Pictures by Bruce Cowie
This year was Damnation Festival’s 10th anniversary. It all started originally in Manchester, before moving to the Leeds Student Union a couple of years ago to establish themselves as one of the most anticipated one-day festivals in the fields of extreme metal. All the more reason for a great party and a great line-up. Of course this occasion was going to be sold out and 4,000 beer loving metal fans gathered together on top of that hill in Leeds for 12 hours of heavy distorted riffing, shredding, grunting, screaming, blast beats, mosh pits and ear penetrating double bass drums salvos.
A couple of special names with a Damnation history were gradually revealed over the last couple of months, with Raging Speedhorn’s return to the Damnation stage being one of the most anticipated ones, after having played the inaugural festival 10 years ago, and for this special occasion with the two original vocalists reuniting. Stampin’ Ground also got an invitation to play Damnation again, the last time they nearly literally destroyed the stage, so another much eagerly awaited return.
The main festival headliners were of course Bolt Thrower and their legendary death metal grooves were always going to be devastatingly crushing and heavy. This was Bolt Thrower’s only UK date on their recent tour and their first UK show in 2 years, so pretty exciting news all around. Then there was Anaal Nathrakh’s return to Damnation, being the most requested band to make their return, which probably didn’t come as much of a surprise to the extreme metal fans.
For the doom fans Saint Vitus with legendary Wino in the ranks were asked to play their classic album Born Too Late in full, in addition to a bunch of old fan favourite hits. Black metal fans had a lot to se as well, with Winterfylleth and another returning band Fen of particular mention.
All in all, there was something on offer for everyone really and here you can read three different reviews, providing various experiences of this year’s Damnation Festival, written by Ech(((o)))es and Dust team members Andrew Rawlinson, Bruce Cowie and Ross Mckendrick, the latter probably still searching for some proper chip shop ‘chippie’ chips.
Same time next year please!
Sander van den Driesche (metal editor)
Now in its tenth year Damnation Festival has established itself as THE end of season party on the metal calendar by providing cracking and diverse line-ups along with an amazing atmosphere. This year is no exception as the organisers continues to forge its well deserved reputation with the strongest line-up to date of 27 must see bands from across them metal spectrum.
Leeds being the lovely city it is means it’s always worthy making your way up a day early for the sights and sounds, especially for the now regular A Night of Salvation pre-show party that in its firth year has now become a staple of the whole experience and always boasting a stellar line-up of local talent and being the starting point of my love affair with bands such as Envoys and BongCauldron.
This year being no slouch either with the highlights for me being the grindcore fury of The Atrocity Exhibit and the post-metal soundscapes of Latitudes.
The obligatory starting point on Saturday is always The Dry Dock Pub (It’s a pub that’s a boat on a roundabout!), a student bar that once a year is invaded by the legion of the extreme for its beer and breakfasts as it’s a short stroll (read: stumble) from the venue… Ah the venue… Now being a veteran of six Damnations at the hallowed halls of Leeds University the layout has become second nature however for newcomers it can be a dizzyingly confusing rabbit warren just trying to find the bar! But in a way it kinds of adds to its charm.
First band of the day for me is Bristolain death metal mob Amputated who I have not seen in nearly 10 years. They arrive onstage greeted by a large and equally boisterous crowd that the frontman taps into to create a jovial atmosphere and the band responds in kind with a flawless heavy display of death metal excellence including obligatory OTT song names such as ‘Repugnant Genital Deformity’ and ‘Gorging on Putrid Discharge’.
After a brief trundle around the venue to re-acquaint my bearings it was into the PHD Stage for Dutch post-metal outfit Atlantis. Having previously been impressed by them at Beyond The Redshift earlier in the year I was looking forward to seeing them again and they didn’t disappoint despite looking a tad lost on the large stage.
Atlantis
It was at this stage that the combination of venue layout and sold out crowd became a minor hindrance as an attempt to locate Obsidian Kingdom in the glorified cupboard known as the Eyesore Merch Stage I became confronted by never ending queues on the many stairs so mission aborted and back to the terrace bar to socialise… Until it was time for local riffers Black Moth, but I was to be scuppered once again by a jam packed room and long queue up the stairs to get in already establishing itself… mission aborted and back to the bar again!
No such problems for another band I’ve not had the pleasure to witness in nearly a decade as hardcore crossover pioneers Stampin' Ground ripped the Jägermeister Stage a new one. Having reformed this year specifically to play Damnation Festival and a couple of other select dates, I’m happy to report they have lost none of the vitriol or passion as the blaze though a choice set of crowd favourites such as ‘Dead From The Neck Up’ and ‘Officer Down’ that sound colossal sending the crowd wild including a humongous wall of death.
