Post by markwj on Jun 30, 2008 16:17:20 GMT
Hellfest
Clisson, France
20-22/6/08
Of course it was going to do exactly what it said on the tin, but we all create our own hells, don’t we? What particular variety would this one be? Not all of us choose to dive head first into them with glorious abandon but I gave up my pound of flesh for this pleasure some months in advance. Despite not going to a proper festival since the early 90’s (barring Skinflick’s Leipzig expedition, but of course that was rock star luxury as opposed to tented survivalism) a line-up to die for coinciding with coincidental freedom from my commitments in the real world meant me and 5 other members of the North Wales Sith Temple (disciples of the “Darth Vader’s here” Holyhead nutter) headed South of Heaven/Nantes.
After gathering the forces on the Thursday we headed to pay our disrespects to John Lennon at his airport. Despite paying a massive TWO POUNDS!!! to fast track through security we found the plane delayed which tragically led to more drinking time. We were in good company though, with the likes of Anathema and Paradise Lost sharing our budget flight and I took the opportunity to remind Carcass’s Jeff Walker of Blacklisted’s support slot to them at the Wrexham Memorial Hall, which maybe meant more to me than it did to him. In spite of his cynicism over their own cynical cash-in reformation he still raised a glass to the past and progress (including the Memorial Hall now being buried under a Tesco car park).
There was a fantastic atmosphere on the short ride plane, bubbling anticipation, and lots of new and old friends from all over. Naturally on arrival after 10pm we had to pass through purgatory which in this case consisted of our best laid plans of a hotel for the night (to avoid setting up tents in the dark) falling through (cheers expedia) and us indeed having to set up tents in the near dark at about 2am. Fortunately the adjacent beer tent was open till 4 so we felt we had earned a few night caps (and a goose baguette).
A mere couple of hours later the dawn is broken with a tumult of demonic roars, as the tented army warm up with their death metal battle cries for the coming Armageddon. But before that there’s a trip to the supermarche. Only about 15 minutes walk but already the heat is becoming oppressive and it seems we’re in for a roasting, instead of the 3 days of rain that apparently was endured last year. There had been a lot of criticism of the organisation last year but lessons had evidently been learned and it was hard to fault the set-up this time around. Our return trip from the shops had a bit of an epic desert quest about it, largely due to our eyes being bigger than our livers and French booze prices scandalously encouraging our bingeing.
After refreshments we heard things get fired up but resisted the urge to see Ultra Vomit and wandered on down soon after. Things were kicked off for us fine style via a tip off with Born From Pain, playing some sharp metallic hardcore, and getting things bouncing.
With the two main stages adjacent to each other things were set up for swift alternating, in time and style, of the bands but Eluveitie’s folk metal with (goat bagpipes!) wasn’t of great appeal as we had a scout around before returning for thrash masters Death Angel. In what will be a recurring theme I hadn’t seen these since the old days but they definitely still cut it, new and old material balanced, tremendous drumming and vocals, and a quirkiness to their writing that set them apart.
I’d been looking forward to seeing Madball next but they’d swapped slots with Bleeding Through who were ok at their more melodic hardcore but I imagine not as good, but Danko Jones’s rocky cliches definitely weren’t so best heard from a campsite distance away.
Back to pay some element of respect for Paradise Lost who have gone a long way via stadium goth-rock massiveness from their doomy death beginnings when I last saw them, to some middling ground now, both in their standing and the somewhat played out impact they effected. Much greater anticipation for Mayhem, veritable legends in the black metal genre, though their visual impact maybe limited in the bright sun, singer Attila’s cabaret costume de jour was SS priest stylee. Musically, primitive and chaotic, at times hitting their unholy relentless groove but at others hard to tell if they were deliberately recreating the simplistic style of some of their album productions or it was just poor sound. No let up next with a seismic shift of direction next door for US hardcore legends Sick of It All. As soon as they come on stage I’m reminded just how effortlessly bad mofo’s they are (last seen whilst doing (pointless) stage security for them upstairs at the Picket in Liverpool c.1991), they create the most unbelievable dust storm raising circle pits without even having to ask. Though I only knew a handful of songs they all hit the spot with their charging rhythms and shout along lyrics. Their wall of death with literally thousands of people is like some mediaeval battleground, but everyone is beaming with joy.
