper-drive is engaged for the bruising ‘A New Kind of Hero’ maintaining the lofty levels of contagion.
Closing out F&J return to their sophomore long-player for a quaking gladiatorial ‘I Live You Die’ and the feral moshing title track ‘No Place For Disgrace’. Looking across the green of Catton Park Knutson enthuses “You guys fucking kick arse!” as the last notes send waves along the course of the nearby River Trent. Haste ye back gents you have awoken a hitherto unrealised passion within me.
2025 is their 30th anniversary and also their fond farewell to the hallowed halls of rock n’ roll. Ahead of a final UK tour in December this Bloodstock appearance, their fifth by my rough count, is the UK festival swansong of the ever-indomitable institution of Orange Goblin.
Somehow the announcement of their retirement seems to have lifted some form of metaphorical weight from about their collective shoulders. The now finely chiselled form of man-mountain vocalist Ben Ward leads the line in a massively positive enthused manner, all fist pumps, and smiles. His co-founders Joe Hoare (guitar) and Chris Turner (drums) bring ever-presents smiles too with recent addition on bass Harry Armstrong (Blind River) is his usual exultant self.
This clear display of rock n’ roll ecstasy leads to the obvious comparisons of birds released. As AC/DC’s ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ fades from the PA Hoare saunters on stage quipping “I’m the only one here!” before being followed by Turner and Armstrong. There’s no fuss, that’s simply not the way the Goblin likes to do things. In fact, none is expected, for OG to indulge in such gratuitous behaviour would be a shock to the system.
Roaring a tribute to Ozzy, “We owe this to you!” Ward punches the air double fisted as Hoare leads the band into the temple of ‘Solarisphere’. The stoner metal of the opening track sets the groove as the band’s spotlight manages to shine upon seven of their ten studio outputs in a stream-lined 45 minutes or so. With the bluesy underpinning in the instrumental these road-tested astral masters slip into the sultry vibe of ‘Scorpionica’.
A spontaneous eruption from the arena pays homage; having played the very first Bloodstock back in 2001 the symbiotic relationship between festival and band is so far beyond debate that it’s slipped over the horizon a long time ago. Right out of shadowy halls the darkened doom of ‘Saruman’s Wish’ harks back to the band’s 1997 debut. Damnation flies in the pummelling kinetics that take a bow towards ‘Children of the Grave’. It’s all very apt and devoutly reverential.
Ward dedicates the Motörhead fuelled trip down stoner highway ‘The Filthy & the Few’ to all the fans for the support down the years. It proves a rallying call that elicits a hearty response from the crowd surfers; “See that, that’s beautiful” notes Ward furthering “Heavy metal! Older yes, wiser no!” The hard as nails buzzsawing rasp of ‘Made of Rats’ in reflection could be considered a foretelling. “We got no future plans” roars Ward in the last verse.
With a whole lot of fire and fury ‘(Not) Rocket Science’ treads a line where UFO and Motörhead collide in magnificence. ‘The Devil’s Whip’ proves an unstoppable motorcading rampage. Looking over the sacrosanct Bloodstock domains Ward emotes “I can’t think of a better place to finish our last ever UK festival!” There’s not a single dissenting voice to be heard.
Orange Goblin swing their wrecking ball for a final time with the set-closing coupling of the atomising ‘Quincy the Pigboy’ and a particularly marauding ‘Red Tide Rising’ leave Bloodstock as fully satiated as warrior Vikings feasting upon the spoils of victory banquets. “We’ve been Orange fucking Goblin baby!” bellows Ward; nothing else need be said. An end of transmission indeed, may the Goblin live long.
French purveyors of pagan Viking / folk metal Eihwar have been rapidly gain momentum since their first gigs – entitled ‘La Nuit des Sorcières – in summer 2023. Rolling into the following year the Witches night continued along with slots at Trolls & Légendes (Belgium), Wave Gotik Treffen (Germany) and Hellfest. It’s their first visit across The Channel and I’m intrigued by the prospect of what is described, by their record label Season of Mist, as ‘Viking War Trance’.