H A R K
Next up was direct clash of black metal act Winterfylleth and stoner rockers H A R K, which on paper was very tough but owing to the earlier aborted missions and a desperate need to watch Sólstafir, I opted for the Welsh RIFFsters H A R K as they were playing in the same room… These boys have been playing anywhere and everywhere this year in support of debut album Crystalline and the “practise” has been paying dividends as once again they dispatch a sterling set of RIFF worship with aplomb.
Sólstafir
So, yes Sólstafir was probably the biggest buzz band of the festival, second to (maybe even exceeding) the mighty Thrower of Bolts and expectations were high from the assembled masses and boy do they deliver! Selecting choice cuts from the majestic new album Ótta, including the appearance of a banjo in the title track along with a customary spine-tingling ‘Fjara’ – Frontman Aðalbjörn "Addi" Tryggvason struts the stage like a true rock star, one point diving into the photo pit mid riff to fist bump someone on the front row with a Sólstafir tattoo or donning an officer cap and serenading ladies up close, five songs and fifty minutes and there are gone far too soon.
Down in the cupboard A Forrest Of Stars are not having a good time on the other hand as a terrible sound robs them of any atmospherics they try to create…
….Despite clashing with Anaal Nathrakh and loosing their equipment in transit, French doomsters Monarch! still pull in and wow a healthy crowd with a crushing performance of slow motion doom amplified by front woman Emilie Bresson stunning (and slightly terrifying) vocal performance that alternates between soft whimpers and piercing screams. An interesting and amusing note was how bamboozled and confused the usually ambivalent bar staffs were by the events unfolding in front of them.
Some bright park decided to book Cannibal Corpse on one of the smaller stages, which afforded Ahab a large crowd, lots of people loved them but to me they were to polished and came across as “Doom by Numbers” especially when compared to the visceral nature of Monarch!.
Bolt Thrower
So, Bolt Thrower... The main room was heaving and expectations were high and for good reason as they ploughed through a victorious set of death metal classics. Much head banging ensured by all and sundry even by the members of Saint Vitus who opted to loiter at their merch desk to witness the spectacle.
Deciding to forgo the after show party this year it was instead a retreat back to the Dry Dock to re-gather with the clan for celebratory pints of another successful and enjoyable outing.
I’m official. I have a wristband! Nobody wants to buy my ticket, though. Bastards.
Whatever. In we go.
It’s going to be busy – extra tickets, all sold out – but it isn’t yet. Still space to move. So I get my bearings, check the schedule and site map. Make my plans. I abandon my fellow writer. After all, he’s a big boy now and he knows where the bar is. Target One: Corrupt Moral Altar.
Off to the PHD Stage. It’s mostly empty when I get there, too early for the big crowds. I make my way to the pit and check the rules with the security guy who will become my friend. I’ll be seeing a lot of him throughout the day. ‘Flash OK’, he says, which is just as well, because CMA play with almost no lights. High velocity sludge/grind from Liverpool, they’re on top form. Ferocious. But their savagery is somewhat lost in the big open space. They’d have done better in the Mine downstairs. Fine band, wrong room.
I dodge out early to make my way down to the aforementioned Mine - the Eyesore Merch Stage – to get a good spot for Bast. The tiny room is full. Over full, in fact, with a number of unfortunates stuck in the corridor outside the door. I skip the pit this time, setting up camp on the gallery to the side of the room. Maybe that’s a good thing, as there will later be many moans about bad sound in the Mine. Sounds fine where I am. Never seen Bast before, and I’m impressed. Exhilarating black/doom blend with occasional atmospheric, almost proggy, passages. I want to see them again.
Bast
A major change of pace over in PHD, with Dutch post-metallers Atlantis. We’re allowed to take pictures during the first three songs only, which is nice because it seems they only play 3 songs during their 30 minute set. Entirely instrumental, hypnotic slow-build epic songs, perfect for fans of the likes of Pelican, Red Sparowes, that kind of thing. The sound in here is decent, but not perfect, but the room is packed and the crowd loves it. As, it must be said, do I.
