Robyn Writes

Review: TwoBeatsOff at Download 2013

Traditionally, I do big reviews of whatever festivals I’ve been to that summer. I’ve done Reading since TBO’s inception. I’ve done a few mini ones across the UK. I’ve never done Download in its full glory before. For that reason, and for others which will become clear, it’s kind of impossible to give it the same treatment. Did I watch a lot of bands? Well, yes. I certainly didn’t approach it in the same way as other festivals though. So this isn’t a review – it’s more like a retelling, a recreation. In essence, it’s a glorified blog post, but people make money out of that these days. Any remorse that I have is buried under my filthy festival lanyard.

I rocked up on the Thursday on a ridiculously late coach. In all fairness, this wasn’t Big Green Coach’s fault, and their operators on the other end dealt with my panicky self very helpfully. The return journey is another thing entirely, but we’ll get to that later. Fuelled by caffeine and sausage rolls, I hauled my camping gear through the Village and into the White campsite to discover that I was the first out of my friends to arrive and proceeded to set up. Have I told you that I hate camping before? I probably have, but just in case – I hate it. I especially hate festival camping, with its lack of viable showers, the people roaming around the campsite yelling ‘BUTTSCRATCHER!’ until about 6am and the fact that I never drive so I can’t bring an airbed and end up with a rock in my back at some point. It’s not cool. This festival, I was a total dumbass and only brought half a tent, so my Download experience began with me sitting on top of my rucksack, my head in my hands, deflecting blame onto my sister and father for not putting the tent away properly and swearing lots. Eventually, the rest of the team showed up and I went with Kate to go and buy a tent for the extortionate price of £50. I made sure it was purple to compensate for my fuck up, because what do I do when I’m in a bit of a jam? Accessorise. Surprisingly, the two man wasn’t that shabby. We built a gazebo. Beers were consumed. (still edge, in case you were wondering). New people were met. It was nice and chilled, and I don’t just mean the temperature. I can’t go to one of these things without a stupid amount of stress normally; there’s always some catastrophe, or it’s raining like mad, or I get panicky about something because I’m a hotbed of social anxiety when it suits me. This time was really great though, and perhaps it’s the huge difference in attitude to other places I’ve been to. I’m not saying that metalheads can’t be elitist pricks – they can be the biggest of them all, but it stems from a passion that indie hipsters just don’t have a handle on. And the less flowery headbands I have to see, the better.

Friday was for one thing, and one thing only – HIM. Throughout my adolescence, I became obsessed with the Finnish five piece. From 2002-2008, they rivalled AFI in my affections. I still can quote the entirety of the HIM vs Bam DVD verbatim, and do so far too often with Kate. And yet unlike her, I kind of grew out of HIM. I was disappointed by Dark Light and subsequently didn’t dig Venus Doom that much, I dove deeper and deeper into Midwestern beard punk and I went through a massive break up – the significance being was that HIM was the reason that we connected in the first place. HIM became a relic for me, albeit a fond one, and I placed their albums with the reverence they deserved back onto the shelf. Kate never quit though and she arguably boasts one of the biggest HIM collections in the UK. The girl ordered twelve different versions of Tears On Tape. TWELVE. Just let that sink in. When we found out that they were doing a signing… sweet Jesus. The arena opened at midday, we went straight to the signing tent, we queued for four hours in the pouring rain. I was kind of nervous though. What could I say to Ville Valo, the man who sang the soundtrack to my teenage emotions? To Linde, who was the reason that I chose an SG for my first guitar? In the end, with Kate quaking behind me, I was ridiculously polite, but to Ville, I said in what can only be described as a vaguely sleazy tone, “‘Iya Ville, y’alright? Looking forward to the set later, it’s been a while.” I regret nothing. They were lovely gentlemen. I met some really fantastic people in the queue, even if I felt like a bit of a charlatan stood next to them. These were kids whose favourite band ever was HIM – and I certainly wasn’t a lifer. With a signed copy of Razorblade Romance clutched in my grubby mitts, we headed straight for the Pepsi Max stage.

I got the opportunity to check out some new bands that afternoon as we waited for the HIM set. In This Moment, a female fronted metal band with some crazy stage set ups and costume were there when we arrived. The dress was a little bit Lady Gaga, but if there’s one thing I love about metal, it’s the pageantry. Sweaty boys in sweaty basements are definitely my thing, but sometimes, you just need to go all out, and In This Moment were certainly a lot of fun. Turisas’ self-styled ‘battle metal’ proved to be just as compelling. Sometimes, you just need songs about being a Viking. The kids liked it anyway – a little boy who couldn’t have been more than about eight sat proudly on his dad’s shoulder, battleaxing to every song. Hero. I was pleasantly surprised by Motionless In White, having previously dismissed them as ‘scene trash’ akin to Black Veil Brides. However, their specific brand of metalcore is heavy with synths and light on the bullshit. Lead vocalist Chris Cerulli looks much better in a skirt than I do, and their live performance has an energy that’s infectious. To use my dad’s classic catchphrase (note: you have to say it in a Cumbrian accent), ‘great stuff!’ I shamefully had never seen Converge live before Download, and it was a decision that I immediately regretted. Jake Bannon and co have an intensity that’s hard to capture and even harder to channel – those time signatures were not made for headbanging – but is impossible to take your eyes and ears off. These guys were the pioneers of metalcore, and they showed everyone how it was done.

