Four days of bottomless beer, bin-jousting and blasphemy underline that Catton Park is the UK’s premier destination to bang your head as Bloodstock Open Air returns for its biggest edition yet…
Catton Park is absolutely heaving this weekend. By lunchtime on Thursday the stream of metalheads spilling through the gates and into the campsite are already having to scramble for space as more than 20,000 bodies descend for 2025’s biggest-ever Bloodstock Open Air.
Two decades since the festival first went outdoors, it has established itself as the UK’s answer to European metal megafests like Wacken and Hellfest. And although site restrictions and common sense have ensured it’s never lost its supremely manageable village-like feel (it’s rarely a problem to nip back for a campsite beer between bands) that hasn’t stopped the organisers putting together the kind of star-studded line-up where legends like Emperor and Mastodon aren’t even headlining.
Accommodating everyone who wants to come along these days means the old fairground rides and bumper cars are now a thing of the past. Still, those in search of fringe activities will struggle to be bored with (the now legitimised and regulated) bin-jousting, a video games arena, fancy dress competitions and an increasingly diverse alternative marketplace all competing for attention. There’s also an Ozzy memorial wall, featuring the work of K! legend Paul Harries, where fans can write their goodbyes to the big man.
We’re not sure how people have time for any of that, though, with far more bands than you could reasonably fit into four days absolutely killing it. With that in mind, we slathered on the sunscreen and grabbed a milk jug of delicious mango cider to bring you the highlights from Bloodstock 2025...
"We are Dead Flesh, and this is fucking Sick," grins the Hertfordshire lunatics' sinewy frontman Rich Stevenson. “But we've already played that one… so here's another!" Swallowing Nails is pretty much the same, to be fair, the sort of grimy, grave rotted death metal that turns the stomach and churns the pit. Elements of slam and grindcore – all lobotomised bass and gnashing guitars – mix in smoothly like autopsy leftovers dropped into a blender. And although most of this massive crowd are too busy getting the beers in to fully partake in the putrefaction, aficionados of all things nasty are eating well. (SL)
Fourway Kill have a killer logo with riveted steel lettering showing a little rust around the edges. It's a cracking imitation of '80s action movie artwork and a pretty spot on representation of what's happening onstage. Like a T-800 left out in the rain or Robocop in need of a blast of WD-40 they creak a little but still kill the old way. "Fucking hell, Bloodstock," gushes frontman Chris Neighbour. "It's been 20 years since we opened the main stage at the first-ever Bloodstock Open Air." Two decades down the line, this glorious weekend might have expanded, but lads like this are still its heart and soul – a point hammered home by a killer cover of Motörhead's Iron fist dedicated to old colleagues no longer with us. Absolutely bulletproof. (SL)
In the lead up to Gnome, the S.O.P.H.I.E. stage fills substantially with the smell of weed, and folk wearing big red gnome hats. By the time the Belgian stoner oafs arrive – headwear present but sadly sans big wellies and chinstrap beards – the tent is completely packed, with a cloud properly thickening the air in one corner. Daft as they may appear, their big, juicy riffs are the sort that Sleep would dream of when they play slow, and Clutch when they put their foot on the gas a bit. Frontman Rutger Verbist in particular looks like he's having a whale of a time, possibly the only foreign musician who could see someone wearing a traffic cone down the front and not just put it down to stupid English humour. It's silly, yes, but if you expected that to mean this lot aren't experts in the art of riffery, you should have gnome better… (NR)
Should the producers of Magic Mike Live in Leicester Square have found their headcount two short on Friday night, it's because they're up at Bloodstock singing with All For Metal. Taking Yngwie Malmsteen's 'More is more' maxim to its cheesiest frontier, the Italian power metal squadron are big on musical mozzarella, and even bigger in the flesh. Dual singers Tim 'Tetzel' Schmidt and Antonio Calanna looking like they've eaten He-Man and then had Schwarzenegger for afters, and make Blind Guardian or Hammerfall sound like Raging Speedhorn. There is nothing that isn't cranked to the technicolour max, and they're all the better for it. A song like Raise Your Hammer – complete with giant, Thor-like hammer, obviously – wouldn't work without going to such lengths, nor, indeed without the band actually being killer singers and players, particularly shred-tastic guitarist Jasmin Pabst. There's a break in the ridiculousness for a bass-solo tip of the hat to Black Sabbath, but really, they're at their best when they're cutting the cheese. (NR)
It's been a while since Nergal's Me And That Man grew into Me And All These Other Blokes. But it's with this new iteration – and a new co-singer replacing original That Man, John Porter – that the Behemoth mainman's dark country-rock side-hustle has turned into a full-on sleazy rock'n'roll deadly weapon. And with far less going on than at his day job's pyrotechnic extravaganzas, there's a relaxed jam-room feel as he emerges in a big floppy Southern preacher hat and a big devilish grin. Old cut My Church Is Black is, as ever, a rollocking slice of grubby blues, but elsewhere there's way more thrust and speed to proceedings, too. Get Outta This Place ("A song for special occasions") is the sort of thing The Hellacopters would covet, while Burning Churches wouldn't sound out of place in a Tarantino movie. Throughout, Nergal is a ringmaster to his bandmates' more crazed, whiskey drinking wildmen. A cover of Paranoid is always welcome, but in rowdy closer Blues And Cocaine, they have a hard-hitter of their own. Oh lord, yeah. (NR)