A brief break, then to watch Dimmu Borgir from a distance. They have a strong reputation for their stage show and their “mainstream” black metal stylings have made them massive with the kids but whether that was a bit lost out in the sun it didn’t make a great impact on me. What did though was Testament next, US heavy thrash I last saw with a van load of North Walians at a one-off down in London in maybe 1990. Definitely one of my must sees, I was straight “Into the Pit” and they delivered wonderfully, a lot of old school in the set, thundering along with Chuck Billy’s commanding roar/melody vocal mix. They have maintained a great consistency and were massively well received.
Still only 10 and time to wander and marvel at the night time entertainments, trippy lighting towers, the casualties, the euro totty. I made my first brief visit to the 3rd stage, a separate tent, to see Marduk, having heard their death/black mix highly rated but in my brief stay at the back it didn’t really stand out from the generic. Anyway, Carcass were next and this was another must. My age and location meant I’d been lucky enough to see them on many an occasion, never mind supporting and roadie for them too, but as they’d been wound up for over a decade there were so many, many people who said they genuinely thought this opportunity would never came. This was only the second of their return gigs but the set selection from their gore grind roots, through the tech death epoch to the more tortured accessibility of their later stuff was a pleasure to the ears. The performance was effective but unspectacular; Bill Steer was far more bouncy on guitar than he had ever been in the olden days, Jeff dedicated “Reek of Putrefaction” to all those on the Ryanair flight which was nice. There had been an added dubiousness to this open cash-in comeback due to the inability of original drummer Ken Owen to participate as he is still recovering from a brain haemorrhage. So while giving him a ¼ of the takings is a grand gesture having him shuffle out on stage unannounced to give a couple of lines is not only awkward but massively sad. But there you go, it’s the nature of business. They have subsequently announced they’ll be playing their only UK gig at this year’s Damnation Festival in Leeds, probably sold out already! The final headliner for this killer day is Venom which is a mixed un-blessing. They undoubtedly have legendary status with regard to being seminal in many fields of the darker side of metal but now just consist of vocalist/bassist Cronos with some session musicians. The down side is they were renowned as rubbish originally and certainly seem to recreate that effectively now. Starting with their most famous “Black Metal” it’s all a bit rough and ropey and as you get the impression it’s just going to go downhill from there we grab the opportunity to shuffle of this mortal coil and leave them to it to, listen from a distance, thoroughly drained. The gods register their displeasure with electrical storms far out to the west but then vision becomes blurry
There’s a much more peaceful start to Saturday as everyone has evidently equally overdone it, but the blazing sun shows no mercy, and equivalent amounts of rehydrating and dehydrating liquids are required to fuel us for the day ahead. Again we’re off to a winner as the recommended Airbourne put on an excellent impression of their fellow Aussie AC/DC’s shameless hard rocking, raising a broad smile though my legs are struggling to keep me upright. Bit of Sodom in passing that is much better than I expected (the band and their heavy thrash that is), before deep into the 3rd stage tent for Disfear. Swedish D-beat fury that is supercharged, playing “In the shadow of the Horns” second in just gets the place raging. Their punk/metal cross-over is perfectly pitched and I’m convinced to buy their new album soon. Another dose of black with more old stagers Satyricon back on the second stage, they have polished up/restrained their act in recent times but I found them to be more effective than Dimmu still.
There’s a bit of a prog/trad metal spell to the bills for a bit so another supermarket trek and general chillout/burnup sesh for the afternoon. Accept the fact that not going to be able to see all of the huge proportion of the quality bands on that I want too, but you still get to hear them from afar because ultimately even though there’s about 15,000 a day through the gates it is a relatively small festival (less than a 10th of Download?). The vast majority of attendees were French, with a sizable contingent from the UK, but also there were folks from the frozen Norths, South America, all over, it was a real draw. Universal friendliness too, no attitudes, everyone baking and wasted in the sun, hopefully we represented for Pais du Galles. Anyway, our downtime is used constructively/destructively (for braincells) and it’s back for the evening shift. Into the tent for Watain on the strength of one album heard and they certainly strike as the best of the black metallers of the weekend. Churning riffs with a filthy deep bass sound, a couple of black candles lit stage front for the ceremony, they are a fearsome entity. We rest our weary legs for the final round and enjoy Helloween’s classic heavy metal set, giving me a lovely flashback to the two full decades before with them opening up at Donington, where as a freshfaced/spotty youth I was merely setting out on this slippery path to damnation. Apparently, jamming with Gamma Ray, they had about 7 guitarists on stage at the end, a full-on celebration of twiddly excess. We were diverted however back into the tent with a recommendation of some spectacle associated with French band Punish Yourself and they certainly were one to remember. More of a techno-punk style so a contrast to the bulk of bands present, they reminded a bit of KMFDM as the place turned into virtually a banging rave, all lasers and luminescent paints. I heard afterwards the singer broke 5 ribs in a stage dive gone wrong but they seemed to carry on regardless. The locals certainly gave them much respect, chatting to some after they freely admitted that there are few French bands that are not generic, but these and Gojira are dear to them for rising above that. They were also always apologising about their standard of English but nonsense, my failed o-level French was sub-basic. I am forever in love with une belle fille du Angers who’s English at the wine bar consisted of “I have big tits? You suck?” Rude to refuse.
