The big review: Download Festival 2025 – Saturday

Download Festival 2025 is go! Stay tuned to Kerrang.com and our socials for reviews from each day of the fest and much more – but now, let’s get stuck into all things Saturday…

• The big review: Download Festival 2025 – Friday
• What happened when Green Day headlined Download Festival 2025

"Alright, if you'll give me about three minutes, I'm really going to embarrass my partner now..." Dani Filth flashes a devilish grin around the halfway mark of his band's Saturday Dogtooth headline. Welcoming long-term girlfriend Sofiya Belousova onstage, the iconic frontman proceeds to drop to one knee and pop the question. The answer? Although difficult to verify from the depths of a baying pit, it looks like she says 'Yes!'

Elsewhere, it's exactly what you'd expect Cradle Of Filth to make of an occasion like this. Guitarist Marek Šmerda is intricately made-up as Pinhead from Hellraiser. The stage set looks like a cross between Anne Rice's dreams and H.R. Giger's nightmares. Fresh cuts like White Hellebore are accompanied by some truly cringeworthy banter from Dani: "Our new album is titled The Screaming Of The Valkyries. But maybe nowadays that should be 'The Streaming Of The Valkyries!'" And both deep cuts (Death Magick For Adepts) and time-tested classics (Nymphetamine (Fix)) inspire absolute carnage from the boozy faithful. When we get around to timeless closer Her Ghost In The Fog, it feels like a poignant reminder that Cradle aren't just one of the most important bands in the history of extreme metal, but also an institution in British alternative culture. And this is exactly the kind of celebration they deserve. (SL)

So, you wanted to find out how this punk thing started, and what it was originally all about? Then you’ll have been waiting to see the actual Sex Pistols, literally one of most important bands ever to have drawn breath, headline the Opus Stage, ably assisted by the caustic bluster of Mr Frank Carter. It obviously erupts, Holidays In The Sun, Bodies, Pretty Vacant – expressions of a generation’s rage and frustration expelled in red-eyed fury. Frank almost goes too far. He’s in the crowd, mic stand and everything, and in the chaos that ensues people go down. The original Pistols, guitar legend Steve Jones, bassist Glen Matlock and drummer Paul Cook, actually look pretty concerned. The song has to be restarted twice. “To be honest that’d be a fitting way for me to go,” Frank muses, when he’s eventually extracted. The set finishes with a rousing, near religious Anarchy In The UK, and really you’re just left thinking, ‘Shit, I’ve actually lived to see this.’ Obviously, it was chaos. Of course it was. It was the greatest punk band of all time. (SB)

Bursting storm clouds leave the Dogtooth tent rammed well beyond capacity as Sylosis prepare for their landmark Saturday evening subheadline. But as the thousands crammed in (and stuck outside) reach full voice - spectacularly drowning out frontman Josh Middleton at several points - there's little doubt about their commitment to the cause. Cynics could make the argument that the Brit-metal mainstays' output has been a little too meat-and-potatoes over the past couple of years, relying on sledgehammer riffs with unsubtle songwriting to match. Yet watching Bleed From Within's Ali Richardson and Conjurer's Conor Marshall bolstering efforts, there's more of a supergroup sensibility on evenings like these: something like a UK version of Lamb Of God. Cataclysmic closer Deadwood sees Josh commanding circle pits and walls of death, but they're surplus to requirements. Sylosis' status as home country champions has long-since been confirmed. (SL)

Accompanied not merely by pyro but by what is virtually an inferno, the fact that nobody in Shinedown is incinerated tells you that this is now a seriously rehearsed, seriously big band. Having first played here in 2009 it’s probably fair to say they’ve improved every time, and they’re glowingly magnificent tonight. Brent Smith’s pretty much the working epitome of ‘frontman’ these days – his impassioned speeches aren’t the clichéd shout-outs we’ve heard all day; it’s stuff he’s thought about. By the way, he’s also a pretty fine example of a human being, helping out other bands, dropping huge amounts to charity etc. The setlist is Shinedown in excelsis – the explosive Cut The Cord, recent stomper Dance, Kid, Dance, the huge Devour and in the caring, subdued A Symptom Of Being Human, a uniting singalong. Could a band on a such a constant upward trajectory headline this thing? Don’t bet against it. (SB)