"Who's on the bevvy already?" asks Daniel Moran, to a hearty round of cheers. "It's 11 o'clock in the morning! This is your reminder to drink some water." While your doctor may not be ordering such behaviour, it goes very nicely with Norwich thrashers Shrapnel's opening assault. Particularly with the likeable frontman promising to "Get the party started early" with a wall of death to Kingmaker. Occasionally you wish they'd lean more into kicking you in the nuts with their harder aggressive side than the more stadium-rock moments, but it's still a grand start to the day, bevvy or not. (NR)
Just as there are many different stripes of doom metal, there are also many different times of day to enjoy it. Turns out, before the sun's even properly up is an excellent hour for Kent quintet Famyne and their epic doom. There's already a chant going even as they finish headbanging opener Tower (as well as an amusing heckle of "Lannister c**t!" at Tyrion-alike singer Tom Vane), but from there things continue to get even better. And heavier. Operating in a similar field to legends like Candlemass and Solitude Aeturnus, it's doom in its most heavy metal form, with a weighty bottom, but never forgetting how to write a proper metal song and stick its foot on the monitor. Also: they've got a gong to smash at the appropriate points, which is always a good idea. Doom forever, forever doomed! (NR)
Don’t judge a bands by appearances. Appraising Konvent on their aesthetic alone – all tasseled waistcoats and flowing dresses – you could see them playing a chill brand of retro-fied stoner rock. Which makes their far harsher death-doom all the more bracing for the uninitiated. Commanding and utterly committed, vocalist Rikke Emilie List Is an awesome Mother Superior, leading the way loudly through morbid tales In The Soot and Puritan Masochism with the glacial purpose of some crypt-dwelling immortal as her bandmates alternately blast and bludgeon away. The spectacularly slow-moving circle-pit swirling dust by the set’s end feels like the very least worship they deserve. (SL)
"It's been a while," shrugs Flotsam And Jetsam frontman A.K. Knutson As the Phoenix thrashers hit full speed. "Sorry it takes so long for us to keep coming back but, y'know, shit happens." Not much shit this afternoon, mind. Temperatures are rising, but there’s a breezy thrash metal cool as Hammerhead and Dreams Of Death see fretboards shredded and vertebrae cracked. Compared to their bigger United States contemporaries, there is a lack of evil and serrated edge, but so unstoppable is their enthusiasm it’s hard not to be won over. And even when big A.K. pulls on his ridiculous gladiator helmet for the coliseum-ready I Live, You Die, it simply feels like business as usual for these eternally reliable mainstays of all things fast and snappy. Far from washed up. (SL)
"Fucking hell," laughs Desolator’s Jamie Brook at the riled-up crowd packed into the shade of the EMP tent. "We don't have much time, so we're, eh, going to play some thrash." It's a solid plan. Although the Southampton mob's brand of bare-bones speed metal isn't big or clever ("It's Municipal Waste from wish.com!" grins one cheeky/astute punter) it rarely slows down long enough to really critique, with a substantial circle-pit spinning pretty much for the duration. Cannibalising Metallica, Venom and Motörhead, high velocity bangers KIA (Killed In Alcohol,) Spirit Of Speed ('Faster – to disaster!') and Back On The Road aren't built for conventional acclaim, anyway. They're custom-tooled for maximum beery carnage on afternoons like these. Drinks spill, bodies tangle, amps are pushed to their fuzzy outer limits, but there’s more cold beer to be had are cold and the banter is big and no-one can really ask for much more than that. Cheers! (SL)
Sheffield hardcore mob Rough Justice hit harder than their home city's most famous export. A satisfyingly heavy proposition that does a lot of its business with its fists, with disgustingly talented Malevolence guitar whiz Josh Baines on drums, there's a pit going as soon as the first chonk chonk riff drops. Armed with a charismatic chap up front in singer James Tippett, it's hard not to get caught up in their melee. But in amongst the aggression, there's a surprising amount of more subtle moments, particularly when they hit a heavy groove and end up sounding somewhere between Crowbar and Type O Negative. At lunchtime, it's already far too hot for things to properly kick off, but the amount of dust they kick up is as impressive as their bludgeon. (NR)
"I know you guys respect tea," Marc 'Zelli' Zellweger raises his flask to a massive mid-afternoon audience, "so give me a second to drink this cup!" It’s Bloodstock’s weirdest ‘Cheers fuckers!’ of the weekend as the mega-charismatic frontman soothes his well-worked throat. It's a first-ever UK festival appearance for his Zurich deathcore tyros Paleface Swiss, too, and Bloodstock holds nothing back, with even a life-size Mr Bean cut-out spinning around the pit to mark the occasion. They’re one of the most hyped bands in heavy music, and while a fascinatingly chequered evolution on record confirms they’re anything but empty offerings, the stomach-churning live show is where it’s at. From River Of Sorrows to Love Burns every body-blow lands in this impressive announcement of a new deathcore force on the rise. (SL)
Orange Goblin have been a Bloodstock fixture since the very first edition in 2001. A band who once were the epitome of well-scuffed denim and leather, beer bellies and banged heads, it feels slightly weird to return for one last show at Catton Hall in their current, more streamlined form. But as we get lost in the depths of Solarisphere and Scorpionica they’re unquestionably still weighty and heavy where it counts. “It’s been 30 long years of blood, sweat, tears, metal and beers," newly svelte frontman Ben Ward spreads his arms at the start of the set. “But it ain't done yet!” From the extra Sabbath worship on Saruman's Wish, to the 100mph crack of Devil's Whip, this is vintage Goblin. And although a late afternoon slot was never going to leave them quite enough time to sign off properly – that's reserved for the shows at the end of the year – they deliver more than enough that this home festival farewell won’t soon be forgotten. (SL)
