Review by Gary Spiller for MPM
The sun rises on day three and the ‘Sold-Out’ signs are proudly hung at all entrances. Today and tomorrow are at maximum capacity, let that sink in for a moment or twenty thousand. It’s impressive stuff and no better an indication is required of how this festival is held in high regard within the metal community.
This success, in turn, gives rise to the subsequent question of what the future holds; does the festival continue at current capacity or, if it’s possible (not something which I have the answer to), should the figures be increased? Anyhow before that there’s the matter of another rammed full day of metallic mayhem and revelry to absorb.
With dry ice billowing and the gathering beat of a monster from the Cimmerian depths reverberating Ireosis, the opening band of the day in the Sophie Lancaster tent, ready themselves. With a “Hail Ozzy, The King” we’re invited ‘all aboard’ The Prince of Darkness’ Crazy Train. It’s these little touches that mean so much.
“You’re all fucking mad!” notes frontman Joel Bulsara as his colleagues about him burst into the opening notes of the furious metalcore of ‘Atom’. Morning darkness descends like moorland fog as a powered tidal wave sweeps across the tent’s environs. There’s an ebb and flow that instantly catches my attention; subtle melodics blend with aggressive kinetics dovetailing with enduring precision.
Formed in 2020 these Yorkshire lads are a tight outfit and with the crypt-dwelling ‘Nebula’ layers of doom are, one by one, peeled back to reveal hidden depths. The dark melodics of ‘Ants’ – the second of three successive numbers drawn from recent EP ‘Dark Matter’ – sends Catton Park to oblivion with its guttural rage. The band’s spaceman fan receives a deserved shout-out – he’s been about advertising the set for a good while – talking to him outside the tent he’s travelled down from Scotland specially.
The infernal viper strike of ‘Grinding Hydraulic’ sends shivers whilst closing number ‘Darkest Cold’ is a most fine slab of progressive metal edging towards the territory belonging to TesseracT. There are tinges of Sabbath and Pantera herein too. This is a band which, on the face of it, should dwell well outside of my comfort zone. However, their crossover intellect has me enthralled and expanding my musical boundaries.
A sinister wind doth blow, stirring the cadaverous spectral environs afore it. German extreme metal outfit The Spirit announce their arrival. There’s little in the way of fuss; that’s not the way this Saarbrücken quartet do things. Treading a line somewhere between Heaven Shall Burn and Amorphis this is a band who have set out to take their chosen sub-genre and give it a none too subtle shake-up.
They’re straight into the tenebrous finery of opus ‘Against Humanity’ – their set-opener also the opening gambit upon last year’s ‘Songs Against Humanity gives ample demonstration of the high-degree of control imparted. The tornadic maelstrom threatens to turn noon into midnight before a downturn in the tempo illuminates. Think of a darkened Architects going into the atmospherics of Green Lung with a single switch flick. There’s melodics within the obsidian chromaticity.
With gothic underlying canorousness the uber-rapid ‘Room 101’ follows as it does on ‘Songs Against Humanity’. Eternal unconsciousness is cast into the wraithlike darkness. Cloudy skies are beginning to brighten as the Sabbath-ish growl of ‘Repugnant Human Scum’ titillates. Frontman Matthias Trautes punches his chest with clenched fist, Bloodstock saluted.
The metal storm continues to intensify with the epical ‘Celestial Fire’ raising hell. Trautes encourages “Bang those fucking heads!” Compliance need not be questioned the arena is already there. B.O.A. is sucked into the whirlpool that swirls as The Spirit segue ultra-seamlessly into the abyssal depths of ‘Nothingness Forever’. Blasting and ripping the breakdowns are deliciously brutal. The set-closing ‘The Clouds of Damnation’ ensures an eruption from demonic spheres. Skeletal fires from the pyres of Hades are unleashed.
The Spirit have achieved a masterful deliverance of darkness in a set that has bridged the morning into the afternoon. From AM into PM their harmonics have given an extra dimension to an enlightened artillery barrage of blackened metal. Mark this band as firmly upon my radar.
Drawing a noticeably sizeable crowd to the Ronnie James Dio stage Californian Thrash metallers Warbringer are in determined mood, for their first ever Bloodstock appearance, early on this warm afternoon. Cited as one of the ‘thrash metal revivalists’ of the late 2000’s – alongside the ilk of Evile and Gama Bomb – Warbringer brought old school thrash to a millennial generation raised upon tales of how feral fledgling thrash used to be at its point of inception.
The grandiose regal overtures of their majestic neo-classical intro herald their thunderous roar. Coming towards the end of a second lap of Europe the Statesiders could be excused for a touch of jadedness. However, this is far from the case and with considerable dynamics they speed headlong into the turbulence of the opening manoeuvre of ‘Fire Power Kills’. It’s stacked in the mid-80s pomp, and a circle pit opens swiftly, the maelstrom draws one and all in to shake off the excesses of the previous two days.
No thrills are necessary; none are requested in the shredding of ‘Hunter Seeker’. An mosher in an inflatable Shrek costume is espied in the midst of the carnage of the circling pit, Bloodstock in an absolute nutshell. It’s not quite one in the afternoon and the metaphorical fur is in the fullest of flight; the glorious ninth. Flames of death upon an unstoppable march the old school thrashing of ‘Crushed Beneath The Tracks’ achieves its stated mission with ample room for increased exertions should they be necessary.
Channelling the brethren of Hatebreed and Forbidden ‘Woe to the Vanquished’ generates sufficient destructive forces to metamorphose the mightiest of fortifications and ramparts to sub-molecular dust. Stand back and behold the dynamism of disintegration then dive headlong into the turbulent moshing. A colossal circle pit kicks up the dust; “Enter the cyclone!” roars vocalist John Kevill in the beautifully intransigent ‘Living In A Whirlpool’.
“You want some more?” enquires Kevill going on to give mention of the release of their seventh album, ‘Wrath and Ruin’, back in March. Hauled in from that particular offering, the sole inspection of this album, ‘The Sword & The Cross’ is a flash of the blade reflected in the shine of armour. With a longsword aloft Kevill punches the air. With a twin six-string solo, courtesy of Adam Carroll and Chase Becker, this mid-80s enthused thrasher receives deserved lofty adulation.
A startled wood pigeon wings it way across the arena like a bat outta hell from the trees behind the stage as the rhino-induced stampede of ‘Remain Violent’ fulminates loudly. Envisage the full force of Anthrax channelled through a Hatebreed filter and you’re on the correct highway. Hades is unmuzzled in the dark, demonic dynamics of ‘Living Weapon’. Chucky cackles in this impressive artillery barrage right out of the horrorlands. To a mahoosive Bloodstock roar Warbringer have cemented themselves into the festival’s folklore.
“There’s something going wrong here!” radiantly lilts Debbie Gough, the diminutive powerhouse of UK metal’s hot property Heriot. One of the fiercest challenges of a band’s mettle and fortitude is when the technical issues strike. A stuttering commencement, just after their arrival to Kiss’ ‘Rock And Roll All Nite’, blighted what should have been an impactful entrance. Gremlins have struck in waves comparable to that which befell Kingston Falls on Christmas Eve.
The fierce rage of ‘Sentenced to the Blade’ and ‘Enter the Flesh’ are severely truncated but the frantic endeavours of the stage techs eventually save the day. Thus, by time the doomy thrash, with its vibes of Brazilians Crypta and Nervosa, of ‘Siege Lord’ lets fly the metalcore quartet, to their credit, are in full swing. Out in the crowd, matching the whirling dervish that is Gough, a tinfoiled warrior – complete with sword and emblazoned shield – marshals the circling pit.
The remainder of the set focuses upon their debut album ‘Devoured by the Mouth of Hell’ with three single-only releases bolstering the ranks. One of these, the atmospheric ‘Demure’ is dedicated to the memory of Ozzy; the Prince of Darkness would, no doubt, have approved of its darkened obsidian hues as the whirlpool rotates wildly. The short, sharp onslaught of ‘Near Vision’ typifies what this outfit are all about. Impactful and with an immediate elbow to the mid-riff.
The ascendant despatch of ‘FoulVoid’ is, with its ethereal mid-section, a pummelling that thoroughly compels. The behemothic ‘Soul Chasm’ arises from its abyssal haven, a void so deep that it makes the Mariana Trench look like the merest of geomorphological scratches. Bassist Jake Packer kicks serious posterior as ‘Solvent Gaze’ extinguishes the dragon’s flames. Edging towards five minutes in length – an epic in Heriot’s terms – the brooding cathedral essence of ‘Mourn’ leaves behind an impact crater of monstrous proportions.
Channelling the call of the sirens themselves ‘Dispirit’ paves the way for the moody environs of ‘Opaline’. I’m taken back to Portishead’s Glastonbury ’95 appearance with the Beth Gibbons’ feel of Gough’s tender vocals. It’s an unexpected divergence and one that hints of the potential of future material.
The concluding ‘At The Fortress Gate’ delivers frenetic obliteration, Bloodstock roars and the tinfoil Siege Lord surfs. Heriot have overcome in an eventual triumph. Probably not a day they’d consider their best but one which a depth of character shone through winning new fans like myself.
Seriously? The screens either side of the Ronnie James Dio stage issue forewarnings of “Very loud bangs during this set” ahead of the appearance of Southampton’s Creeper; one of the most personally anticipated slots of the entire Bloodstock weekend. Whatever next? Warnings of loud music at gigs? Whomever is responsible matters not to me but it’s sure as heck a sign of further descent towards the ‘nanny state’.
Anyways, back to the far more important matter in hand. That of Creeper’s Bloodstock debut and their solitary UK festival to boot. The south coast vampires are preceded by a naturally horror themed intro with the muscular chiselled form of The Mistress of Death waving a recently decapitated head and axe aloft. Although it’s mid-afternoon and darkness is a good few hours away the six vamps that comprise Creeper emerge from the shadowy sidestage.
The rule is that vampires and daylight don’t mix but it’s quite apparent that rulebook has been dispensed with; after all someone’s lost their head! Released just the day before the anthemic ‘Blood Magick (It’s A Ritual)’ receives its live debut airing. Dusting off the sarcophagi labelled Alice Cooper and Sisters of Mercy the sextet performs a 21st century goth rock ritual upon the pair in a conflagrant genesis. “Drink the blood” urges vocalist Will Gould.
‘Lovers Led Astray’ – the first of five expeditions into the realms of ‘Sanguivore’ – Southampton’s equivalent of ‘The Lost Boys’ dunks the LA glam of Mötley Crüe into a gothique underworld with stunning results as keyboardist Hannah Greenwood steps forth to skipper the vocal duties. “Well, well, well Bloodstock how the fuck are you?” asks the seemingly Machiavellian Gould before further questioning “Are you down with the Devil?” The mass reply is as expected in the affirmative.
Occultic rock n’ roller ‘Teenage Sacrifice’ further increases the contagion with its hooky as heck form. This is precisely why this troupe from the underworld are so highly rated in Cimmerian shadows. Like a possessed bat from hell ‘Sacred Blasphemy’ scorches across Catton Park as the collective accelerator is pushed harder and harder. Beneath blue skies Gould gets the crowd singing during ‘Down Below’; a missile from six feet under which proves to be the singular visit to 2017’s debut ‘Eternity in Your Arms’.
Granular and arenaceous ‘The Ballad of Spook & Mercy’ provides a gentle embrace from the crypt. Ascendant balladic undertones provide the foundation for Ian ‘Jeff’ Miles’ searing solo. The announcement of the forthcoming album – ‘Sanguivore II – Mistress of Death’ – is to be released on Halloween is met with huge appreciative cheers and then followed by ‘Headstones’ the first single from it. The trampling horror rocker, in full Motörhead mode, draws energies from The Lost Boys. Full of fire and brimstone it bounces along as dust swirls upwards from the circle pit.
Gould finds inspiration from Vanian and Eldritch in the rousing anthemic ‘Cry To Heaven’; the vampire’s tale continues. It’s been a story just over a decade in the making from playing their hometown venue Joiners to a headline performance at the OVO Wembley Arena at the end of this year. Ghoulish nightmares do come true, just ask Creeper.
