Super Mega Big Review : Bloodstock Festival on August 7th 2026

It may well have been mightily cold overnight but Friday dawns with blazing sunshine and good vibes. Gurt get to kick things off in Sophie and frontman Gareth Kelly is beside himself that his young kids get to see their dad in action. This of course doesn’t stop him from dispensing with encouraging profanities at a machine gun like pace. Gurt are an underground institution and DIY masterclass. Gurt control Gurt and that freedom feels invigorating. This is party sludge. Heavy and doomy but with a definitive bounce. That bounce comes into play as Black Mist from the Hell joins them for the first of two on stage covers of 2-unlimited subliminal ‘No Limits’. Great start to the day.

The Ronnie James Dio stage is opened by battlesnake. Sheet wearing Australians who look like Polyphonic Spree – the devil worshipping years. The metal is, to be honest rather derivative and formulaic but they manage to invoke a chaotic air that engages with the crowd. Keytar dispenser Billy O'Key pretty soon dispenses with his sheet and cavorts in the photo pit in just his undies. Lead druid Sam Frank then goes crowd surfing and himself ends up down to his briefs. Perhaps lacking in the memorial numbers department they are a joyful exercise in disorganised chaos. 

Blood Countess are vintage second generation Nordic black metal, via North East England. There is no refinement here. Just pure snarly claustrophobic noise. It is a downtuned and production-light homage to those stalwarts of the Norwegian scene. The Cuntess (also known as Nina Luisa Blackwood) is a harrowing and demonic force up front and her howls resonate across the impressively full tent. Back on main stage the chaos ante is upped considerably by an appearance by the kings of slam, Party Cannon. In a show designed specifically for Bloodstock they present the most enjoyable incoherent mess you are likely to ever come across. They are ably aided by a crowd that are astoundingly up for it. The pit is a yellow collage of banana suits and inflatable. Some point in the last two years debauched slam metal has become the drug of choice for metal’s teen contingent and every bugger on site under twenty is seemingly in the pit.

What we get is a whirlwind cacophony of bad taste, homemade signs, beach balls and belched lyrics. It is fantastically non-sensical and beautifully bonkers. There are numerous attempts to break world records, which are continually thwarted by an overzealous representative from Guinness world record. Party Cannon are not a band to cross so he eventually has his guts removed (which inexplicably look like party streamers) and then is placed in large liquidiser. The reception is astonishing. The pit is probably the most furious that it is all weekend with bodies piling over the barriers (most riding daft inflatables). There is also a watching crowd that stretches right beyond the food trucks. Somehow a band that has been in existence for nearly eighteen years and have invariably been written off as infantile have become the vanguard of a very modern metal movement. Party Cannon are superb in their stupidity and are (to their confoundment) the band of the moment.

It may feel like poor journalism but Hammer hit exactly like the proverbial hammer. They are aggressive and profoundly brutal heavy music. It all sits somewhere between sludge and death metal. Slow enough to be profoundly powerful but also with enough velocity to see the bodies crashing in the pit before them. Pure unadulterated metal and highly enjoyable. Back on main Skynd is simultaneously delighting the faithful and confusing the hell out of the causal listener. Her vocal antics are astonishing. She goes from Minnie Mouse on helium to a Roberta Flack like soulful refrain in seconds without the aid of any vocal effects. Her voice may be incredible, but the content is just too concept for the wider Bloodstock faithful and beyond her devotees up front, her real life murder stické results in nothing more than polite “Ryder Cup” clapping. Fascinating but decidedly too niche for her slot. 

Sellsword scratch the itch for anyone wanting pure symphonic medieval power metal. They are big, epic and startlingly widescreen. With a new album released just last month there is a wonderful air of pomp and opulence. Enjoyable in an escapist sort of way. Over on Ronnie James Dio it is return of Life of agony. They were meant to play the ill-fated 2020 Bloodstock but that darn virus took its toil. Instead here they in their alternative splendour. They have always existed in that hither land between grunge and doom and they come across this afternoon like a more grizzled Pearl Jam. Keith Caputo has detransitioned and is back in his male persona. He postulates himself around the stage in wild splendour, all flailing arms and emotional turmoil. Fellow Brooklyners Biohazard stand and watch on the sidelines and Keith takes time to call them and their influence out. Wrought with passion and heartfelt trauma, Life of Agony are all our shit moments in life personified. 