How does one detach metre upon metre of streamers from the rigging in the roof of the stage? No idea, but Lacuna Coil have just set such a puzzler for Emperor and Trivium later, after firing off a massive volley of the stuff. With the lengths of stranded red and green blowing in the wind, it's actually quite festive. Which is handy, because the Milanese goth metal sovereigns' return to Bloodstock after far too long is a cause for celebration. Cristina Scabbia's vocals are particularly lush today, weaving through Hosting The Shadow and Gravity beautifully, buoyed by co-vocalist Andrea Ferro's growls. It's a little incongruous seeing such dark majesty all done up in the usual makeup in this sticky heat, but then again, there's a red-blooded quality to Our Truth, Oxygen and the updated Heaven's A Lie and Swamped XX that's enhanced by the more Mediterranean weather. Their cover of Depeche Mode's Enjoy The Silence is always welcome, as is a shout out to Ozzy, in which Cristina remembers how "in 2004 he had us on the Ozzfest and it changed our lives forever". Brilliant, as ever. (NR)
"You could have been somewhere else taking a shit, but you're here watching us!" Dressed all in white with half-and-half, two-face style makeup, Aaron Stainthorpe is having a ball with High Parasite as the sun begins to set on Friday evening. Questions have begun to swirl as to where the legendary vocalist’s allegiances ultimately lie, with 'main band' My Dying Bride having just announced a full tour with stand-in vocalist Mikko Kotamäki of Swallow The Sun. Weirdo offerings like Concentric Nightmares or Forever We Burn, and a patchwork sensibility that seems to cover everything from music to aesthetic, only really underlines the fact that HP is a far less conventionally serious, substantial project than MDB. Campier by an order of magnitude, too. But it is also far more fun. And considering all that Aaron has gone through in recent years, plus what he’s already given the world of heavy music, only hard hearts could begrudge him the sheer enjoyment of nights like these. (SL)
On paper, the notion of Emperor playing a song as fundamentally nocturnal as Into The Infinity Of Thoughts – literally about walking in the Norwegian mountains in the dead of night – is a fail. In practice, arriving onstage in the golden hour only shines a light on just how stunning the black metal legends are in full force. In The Wordless Chamber is as impressive as frontman Ihsahn's glow-up from his usual IT-guy vibe into a black metal daddy, while Curse You All Men remains as grand and stately in its dominating sonic violence as it did in the 1990s. When they bring out Cosmic Keys To My Creations And Times and I Am The Black Wizards from their timeless 1994 debut In The Nightside Eclipse, it really does feel as if it's the icy atmospheres pulling the sun down in the sky. As they thunder to a finish, you could fully believe that this is actually the case. An appropriately imperial demonstration of power from one of the finest bands ever to walk the Earth. All hail the Emperor! (NR)
Fancy getting in to watch the first-ever UK performance from Nailbomb? You should have turned up at breakfast time. It's absolutely rammed outside, and pandemonium inside the S.O.P.H.I.E. tent as Max Cavalera's legendary industrial-edged '90s outfit arrive. Now revamped with a new line-up featuring members of Pig Destroyer, Go Ahead And Die, Repulsion and Goetia, with only Max onstage from their classic, one-and-done Point Blank album from 1994, songs like Cockroaches, Wasting Away and 24 Hour Bullshit are still impossibly gnarly and suffocating over three decades later.
Max himself is in fine fettle, proper up for it, grinning like a loon from behind his bullet-belted mic-stand, while son Igor does a find job of yelling his nards off and adding to the jagged riffing. For reasons both great (the music) and depressing (the lyrics), hit-of-sorts World Of Shit remains a relevant 'fuck you', but there's as much fun to be had here as there is anger. "Crusty punks, open up the pit!" instructs Max, ploughing into a cover of Brit hardcore legends Doom's Exploitation, before warning that "The police are coming!" by way of introduction to Dead Kennedy's Police Truck. No, it's not the classic line-up. Yes, you might pick up a band "Proud to commit commercial suicide" by releasing one record and bouncing on getting back up onstage. Does that matter? Not at all. Not when it's this brilliant. (NR)
"You've got to ask yourself,” grins Matt Heafy, “‘What is Trivium going to do next?!'" What, indeed? Sleep Token bassist III just joined the Floridian legends for a PA-rattling Throes Of Perdition. Old mucker Robb Flynn jumped on for a stirring cover of Black Sabbath’s Symptom Of The Universe before that – reminding us that along with Machine Head they were amongst the biggest metal world absentees at Back To The Beginning. So, right now, they’re about to step it up again with their ferocious (partial) cover of Metallica’s Master Of Puppets for the first time since 2008.
Back in 2005 Trivium delivered one of the most memorable UK festival shows ever when they stormed Download’s main stage to a near-capacity crowd first thing on Saturday morning. It’s a moment in time that could never seriously be topped. In 2015, they played their first-ever Bloodstock headline, though, and this show blows that out of the water in terms of unbridled confidence and understanding of exactly who they are. Pull Harder On The Strings Of Your Martyr is dropped two songs in. In Waves arrives mid-set, with Ihsahn on guest vocals hilariously mistiming the first titular bellow. Malevolence guitar hero Josh Baines storms on next to help send The Deceived into shreddy overdrive. And somehow the best bits are still to come.
