Live Review : Stonedead Festival on August 29th 2026

Saturday dawns to frankly atrocious weather conditions. It does start blue skies and sunshine, but by the time the arena has opened at 10.30 the wet stuff (as our enigmatic host Krusher calls it) has started to tumble down, and frankly it doesn't stop all day. If Stonedead is meant to be about reinvigorating the spirit of the Monsters of Rock festivals, then this year's event very much captured the essence of the 1987 festival, where it also rained from beginning to end. However, as veterans of the Donington days (the average age of those here is firmly somewhere above sixty), the Stonedead crowd are a hardy bunch and they brave the elements wrapped in Kagouls and wellies, determined not to miss a single band. It is that feeling of ownership that keeps the whole event bobbing along magnificently even when the British weather does its worst.  

Stonedead is not just a celebration of a past era, it is also committed to supporting the best to be found in current rock. The opening slot is voted on by the ticket holding public and has evolved into a fiercely fought contest for up-and-coming acts. Aethoria are this year’s victors and take to the stage in a flurry of smiles and civic pride. Interestingly, they are not a facsimile of a new wave of classic rock band, and instead they plough a distinctly modern furrow; think Lizzy Hale fronting prime-time Bullet for my Valentine and you are half the way there. What that synonym fails to capture, though, is the Gothic atmospherics that swirl around their music. There is a dark intensity at play that juxtaposes well with Mecia-Jade Holden’s soulful refrains. A remarkably engaging set that makes it clear Stonedead isn't just about re-animating the glory days of rock.

Having said that in many places Asomvel are essentially a Motörhead cover act, just doing original material. That is meant firmly as a compliment, as they are bloody brilliant at what they do and manage to whip up the energy of the crowd just as Mother Nature decides to do her worst. In fact, they pull probably the biggest front-of-stage massing until we get to the big guns of Accept and Europe. They lean into the raw primal power of rock with a twinkle in their eyes and a huge dollop of fun. There is a simplicity at play, which means even if you are not familiar with the band you are soon singing along as if you were their biggest fan. It isn’t all Lemmy worship, and a newly penned number shifts their signature sound in the direction of Airbourne. Yes, there is a great deal of emulation here, but when a reproduction is so good and so enjoyable it doesn't really matter if we heard this all before, as it's just great to hear it all again.

Crobot, carry on with the good time rock 'n' roll aesthetics but add a great dollop of funk. There is a dirty groove underpinning their sound that brings to mind the brilliance of very early Red Hot Chilli Peppers (before they succumbed to the lure of commerciality), basically, this is rock music that you can shake your tush to, and a now very soaked crowd dance to their heart’s content. Brandon Yeagley, a fantastic frontman is certainly hasn’t got the memo about the elements as he arrives on stage in a sparkling leotard that shows off his midriff. He sprints across the performance area like a man possessed or at the very least keen to increase his daily step rate. He even gets hoisted into the air by his guitarist during final track ‘Nowhere To Hide’. This frenetic energy transfers into the crowd and they bounce along, oblivious to the rain falling upon them. It is a vibrant and frenetic set that wins over even the most sodden members of the audience. 

The Damn Truth complete the trilogy of modern acts doing brilliant things with classic rock. Hailing from Canada, they are a technicolour explosion of high-octane rock (that isn't just referring to the snappy red suits sported by the male members of the band). They float on stage to the hypnotic refrains of Jefferson Airplane’s ‘White Rabbit’, singing its lines as they hurtle towards their instruments. Musically, it all feels raw and energetic but also beautifully and skilfully sculpted. The Damn Truth have been produced by the god emperor of slick commerciality, Bob Rock and that inference on immaculate song structures shines through. Tracks like ‘Love Outta Luck’ and ‘All Night Long’ are brilliantly rendered. 

Sturdy and catchy enough to become earworms but also possessing enough individuality and improvisation to feel like they are pushing against the norm. The whole thing descends into a free-form party during the closing act ‘Tomorrow’. The band jams with each other, bringing the incredible musicality at play into sharp focus. The Rocket Queen Dancers return to back them up, and it becomes a carnival of nonconformity, celebrating the power of rock 'n' roll and the brilliance of individuality. A exceptional set that once again sticks two fingers up at the extremities.

Somehow the weather manages to find a way to get even worse for Armored Saint. For a band that only ever made one visit to this country during their first coming, this is now their third visit in three years. The fervent fanboys down front are not taking anything for granted and even though the rain has become a solid cascade, they pack out the area directly in front of the stage and sing along with every word. The legend that is John Bush takes every opportunity to praise the faithful for sticking with them through the nastiest of conditions. He is as amazing as ever, and his voice just seems to get better. This evening, it is a pristine instrument, with soaring refrains that head heavenward.