Back in Sophie Hidden Intent are route 101 thrash via Australia. They are the revived thrash that the Municipal Waste led thrash revival to resurrect. Fast, frantic and delightfully unfiltered they delight a mass of followers that have only circle pits on their mind. Back on main we continue with the heavy as Fit for an Autopsy draw a phenomenally large crowd. With slam now taking the mantel of death metal’s degenerate sibling, Deathcore has moved into a more measured and respectable phase. Rather than upstarts, Fit for an Autopsy are treated like elder statesmen, and trade their wares with conviction and utter competency. It is a faultless display this early afternoon, blisteringly heavy and brimming with brutality but there is now a feeling of real craftsmanship to the material and their showmanship. Joe Badolato holds the crowd with ease and there is a maturity to found in deathcore’s otherwise bratty demeanour.

In twenty-five years this is the first time that German cult hero grinders Excrementory Grindfuckers have made it to the UK. They provide conclusive proof that German’s have a sense of humour, even if it is warped and rather bodily function focused. They are a riot of irreverence, dirty riffs and EDM beats. They channel the patron saint of Germany, David Hasselhoff with a parody perfect ‘Looking for Grindcore’ and have a ball with silly refrains and brutal breakdowns. The Gods of festival tech are not kind to them and the entire power goes down on the stage not once but twice. The band soldier on orchestrating mass clap alongs and telling jokes in broken English to those on the barrier. The technical hitches takes some of the wind out of their sails and means that their set ends in a resolute whimper but all in all Excrementory Grindfuckers are the technicolour chaotic insurrection of stupidity and heavenly grindcore. Hopefully our inability to make the equipment work won’t put them off returning.

Biohazard have had the memo and make no attempt to cox the crowd on stage. Instead we get a muscular and masterful performance that affirms their position as crossover heroes. Biohazard were always the point where thrash and punk meet and they work the line well between the former’s blistering speed and the latter’s wonton guenuality. Bioharzard have never been about escapism, this is music as a cathartic bloodletting, and they tell tales of the streets with the authencity of those that have lived it. Biohazard are as real as you are going to get and keep a magnificently buoyant crowd bouncing. Back on Sophie Seething Akira seem to provide a pre-warning of the future to come. Metal is going through another evolution (or upheaval depending on where you stand) and it is distinctly EDM flavoured. Seething Akira are a looping frenzy of dance beats and up-tuned guitars. It is like The Prodigy on a range of amphetamines and a bag of Tangfastics for good measure. In the middle of the genre churning is a bevy of expert instrumentalists and it is their skills that makes the blurring of battlelines work so well. 

Municipal Waste aren’t just going to f*ck you up, they are also going to pull by the far the biggest crowd of the weekend. Their tongue in cheek self-aware self-deprecation has somehow become the flavour of the month. As well as that the large the crowd is vocal and very much ready to rumble. The dust swells into the sky and Bloodstock’s new water sprays work overtime as they douse the frantic faithful. There is something wonderfully dependable about Municipal waste. We know the schtick because they are no strangers to these shores, but this doesn’t make the pisstake comments about the length of their tracks any less funny. This is mindless fun resurrected in the body of a band. 

Neckbreakker are unfeasibly young, they also look like troublemaking trendies as opposed to fast rising old school death metal revivalists. However the ace up their track suited sleeves is that they are bloody good at this. They have realised (as have peers like Frozen soul and 200 Stab Wounds) that the beauty of the first wave of death metal was its minimalism. They have killer riffs and they give them plenty of space to breathe. It is a spectacular wonderful display of driving guitar tones and thumping drum beats that gnaw at your soul. Proof that you don’t need to sport a fading Metallica t-shirt to be metal as fuck.

Sepultura have proved that it make business sense to split up. The crowd for them is outrageous and stretches into every nook and cranny that the main stage arena offers. It feels like loads of us that probably never gave the Derrick Green incarnation of the band the time of day, now want to pay our respects. It is astonishing and just a little ironic how impending disappearance suddenly means that everyone on site has the need to scream along to ‘Refuse/Resist’ one last time. To give them their due, Sepultura are not going out with a whimper. They are on top form this evening and the emotion seems to get to Derrick on numerous occasions. He has been the custodian of this band for three times longer than Max was ever around and he takes full ownership for all the love that he pours out for the pit. As the final notes of ‘Roots Bloody Roots’ resonates around, Andreas Kisser makes an emotional farewell to the UK, a market that recognised their brilliance before anyone else. Derrick stands stock-still next to him, fighting away the tears and takes the plaudits one last time.

With no pre-publicity and little fanfare, Shining (of Norwegian variety) are gracing Bloodstock with a full rendition of their sublime and subliminal masterpiece “Blackjazz”. Every album released since 2010 that pushes the envelope of Black metal in any direction owes this album a massive debut. It is a freeform cacophony of noise that dispenses with all the nonsense of time signatures and instead plunges claustrophobic black metal head first into the world of free form jazz. It is astonishing on so many levels, and it is criminal that the lack of hype about its performance means that there is a mere handful of devotees presence. Jorgen’s trademark sax makes its first appearance in second track ‘Fisheye’ and everything takes a distinct left turn into improvised abundance.

This is music with no rules and the beauty is that everytime they perform the songs for this album, they feel different. There is structure but is so buried in the seemingly spontaneous flow of unconnected sound that it is hard to spot. The visuals are dark and unsettling and go with the twisted vortex of noise. Almost title track ‘Blackjazz Deathtrance’ is an almost perfect maelstrom of colliding ideas and avant-garde tones. There is a beauty in its discombobulation and as soon as you realise that nothing is at a right angle to anything else else you can get lost in the organised chaos. As ever the performance culminates with their version of fellow auters King Crimson’s ‘21st Century Schizoid Man’. It is a cover in the broadest sense of the word. Keeping the lyrics and the merest hint of the melody but playing with the structure and semblance of the track. A jaw-dropping performance but where was everyone? 

Well a quick hobble across the site finds them all at main stage awaiting Virginia’s finest, Lamb of God. They have gone mad with the pyro, enlisting plumps of flame that regularly threaten to BBQ Randy. It is slick and well-orchestrated performance that proves beyond doubt their position in metal’s hierarchy. With a new album to promote they get the balance just right. Three aired tracks are spliced through the set and don’t ever feel like they dominate over their more familiar material. ‘Now You’ve Got Something to Die For’ is dispensed with early doors and is magnificent in its raw power and organic opulence. The set flows much better than their previous Bloodstock appearance in 2022 and the gaps between songs lack the jarring darknesses that made their previous appearance feel disjointed.

‘Walk With Me In Hell’ is rolled out around the hour mark and any members of assembled throng that were beginning to wain are suddenly rejuvenated. The place becomes a cauldron of leaping bodies and screamed lines. Randy leaps around the shop like a deranged jack in the box and the energy prickles off the back of our collective necks. It is a song we have all heard before, but its power is never diminished. The set hurtles forward with utter conviction until we come to a shuddering halt with ‘Redneck’. Lamb of God are too old school for encores and we all know that this is the end. As one, the audience screams “This is a motherfucking invitation, The only one you could ever need” as the fire flails and the fireworks soar. There is no one with the conviction and the effortless coolness of Lamb of God and this evening they prove just how good they are.

And bringing to a close the evening it’s the poundshop Alice cooper in the shape of Wednesday 13. Let’s be honest he is a divisive figure and the attendance is made up of his loyal followers whilst everyone else buggers off to either watch a Motley Crue cover act in VIP or prepare themselves for bin jousting madness. For all his detractors what he does, he does damn well and the screaming from the front rows has an air of Beatlemania. Horror metal with added melody is a fun ending to the Friday.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!