As the massive inflatable cover star of Ascendancy can’t quite help but call to mind the controversial end to their arena anniversary run for that album with Bullet For My Valentine. But despite Matt informing us that he’s just had 30 per cent of his meniscus removed as he asks that we jump for him on A Gunshot To The Head Of Trepidation, this is a mighty step up out of nostalgia. A booming Down From The Sky reminds that Shogun is the more accomplished and mature of their early albums, anyway. And dropping later cut The Sin & The Sentence for the first time as a set-closer emphasises that they’re still getting better and better. We can’t wait to find out how far they’ve gone in another 10 years' time. (SL)
After Trivium pulling out all the stops (and the strings from your martyr), you’d think that a business-as-usual set from Canadian death metal icons Kataklysm could feel like something of a comedown. Except their business has always been killing. And as the clock rolls towards midnight, killing is good. Song titles like The Ambassador Of Pain, Underneath The Scars and Guillotine really tell you all you need to know about mainman Maurizio Iacono and his merry marauders (with a special mention for birthday boy drummer James Payne). But even far less vicious sounding fresh cut The Rabbit Hole is a certified banger. With booze lowering inhibitions and The Black Sheep revving the pit, it’s like a warzone by the time we get to the final bell: all bloody noses and acrid sweat. In other words, this late-night Sophie Stage headline/beatdown is everything that the packed-in army of brutalists want it to be. (SL)
As wake-ups go, Cage Fight are like discovering your tent's on fire. Though occasionally more subtle and involved than their name suggests – like when guitarist James Monteith loops a riff together before dropping the heaviness – for the most part their twisty take on hardcore simply goes straight for the throat. The speedy Guillotine is a two-step banger, while fresh cut I Hate Your Guts shows that their forthcoming second album, while sounding bigger, isn't going to let up on the spite. Even James and bassist Will Chain getting their cables tangled and having to jig round one another to fix it doesn't slow the onslaught. It's a knockout! (NR)
Bringing something more atmospheric and funereal to proceedings, Devon doomers Vnder A Crvmbling Moon are a welcome change of pace, offering the opportunity to actually stop and breathe in a riff for a minute or two. Their glacial guitars and brilliantly desolate forest visuals set the tone, but there's also intriguing flights of fancy to lock into, with the melodies adding an extra trippiness, like Brit funeral doom legends Esoteric cutting to the chase a bit. They also build up an intense, powerful momentum as they go, like the swelling of the tides. For doom heads, this is absolute gold. Ditto for anyone looking to zone out for a sec. Either way, they're fvckng brvllivnt. (NR)
Channelling the deep shadows, moonlit fog and things that go bump in the night of witching hour in the dead of winter, it's extra odd to see The Spirit unleashing hell under Bloodstock's midday sun. All scourging black metal and swinging brutality, the Teutonic terrors don't seem all that put off, with the grandiose guitars of Against Humanity and Repugnant Human Scum's wailing fury ringing across site. "This is the earliest gig we've ever played," says frontman MT with touching earnestness. "Thank you so much for showing up." Pausing for a moment to allow a breeze to whisper across the stage before launching into pendulous closer The Clouds Of Damnation, they make it a show more than worth crawling out of your coffin for. (SL)
John Kevill is looking a little wiped-out as Warbringer step onstage in front of a ravenous crowd. It’s understandable. Deep into their second cycle of European shows in summer 2025, the Californian berserkers refuse to give anything but 100 per cent – regardless of what toll that takes on them or their armies of baying fans. This stage is one of the biggest they’ll rule over all tour, however, and they’re not long rising to the magnitude of the task as Woe To The Vanquished pumps the blood and Living In A Whirlwind comes gleefully to life with pits erupting right across the field. It’s not until the parting chaos of Remain Violent and Living Weapon that the field goes completely over the top, of course, for a band with real passion for thrashin’. (SL)
"There's something going wrooo-ooong," sing-songs Debbie Gough as something, indeed, goes wrong onstage early into Heriot's set. But not even a tech gremlin can slow the Brit metal maulers' devastating steamroller, and everything else goes riiii-iiight. In the pit, two knights adorned with the band's logo get the chaos started to Enter The Flesh and Siege Lord, today sounding absolutely feral. "No fucking about, get in the pit, right fucking now!" orders Debbie by way of introduction to Demure. On top of their ability to ignite pandemonium, Heriot's curious mix of chunky chunks, brilliantly disgusting bass and aggressive breakdowns with odd moments of calm (the Chelsea Wolfe-ish Opaline) is something to behold, a shining example of why they're one of the finest rising metal bands in Britain. Not to mention what a shred demon they have in their ranks. Gremlins? Just something else for Heriot to destroy. (NR)
And now for the most metal entrance of the weekend: the enormous, musclebound Mistress Of Death, masked and brandishing a sword, chucking a severed head into the crowd. Decapitated or not, if sunlight is supposed to spell doom for a vampire, nobody told Creeper. But then, the rules don't apply when you invite vampires into your house. Especially when it's called Bloodstock.
"I've got a question for you," announces William Von Gould, dripping in blood (but curiously, not sweat, even in his leather jacket) in the belting afternoon heat. "Who's drunk right now?" A cheer. "Another question: who's down with The Devil?" A bigger cheer, but possibly none of them more than the six Creeps onstage.
Having intentionally made Bloodstock their only UK festival of the summer, there's a statement about today, that where they are now as they rev up Sanguivore II is a place of heavy metal mania and glamorous '80s excess. Even without leaning, as expected, into the faster end of their macabre repertoire, it's a victory. Freshly-killed banger Blood Magick (It's A Ritual) is a hell of an opener, all sin and massive, stadium-sized choruses, while the goth-rock sass of Teenage Sacrifice and Lovers Led Astray takes on something new here.