Mists menacingly swirl on the battlefield; spirit monsters exhibit a mystical control. There’s a truly haunting atmosphere normally reserved for All Hallow’s Eve afoot as the duo of Asrunn (vocals & traditional percussion) and Mark (electronica, percussion, and guitar) step forth. Having recently toured with thunderous Mongolian folk-metallers The Hu this mysterious duo is right into their stride.
With little idea as to the track titles I can only describe what follows in the next 40 minutes as pure and unbridled chaos. Asrunn whirls and sings like Enya on steroids whilst her compatriot Mark remains resolute in the shadowy realms of the back of the stage. There’s little live instrumentation but somehow their performance is utterly compelling sweeping all along in a tsunamic wave of Scandic war cries.
It feels more ritualist than concert, a catharsis of spiritual exorcism. Somewhere that the shamanic vibes can orbit in eddying streams of tribal percussives and trance-like strains. Inflatable swords and a somewhat misplaced pineapple, mercifully the correct way up, bob about an enthralled crowd who seem to be falling under the hypnotic ebullience.
There’s one track midway through the set where Mark takes to an acoustic six-string with the whirling dervish Asrunn commenting “I’m too old for this bullshit!” Jeez, I’m knackered just watching the elevated levels of physical expenditure onstage. The incantations are potent and with lupine and lunar forces colliding the howling wolf is omnipresent.
Rammed full of gothic Viking essence alongside a Pagan vibrancy what Eihwar despatch is upon an otherworldly spectrum inhabited by such brethren as Heilung and Wardruna. A door has been thrust open into something most expanding and, to myself, very new. It’s a wonderful moment of light amongst a very shadowy hued festival. The unexpected moments like this are what makes such festivals all that more special.
In amongst a raft of European festival dates Yorkshiremen High Parasite return to home shores for their sole UK summer date. Formed by My Dying Bride’s vocalist Aaron Stanthorpe don’t be fooled that this is merely a side-project for those boring downtimes that all bands go through. Stanthorpe emphatically declares, on the band’s official website “This is not a side project. It’s a new touring and recording band.”
Based on the evidence of their 45 minutes onstage High Parasite are an intriguing prospect and I’m plotting to get to see them supporting fellow Yorkshire outfit Paradise Lost in the autumn. From the high quality on offer this quintet can provide an English reply to the likes of Mono Inc, Dominum with their Gothic-laden metal.
In white-suited frontman Stanthorpe the band possesses an absolute charm but they’re far from one dimensional. Masked bass player, and songwriter, Tombs is equally enigmatic whilst guitar duo Sam Hill and Johnny Hunter along with drummer Dan Brown provide the requisite cement to hold everything together cohesively. With last years debut album ‘Forever We Burn’ High Parasite already have a diamond in their locker at this fledgling stage of their career. I’ve seen bands with much more in the back catalogue deliver much weaker sets.
The trigger is pulled by the instantly accessible ‘Parasite’, its gothic blend is a touch reminiscent of primetime Sisters of Mercy propelled into a modern-day arena. An initially small crowd has swelled; such is the transient nature of multi-stage festivals that overlap timings-wise.
Dedicating ‘Concentric Nightmares’ as tribute to Sophie (Lancaster) Stanthorpe voices a somewhat unorthodox method of greeting “You could be having a shit or a beer somewhere else!” Sparks of The Mission fly from the spires of ruined cathedrals; majestic and commanding they tower over blood-stained fields.
‘Grave Intentions’, one of three singles (all aired here this evening) pulls the crowd under with its snaring undertow; be wary the uninitiated. Right up to date, current single ‘Cold’, released at the beginning of July, is compelling doomy metal. Breaking out of the crypt ‘We Break We Die’ flows on majestic obsidian waves whilst ‘Wasn’t Human’ employs Germanic splendour with consummate ataraxia. Think Cologne cathedral but in metal form.
With industrial overtures beloved of Eldritch ‘Hate Springs Eternal’ captivates as levels of addictiveness are further elevated. A rage from six feet beneath ‘Let It Fail’ sparkles as it hollers from the grave; chilling to the bone and all the more attractive for it. Raising of hairs and goosebumping the focussed rage of ‘Forever We Burn’ provides a grandstand conclusion. Catch this band live at your peril as they’ll add themselves to your favourite list in very much the same expeditious manner I experienced.
From one band that is definitely not a side project straight to one that certainly was and then suddenly, after less than two years active, was shelved in the locker labelled ‘defunct’ and left there for just shy of thirty years! Once of Sepultura Brazilian guitarist Max Cavelera in 1993, then still in the Belo Horizonte thrash outfit he had formed with his younger brother Igor, stretched his musical legs to form the short-lived and much revered Nailbomb.
A singular album ‘Point Blank’, now considered a cult classic, and shortly thereafter it was all over. Now, minus his co-founding partner Alex Newport (Fudge Tunnel), Cavalera has resurrected this project and injected new life into it with a brand-new lineup that includes his son Igor on guitar. If you didn’t receive the memo stating the demand for this first-ever UK appearance, then you’re standing outside the Sophie Lancaster tent. It’s rammed both in and out with echoes of Combichrist’s conquering appearance on the very same stage last year.
Across the next hour we receive almost the entirety of ‘Point Black’ minus just the raw industry of ‘For Fuck’s Sake’. The tornadic fury of the album and set-opening ‘Wasting Away’ – topping the registers at 150% output – induces seismic activity of epic mountain building proportions. Cavalera receives a tremendous Bloodstock roar to his request to “Make some fucking noise!!”
“Doesn’t one of the guitarists look a bit like Justin Hawkins?” sagely notes a friendly chap stood next to me just inside the tent’s perimeter. Chuckling I have to agree and now can’t un-see that statement for the remainder of the set. Ultra-pacy ‘Vai toma no cú’ whips up the crowd even further; I note a crowd-surfer in a camo’ed rubber dinghy go over a couple of times before the miscreant inflatable is separated from its occupant. It’s that kind of night!
‘Guerillas’ is heavy as fuck, and the conveyor belt of surfers hits top gear with a constant stream keep the security busy and Cavalera most content. The intensity is beyond the norm, even for Bloodstock, and the uber punked up thrash of ‘24 Hour Bullshit’ is a snarling, uncontrollable behemoth. Cavalera is, throughout, the upfront ringmaster riling up the assembly and whipping up rabid circle pits as if casting persuasive sorcery.
‘Blind And Lost’ detonates violently afore the doomy cogs of thrasher ‘Sum of Your Achievements’ grind supersonically. With a pounding rockhammer intro ‘Cockroaches’ dives headlong into the circling pit itself; metal taking lifeform. Channelling the bullet that is Hatebreed ‘World of Shit’ raises a rigid middle digit to all that Cavalera considers wretched. The maelstrom, on and off stage, increases even further.
An unmitigated screamager ‘Exploitation’ brings Brummie hardcore punk band Doom to a largely new audience, myself included, before the brutal slab of metalliferous rage that is ‘Religious Cancer’ is put under the surgeon’s scalpel. An ultra-accelerated ‘Police Truck’ (Dead Kennedys) follows as the eye of the storm tracks towards the set’s climax.
‘Sick Life’ fires the metal artillery and as the last seismic wave quakes across the surrounds of Catton Park the tent chants the band’s name in unison. Proof that there is beauty to be discovered in the brutality of raw, bleeding industrial metal. Cavalera and co. have detonated with stunning force not giving a moment to catch a breath; precisely matching the expectations of B.O.A.