Back down the now well trodden path to the Mine for Spanish experimental metal band, Obsidian Kingdom. The five of them are struggling for room on the tiny Mine stage, mainly due to the keyboard mountain right in the middle, and the bass player who takes up an extraordinary amount of space for a skinny bloke. Blimey, he spreads himself wide. The keys are a bit lost, but their set is otherwise solid, taken entirely from their Mantiis album. There’s all sorts in here, from crunchy metal to proggy instrumental workouts. Personally, I think that the singer struggles a bit during the more ‘sensitive’, quieter passages, but they more that make up for that with their muscular dual guitar attack.
Obsidian Kingdom
I head back up to PHD to catch Black Moth, stopping briefly in the Terrorizer room to see what Aeon were all about. Maybe it’s because I’m right at the back of the room with, apparently, the worst sound of them all, but to this photographer’s ears, Aeon are little more than an irritating banging noise. Sorry guys. I know my colleague is in here somewhere, and he will have something far more positive to say. I stop just long enough to try to grab a couple of long range shots and bugger off sharpish.
I’m not sure what to expect from Black Moth, as I know absolutely nothing about them. Some kind of monolithic sludgy doom, perhaps? Eh…..no.
Black Moth
What I do get is a set of groovy, almost bluesy stoner-sludge, powerfully voiced by the irrepressibly chirpy Harriet Bevan. They’re from Leeds, and the crowd is packed with enthusiastic local supporters, who respond with equal fervour to old favourites and songs from the new record, despite the never-ending battle with the barn-like acoustics. But sadly – a thing I must face again and again throughout the day – I have to leave early to get to the next band on time, down in the Mine again.
Where we find Falloch. The Glasgow quartet supply a lighter, windswept and melancholy set of slightly folk-tinged metal, their lengthy songs allowing us a little time to relax. Vocals are maybe a touch wobbly at times, but the crowd seems happy. It’s not all lightweight stuff, though, with the odd heavy chunk taking us by surprise now and again.
Falloch
I’m starting to feel the strain now, and I’d like a break, or at least a change of scenery, but…
Back to PHD for H A R K, and the now-familiar faces of the stage-front security gang. The Welsh turbo-sludge power trio rock like bastards, pounding, energetic and relentless. There’s a definite classic rock feel, but it’s still fresh and exciting. More riffs than you could comfortably shake a stick at. They’re having a ball, and so is the audience. The room has filled out again and the sound seems better. Less echoey. Which is nice.
Time to leave, so I slip through the packed crowd like a greased eel and head down those fucking stairs again to find <Code>.
Where <Code> come from, I have no idea. They might be from Holland, or Finland, or maybe one of the more rural levels of Hades for all I know, but I like what they do. Some variant of melodic black metal, it’s atmospheric and entirely satisfying. The stage is dominated by the singer and the bass player, two not insignificant figures dressed entirely in black and hair. I’m up on the gallery at the side again, and the sound up here still seems fine to me. I’d stay, but I need to be upstairs shortly.
Because next on my agenda is Sólstafir.
Now, up to this point I haven’t stayed for a full set from any of the bands. Tight schedule to stick to, too much time to spend legging it between venues. But now, after Sólstafir, I have a gap, time to take a break. For which I will become immensely grateful. Because Sólstafir are sublime. If you, like me, are not familiar with them, think how it would sound if Sigur Rós played metal. I’m not the first to make that comparison and it’s unlikely that I’ll be the last, but that’s what they’re like. I’ll leave it to the other writers to explain them more eloquently than I can, I’m just going to take my pictures and spend the rest of the set with my jaw on the floor. They look like cowboy bikers, all leather and denim. They play soaring, glorious epic songs, as much post-rock as metal, vocals unearthly as only Icelandic vocals can be.
My keyboard doesn’t speak Icelandic, so I can’t tell you their names. Their singer, whom I shall call ‘The Singer’, works the crowd like a pro, donning a cheeky cap and abandoning his carved Flying V to leap into the photo pit. Many hands are offered and shaken. The security guy seems tense, but there’s no need. There’s never any danger.
At one point, I overhear a large bearded gentleman in front of me saying to his buddy ‘I’m tearing up here…’. And that’s what it was like. Emotional. I’m close to shedding a little tear myself. There’s a few hours to go, but already I know that Sólstafir will be my Band of the Day. It’s going to rival Bossk from 2012 as my best Damnation memory ever.
I’m going to be grateful for the time out now. I need a few minutes to get myself together after Sólstafir and to prepare myself for Monarch! I think the two together, without a break, might finish me.
For Monarch! are, in their own way, as awesome as Sólstafir.