If you want fast, there's Sacred Blasphemy, if you want a circle-pit, there's Headstones. They even have the balls to go full "jazz-hands" as Will would say, with The Ballad Of Spook & Mercy, losing no ground as they do. By the time Cry To Heaven key-changes its way into view, powered by huge columns of fire, they've sent Catton Park to vampiric-goth-theatre-metal Hell. (NR)
"We come from Texas, the land of sun and dust," Kublai Khan TX's Matt Honeycutt grins, feeling right at home as a few swirls of dirt cycle up from the scorched turf, "but we come bearing gifts!" Knuckle sandwiches, mostly. If modern hardcore has too often strayed from the simple, cathartic violence of its roots, today is an unequivocal return as virtually the whole, beyond-packed field erupts in a storm of limb-tangling, spine-mangling violence. Punctuated by Matt’s knowingly absurd tough-guy banter and more "Yeah, baby!"s than an Austin Powers marathon, there is little big or clever about songs as thumping as Low Tech, Boomslang and Loyal To None. But as Antpile 1 & 2 surge the testosterone one last time, absolutely no-one can deny that they’re skull-crackingly effective. Hell yeah, brothers! (SL)
Dino Cazares looks like he’s hanging on for dear life as Fear Factory deliver a ruthless 30th anniversary run-through of 1995 classic Demanufacture. The inimitable guitarist is the last member standing from that era of the band, but you could argue that the young(er) guns he’s brought onboard – particularly wild-eyed vocalist Milo Silvestro – are better able to, ahem, replicate its machine-tooled efficiency anyway. More so even than most album play-throughs, it feels like a worryingly frontloaded performance, with the pummelling title-track and Self Bias Regulator used up right at the beginning. Like the old pros they are, they manage to squeeze 2001’s Linchpin in at the end, turning Catton Park into the sunniest, most sprawling rock club dancefloor ever to see busted shapes. (SL)
"That was probably the first time I saw someone in a hotdog suit crowdsurf to a song about a mental institution," beams Alexander Jones. Welcome to British festivals, sir. Backed by clips of their logo blasting its way around classic '90s video game Doom, New York State brutalists Undeath are as fun as they are brutal. They're not the most original tool in the surgical kit, but their manic, fanatical devotion to the very best of death metal's giblets is as infectious as typhus, and you can't help but enjoy a song with a title like Chained To A Reeking Rotted Body. Deadly cuts from last year's fantastic More Insane album have grown into killer beasts live, keeping the band as one of the best among their new-old-school peers."Undeath kicks ass" reads the T-shirt hung over the bass amp. There's your review before they've even plugged in. Not a lie. (NR)
A vocal minority in the crowd seem preoccupied by the fact that Al Jourgensen isn’t singing all his lyrics tonight. And that the Ministry kingpin only seems to remember to play his guitar at the very end of songs. They’re very much missing the point. Decades after he set the sample-heavy standard for modern industrial metal – and just over 17 years since ostensibly calling it a day at the end of the C U LaTour in Dublin – 66-year-old Al is a ringleader basking in the vibes as an all-star outfit brings his hardest, heaviest greatest hits to concussive life. Those vibes are aptly intoxicating. Cranked to frankly terrifying volume, Thieves, Rio Grande Blood and Stigmata sound like Slayer fed through a metal press. Goddamn White Trash and Just One Fix are the kind of terrifying/exhilarating trailer park horror movie soundtracks that Rob Zombie could only dream of. By the time Jesus Built My Hotrod cranks the afterburners, with multiple circle pits amalgamating into one mega demolition derby, they’re in danger of stealing the whole damn show. (SL)
Apparently, Breed 77 are the biggest band at Bloodstock not currently signed to a label. Judging by the rammed tent this evening, they’re the most beloved, too. Cynics would say the Gibraltarian mainstays are simply riding the coattails of the nu-metal revival – playing on fans’ memories of The River cropping up between videos from Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park on K! TV circa 2004 – but that’s hardly fair given the hysteria on show. Ageless cuts Petróleo (You Will Be King) and La Última Hora are full of colour and character beyond the neon glare of their one-time contemporaries. And although it’s been covered to death in recent years, their version of The Cranberries’ Zombie is legitimately still one of the best. (SL)
Robb Flynn has a question: "Are you ready to lose your minds with Machine Head tonight?!" Returning for their second go at the top of the day at Bloodstock, the answer is an emphatic, "Yes." But just how Robb and his troops go about that comes in ways both expected and not.
Busting out Ten Ton Hammer as an early jawbreaker is an obvious win, and a fierce declaration of business. But it quickly becomes clear that Robb is a party host as much as he is a metal god. "Hey, Bananaman," he calls out to one costumed pitter, deciding between him and "Beer-box Jesus" (yes, it's as you imagine). Attention grabbed, and accompanied by a drum-roll, he chucks a beer to his new fruit-friend, getting a headliner-sized cheer when he makes good on the catch.
Welcome, then, to the biggest keggar Bloodstock has ever hosted. Constantly grinning and mischievously demanding "the biggest circle-pit Bloodstock has ever seen", nobody is enjoying themselves more than the frontman. Deservedly so, though. CHØKE ØN THE ASHES ØF YØUR HATE and BØNESCRAPER are now fit enough to take on older champs like Bulldozer, while The Blood, The Sweat, The Tears is particularly boisterous. On top of all this, there's fire and fireworks in almost banter quantity. Occasionally, you are reminded of just how long some of their intros go on for, interrupting things slightly. But that doesn't matter when the wrecking balls hit, and Robb keeps encouraging "all my beer drinkers" that it's Saturday night and we should go nuts. Also: loads of fire.