Anyway, we walked and talked as we were all eager to catch Ministry back on the second stage. I loved them a few years back in Manchester but had heard dodginess about the standard of this (alleged) final album/tour. Still, take it as it comes and it was fine. A big thrash bias with a lot of their recent Bush-baiting albums, Al did look a bit like the industrial Ozzy (not a good thing) behind the wire mesh screens they had set up, so maybe calling it a day is wise. Only a short set but to finish with one of my all time favourites, “Thieves”, made it a fond and fucked-up farewell for me.
I had been moderately dubious about the final headliners but then again it was Sepultura so I should have had more faith. Yeah, they may call themselves “The Cavelera Conspiracy” after the two brothers (who formed the Seps in the first place but left through non-amicable circumstances at different times) but I think the conspiracy comes in them being as close to the core of what that band means as is the current incarnation that continues without them. So with a set made up of 1/3 Sepultura songs, (including “Arise” yay) some Nailbomb, and their own stuff that matches it pretty much stylistically anyway, it’s another winner and finishes day two on a high.
Another day, the vats of red wine and blonde beer have now reached optimum operating temperature at the campsite and we’re up for the end of days, an onslaught that all preceding has just been a bombardment softening us up for. Though fires are banned we fortunately have a meths expert (burning not drinking) among the living dead who keeps us in touch with civilisation with the odd brew and meal in a packet, a hero of the campaign! The sun beats down and the beats kick in, all enjoy the retro- cross-over thrash mentalness of Municipal Waste. Funny songs, entertaining show, spotting a Sponge Bob in the crowd they encourage us to “kill, kill, kill” but he gets away with it. This time. More conventional thrash next with yet another reformation, Bay Area (SF not Colwyn) originals Forbidden, really solid classic riffs, though we did wonder if the hefty singer and guitarist had eaten some of the former members. In the tent check out another home-grown band, Year of No Light, and they impress with their thoughtful and pounding post-metal, the singer/keyboardist’s sparse roars taking me back to early Cult of Luna.
It’s already sweltering in there so it’s repeatedly out and then in again, to be next blown away by Origin. I had heard their blisteringly fast tech death before but seeing them up close was just a revelation. In particular, never have I seen bass action like it, I was gobsmacked and started reassessing my entire playing in the light of it. Combined with a pitbull vocalist they were top notch surgical brutality. Ireland’s Primordial I had expected to be a bit more extreme than they were, but perhaps I was recalling their darker origins when I’m sure we played alongside them with Hecate Enthroned. Anyway, there was no mistaking the quality of songwriting in their anthemic doomy metal, stirring tunes conducted by a masterful frontman. Back to the main stages for Obituary, the masters of sick death. Been a while since their comeback now but the impact far from dissipated, not when riff master Trevor Peres can still wrench out the likes “Find the Arise” and “Chopped in Half” while John Tardy retches from the depths of his guts over the top.
The last break back at the tent before the drunken and punch drunk final round/s. In for My Dying Bride, who I feel struck with guilt for neglected for far too long, as despite their sunlit performance they conjured up such an atmosphere of epic morose majesty with their gothic doom it almost brought a tear to my eye. Singer Aaron acts out a minimalist tragedy of emotion at the heart of it, and frankly they piss all over Paradise Lost efforts to do the same. With an almost 180 degree shift in tack, next up are NOFX. They obviously feel they stick out like a saw thumb on the bill and defend on the attack with a veritable ton of abuse hurled at us all, as is their way, but far from provoking any adverse reaction everyone is hilariously entertained. It’s the usual seemingly chaotic set, “Champs Elysee” and “Franco Un-American” thrown in to please the locals as far as possible, but it’s all good, even the predictable unending accordion solo at the end. Yet another back from the dead band next, At the Gates, regarded as seminal in the death-core wave that followed the main death tsunami. Tomas from Disfear is back again to provide vocals and there similarities to his current band are evident, more death orientated but still with the hyper-riffing, battering drums, fury unleashed. Despite the awesome set I have but a moment to feel short changed before we get an encore of “Blinded by Fear” (one of my all time top tens) and the epic harshness of “Kingdom Gone”.