"This is a song dedicated to anyone who loves... Christmas." Yes, it is The Darkness doing a Darkness and playing Don't Let The Bells End. In June. It's fucking brilliant. As they arrive with crotch-bulging newie Rock And Roll Party Cowboy and then tear straight into Get Your Hands Off My Woman, today sounding even more spiky than usual, it's clear that The Darkness aren't here to fuck about, even if they do do a lot of fucking about, and expertly so. Justin's flamboyant moves continue to make you wonder if there's a circus somewhere missing its ringmaster, and in front of a big crowd like the one stuffing this corner of the field, he's in his element. He draws out the end of one song to lengthily crowdsurf, while elsewhere he teaches the crowd the point in a song at which to yell "Download!", before changing his mind. "At the risk of my own ego, shout JUSTIN!" Much horsing around as there is, they're also a killer band, one of the finest exponents of rock and roll you'll find anywhere. Which is how they get away with their Christmas song in the summer rain. Lads. (NR)

“It's so fucking good to be back at Download!” Mallory Knox vocalist Mikey Chapman declares. It's no wonder the dopamine is hitting hard when the band are finally back together, and after a five-year break, in which Mikey got “less hair, more handsome and poorer”, Mallory Knox are playing with recharged batteries. Sounding fresh and crystalline all over again, they get the crowd throwing their arms wide and blowing out their vocal cords with a punchy rendition of Getaway, the thunderous Ocean and the crunching Sugar, to name a few. “There’s nothing quite like this feeling,” the awed vocalist says, looking at the scene of their triumphant return. Of course, there’s an element of nostalgia to this, but it’s never positioned as a re-run, and neither does it feel like one. Instead, it feels like a rebirth. (EW)

"What madman booked Kittie on the Dogtooth Stage?!" It's peak boozy bullshit from one mischievous punter pressed on the barrier as the legendary Canadian metallers get going on Saturday evening, but this outstandingly snarling showing proves they're exactly where they're meant to be. Older members of a packed-in audience remember a time when Morgan Lander and her bandmates were lumped in with the nu-metal revolution. Having long since left those days behind, 2025's version of the band operates with a ruthlessness that's far more extreme: pummeling percussion, flesh-ripping guitars and wailing vocals that leave goosebumps tingling away. Recent banger Vultures is a thrilling carrion-call, but it's full-throttle closer We Are The Lamb that sends the place really over the top, with one of the craziest waves of crowdsurfers all weekend. "I promise it won't be another 15 years before we're back!" Morgan grins. And we'll be waiting. (SL)

"We're probably the most apocalyptic band on the bill," observes Anaal Nathrakh hardnut Dave Hunt introducing The Endarknement, adding that "Everything in geopolitics is going really bad. A new age you could call the crazy terrible days of stupid..." As a world turning to shit outside the fences of Donington Park continues to get ever more mad, the Brummie grind legends' assertion that 'It'll all be over by Christmas' during the abrasive, horrific war diatribe of Forward! (the only moment of lyrical diction in the whole thing) takes on an even darker vibe than usual. Their music is largely a nihilistic migraine blast of abrasive, grindy black metal, with Dave screaming in a voice that could sandpaper the bark off a tree (with the occasional switch into something more operatic). But for all its unrelenting horribleness, there's also a catharsis, an appropriate vessel for the deepest anxieties and darkness of the world. A huge circle pit kicks off from the first second, as guitarist Sam Loynes immediately demands one, and though it doesn't give a shred of hope, their set is at least a violent outlet for the frustrations of increasingly interesting times. (NR)

“I can’t remember the last time we felt energy like this,” says Rob Damiani towards the end of Don Broco’s set. The big dude is momentarily choked. Having spent most of the year holed up in a studio, they’ve predictably gone off like rockets. By the time they reach fourth song Come Out To LA, that energy is matched by that directed back at them. That Broco bounce works like a dream on the stop-start ACTION as it goes from soul to nu metal-like volume with rear-kicking intensity, its genius flow echoed by a crowd that’s eating from the Bedfordshire outfit’s hand. Jagged, electro-tinged shards of sound mean Bruce Willis is on the way, the song from 2021’s Amazing Things that is, not the veteran action hero. ‘Yippee ki yay muthafucker’ is its cheeky chant, echoed by a good proportion of those present, not all of whom bothered to wear the requisite white vests. Don Broco’s music has distinctive DNA – they don’t do ‘obvious’ songs; they want you to pay attention – but given a crowd like this they’re simply explosive. (SB)