Among all this, ahead of Darkness Within, Robb also pays touching tribute to the band's late publicist and music industry legend Michelle Kerr, in front of a shot of the pair of them smiling their faces off. It's a genuinely emotional moment, a rare occasion of seeing a man of Robb's usually bullish intensity sharing something so emotional and fragile. This only adds to the fire, though, and the final run of From This Day, a sledgehammer Davidian and colossal Halo – again, with a military amount of firepower – are something of which his late friend would have been proud.
It has on occasion been easy to take Machine Head for granted. But on nights like this, hitting the target over and over again, you realise what a dynamite band they are. (NR)
Finally bringing the Project: Regeneration era of their band onto the European summer festival circuit, Static-X are holding absolutely fuck-all back. The point has already been hammered home that late frontman Wayne Static is utterly irreplaceable, but so heavily is his memory daubed over proceedings here – truly as much loving commemoration as an earnest effort by his surviving bandmates to revive their band – that it’s impossible not to be swept up in the emotion of it all. From new frontman Xero’s eerie mask, with its wiry shock of hair and glowing red eyes, to mic stands and cover art reminding us of the OTT aesthetic with which we fell in love in the first place, it’s sensory overload. There’s even an Iron Maiden’s Eddie-style oversized Franken-Wayne at stumbling about onstage one point. More than anything, it's his songs, from Wisconsin Death Trip to a stomping Push It, that will truly live forever. (SL)
Sunday morning is traditionally the point of nursing the peak-bangover for Bloodstock attendees, but an impressive number are shambling about before 11 o’clock to catch Ghosts Of Atlantis. Singer Phil Primmer sounds like he's one of the who’s been drunkenly huffing dust and gargling whiskey all weekend: an endearingly guttural presence as as the Suffolk crew bring a little underwater sparkle to Bloodstock's bone dry main stage. He's a great foil for far cleaner guitarist/co-vocalist Colin Parks, though, opening out the symphonic death metal of songs like The Lycaon King and Melkin’s Tale nicely. Overloading the mythical nonsense (there are no metal horns here, only 'tridents') it's exactly the sort of bombast you want as what feels like the very last moisture sweats out of your body. (SL)
An enormous wall of sludgy doom probably isn't the first thing you'd think to reach for as you try to get going first thing on the final day of a festival, but Mancunian heavyists Barbarian Hermit prove that, actually, it's a very good idea indeed. In Mean Sugar and Stitched up they have a pile of riffs that could shake the dead from their graves, sounding absolutely enormous through this massive sound system. Of course, if you're still feeling like death, you may be left hoping that the oceans-deep bass might shake your skull apart to ease the pressure on it, but for everyone else, their flapping grooves and skill with riffs that tumble like tidal waves is a welcome treat. (NR)
It's far too hot to be listening to metal played at about 200 bpm at midday, but that’s what a sparse, languorous crowd stretching in front of the Ronnie James Dio Stage are doing for One Machine. "It's hot up here, how is it out there?" singer Tasos Lazaris teases the melting crowd. "Well, it's time to make it even hotter." Off-the-rails bangers The Distortion Of Lies And The Overdriven Truth and Screaming For Light have already melted faces. Then a frantic The Final Cull, cranked up with extra fire stacks, incinerates all that’s left. We’re not at the finish line just yet, though. Fresh cut New Plane Of Existence and Into My World keep us going full steam. Connoisseurs can’t help but ask whether they’re ultimately a bit of a knock-off Nevermore: all fretboard pyrotechnics and unapologetic cheese? The answer: absolutely! But that's not really such a bad thing on days like these. (SL)
Evolving into leading lights of modern technical death metal over the last decade, Rivers Of Nihil draw one of Sunday’s biggest crowds on reputation alone. The dense, oddball reality of their music leaves as many confounded as it does captivated, with the overwhelming majesty and squalling saxophone solos of The Sub-Orbital Blues, Despair Church and American Death (dedicated to, well, the United States’ 2025 in general) swooping effortlessly between flighty fantasy and grim reality. Sheer quality wins out in the end through Where Owls Know My Name, and as much as guitarist Andy Thomas’ oddly reedy vocals and the tooting sax were hard to get a handle on at the outset, they finish up to the sound of roars for more. Technical ecstasy. (SL)
Wall are basically a detailed study in the science of Big Riff. Comprising of the twin Cole brothers from Oxford stoner heroes Desert Storm, they boil fuzz, groove and swing down to their purest form, totally locked together as they crank out their vocal-free explorations. While they do have a spine of the usual suspects like Kyuss, they frequently head off on sonic side quests, occasionally ending up somewhere that's a dead ringer for Sabbath's Sweet Leaf, at other times wrapping themselves around a weird rhythm. Think Savannah legends Kylesa without singing and you're somewhere close. For two people, they don't just make a lot of noise, they make a lot of different types of it, too. (NR)
"Security are wearing shirts that say 'Here to help!'” laughs Jake Luhrs as the energy levels pick up again for August Burns Red. “I like the sound of that. Are you ready to put it to the test?!" Having already primed a big audience with everything from their now-customary cover of System Of A Down’s Chop Suey! and the imposing Paramount, to Meridian and Back Burner, it’s Exhumed – with that massive refrain of ‘My demons die today!’ – that sends a tsunami of crowdsurfers over the top. "The world is a terrible place right now, but this is your music, and these are your people,” Jake goes on, with evangelical certainty. He’s right, as White Washed – with its huge wall of death – proves the visceral community of hammering flesh on flesh. Extra kudos for a band name that reminds people to apply sun cream, too… (SL)