Ahead of the gig, Air France had contrived to misplace all of their gear, and they were forced to beg and borrow instruments, amps, everything from other bands. But despite this, Monarch! are utterly mesmerising. And, frankly, terrifying. Slow, tar thick doom, the sound of shifting tectonic plates, with a tiny French lady screaming as if her very soul is being torn from her body. I can’t tell if they are playing songs, or just one long piece. Not that it matters, really. It’s harrowing stuff, exhausting to watch, but I can’t tear myself away. It’s the only other full set I will see today.
I find myself with some time to kill before Ahab, so I head downstairs, grab a curry and wander about aimlessly for a bit. I decide to head over to the Jägermeister room to scope out the geography for Bolt Thrower later. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in that room, and it’s fucking HUGE. And it’s rammed. Saint Vitus are playing, very, very far away. But the crowd is pretty restrained, nodding slowly along with Saint Vitus’ stately old doom. I try to push forward a bit to snatch a few photos, but I give up without much of a fight. Later, I will see terrifying evidence of the mayhem during Raging Speedhorn’s set in the same room, and thank the gods that I wasn’t there.
Ahab
Ahab are superb, providing a masterclass in nautical funeral doom. Slow and elegant, crushing and quite beautiful, they seem surprised by the size of the crowd. Many people have dodged Cannibal Corpse to be here. I am taken aback somewhat by the sounds that come from singer Denis Droste’s throat. I can’t say why, but it doesn’t seem right that such a huge voice should live behind a face like that. Maybe it’s the hair. Someone with hair that pretty should sound like David Coverdale. I am very glad he is not David Coverdale. The band is watertight, flawless, and Droste’s vocals switch from clean to harsh with ease. I want to stay and drift on Ahab’s gloomy ocean for longer, but I know I have to leave if I want to get ahead of Bolt Thrower’s crowd.
And I do. Ahead of all of the other photographers too. How many snappers turn up for Bolt Thrower? All of them. Every. Last. One.
To be fair, I’m only here to see Bolt Thrower for nostalgic reasons. Well, that and to take some photos. I liked them many years ago, and I owned some of their music. On vinyl, when it wasn’t trendy and was all you could get. I never expected to see them, but here they are. They come on stage to ecstatic applause, triumphant, like the legends they undoubtedly are. They are spectacularly good at what they do, that death/grind thing, but, y’know, that’s all they do. I’m impressed, really I am, but I’m too tired now to appreciate it properly, so I head off to my last appointment.
And here we find one of the day’s worst examples of overcrowding, of curious one-way stairs and of over-zealous stewarding. I wanted to go down to catch Fen, but I get caught in a queue of others with the same intention, held up by a seemingly never-ending stream of Cannibal Corpse fans heading in the opposite direction. We, it seems, have to wait until somebody downstairs says we can go. Eventually, they’re all gone, and still we wait. We can hear Fen, vaguely, playing to what must be a nearly empty room, while we wait. And wait. Staring at an empty corridor. But we can’t go anywhere until that distant somebody ANSWERS HIS FUCKING RADIO and says we can go. Finally, we are released.
Fen
By the time I reach the Mine for the last time, I’m tired and pissed off, and I really can’t give Fen the attention they deserve. They play some of the finest progressive black metal you’re ever likely to hear. They’re immaculately turned out. But I’ve missed half of their set and all I can do is hang around long enough to take a few pictures. I regret that, and I hope to be able to catch them again, one day when I’m not incandescent with rage and/or dropping with exhaustion. Sorry, Fen, you deserve more than I can give you tonight.
So, that’s my Damnation, 2014. I manage to see fifteen bands, all but one of whom are new to me. It has been hard, hard work, but enormous fun. Except for that bit at the end. But I can’t blame the organisers for that, really. Crowds like that need control. But sometimes common sense should be consulted.
My colleague is somewhere, probably watching Bolt Thrower. I should really wait for him, but the only thing I have energy left to do is walk down the hill to my hotel, so I leave him to it. I feel very, very old.
When do tickets go on sale for Damnation 2015?
After maybe a couple too many beers at the pre-show gig the night before, the stumble towards the vague direction of the venue in the harsh light of day was probably the heaviest thing about my Damnation trip, but a couple of breakfast tinnies later I was good to go.
Opening proceedings were one of Britain's heaviest new hopes Corrupt Moral Altar, their deadly combination of grind, sludge and hardcore blasting away any cobwebs from the early-risers in attendance. Despite an initially muddy mix, early favourites like 'Whiskey Sierra' and 'Lord', interspersed among cuts from their furious full-length Mechanical Tides, translated well to probably the biggest stage they've played so far.
Corrupt Moral Altar
The room for Bast was so packed I couldn't even see which direction the stage was, but their blackened doom was impressive even without being able to catch a glimpse of the band themselves. Future main stage act in the making, judging by the rapturous reception from the crowd.
Leeds' own Black Moth were a welcome break from all out aggression so early in the day, their stoner doom licks going down well alongside a few more beers. Frontwoman Harriet Bevan has a brilliant stage presence as well as a cracking voice, elevating Black Moth above the ranks of bands operating within a similar ouvre.
Sticking around the PHD Stage was a wise decision, as Swansea's H A R K are fast building a reputation as one of the most jaw-dropping live acts around, as those who caught them on their recent UK-wide jaunt with KEN Mode will attest. Their Damnation performance was no different, frontman Jimbob Isaac tossing off techy-yet-catchy riffs with casual flair, having honed both his riffcraft and stagecraft in underground heroes Taint for years. Set highlights included a skull-rattling 'Scarlet Extremities' and a masterful plough through album-closer 'Clear Light Of...'. Go see H A R K for yourself A S A P.
H A R K
Corby's angriest Raging Speedhorn were the headliners of the very first Damnation almost a decade ago, so their slot over on the main stage felt like a homecoming for both the band and their fans. Various lineup changes throughout the years have never hindered their power, but its this reformed iteration of the band with original vocalists Frank Reagan and John Loughlin that is probably most revered by fans. Playing a triumphant set drawing from their first two albums, tracks like 'The Hate Song, 'Fuck The Voodooman' and 'Iron Cobra' have lost none of their power, with the crowd going appropriately apeshit and battering the hell out of each other like I haven't seen at a gig since... well, probably Raging Speedhorn in 2002. No camera phones, no beard-stroking, just a good ol' swarming mosh pit. Fucking brilliant.
You know what you're gonna get at an Orange Goblin gig, and that's a head-bangin', beer-spillin', horn-throwin' good fuckin' time. Since finally taking the band full-time a few years back they've been on the road almost constantly, and each time they come around they get better and better, with frontman Ben Ward still having more fun on stage than you've ever had in your life. Cuts from new album Back From The Abyss sit nicely alongside bona fide classics like 'They Come Back (Harvest Of Skulls)', 'Saruman's Wish' and 'Some You Win, Some You Lose', all of which have every head in the room banging. Orange fuckin' Goblin baby!
After the good time vibes of Orange Goblin's set, I was perhaps in the wrong mindset for Monarch!'s terrifying aural bleach approach, and could only handle a couple of... well, I guess you could call them songs? Either way, what would ordinarily have been right up my street just became an all-too-heavy trip, and I had to get out of there. Sorry Monarch!.
Saint Vitus
Doom OGs Saint Vitus were up next, delivering a solid set that sadly lacked any real magic. I've seen them a good few times in the past couple of years, and ordinarily they look like they're having the best time ever playing despite the misery in their music, but this time they seemed to be going through the motions, with Wino in particular just not seeming to be all that into it. I mean, I'm not gonna pass up the chance to bellow along to 'Born Too Late' given the opportunity, but they've definitely been better. Also, Dave Chandler should probably get a t-shirt that doesn't cause some eejit to shout "EEE SEE DUB!" in my ear between every fucking song. Yes, we get it, you like wrestling. Fantastic.
German aquatic-themed funeral doomers (who says there are too many niche sub-genres in metal?) Ahab... well, no words can do their performance justice. Simultaneously beautiful and crushing, they held the entire room captivated, as vocalist/guitarist Daniel Droste effortlessly alternated between cavernous growls and mournful crooning while the band unfurled epic tracks like 'Deliverance' and a truly moving rendition of 'Further South' around him. An absolutely masterful performance.
Bolt Thrower
Easily the most anticipated headline slot at any festival I've ever attended (there was a bigger crowd around their merch area than there was watching some of the bands) the excitement surrounding Bolt Thrower's performance was palpable. By the time they took the stage you could barely cram into the main room, but those fortunate to enter the realm of chaos were witness to a victorious campaign by Coventry's war masters. Tracks from across their discography got an airing, including highlights like 'World Eater', 'No Guts, No Glory' and '...For Victory'. That the band rarely ventures out for live performances made this even more special, with diehards and newbies alike standing mouths agape as Bolt Thrower showed us all just how this fucking death metal thing is done properly. Hardier souls than I were still windmilling by the time they came back for a second encore, their final track a fitting end to Damnation.
To all those I met, and those of you I somehow managed to not bump into, see you next year!