Twin Atlantic are back, baby! Returning this summer with their definitive four-man lineup - Sam McTrusty, Ross McNae, Barry McKenna and Craig Kneale - the great Scots are one of the most intriguingly malleable acts at Download 2025. Boasting an arsenal of gold-plated radio hits like No Sleep and Free, lighting up the main stage would hardly be a struggle. Equally, though, far less familiar fresh cuts Salvation, Get Out and World Class Entertainment wouldn't sound out of place in a new band slot. As it happens, they end up somewhere in-between, absolutely crushing teatime duty on the Avalanche stage. Technical gremlins stall their juggernaut momentum somewhat, but Sam shrugs them off, easily: "What's a rock and roll show without a little adversity?!" And as stomping highlight The Chaser segues into the always-anthemic Heart & Soul it's clear the Glaswegian heavyweights are still capable of going toe-to-toe with absolutely anyone. (SL)

Fire? On the Avalanche Stage? Is that even allowed? It must have had the Health & Safety sign-off, because Smash Into Pieces have it anyway, as well as a glowing video screen doubling as a drum riser – arena production, but fun sized. If zany, Eurovision-ready rock is your bag, you’ll have a lovely time, as many of the punters do as they zip through the likes of the colossal Heroes Are Calling and the explosive Hurricane. “This is my favourite audience of 2025,” notes vocalist Chris Adam Hedman Sörbye. Still, it’s hard to escape the feeling that even for a live band, it sounds almost too digital, too reliant on backing tracks, while Chris’ vocals are occasionally a little over-fried. Judging by how devoted the fans in the front, if you love them enough, the imperfections don’t matter a jot. (EW)

There's very little really funereal about The Funeral Portrait. Shockingly to absolutely no-one, the Atlanta ghouls deal in exactly the same kind of gleefully gothy, ultimately life-affirming pop-punk that's seen My Chemical Romance and Creeper become amongst the most beloved names in alternative music. And they translate rather well in the live arena. Plying their trade in the shadows of a bright afternoon sun and going up against Don Broco's titanic Apex Stage hoedown certainly isn't ideal. But as a hardcore faithful crackle with electric excitement down the front, and with morbidly infectious bangers like Suffocate City at their disposal, they bring the Dogtooth Stage well to heel. Extra credit to frontman Lee Jennings for sticking around on the barrier afterwards to greet every, er, mourner looking to shake his hand. Undertaking might be a dying profession, but these lads have a bright future ahead. (SL)

Dressed like a ghostly bride, Mothica arrives almost as a darker counterpart to LØLØ before her, sharing her sense of frankness, but about far more serious matters. On that note, this is her first show since a spell in rehab last year – fortunately, she is now eight months sober – making her Download debut feel significant. Unsurprisingly, it means the murky alt.pop of Vices weighs twice as heavy, as does her later speeches. “We have one life and it isn't for suffering,” she says, her voice breaking, “it's for flourishing.” Forever 15, meanwhile, is a heartbreaking moment that transfixes the crowd into a reverent silence, her voice almost all that can be heard. But, as she tells the crowd, the fact she survived the suicide attempt she sings about means that she is here today. As a moment of levity, she finishes with a quirky cover of All Star, leaving the tent on a joyful note. Moral of the story: stay alive, at all costs. (EW)

The first thing that strikes you about Palaye Royale’s main stage set is that, oddly, there’s only half the number of people here as for Poppy. It’s peculiar – the dazzling Las Vegas-ites are one of the more intriguing outfits on the bill and are, in theory at least, an easy band to like. Since creeping into our world, they’ve refined their art – today’s set is an almost unique collage of underworld goth and sly, soulful tunesmithery. MCR meets NY Dolls, anyone? They understand the value of being succinct – the songs are compact, interestingly shaded, but never overstay their welcome. Addicted To The Wicked & Twisted comes with a warming, eminently singable hook, and frontman Remington Leith – today abandoning his more familiar, glammed-up look for a more festival friendly vibe – ends up in the audience. They conclude with a heartfelt For You, and seem genuinely grateful. “Thank you for listening to our bullshit,” emotes Remington. No sir, thank you. (SB)