'Wimps and posers, leave the hall!' demanded Manowar that one time. Didn't say anything about wimples, though, did they? Those are actually very welcome, as nun-more-black quartet Dogma prove. While their show at Wacken was beset with rain and mud, here it's hotter than hell in a beyond-packed tent. Somehow, their corpsepaint doesn't melt, even as they burn through Forbidden Zone and Carnal Liberation, a mix of barb-wire riffs and a dollop of cheese that actually works surprisingly well. Their wickedly good cover of Madonna's Like A Prayer gets the biggest reaction, but their own hymns of sin are delightfully devilish on their own. Preach! (NR)
“Is this just Medieval Callboy?” chuckles one unsuspecting onlooker as Feuerschwanz touch down for their first-ever UK show. Yes, basically. With a name that translates roughly as ‘Fire Tail’ and an arsenal of violins, lutes and all manner of whistles being deployed in service of the silliest songs you’ve ever heard, Feuerschwanz is very much like Electric Callboy dressed in animal skins and chain mail. That’s no bad thing. From the Loki-fixated Bastard Von Asgard (‘Du bist der bastard – BASTARD VON ASGARD!’) to Ren Faire-ready newbie Knightclub, the Bavarian horde tap into exactly the same high-quality, supremely danceable tongue-in-cheek silliness as their track-suited brethren from Castrop-Rauxel. And if they hadn’t hammered the point home already, earworm covers of O-Zone’s Dragostea Din Tea and Psy’s Gangnam Style confirm this is the most fun you can have with your tunic on. It’s a hell of a first first time on these shores. Bet your best longsword it won’t be their last. (SL)
The past year or so has turned Lowen from a cool band in the British doom underground into an outfit with genuinely formidable power. Pumped up by almost constant gigging, their intoxicating mix of low-end heaviness, thunderous metal and traditional Iranian music has become a hulking powerhouse. The sheer power of Nina Saeidi's incredible vocals, meanwhile, is capable of bringing a huge tent like this to a stunned hush as she opens the set with a huge a capella verse that sounds like its come across millennia to get here. If all this felt mystical enough on last year's 5/5-rated Do Not Go To War With The Demons Of Mazandaran album, seeing it all on this form, with Nina dressed in traditional finery, brandishing weaponry from an altar, eyes fixed on a point somewhere in space, is pure sorcery. The heat of the day only adds to the intensity as Shem Lucas' enormous riffs crash down and Nina cries out incantations, particularly when the visuals behind them make boiled brains imagine the stage is actually moving. Pure magic from start to finish. (NR)
Sun-baked exhaustion might be setting in by the time The Black Dahlia Murder make their Bloodstock return after more than a decade, but the Michigan metal survivors won't consider even a second of compromise. "Alright Bloodstock, try to keep up!" laughs Brian Eschbach before plunging headlong into a full-throttle Kings Of The Nightworld, reminding us all of the pummelling technicality beneath their savage surface. There’s still time for “acting like primal fools” on Statutory Ape, but absolutely no time to relax, with even the relatively slow-paced Mammoth's Hand just "a chance to really decompress your vertebrae on those headbangs". Dear departed vocalist Trevor Strnad will never be forgotten, but as On Stirring Seas Of Salted Blood sends the assembled ocean of bruisers into tempestuous overdrive, any grief takes a back seat to unhinged celebration today. (SL)
You can argue and split hairs all you like about who the heaviest band at Bloodstock is. The correct answer, by some distance, is Orme. The security guard sat at the side of the EMP Stage looks confused, but not unpleasantly so, as the Hertfordshire drone trio begin, very slowly breathing in the same low, hanging note for a full five minutes, before layering a chant-like vocal on top. He actually looks surprised when the drums finally kick in. But during this, your brain tunes into their frequency, and even when nothing is apparently happening, you can feel yourself swaying to some pulse deep within it all. When it drops and things begin slowly rolling forward, like a strongman contestant pulling a train, it has the whole tent under its spell. You want heavy? Orme gives you heavy, baby. (NR)
Clad in varying shades of dull, shiny and glittering black, Lord Of The Lost aren't the obvious choice for a sunny late afternoon slot, but there's no skimping on their theatrical excess. Sort of like Sabaton if they were more interested in the goings on at a Berlin sex club than the minutiae of the Boer War, the sheer bombast of Moonstruck and We’re All Created Evil proves LOTL can be downright impossible to resist. It's the more playful flourishes, like their cover of Bronski Beat’s Smalltown Boy and a jaunty late run through of Die Tomorrow that prove how unashamedly fun they can be, too. From down-and-dirty dance moves to one-person circle pits, it’s ultimately all just one big murky party. Light Can Only Shine On The Darkness feels strangely profound today, celebrating the importance of finding fun in a world on the slide, while Eurovision hit Blood & Glitter remains a bona fide crossover hit that gets battle jacketed thrashers singing along just as hard as committed goths. Lord it up! (SL)
While She Sleeps frontman Loz Taylor is lurking around the sound desk early on Sunday evening, but all eyes are on the stage as his recent tour mates in thrown tear it up in the Sophie tent’s prime teatime slot. Hardcore might have found a home at Catton Park in recent years but the Stockholm bad boys’ brand of pitchy, unapologetically severe sound feels like a particularly unfamiliar fit: cutting edge to the point of being uncomfortable. They go down a storm anyway. Frontman Marcus Lundqvist is a wiry force of nature and cheery nuggets like parasite, bloodsucker and bitter friend actually prove refreshingly sharp on afternoons as sweltering as this. (SL)
Mastodon are another of this weekend's previous Bloodstock headliners now making do with second billing, but Sunday evening's outstanding showing is leagues better than their headline turn back in 2016. Blasting on with Tread Lightly, The Motherload and Pushing The Tides, they perform with a different urgency, a clearer focus on driving riffs than aimless atmospherics, and a greater certainty of what they want to be than before. The departure of wildman guitarist Brent Hinds has doubtless shorn them of some unpredictability and wildcard personality, but the proper implementation of six-stringer Nick Johnston and João 'Rasta' Nogueira on keys has solidified and streamlined their approach.