In the dark now we observe Motorhead from afar. What is there to say? With new album “Motorizer” they roll on, the runaway engine that has levelled all before it. They play a pretty slower paced set with old epics such as “I got mine” and “just cause you’ve got the power” bulking up the heart of it, there’s even a drum solo, I guess it’s pacing themselves to an extent, but jeez, Lemmy (the famous ex-north Walian ;-)) is past retiring yet remains the best advert for selling soul for rock and roll there is. Anyway the intro chords of “killed by death” inspire some rising from the grave on motorbike action (see video) with the added pleaser of scantily clad writhing ladies (break out the 12x zoom) before we are treated to the monstrous ending of “AOS” and “Overkill”. The last to complete the rite of resurrection for the weekend are Morbid Angel and I’d forgotten what a vicious proposition of a band they were, thinking back again to Wrexham or the Grindcrusher tour in the old Manchester International II. Although they have been knocking about in various forms based around their guitarist Trey Azagthoth, the recent (repeat) return of original bassist/vocalist David Vincent had brought them close to their original strength. This was certainly hammered home with at least four numbers off their “Altars of Madness” debut, including the splendid “Chapel of Ghouls”, but new material aired was definitely up to scratch and to look forward to. The last nail in our beckoning coffin comes with… well, who else could possibly encompass, sustain and complete the weekend? “Fucking” Slayer, that’s who. I hadn’t seen them since the Clash of the Titans tour and again was deeply aware of my sin of omission but also knew that whenever, wherever, they never, ever fail. As soon as they stand out in front of their walls of Marshalls, silhouetted by the backlight, you know the end is nigh. Starting off with stuff from their newest “Christ Illusion” album, the power is massive. They do take a break off stage between virtually every song but then again they are also old men (even older than me!) pacing themselves, but then the crowd itself is not quite as mental as expected as I suspect nearly everyone like me is running on empty adrenaline now. Tom Araya is laid back to the point of comatose in front of the mike, but nothing needs to be said really, everyone knows the score. It’s testament to their legendary status though that they can eke out all our last reserves with a set of their almighty songs, culminating their main set with “Raining Blood” before the encore of “Mandatory Suicide” and “Angel of Death”. Hell is indeed empty, and all the devils (with the best tunes) are here.
A proportion of the folks had packed to leave on the Sunday itself and this continues through the Monday. However, with our flight back not until the Tuesday we were some of the last to leave the warzone, indulging in campsite Olympics (tent pole javelin, beer bottle shot put, bogroll football etc), opening an abandoned furniture and booze warehouse, generally surveying the aftermath with rictus grins. We went into the pretty mediaeval Conwy-esque town of Clisson and chilled with our dwindling supplies by the castle and river. Then, via another twilight zone excursion in a mall in the middle of sub-urban nowhere, where we discovered the use of English was far from as widespread as may have been imagined, we made it to the hotel of previous frustration. A night at the bar there, telling tales of yore resulting in many a split side and requests for quiet from other residents in the early hours. Noticed that wherever there was a background noise, passing traffic, air-con units, it was transmuted into riffs, hearing evidently shagged or the echoes of music overload in my head. Finally, the next day up to the city of Nantes which was beautiful in it’s own right, voted the greenest city in the country, and we attempted (largely failing) to re-integrate ourselves into society through café culture, still seeking whatever shade from the light we could find. Didn’t have time to see the 60’ high robotic elephant but it is highly recommended anyway. There were at least a couple of varieties of public transport we hadn’t used so we got these out of the way back to the airport. Many fellow stragglers gathered back for the same trip, some only a matter of time before they headed off to the next expedition (e.g. Metal Camp, 7 days on a beach in Slovenia?!?) that seem to be popping up all the more frequently across the continent through the summer. I’d go back to Hell any day, but maybe Brutal Assault, With Full Force, or Obscene Extreme would turn out to be just as good alternatives. They’ve got names to live up to.