Teen Mortgage are playing this slot impeccably. Hot off the heels of their much talked-about debut album Devil Ultrasonic Dream – not to mention with some 40 shows already under their belts in 2025 – the Washington, D.C. duo are a band full of confidence as they stroll out to an excitable Dogtooth crowd. Having previously promised Kerrang! a “very moshy set”, vocalist/guitarist James Guile and drummer Ed Barakauskas arguably over-deliver, inciting constant pits without needing to make a single request. Even more than that, they’re a perfectly-suited pair – James brings the gobby attitude while Ed couldn’t be more effortlessly excellent if he tried. Forget Devil Ultrasonic – Teen Mortgage are simply just Living The Dream… (EG)

Polaris' crowd is fucking enormous. So much so, as thousands of fans crane necks for a view and wind-battered sound struggles to reach the outer reaches, that you have to wonder whether they should've been bumped up. They look like Apex predators this afternoon. With flames billowing and bangers like The Remedy, Hypermania and Lucid inspiring sing-alongs deafening enough to drown out the planes swooping overhead, at this point the Sydney crew have pulled themselves up alongside Northlane and Parkway Drive as bona fide bannermen for Australian metalcore. Keeping their focus on the legions of pit trolls and crowdsurfers down the front, and even stopping proceedings to sing Happy Birthday to their sound guy Lance, it does feel like it's just another day at the office for lovable frontman Jamie Hails. But as they rip into shattering closer Inhumane, that only begs the question how far these dudes might go if they throw everything into it. (SL)

"Is that band name a Megadeth reference?" nudges one curious passerby a couple of minutes before Holy Wars hit the Dogtooth Stage. Safe to say: probably not. What the Californian quartet lack in thrashy speed and technicality, though, they more than make up for with the polish and speaker-swelling volume of songs like MY DRUGS ARE DIGITAL and excellent latest single I Feel Everything. Admittedly, wind whipping in from the side of the tent does sporadically weaken the sonic impact. But with vocalist Kat Leon dropping unreleased fresh cut Ceremony and demanding that the assembled faithful ramp up the mosh pits and walls of death for smashing closer SUCK IT UP - Kat eventually hurling herself into the fray - even the elements can't stop these rising heroes' concussive crusade. (SL)

LØLØ doesn't really have breakdowns in the traditional sense. “I am the least metal artist on this whole line-up,” she points out, but then offers an alternative. “I am sharing my mental breakdowns.” Her witty retellings of troublesome infatuations and messy break-ups, from opener Faceplant to the brilliantly titled You Turn Me On (But You Give Me Depression) hit like rays of sunshine in the tent, and she seems to have endless reserves of charisma. She assembles an “emo cheerleading squad” by chucking pom-poms into the crowd for Debbie Downer and throws in snippets of covers from Blitzkrieg Bop to Icona Pop's I Love It simply for the joy of it. When she puts on such a fun show, who cares about the absence of breakdowns – the heavy kind – anyway? (EW)

Poppy is one of music’s great chameleons, probably taking quiet delight in leaving us guessing exactly where she’ll go next. Clearly from this massive Apex crowd’s reaction, she’s got a lot of us very curious. Some songs, like the cost of giving up are pop-rock bangers that could have been hits in any era, while Anything Like Me, in contrast, is strutting feline rap-rock with ambient sections, typical of this artist’s free thinking. Poppy’s a cool customer, barely speaking a word between songs, but when she does, you listen. In the center’s falling out she screams her lungs out, hardly pausing for breath, but only Poppy would do this while skipping around the stage as if frolicking with lambs. Awesome – but a word of sympathy for her three band members who might be regretting in this heat the decision/directive to wear balaclavas… (SB)

"We played our first show two years ago," gasps likeable Split Chain singer Bert Martínez-Cowles. "From the bottom of our hearts, seeing this is genuinely fucking insane!" The rapid rise and rise of the Bristol hardcore fivesome – getting picked up by Epitaph, doing Download twice, hitting America twice before they've even got an album out – has been impressive. And it's entirely deserved. Songs from their forthcoming motionblur album swell and burst with dreamy, shoegazy bits colliding beautifully with Deftones-sized mosh parts. "Where are my crowdsurfers at, where are my moshers at?" demands Bert with a huge grin, which grows even bigger as bodies begin to tumble over the barrier. It's been a quick rise, no doubt, but with shows like this in them, it's no wonder why at all. Split Chain? Gonna be a hit chain, more like. (NR)

"Aw, this is going to' be a good one…" grins Brian Wille a couple of minutes into Currents' Opus Stage demolition. He's not wrong. With a staggering attendance, spiking temperatures and multiple pits spiralling dust into the sky, the Connecticut bruisers just about pick up right where their angry uncles in Hatebreed left off. On record, there's a proggy, irresistible darkness at the heart of songs like Remember Me and The Death We Seek, but it's replaced at gatherings like today's by a sense of incandescent catharsis as fans set fire to the demons inside, finding fuel for ever harsher sing-alongs and more death-defying antics in the pit. "The hits just keep coming…" Brian smirks with tongue in cheek as they tumble into doom-laden highlight Apnea. But amongst one of Currents' biggest-ever crowds, absolutely no-one would trade their harsh truths for easier listening. And by colossal closer Better Days everyone is too swept up to dream of being anywhere else anyway. A needle-moving moment from one of metalcore's most underrated bands. (SL)

Even with the building wind ripping through the tent, anonymous cloak enthusiasts Zetra still manage to create a vast soundscape of shimmering shoegaze and crunching riffs that more than fills the Dogtooth tent. With more than a hint of Drab Majesty about proceedings, the corpse-painted pair provide the gothic antidote to the bruising antics of the main stage, complete with their very own mirror portal to another realm. Perched on platforms to better survey and spellbind their devotees (which is a welcome addition to a stage with an uphill incline), tracks like The Mirror and Starfall bridge the gap between lush shoegaze, dreamy synth-rock and doomier darkness. As superb closer The Angel Cries rings out across the tent, it’s clear that more than a few Downloaders have been converted to the shadow side. (LM)

Eight albums and nearly as many Download appearances mean Connecticut hardcore metallers Hatebreed know their business. Jamey Jasta and crew do it by the book, and you might argue it’s just box-ticking. You could be right, but at least these are the right boxes. Nearly all the songs – I Will Be Heard, Proven, This Is Now – come with a fist-toting one syllable shout-out. Nearly all have the chuggy bits and the shouty bits. But what the hell, if you enjoyed it the other times, the good news is that it’s every bit as sharp today! Jamey takes time out to salute Sick Of It All’s Lou Koller who is sadly battling cancer right now, and mid-set the band release their famous balls of death, giant inflatable spheres that the crowd knock around. Hatebreed’s fare is predictable, but their age-honed precision means it still hits home. In fact, the only thing that doesn’t get home is one of those inflatable balls – that ends up in the toilet block! (SB)

'I wanna take you outside and see what you taste like,' spits Samuel Wellings to a big, windswept audience in the middle of Seventy Thorns. 'Like bombs with gasoline hanging from a children's kite…' That song's co-vocalist Jonathan Davis won't be at Donington till tomorrow, but the artist better known as Kim Dracula commands the Opus Stage with an assured, unsettling strangeness all their own. There are elements of heroes like Nine Inch Nails and Korn in both aesthetic and sound, but the torrent of scatty singing, pitchy saxophone and springy industrial riffs is odder and more unhinged than anything that's come from those mainstream-conquering forbears in decades. Compellingly so. "I want maximum effort!" they command an already beaten-up pit before tumbling into diesel-powered closer Killdozer. And that's exactly what they get. (SL)

Have we stumbled into a witches’ coven? VENUS GRRRLS would have you believing so. After all, vocalist and guitarist Grace Kelly says at one point that “the best thing to do with a creepy man is to hex him" (sound advice, that), but when they get down on the business of rocking out, they are enchanting. Even just strumming their wicked punk riffs side by side, they ooze occult cool, only elevated by Grace’s goosebump-raising vocals - at one point, her growl of ‘I'll see you in Hell,’ is magnificent. It's no wonder the crowd gradually endears to them. Watch out - here come the grrrls… (EW)