The band itself is as tight as a funeral drum and provides a textbook exercise in delivering the goods. It has been the five same gentleman since 1989 (putting aside the two sabbaticals), and there is a real feeling of last gang in town in the way they interact and bounce off each other. Musically, this is metal as mother made it. Influenced by Maiden and Priest but then subsequently influencing the new wave of American Metal that rose at the start of the millennium. This afternoon is a brilliantly evocative 45 minutes of stunning riffage and rabble-rousing anthem. Once more, they prove that the weather is not going to beat us.

This is Battle Beast’s first UK show since domineering vocalist Noora left to be replaced by Brazilian Avantasia alumni Marina La Torraca. Given both the upward trajectory the band were on in this country and also the central role that Noora played in their imagery and their stage presence, there is a real question mark about the shadow that Marina is left living under. The initial omens aren't good, as technical issues caused by the weather blight the first couple of tracks. But Marina proves to be both magnificently charismatic herself, but also very much a trooper. She leans into slightly chaotic circumstances and instead of being embarrassed by it, turns it into a running joke that massively endears herself to the assembled masses. It may take them a few numbers to warm up (especially given they are so not dressed for the elements), but once they hit their stride, they are a wonderfully enjoyable cacophony of catchy numbers and melodic hooks. By the end of the time on stage, the initially reticent crowd are now eating out of Marina’s hands and silly dancing to the pop-drenched numbers. ‘King For A Day’ becomes a communal singalong that stretches to the very end of the arena. A superb effort and example of how pure authenticity can save a set.

It looked like the death in 2024 of its talisman, Tony Clarkin would spell the end of British institution Magnum. However, his 50-year-plus compatriot Bob Catley decided the best way to honour the life of one of this country's greatest musicians and song-smiths is to continue the band that was his entire existence. Tony’s place has been taken by his guitar technician Brendan Reilly, and the rest of the band is the musicians they have been working with them both for the last 10 years (basically, a long time ago Magnum became Tony and Bob and a revolving door of instrumentalists). 

It doesn’t start off well; ‘Days of Trust’, which should be a strident anthem, is lost in a muddy mix with the guitar parts inaudible. Bob himself, who is usually most affable of charismatic front men, takes a while to warm up, but something clicks as they head into the classic ‘How Far Jerusalem’. The sound finally manages to sort its shit out and Bob relaxes into his role as a veritable elderly statesmen. From that point on, they are nothing short of majestic. They may well be one final album in the traps ready to go but instead they choose to concentrate on the tracks the crowd grew up with. ‘On A Storytellers Night’ is a misty-eyed singalong for those of a certain vintage, and ‘Vigilante’ and ‘Kingdom of Madness’ gets those who really should know better bouncing along. It may well have not been on the printed setlist, but they still managed to squeeze in a final ‘Sacred Hour’ that is both soaring and emotional. A second example of how you save a performance from probable disaster.

Let’s deal with this straight up. Accept are stunning this evening. An absolute route 101 lesson in metal perfection. If Saxon and Judas Priest had flown the flag for metal's old guard a couple of weeks back at Bloodstock, then this is German masters exclaiming “hold our beer” and frankly topping the lot of them. They bring with them not only a headline-worthy stage set with levels, a flashing Accept sign and a drum kit almost in the lighting rig, but also a truckload of Pyro. They are simply perfect from beginning to end. A consummately entertaining barrage of molten metal that never lets up. There are no down moments, no tracks that don’t quite land. Every song is performed as if it is the end number and the energy level is permanently at 11.

Given we have all been standing around in sodden conditions for ten hours, the audience reaction is extraordinary. ‘Teutonic Terror’ is summoned by five thousand voices and sung back at the band with zeal and genuine emotionality. Everyone bounces, everyone sings, and nobody cares about the rain. Trailing their 50th anniversary release, “Teutonic Titans”, which will see them retread past glories with a who's who of metal alumni, they bring John Bush back to the stage to belt out ‘Up to the Limit’. Watching him spar with Wolf and Mark Tornillo is a hair on the back of your neck moment. But every moment of the set is extraordinary, and watching Wolf, Mark, Martin and Philip synchronise moves at the lip of the stage just feels so perfect and so special. There are almost too many goodies to get through, and they have to squeeze ‘Demon's Night’, ‘Starlight’, ‘Losers and Winners’ and ‘Flash Rockin' Man’ into a medley just to get it all in.

 2010s strident ‘Pandemic’ feels as prophetic as ever, and then the atmosphere builds up even further as they head into their big guns. That intro rings out as they hurtle into the masterpiece that is ‘Fast as a Shark’. Inflatable great whites bomb over the heads of the audience and those dressed in shark costumes get their moment in the sun. Its speed and velocity absolutely foreshadowed the coming of thrash, and it is obvious where Metallica and Megadeth got their ideas from. They then sequence into ‘Balls To The Wall’, one of metal's greatest protest songs, even though its political message is subtly and incredibly cleverly disguised. At this point, Accept absolutely own Stonedead and there is not a voice that isn't joining in the choral refrain. A blissfully joyful moment that illustrates why every volunteer has been on site since Monday. A communal experience personifying the power and magnificence of this music. 

In any other circumstance, a Europe headline show with a distinctly nonpartisan audience would essentially be 85 minutes of waiting for the ‘Final Countdown’. But the Stonedead audience is special and prove to be incredibly literate when it comes to their rock standards. ‘Rock the Night’, ‘Carrie’,’Superstitious’, and ‘Ready or Not’ are treated with the same level of reverence and word-perfect iteration as that song. This is a crowd that knows its rock onions and views Europe as the legends that they are as opposed to one-hit wonders. Even though they know a good portion of the material it is obvious that the crowd are visibly taken aback by just how good a live entity Europe are. Consisting of exactly the same personnel that have been around since 1984 (John Norum disappeared for a couple of albums in the late 80s and early 90s, but we gloss over that) Europe are slick, well-drilled live proposition that obviously still immensely enjoy playing music together.

The joy of having a safety net like the ‘Final Countdown’ (and we will come to that song later) is that it is has allowed the band to enjoy being themselves during the second act rather than having to worry about commercial worth or traction. The tracks that they have produced since they reformed in 2003 have seen the band hit a rich vein of creativity, expressing their debt to early blues-driven Whitesnake and Deep Purple. ‘Walk the Earth’, ‘War of Kings’ and ‘Last Look at Eden’ (all aired this evening) illustrate that the latter-day incarnation of this band is still able to create brilliantly evocative songs. There are even two slices provided from their upcoming album “Come this Madness”, and ‘The Cult of Ignorance’ particularly shows that they still have a knack for carving out great anthems.

Joey is as ever, a talismanic and thoroughly authentic frontman. He tries to endear himself to the local audience by referring to us as yellowbellies though his geography is a little off as Newark is in Nottinghamshire rather than Lincolnshire. He does redeem himself, though by creating an impromptu ode to the festival with a simple refrain of “I'm never going to bed, cause I've been to Stonedead". It is through that warmth and humility that he builds a stunning repartee with the audience, and you get the feeling that even those standing around waiting for that song leave as genuine fans of the band. ‘Ready or Not’ and ‘Superstitious’ have both been retrofitted to lean into the band's latter-day blues rock direction and John Norum's guitar and Mic Michaeli's keys are sumptuous.

But by now we are drifting towards the finale, and the expectation is building across the whole field. ’Cherokee’ comes from the same album as that track, and it provides a fantastic aperitif for the moment to come. Let's be honest, when you have a song that is taken on a life of its own in the way that the ‘Final Countdown’ has, you can't help but give it the respect and reverence that it deserves. It exists outside of our world and is probably firmly in the ten songs that anyone anywhere in the world can sing no matter their culture, creed or musical reference. Diehard Europe fanatics (and we have at least two of them at ROCKFLESH Towers) may flinch at the way that it overshadows everything else they've ever done, but you cannot take away the moment of communal euphoria that unfolds as they play. Everyone sings, everyone hugs each other, and for a brief six minutes everybody is lost in universal unequivocal joy. It is a song that strides across every divide, be it generational or cultural, and it provides such a perfect end to the day

And that's it. Stonedead 2026 done and dusted. It was a day of brilliance carved out of adversity. The infrastructure that has been lovingly sculpted over the last eight years stood up to the elements, and whilst it was wet and muddy, nothing seemed to creak. Instead, the hardy five thousand put on their wet weather gear and got on with the show. It was a day that once again shone a light on the solidarity of the rock and metal community. A gathering of tribes that felt life-affirming and edifying. It is the pure personification of the “build it and they will come” mentality, and as 2027’s edition heads towards being another sell-out without a single band being announced, it is very obvious that they have managed to bottle something very special indeed.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
Europe + Accept + Magnum + Battle Beast + Armored Saint + The Damn Truth + Crobot + Asomvel + Aethoria