A duo of dancers afire, both wielding two flaming torches apiece meet mid-stage, offering the initial reception for London melodic metal outfit Neonfly. Drummer Declan Brown settles behind his kit before being joined by the rest of the band. Instantly their melodious take on NWOBHM ensnares offering an alluring lighter shade.
Very much in the vein of the cultural myth of Inuit and snow I’m pretty sure that Bloodstockers have a vast array of words for darkness. Nothing wrong with this as this is a festival crepuscular to its core; however, some moments of variance are always welcome from my perspective. Opening number ‘Highways to Nowhere’ hits the spectral drive with a modernistic take on Judas Priest thrown into a broiling lava pool that glistens a myriad of brightly daubed hues.
A rousing call to arms ‘Last of Our Kind’ is classic heavy metal which receives a good reception. Formed in 2008 Neonfly, on the face of it, aren’t the most prolific of bands in terms of recorded material. However, the opening brace of tracks, which give insight into their most recent two albums, serve notice that this is output of highest quality. The remainder of an extremely polished set is drawn, in the main, from 2021’s much-awaited ‘The Future Tonight’ long-player. Save for the resonant instrumental ‘Aztec Gold’ the band utilise their third Bloodstock appearance to showcase their most recent release. Frederick Thunder, fresh off European tour duties with Sisters of Mercy, indulges in a spot of fire breathing, something dramatic which I can safely say I’ve not witnessed from a musician before.
I find a touch of irony in the opening line of the lustrous ‘Beating Hearts’. Strongarm vocalist Willy Norton, possessor of a particularly fine set of pipes, proffers “We found a way to fight the darkness.” In the context of their surroundings their beacon shines noticeably more. The canorous strains of ‘The Future Tonight’ strike me as struck from a similar ore-bearing lode as German metallers Orden Ogan.
Arena-ready ‘More Than A Lifetime’ is reminiscent of primetime Journey / Boston and joyous for it. Guitarist Ryszard Gabrielczyk offers a fiery solo whilst Norton’s vocals utterly ooze pure emotion. ‘Final Warning’ crackles with emotionally charged electricity whilst the gracious speed metal of ‘The World Is Burning’ provides the perfect set closer. Neonfly, before this afternoon, were an unknown commodity who after 40 minutes have hugely impressed and are now firmly upon my rock n’ roll driven radar.
In the midst of a UK tour with Celestial Sanctuary, Mutagenic Host and Mammoth Grinder we find New Yorkers Undeath taking the time to slice up the environs of the Sophie Lancaster stage with their brutalistics. Vocalist Alex Jones unhingedly rages “Alright Bloodstock, let’s do this shit!” There’s a telling look in his eyes that communicates that he 110% means it.
The uber-rapidity of their set opener – ‘Dead From Beyond’ I believe – sets a doomy death metal benchmark. Followed by the swift pulverisation of ‘Rise From The Grave’ it doesn’t take long to conclude I’m well and truly outside of my musical comfort zone and however I might attempt to expand it to include my current surroundings I just can’t. The tent’s crowd is going ape and there’s a break-out of surfers to convey their pleasure; the band is at full throttle. It’s me that’s out of synch.
Amidst the horror-driven metal there’s guttural bludgeoning aplenty to satiate a blood-thirsty gathering. ‘Cramped Caskets (Necrology)’ and ‘Enter Patient’ serve malevolence by the coffin-load; it’s that sort of evening and it goes down a hell bound storm. It’s extremely unrelenting and equally unrepenting with ‘Chained to a Reeking Rotten Body’ a fine portrayal of Undeath’s particular brand of dismemberment.
Whilst not my cup of tea I won’t decry what Undeath do, that would be unjust and simply unfair. The horde has thoroughly devoured the band’s savage 40 minutes with the blood-lusting of the most apocalyptical of dimensions. Undeath have delivered precisely what was expected pouring molten lava across Catton Park; Krakatoa has nothing on these Americans.