Bastardane look born for the big time. Overflowing with confidence, creativity and a fantastically munchy sound that's already far too big for the Dogtooth tent, the Georgia-based deliver in spades at this first-ever European performance. Drummer/vocalist Castor Hetfield – a literal Metallica family member – has clearly inherited famous father James' stage-presence (and voice) but nothing's being taken for granted, with the boys doing the rounds onsite to rally an audience from early this morning, and their set's extended jazzy interludes owing far more to bands like Rush than The Four Horsemen. Even when they do slam the pedal to the metal with a closing salvo of Praise No Bliss and Above All, there's a wilful weirdness that seems to be daring the midday audience to keep up. And although they're obviously still not the finished article, there's more than enough talent on display to want to follow along with what comes next. (SL)

BEX might still be a fresh new name, but already, she's leagues ahead as a performer. She squeals and purrs through her feisty punk songs, from the amped up Taste Better to the sneering Crybaby, all with a palpable sense of glee. Seemingly allergic to live clichés, she's already putting on a huge show, with a box of clever tricks in her back pocket. She's flanked by two Big Bexes who cheerleader dance their way through the anthemic rap-rock of politix and hold up cardboard ‘CIRCLE PIT’ placards, while they also help her toss sweets into the crowd for Sum Kinda Psycho. It's an ingenious move, and judging by the number of people who already know SPYD4 KING'S ‘crawling to me, crawling to you, bite down’ hook, it’s won her plenty of admirers. Next time she's playing a festival, put her near the top of your to-see list. (EW)

LASTELLE aren't an obvious choice for a bit of breezy Saturday morning entertainment. Emerging to the sound of a French spoken-word intro tape, waves of teeth-rattling ambient drone and bassist Freddie Whatmore drawing melancholic notes from a gleaming trumpet, the Oxford post-hardcore crew make no apologies for their depths of emotion or density of sound. Unleashing widescreen cuts like Bitter Seeds and Life In Silhouettes, however, with Freddie and frontman Adam Rigozzi exchanging vocals in a frantic dialogue, they seize the moment with belief and bravery. "Some of you might not know who LASTELLE are," Adam smiles as they spill all too quickly into overwhelming closer Breathe Me In. "But I see some of you singing along, and it means the world to us…" This earthquaking 20 minutes on the hallowed turf will surely see their chorus grown. (SL)

Another band making their Apex Stage debut, Liverpudlians Loathe make the most of a stage time that sadly has to be shortened due to schedules getting off track. Built like a gladiator, frontman Kadeem France can joust with the best of them, mixing harsh vocals with the type of clean, emotive refrain that made Two-Way Mirror so special. Heavy as they can be, Loathe’s strength often lies in what they don’t do, holding back that power only to hit you with it threefold when you think they’re done. They switch from vast post-rock to ocean-sized, dissonant metal with apparent ease. Download witnesses towers of heaviness collapsing into subtly melodic bits, glitchy rhythms briefly stirring the surface. With Loathe, not knowing where stuff’s going is part of the fun. They’re clearly pissed off at having to finish early, but it’s nice seeing Kadeem and guitarist Erik Bickerstaffe embrace at the end, victory sealed. (SB)

“Good fucking morning!” Artio's Rae Brasil roars. If that doesn't shake off the last traces of sleepiness, not much will. Even at this unsociable hour, they're thrilled to be here, charging through the likes of the adrenalised Babyface and the pulsating Product Of My Own Design, and making every one of their 20 minutes matter. They're starting to shed some of their greenness, too – Rae is expressive and purposeful, their charisma glinting through more than in the past. “Are you going to show me some shit?” they dare the punters, who duly open the pit up. If this is the beginning of their metamorphosis into a properly unmissable festival band, we certainly have something to be excited about. (EW)

Impressively for a band of such hormonal youth, this is the fourth time Static Dress have graced Download, but this is their debut on the main stage. Initially, this violently inventive act with their plush new take on post-hardcore are up against it. Late onstage, guitarist Vincent Weight’s voluminous guitar riffs dominate the sound at the expense of interestingly colourful frontman Olli Appleyard. Wearing at least half a shirt, Olli’s a compelling presence and as the mix settles, he dominates the stage, a whirling dervish of glamour and energy. It’s akin to My Chemical Romance but with a whole new narrative, familiar enough to hit hard, different enough to keep the attention. ’Remembering everything you did to me,’ emotes Olli in crying as if it only happened yesterday. Sure, Download 2025 won’t be recalled among their greatest triumphs, but it’s enough to get newcomers thinking they need to hear more. And soon. (SB)

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