With a lengthy European tour that’s seen them support Slayer and play Back To The Beginning in the UK already – as well as countless other festivals – now into its last seven days, they are finely tuned with perhaps the most immaculate mix they’ve ever had on these shores. Crystal Skull is enormous, naturally, but it’s the proggy expanses of More Than I Could Chew and All The Heavy Lifting that have really come into their own, while Mother Puncher remains a bracing return to Mastodon’s brutal beginnings.
“I don’t think I can say I love you any more,” gushes bassist Troy Sanders. “I've exhausted that fact. But I will say that we’re going home to record a new record and we’ll be back next year.” Leaving off with Blood And Thunder and their superb version of Sabbath’s Supernaut, everyone here will be waiting with baited breath. The climax of the Atlantan legends’ thrilling new dawn. (SL)
The Five Hundred's frontman John Eley decides to indulge in a little Freddy Mercury style 'HEY-OOOH' crowd participation early in their evening set. It's ambitious stagecraft in what's essentially an overgrown bar tent. Then again, everything about the local lads’ performance might as well be calibrated for the main stage. From intricately composed tech metal nuggets The Death Of All We Know and Rainmaker (featuring Rachel Aspe from Cage Fight) to studio standards of performance and production and even a no-holds-barred wall of death, they are the definition of an outfit playing for the billing they want rather than the one they’ve already got. And although a confused few seem disappointed that this isn't Tony Hawk's Pro Skater cover specialists The 900, even they end up mightily impressed by the time epic closer Our Demise leaves it all said and done. (SL)
Gojira guitarist Christian Andreu isn’t the type to blow smoke up fans’ arses. Indeed, he barely ever even addresses the audience at all. But by the end of Gojira’s incredible demolition of the Ronnie James Dio Stage, he can’t help but race over to pick up the mic with a simple message for the roaring masses: "UK metal festival crowds are the fucking best!"
Nearing the end of an epic summer that’s seen them play everywhere from European mega-fests Wacken, Brutal Assault and Rockstadt, to Back To The Beginning and even within the ancient ramparts at Carcassonne, the French titans have had no shortage of adulation and adventure. Yet where some crowds seem almost in awe of their metronomic grandeur – all hard points and clean edges – Bloodstock is entirely unafraid of unleashing a little chaos.
As we observed at Wacken, it’s an impressively boiled down production that manages to feel huge without too many bells and whistles. Dropping in one incredible passage, Backbone, Stranded and Flying Whales are three of the greatest metal songs of recent times. Another World and Silvera offer alternate versions of hope and dread. Best of all, drummer Mario Duplantier precedes his double-bass onslaught with a little comedy communication with the audience, ‘accidentally’ holding up a sign that reads ‘FISH & CHIPS – £10” and triggering the hungriest chant of the whole festival.
Their traditional cover Mea culpa (Ah! Ça ira!) is performed without an opera singer tonight, but both its message and its bombardment of fireworks and ticker tape still feel thrillingly visceral. “Beheading kings was never quite contagious enough to catch on in England,” teases Mario’s frontman brother Joe. “I’m not advocating violence, but sometimes you’ve got to spill a little blood.”
That’s exactly what happens as the mosh goes into unhinged overdrive for Amazonia and L'enfant Sauvage. And as Joe shows off his brand new Tony Iommi-style Gibson SG bought in Birmingham only yesterday, their cover of Sabbath’s Under The Sun/Every Day Comes And Goes feels even more monumental than before. The Gift Of Guilt might seem like an oddly downbeat place to leave off at a show as celebratory this, but even above all their angular technicality and fiery bombast, it’s that sense of awkward, uncompromised brilliance that makes Gojira a band apart. As always, c'est incroyable! (SL)
Fitting as it is to see Obituary have the final word at the biggest Bloodstock ever, the Floridian legends aren’t about to allow any of their banged-out crowd to just lay down and die. Sticking to the fast-and-furious script, they rip into a packed-out tent with Redneck Stomp and By The Light. Body Bag, Dying and Cause Of Death might be one of the most straightforward streams of distilled death metal ever, but their cover of Celtic Frost’s Circle Of The Tyrants cranks the complexity.
Not for long, of course, as Chopped In Half and Turned Inside Out seem to do exactly that to those caught in an ever-more-unhinged mosh. I’m In Pain feels hilariously literal as well, as broken bodies tumble towards midnight. But there’s no stopping before Slowly We Rot pummels anyone left upright into submission.
Spilling sweatily into the night there are still beers to be smashed, burgers to be devoured and bins to be jousted, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that Bloodstock 2025 has set an impossibly high standard that will be nigh on impossible to match for years to come. On the other hand, it’s underlined what the faithful have known for years: Catton Hall offers just about the most bang for your buck at any gathering of heavy music aficionados anywhere.
Metal Gods willing, we’ll catch you again in 2026, back down the front! (SL)
Bloodstock Open Air returns August 6 – 9, 2026
Read this next:
