In a world where metal festivals are increasingly corporatized and emo-fied, Bloodstock shines like a beacon for the true metal faithful, guiding them towards the green, green grass of Catton Hall instead of the impressive allotments of Donington Castle or Knebworth House. And with a line-up of bands representing the full spectrum of metal (though surviving the weekend without hearing one Europe song not a bad thing) and an optimistic weather forecast to boot, all things pointed to it being one hell of a weekend.
From its humble beginnings in 2001 as an indoor metal shindig at the Derby Assembly Rooms witnessed by about 700 metalheads to its transmogrification in 2005 into a two day Open Air Festival and eventual expansion in 2007 into a three day metal extravaganza, every year has seen Bloodstock go from strength to strength and this year was no different. On August 13 the beacon was once again lit and the faithful heeded its call in record numbers, travelling not only every length and breadth of this not-so-large island but some even venturing from distant lands, all descending on the normally subdued village of Walton On Trent in Derbyshire for three days of pure unadulterated metal.
My Bloodstock experience had only made it past the one hour mark on the Thursday night when during what has now become the seemingly stipulated act on any festival’s line-up - specifically the human freak show/circus sideshow act which in this case was called Circus Insane - some dude projectile vomited outside the tent where the Circus Insane performer was vainly trying to maintain the attention of a mostly indifferent crowd. To his credit the projectile vomiter managed to stay standing fully erect whilst doing so, a feat considerably more impressive than anything the guy on stage attempted.
11am on Friday and the sun was shining almost as brightly as the super keen faces already down at the main stage ready for Million Dollar Reload to officially kick off Bloodstock 09. I, however, was at the unsigned tent watching the likes of Bison Hammer, Bloodshot Dawn and Left To Bleed pump out their Lamb Of God tinged-, technical death/thrash- and melodic death metal respectively, only heading over to the main stage for the beer-infused thrashtastic fun that is Municipal Waste in the afternoon. The circle pits and wall of death didn’t seem to satisfy the Waste though, so they attempted to get a world record breaking number of crowd surfers during one song, and in spite of its legitimacy being questionable it’s entertainment value certainly wasn’t. This was followed by Katatonia heaping their atmospheric misery upon all present under a cloud-laden sky, a brief and melancholy respite from the thrash they both shadowed and preceded, before seminal German Thrash legends Sodom waltzed on stage greeted by the roars of a rapturous crowd. It’s been twenty years since their last gig in these here parts, not that it showed as they laid the smack down to bands half their age and showed us all exactly how its done.
Saxon played the inaugural Bloodstock Indoor Festival eight years ago and again in 2003, but this was their first time appearing at the open air incarnation and it’s safe to assume most present were familiar with at least a few of those British heavy metal stalwarts' back catalogue, with most songs transforming into collective sing-along’s during the chorus. Judging by the number of Arch Enemy t-shirts gracing the backs of particularly the younger element of the crowd, here was a band with it’s fair share of supporters, and though there’s no questioning the almost inhuman precision with which they delivered their melodic death metal as the day turned into night, it’s flawlessness was almost too clinical, hurled at the crowd yet not ever really connecting with them. Not so Carcass, death metal titans and Friday night co-headliners who, in spite of a few technical hitches and some ill-timed pyrotechnics during their performance, bonded with the crowd and put on an actual show, reminding us all in case we forgot why theirs was one of the most recent reformations that actually matters.
After missing Saturday main stage openers Uncle Rotter I awoke in time for Finnish death/power/folk metal hybrids Battlelore, and despite the relatively early timeslot and the copious amounts of assorted beverages imbibed the night before by many present, the crowd responded rather positively. When Wolf walked onstage all decked out in matching Anvil t-shirts you knew some old school metal was on the cards and they pounded it out with such exuberance and enthusiasm one could be forgiven for assuming that they, like many punters, may have started the day with a liquid breakfast. The afternoon’s death meets thrash session commenced in brutal style with The Haunted slamming through their songs with controlled aggression, demanding and winning over the attention of anyone still bleary-eyed from the night before with a set as engaging as it was unrelenting. With the sun still dominating the festivities Swedish death metal demigods Entombed had only forty minutes to make their point and they wasted no time in getting to it with their crushing, groove-inflected death metal ditties, frontman LG Petrov’s disarmingly drunken banter a hit with the crowd, and the response given to them as they finished their set evidence it was a point definitely worth making.
At this stage in the proceedings and in the spirit of all things ferocious and forceful, I ducked over to the unsigned tent to catch the midlands very own Internal Conflict blast through an uncompromising set equal parts high-speed melodic riffage, homicidal death grunts and thrashed out rhythms, the end result being akin to a sonic battering ram. Back to the main stage and a little repartee from the death/thrash onslaught, Candlemass are British festival virgins and a set comprising their trademark doom-soaked epics both old and new managed to cast a metaphorical yet oppressively dark cloud over everyone despite blue skies reigning supreme. Enslaved showed us all how progressive black metal should sound - as anthemic as possible apparently, before Kreator sent the crowd nuts with some good old fashioned thrash done the German way. Proving we can’t seem to get enough of those crazy Deutschlanders, Blind Guardian’s placement as co-headliners was greeted with a warm reception by a crowd showing no signs of weakness despite a full day’s exposure to solar rays, beer and shitty food, the power metal rousing heart-felt crowd interaction and smiles all around.
Not exactly the purveyors of all things heart-felt and smile-inducing, agent provocateurs of controversy Cradle Of Filth nevertheless encourage extreme reactions to their music and so it is with a slither of irony that Saturday’s show, which up until the boiled sweet incident had been going so well, was brought to a premature end when some lone idiot threw what some claim to have been a gobstopper on stage, hitting and allegedly injuring a band member. As the band disappeared into the dark recesses of the backstage area without finishing their set to the dismay of presumably some present, at least they did so safe in the knowledge that controversy was achieved, albeit at the hands of a seemingly innocuous confection, and the rest of us can all but collectively muse upon what might have been.
Although on Sunday the clouds returned, their fury was still yet to be unleashed and at the risk of jinxing us all I couldn’t help but think we may all get out of this dry. If there was any doubting the Battle/Viking tinged element featuring highly in many of Sunday’s bands aesthetics then all one had to do was take a sideways glance to notice that more punters on this day than any other were wielding inflatable battle axes, drinking horns at the ready and wearing enough fur and face paint as to scare small children and the elderly. With their preoccupation with all things military Swedish power metallers Sabaton weren’t out of place in front of this gung-ho bunch of costumed mentalists, though the same couldn’t be said of Girlschool, whose NWOBHM though pumped out with dexterity and aplomb never really took off, though this may have been partly due to the constant technical issues in between songs.
Choosing corpse paint over folk metal I left behind Equilibrium and headed on over to see Primitive Graven Image in the unsigned tent and although their roots are very black indeed this hasn’t prevented them from effectively incorporating elements from thrash, death and even 70s prog rock into their sound, serving it all up with face-melting speed and chaotic intensity. Back at the main stage Finnish Viking metal warriors Turisas worked the crowd into a frenzied mass of flag-waving nutters with their amped-up sea shanties and commanding stage presence, possibly one of the most entertaining performances of the entire weekend. A hard act to follow indeed but Portugal’s ‘used to be black then went goth then kinda went back to black again so let’s just call them pretty dark’ Moonspell did an admirable job, waving their heavy wand in an effort to bring back a little night into everyone’s day before Amon Amarth tore shreds off everyone’s fur-trimmed Viking gear by blasting through some Nordic legends done death metal style. Frontman Johan commandeered the stage, more tree than man to be fair, and I challenge anyone not to pay full attention when he delivers his husky-throated sermons if for no other reason than the fear of invoking his full Viking wrath upon their pretty little heads. But just when I thought I had him all sussed he goes and shows us his sensitive side by getting everyone to wish some girl happy birthday at the request of a ten year old fan. Bless.
The corpse paint may be long gone but black their hearts remain and Satyricon’s performance, an inspired diatribe fuelled by cold-hearted aggression, made for compulsive festival viewing. Their menacing mantras were served up with calculated conviction and bolstered by Frost’s scathing percussive onslaught, Satyr stalking the stage like a man with nothing left to prove, reeling his audience in with grandiose communal chanting when the immaculate performance threatened to alienate the more shall we say old-school vestiges of the crowd.
Then, in a move possibly considered scandalous by some yet applauded by others, I chose to say my final farewell to the main stage at this juncture, foregoing the Europe experience for some prime cuts of metal care of the Four DJ’s of the Apocalypse in the Sophie Lancaster tent, followed by the oft-times crap but usually entertaining metal Karaoke, and when I’d had my fill and slowly stumbled towards my temporary canvas abode reflecting back on what was a magnificent weekend of metal, I couldn’t help but smile wryly as I walked past some chick singing ‘The Final Countdown’ to herself. Damn you Europe. Damn you to hell.