Somewhere out in the Californian hills, on Highway 101, out of a headlong collision between behemoths Slayer and Metallica did the imperious majesty of Machine Head arise over thirty years ago. It was in the exulted company of these two aforementioned bands, at Donington Park, that I caught my first, and to date, last sniff of the monster that is Machine ‘Fuckin’ Head in action. Tonight’s headline slot, their only UK appearance of 2025, is a personal reconnection of just a couple of weeks shy of three decades.
Having been pumped up for Trivium’s headline slot 24 hours previous only for me to not press the button labelled ‘connect’ there was a more than slight anxiety that the same would befall me once again. Essentially with all but one of their eleven albums coming since that Donington appearance this was a ‘new’ band to me. However, I need not have been concerned about this as in the superb company of two very cherished friends (you know who you are) I was lifted from the ground and flew for the following hour and a half plus.
The atmosphere is elevated with curative precision in the minutes leading up to curtain-fall with Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ injecting a sing-along bacchanal festival vibrancy prior to Ozzy’s ‘Diary of a Madman’ offering a poignant pre-set moment of reflection. The intro ‘proper’ rolls thunderously as ‘In Comes The Flood’ with neoclassical splendour soothes the inky waters of the nearby Trent. The precariously hanging front stage drape descends upon a darkened stage, empty but for the swirling dry ice. Sole surviving founding member Rob Flynn roars “Bloodstock get your fists in the air!” in time honoured fashion.
With an eruption of fire and exploding pyrotechnics, as if it were the end of days, the marauding ‘Imperium’ slams right into the midriffs for miles about. It’s a safe bet that it isn’t just Catton Park that experiences these Richter Scale-worthy seismic tremors. The seething arena writhes from the outset as we switch centuries in the space of two tracks with the extremely heavy-duty ‘Ten Ton Hammer’ swaying its wrecking ball between thrash and metalcore. This, to all about me, confirms that Bloodstock has stolen the UK metal festival crown.
Flynn, ever keen to connect with the Bloodstock ensemble, notes raising a pint “To all my beer drinking friends, fucking cheers!” going on to add “It’s time for some Bay Area thrash metal!” There’s not a singular dissenting voice as the soundwarp into the fourth dimension of ‘CHØKE ØN THE ASHES ØF YØUR HATE’ wildly compels. The reverence is so tangible you can taste it as well as feel it; a spontaneous, repeated chant of “Machine Fucking Head” erupts across the ram-jammed arena.
‘Now We Die’ on a stage bathed red is followed by the ruthless earthquake of 2016’s single only release ‘Is There Anybody Out There?’ There’s no flim-flam nor bullshit, it’s 100% genuine. Flynn gives a shout-out to some fancy-dressed characters in the mosh pit; Banana Man, Shield Lord and Beer Box Jesus take a bow with the fruit-based former, to huge accolade, catching a Flynn-lobbed beer.
The sentiment-rich thrasher ‘ØUTSIDER’ brings things right up to date and with its chaotically sparking compatriot ‘BØNESCRAPER’ the pair neatly bracket the abyssal thunder of ‘Locust’. Flynn’s from the heart sincerity shines as he dedicates ‘Darkness Within’ to the memory of Machine Head’s PR of 30 years Michelle Kerr; with his voice clearly cracking a photo of Kerr and Flynn is projected behind. It’s an emotional moment that will remain long in the memory as thousands of lights shine out in the darkening riverside airs. The stained-glass windows of grace weep silent tears to sooth the raw wounds of this tragic loss. “You’re fucking amazing” footnotes Flynn and he means each word.
The headbanging masterpiece ‘Bulldozer’ is preceded by the wail of sirens as Flynn and Co. crank proceedings upwards for a final heave-ho. ‘From This Day’ transports back to 1999 and we remain in this decade for the firestorm of ‘Davidian’ – the only track, if I’m not mistaken, to remain from that Donington ’95 set. The anthemic opus ‘Halo’ is handed set closing responsibilities hollering right out of Satan’s furnace. The 30 year reconnect is completed without missing a beat and Machine Head set a new Bloodstock crowd-surfing record of 1011 in the process. What a way to end the day!
Photography by Kelly Spiller for MPM