Clisson, France
20-22/6/08
Of course it was going to do exactly what it said on the tin, but we all create our own hells, don’t we? What particular variety would this one be? Not all of us choose to dive head first into them with glorious abandon but I gave up my pound of flesh for this pleasure some months in advance. Despite not going to a proper festival since the early 90’s (barring Skinflick’s Leipzig expedition, but of course that was rock star luxury as opposed to tented survivalism) a line-up to die for coinciding with coincidental freedom from my commitments in the real world meant me and 5 other members of the North Wales Sith Temple (disciples of the “Darth Vader’s here” Holyhead nutter) headed South of Heaven/Nantes.
After gathering the forces on the Thursday we headed to pay our disrespects to John Lennon at his airport. Despite paying a massive TWO POUNDS!!! to fast track through security we found the plane delayed which tragically led to more drinking time. We were in good company though, with the likes of Anathema and Paradise Lost sharing our budget flight and I took the opportunity to remind Carcass’s Jeff Walker of Blacklisted’s support slot to them at the Wrexham Memorial Hall, which maybe meant more to me than it did to him. In spite of his cynicism over their own cynical cash-in reformation he still raised a glass to the past and progress (including the Memorial Hall now being buried under a Tesco car park).
There was a fantastic atmosphere on the short ride plane, bubbling anticipation, and lots of new and old friends from all over. Naturally on arrival after 10pm we had to pass through purgatory which in this case consisted of our best laid plans of a hotel for the night (to avoid setting up tents in the dark) falling through (cheers expedia) and us indeed having to set up tents in the near dark at about 2am. Fortunately the adjacent beer tent was open till 4 so we felt we had earned a few night caps (and a goose baguette).
A mere couple of hours later the dawn is broken with a tumult of demonic roars, as the tented army warm up with their death metal battle cries for the coming Armageddon. But before that there’s a trip to the supermarche. Only about 15 minutes walk but already the heat is becoming oppressive and it seems we’re in for a roasting, instead of the 3 days of rain that apparently was endured last year. There had been a lot of criticism of the organisation last year but lessons had evidently been learned and it was hard to fault the set-up this time around. Our return trip from the shops had a bit of an epic desert quest about it, largely due to our eyes being bigger than our livers and French booze prices scandalously encouraging our bingeing.
After refreshments we heard things get fired up but resisted the urge to see Ultra Vomit and wandered on down soon after. Things were kicked off for us fine style via a tip off with Born From Pain, playing some sharp metallic hardcore, and getting things bouncing.
With the two main stages adjacent to each other things were set up for swift alternating, in time and style, of the bands but Eluveitie’s folk metal with (goat bagpipes!) wasn’t of great appeal as we had a scout around before returning for thrash masters Death Angel. In what will be a recurring theme I hadn’t seen these since the old days but they definitely still cut it, new and old material balanced, tremendous drumming and vocals, and a quirkiness to their writing that set them apart.
I’d been looking forward to seeing Madball next but they’d swapped slots with Bleeding Through who were ok at their more melodic hardcore but I imagine not as good, but Danko Jones’s rocky cliches definitely weren’t so best heard from a campsite distance away.
Back to pay some element of respect for Paradise Lost who have gone a long way via stadium goth-rock massiveness from their doomy death beginnings when I last saw them, to some middling ground now, both in their standing and the somewhat played out impact they effected. Much greater anticipation for Mayhem, veritable legends in the black metal genre, though their visual impact maybe limited in the bright sun, singer Attila’s cabaret costume de jour was SS priest stylee. Musically, primitive and chaotic, at times hitting their unholy relentless groove but at others hard to tell if they were deliberately recreating the simplistic style of some of their album productions or it was just poor sound. No let up next with a seismic shift of direction next door for US hardcore legends Sick of It All. As soon as they come on stage I’m reminded just how effortlessly bad mofo’s they are (last seen whilst doing (pointless) stage security for them upstairs at the Picket in Liverpool c.1991), they create the most unbelievable dust storm raising circle pits without even having to ask. Though I only knew a handful of songs they all hit the spot with their charging rhythms and shout along lyrics. Their wall of death with literally thousands of people is like some mediaeval battleground, but everyone is beaming with joy.
A brief break, then to watch Dimmu Borgir from a distance. They have a strong reputation for their stage show and their “mainstream” black metal stylings have made them massive with the kids but whether that was a bit lost out in the sun it didn’t make a great impact on me. What did though was Testament next, US heavy thrash I last saw with a van load of North Walians at a one-off down in London in maybe 1990. Definitely one of my must sees, I was straight “Into the Pit” and they delivered wonderfully, a lot of old school in the set, thundering along with Chuck Billy’s commanding roar/melody vocal mix. They have maintained a great consistency and were massively well received.
Still only 10 and time to wander and marvel at the night time entertainments, trippy lighting towers, the casualties, the euro totty. I made my first brief visit to the 3rd stage, a separate tent, to see Marduk, having heard their death/black mix highly rated but in my brief stay at the back it didn’t really stand out from the generic. Anyway, Carcass were next and this was another must. My age and location meant I’d been lucky enough to see them on many an occasion, never mind supporting and roadie for them too, but as they’d been wound up for over a decade there were so many, many people who said they genuinely thought this opportunity would never came. This was only the second of their return gigs but the set selection from their gore grind roots, through the tech death epoch to the more tortured accessibility of their later stuff was a pleasure to the ears. The performance was effective but unspectacular; Bill Steer was far more bouncy on guitar than he had ever been in the olden days, Jeff dedicated “Reek of Putrefaction” to all those on the Ryanair flight which was nice. There had been an added dubiousness to this open cash-in comeback due to the inability of original drummer Ken Owen to participate as he is still recovering from a brain haemorrhage. So while giving him a ¼ of the takings is a grand gesture having him shuffle out on stage unannounced to give a couple of lines is not only awkward but massively sad. But there you go, it’s the nature of business. They have subsequently announced they’ll be playing their only UK gig at this year’s Damnation Festival in Leeds, probably sold out already! The final headliner for this killer day is Venom which is a mixed un-blessing. They undoubtedly have legendary status with regard to being seminal in many fields of the darker side of metal but now just consist of vocalist/bassist Cronos with some session musicians. The down side is they were renowned as rubbish originally and certainly seem to recreate that effectively now. Starting with their most famous “Black Metal” it’s all a bit rough and ropey and as you get the impression it’s just going to go downhill from there we grab the opportunity to shuffle of this mortal coil and leave them to it to, listen from a distance, thoroughly drained. The gods register their displeasure with electrical storms far out to the west but then vision becomes blurry
There’s a much more peaceful start to Saturday as everyone has evidently equally overdone it, but the blazing sun shows no mercy, and equivalent amounts of rehydrating and dehydrating liquids are required to fuel us for the day ahead. Again we’re off to a winner as the recommended Airbourne put on an excellent impression of their fellow Aussie AC/DC’s shameless hard rocking, raising a broad smile though my legs are struggling to keep me upright. Bit of Sodom in passing that is much better than I expected (the band and their heavy thrash that is), before deep into the 3rd stage tent for Disfear. Swedish D-beat fury that is supercharged, playing “In the shadow of the Horns” second in just gets the place raging. Their punk/metal cross-over is perfectly pitched and I’m convinced to buy their new album soon. Another dose of black with more old stagers Satyricon back on the second stage, they have polished up/restrained their act in recent times but I found them to be more effective than Dimmu still.
There’s a bit of a prog/trad metal spell to the bills for a bit so another supermarket trek and general chillout/burnup sesh for the afternoon. Accept the fact that not going to be able to see all of the huge proportion of the quality bands on that I want too, but you still get to hear them from afar because ultimately even though there’s about 15,000 a day through the gates it is a relatively small festival (less than a 10th of Download?). The vast majority of attendees were French, with a sizable contingent from the UK, but also there were folks from the frozen Norths, South America, all over, it was a real draw. Universal friendliness too, no attitudes, everyone baking and wasted in the sun, hopefully we represented for Pais du Galles. Anyway, our downtime is used constructively/destructively (for braincells) and it’s back for the evening shift. Into the tent for Watain on the strength of one album heard and they certainly strike as the best of the black metallers of the weekend. Churning riffs with a filthy deep bass sound, a couple of black candles lit stage front for the ceremony, they are a fearsome entity. We rest our weary legs for the final round and enjoy Helloween’s classic heavy metal set, giving me a lovely flashback to the two full decades before with them opening up at Donington, where as a freshfaced/spotty youth I was merely setting out on this slippery path to damnation. Apparently, jamming with Gamma Ray, they had about 7 guitarists on stage at the end, a full-on celebration of twiddly excess. We were diverted however back into the tent with a recommendation of some spectacle associated with French band Punish Yourself and they certainly were one to remember. More of a techno-punk style so a contrast to the bulk of bands present, they reminded a bit of KMFDM as the place turned into virtually a banging rave, all lasers and luminescent paints. I heard afterwards the singer broke 5 ribs in a stage dive gone wrong but they seemed to carry on regardless. The locals certainly gave them much respect, chatting to some after they freely admitted that there are few French bands that are not generic, but these and Gojira are dear to them for rising above that. They were also always apologising about their standard of English but nonsense, my failed o-level French was sub-basic. I am forever in love with une belle fille du Angers who’s English at the wine bar consisted of “I have big tits? You suck?” Rude to refuse.
Anyway, we walked and talked as we were all eager to catch Ministry back on the second stage. I loved them a few years back in Manchester but had heard dodginess about the standard of this (alleged) final album/tour. Still, take it as it comes and it was fine. A big thrash bias with a lot of their recent Bush-baiting albums, Al did look a bit like the industrial Ozzy (not a good thing) behind the wire mesh screens they had set up, so maybe calling it a day is wise. Only a short set but to finish with one of my all time favourites, “Thieves”, made it a fond and fucked-up farewell for me.
I had been moderately dubious about the final headliners but then again it was Sepultura so I should have had more faith. Yeah, they may call themselves “The Cavelera Conspiracy” after the two brothers (who formed the Seps in the first place but left through non-amicable circumstances at different times) but I think the conspiracy comes in them being as close to the core of what that band means as is the current incarnation that continues without them. So with a set made up of 1/3 Sepultura songs, (including “Arise” yay) some Nailbomb, and their own stuff that matches it pretty much stylistically anyway, it’s another winner and finishes day two on a high.
Another day, the vats of red wine and blonde beer have now reached optimum operating temperature at the campsite and we’re up for the end of days, an onslaught that all preceding has just been a bombardment softening us up for. Though fires are banned we fortunately have a meths expert (burning not drinking) among the living dead who keeps us in touch with civilisation with the odd brew and meal in a packet, a hero of the campaign! The sun beats down and the beats kick in, all enjoy the retro- cross-over thrash mentalness of Municipal Waste. Funny songs, entertaining show, spotting a Sponge Bob in the crowd they encourage us to “kill, kill, kill” but he gets away with it. This time. More conventional thrash next with yet another reformation, Bay Area (SF not Colwyn) originals Forbidden, really solid classic riffs, though we did wonder if the hefty singer and guitarist had eaten some of the former members. In the tent check out another home-grown band, Year of No Light, and they impress with their thoughtful and pounding post-metal, the singer/keyboardist’s sparse roars taking me back to early Cult of Luna.
It’s already sweltering in there so it’s repeatedly out and then in again, to be next blown away by Origin. I had heard their blisteringly fast tech death before but seeing them up close was just a revelation. In particular, never have I seen bass action like it, I was gobsmacked and started reassessing my entire playing in the light of it. Combined with a pitbull vocalist they were top notch surgical brutality. Ireland’s Primordial I had expected to be a bit more extreme than they were, but perhaps I was recalling their darker origins when I’m sure we played alongside them with Hecate Enthroned. Anyway, there was no mistaking the quality of songwriting in their anthemic doomy metal, stirring tunes conducted by a masterful frontman. Back to the main stages for Obituary, the masters of sick death. Been a while since their comeback now but the impact far from dissipated, not when riff master Trevor Peres can still wrench out the likes “Find the Arise” and “Chopped in Half” while John Tardy retches from the depths of his guts over the top.
The last break back at the tent before the drunken and punch drunk final round/s. In for My Dying Bride, who I feel struck with guilt for neglected for far too long, as despite their sunlit performance they conjured up such an atmosphere of epic morose majesty with their gothic doom it almost brought a tear to my eye. Singer Aaron acts out a minimalist tragedy of emotion at the heart of it, and frankly they piss all over Paradise Lost efforts to do the same. With an almost 180 degree shift in tack, next up are NOFX. They obviously feel they stick out like a saw thumb on the bill and defend on the attack with a veritable ton of abuse hurled at us all, as is their way, but far from provoking any adverse reaction everyone is hilariously entertained. It’s the usual seemingly chaotic set, “Champs Elysee” and “Franco Un-American” thrown in to please the locals as far as possible, but it’s all good, even the predictable unending accordion solo at the end. Yet another back from the dead band next, At the Gates, regarded as seminal in the death-core wave that followed the main death tsunami. Tomas from Disfear is back again to provide vocals and there similarities to his current band are evident, more death orientated but still with the hyper-riffing, battering drums, fury unleashed. Despite the awesome set I have but a moment to feel short changed before we get an encore of “Blinded by Fear” (one of my all time top tens) and the epic harshness of “Kingdom Gone”.
In the dark now we observe Motorhead from afar. What is there to say? With new album “Motorizer” they roll on, the runaway engine that has levelled all before it. They play a pretty slower paced set with old epics such as “I got mine” and “just cause you’ve got the power” bulking up the heart of it, there’s even a drum solo, I guess it’s pacing themselves to an extent, but jeez, Lemmy (the famous ex-north Walian ;-)) is past retiring yet remains the best advert for selling soul for rock and roll there is. Anyway the intro chords of “killed by death” inspire some rising from the grave on motorbike action (see video) with the added pleaser of scantily clad writhing ladies (break out the 12x zoom) before we are treated to the monstrous ending of “AOS” and “Overkill”. The last to complete the rite of resurrection for the weekend are Morbid Angel and I’d forgotten what a vicious proposition of a band they were, thinking back again to Wrexham or the Grindcrusher tour in the old Manchester International II. Although they have been knocking about in various forms based around their guitarist Trey Azagthoth, the recent (repeat) return of original bassist/vocalist David Vincent had brought them close to their original strength. This was certainly hammered home with at least four numbers off their “Altars of Madness” debut, including the splendid “Chapel of Ghouls”, but new material aired was definitely up to scratch and to look forward to. The last nail in our beckoning coffin comes with… well, who else could possibly encompass, sustain and complete the weekend? “Fucking” Slayer, that’s who. I hadn’t seen them since the Clash of the Titans tour and again was deeply aware of my sin of omission but also knew that whenever, wherever, they never, ever fail. As soon as they stand out in front of their walls of Marshalls, silhouetted by the backlight, you know the end is nigh. Starting off with stuff from their newest “Christ Illusion” album, the power is massive. They do take a break off stage between virtually every song but then again they are also old men (even older than me!) pacing themselves, but then the crowd itself is not quite as mental as expected as I suspect nearly everyone like me is running on empty adrenaline now. Tom Araya is laid back to the point of comatose in front of the mike, but nothing needs to be said really, everyone knows the score. It’s testament to their legendary status though that they can eke out all our last reserves with a set of their almighty songs, culminating their main set with “Raining Blood” before the encore of “Mandatory Suicide” and “Angel of Death”. Hell is indeed empty, and all the devils (with the best tunes) are here.
A proportion of the folks had packed to leave on the Sunday itself and this continues through the Monday. However, with our flight back not until the Tuesday we were some of the last to leave the warzone, indulging in campsite Olympics (tent pole javelin, beer bottle shot put, bogroll football etc), opening an abandoned furniture and booze warehouse, generally surveying the aftermath with rictus grins. We went into the pretty mediaeval Conwy-esque town of Clisson and chilled with our dwindling supplies by the castle and river. Then, via another twilight zone excursion in a mall in the middle of sub-urban nowhere, where we discovered the use of English was far from as widespread as may have been imagined, we made it to the hotel of previous frustration. A night at the bar there, telling tales of yore resulting in many a split side and requests for quiet from other residents in the early hours. Noticed that wherever there was a background noise, passing traffic, air-con units, it was transmuted into riffs, hearing evidently shagged or the echoes of music overload in my head. Finally, the next day up to the city of Nantes which was beautiful in it’s own right, voted the greenest city in the country, and we attempted (largely failing) to re-integrate ourselves into society through café culture, still seeking whatever shade from the light we could find. Didn’t have time to see the 60’ high robotic elephant but it is highly recommended anyway. There were at least a couple of varieties of public transport we hadn’t used so we got these out of the way back to the airport. Many fellow stragglers gathered back for the same trip, some only a matter of time before they headed off to the next expedition (e.g. Metal Camp, 7 days on a beach in Slovenia?!?) that seem to be popping up all the more frequently across the continent through the summer. I’d go back to Hell any day, but maybe Brutal Assault, With Full Force, or Obscene Extreme would turn out to be just as good alternatives. They’ve got names to live up to.