Friday headliners here at Bloodstock ten years ago Floridian metallers Trivium have returned to the banks of the Trent with an absolute smorgasbord of goodies most worthy of their headlining status. Pyrotechnics aplenty (enough to give the local fire brigade nervous jitters), an inflatable interpretation of the ‘Ascendancy’ artwork, a lengthy rap-sheet of guests that is very becoming of rock royalty, a couple of tasty high-grade metalliferous covers and an unadulterated barrage of band classics from a ten-album strong arsenal.
Having missed out on their co-headline tour with Bullet For My Valentine early in the year I was seriously pumped to finally catch Trivium in the live arena. However, my mind had other ideas and try as I might I completely failed, in the flesh, to connect with this industrious band. It’s baffling as I’m in the midst of an arena crowd numbering the best part of 20,000 all of whom are having the very best night of their lives and rightfully so, yet I couldn’t find it within me to permit being swept along by the crushing currents despatched. Reflecting back upon the evening it’s something I regret and thus the following words are through the 20,000 eyes not my singular pair. Anything else would, I consider, be hugely unjust and unfair.
The stringed luxuriance of intro ‘The End of Everything’ – the opening 80 seconds of ‘Ascendancy’ – sparkle ethereally; ghostly apparitions are summoned ahead of the band’s arrival. The stage is quite literally set and for a couple of numbers the setlist follows the running order of this 2005 breakout release which earned the band their first chart positions here and in the States.
The Bloodstock arena erupts with the pummelling riffs of ‘Rain’ and the track’s glorious ebb and flow. Frontman Matt Heafy – sole remaining founding member – encourages from the off. The arena complies to his “Jump, jump, jump!!” Like the assembled ranks the band are having the night of their lives too. Flames shoot to the increasingly dusky skies in the conflagrant fury of ‘Pull Harder on the Strings of Your Martyr’. “Open that shit up, open the circle” beckons Heafy as he goes, no doubt unwittingly, toe-to-toe with Cavalera in the ringmaster stakes.
The hardcore melodics of ‘Like Light to the Flies’ entrance whilst the rousing spirit of ‘Catastrophist’ is a compelling entity despatched under cloudless skies. Stimulating anthem ‘Until The World Goes Cold’ provides various hues of metal glory before Heafy turns the spotlight into respectful remembrance. “so recently we lost a hero of metal. A man without whose influence none of this shit would exist” he muses before adding “You know exactly who I’m fucking talking about.”
With that the arena, as one, chant “Ozzy” repeatedly as Machine Head’s Rob Flynn, the first guest of the night, is welcomed onstage. “Are you guys ready to hear some Black Sabbath?” As if he really needs to enquire. The 150% classic ‘Symptom of the Universe’ steamrollers all before it leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Utterly glorious.
The covers don’t end there with an incredibly robust ‘Master of Puppets’ thrown in for good measure but before that Sleep Token’s III joins in the fray for a rumbustious ‘Throes of Perdition’. Further guests, in the latter stages of the set, await in the wings. Emperor’s Insahn bristles in a unifying ‘In Waves’ and, a track later Josh Baines (Malevolence) partakes in the balls to the wall deliverance of ‘The Deceived’.
With stars beginning to appear in the twilight ‘A Gunshot to the Head of Trepidation’ – the penultimate inspection of ‘Ascendancy’ – sees the Ascendancy figure ‘come to life’. ‘Strife’ and the live debut of latest single ‘Bury Me With My Screams’ both maintain a rapid momentum with hearts beating in time.
In a hellfire set-closing triumvirate stampeding metal hymn ‘Down From The Sky’ provides the tasty filling ‘tween the anthemic earworm ‘The Heart from your Hate’ and wizardry of ‘The Sin and the Sentence’. Triumphant, Trivium have just delivered the epitome of a major festival headlining slot; career-spanning introspection, precisely despatched covers and massively relevant guests perfectly tailored for the moment. 20,000 souls roar their sincere and genuine appreciation: nothing more need be said.
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
Photography for Trivium by Pete Key for MPM