I never did see HIM that many times in my youth. Twice – once at Ozzfest at Download in 2005 and then on the Dark Light tour in 2006. It felt so good to sing along to songs I had forgotten I loved. Less talkative than I’ve seen them before, but no less charismatic, they went for a setlist filled with classics as well as newer material. The best thing though, asides from the rugs on the floor and the mirrorball, was the inclusion of It’s All Tears (Drown In This Love). Arguably my favourite HIM song, I was screaming along like a right little fangirl. Having cut down on the cigarettes somewhat, Ville instead took to playing an acoustic for a lot of the set. The more frequent inclusion of acoustic elements in their tracks is a direction that I’m really liking, and I’ll definitely be picking up Tears On Tape when I’ve got some spare cash to flash. My camera is filled with more pictures of HIM than of anything else, and skipping through the half blurred shots, I stumble upon one of Ville with a look of deep contemplation on his face and it just sums the whole set up completely – HIM are ready to take back the throne. I’m excited for the autumn tour, to say the least.

We decided that we’d take Saturday fairly easy. There would be sitting – we had stood up for a total of about thirteen hours without taking a break the day before. Do you remember when you were sixteen, and you’d get to the venue about five hours early, queue so that as soon as the doors opened, you’d run and get to the front centre barrier and it wouldn’t even cause you to think twice? I don’t really, as the searing pain in my calves indicated. One thing that Download made me realise is that I need to get back to the gym. Oh boy. We spent a rainy morning in the tent reading Pick Me Up and doing the arrow-words while battering a packet of Jaffa Cakes. What can I say? There was nothing great on until later. Our first band of the day was Empress. They weren’t too shabby. Your basic kind of alt-rock, slightly Muse influenced but with a heavier edge. They all looked so young! Heart Of A Coward were typically raucous and bouncy. I wonder if all hardcore/deathcore bands get their banners and graphics designed by the same person, because they all look the same except with different letters. Either way, lots of heavy breakdowns, lots of fun. Bury Tomorrow carried on that theme, and it’s easy to see why they’ve had so much praise heaped their way lately. Slamming their way through a stellar set with lots of energy and a knack for killer hooks, they had the crowd pleading for more at the end of their set – the first time I’d seen that weekend. Uncle Acid And The Deadbeats have a very 70s feel. Stoner doom with a touch of rock and roll, they were loud. There was a lot of bass. It’s great chill out stuff, but not necessarily the kind of thing you’re that enthused about seeing at a festival. Chthonic were a total surprise. The Taiwanese metallers had brought a mini Thai orchestra with them and proceeded to hammer out anthem after anthem, all while dressed up like space age warriors. Because why the hell not? My highlight of the Saturday, and indeed, one of my highlights of the whole festival, were Kvelertak. I’d been introduced to them in passing a few months prior; they’d appeared in someone’s Spotify notifications on Facebook and I’d thought ‘huh, why not’. The best way to describe Kvelertak is to imagine Andrew WK singing in Norwegian with less piano and more black metal. It’s party rock with a terrifying intensity. Vocalist Erlend Hjelvik showed up with no shirt and a freaking owl helmet, and was diving into the crowd at every opportunity. That’s not to say that the rest of the band weren’t rocking out just as hard, but they didn’t quite have the same disregard for personal safety. The next morning, my bangover (you know, that horrible neckache you get the morning after a night of proper headbanging) was in full force, but it was so, so worth it. And then we went back to the tent because we give no fucks about Iron Maiden. Sorry, Bruce, I like your son better.

Sunday was hot. And I had donuts for breakfast. These are two excellent things. We went to the arena early to catch The First. The King’s Lynn five piece are well on their way to greatness, combining their wonderfully melodic and layered take on pop-laced post-hardcore with an absolutely explosive performance. Especially well done as it was proper early. Nice one, lads. We decided to do a bit of festival shopping before winding our way back into the crowd for Five Finger Death Punch. I have to admit, I’m not a huge fan. If the vocals didn’t have any clean bits, then maybe, but they have too many so I’m generally like ‘whatevz.’ However, lead singer Ivan did pull up a bunch of kids – and I mean kids no older than 12 – on stage who sat there flipping the bird and singing along to every word, and I couldn’t help but think that was pretty cool. But they’re no Parkway Drive. I fucking love Parkway Drive. I have ever since the Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em EP, and it’s been an absolute pleasure watching them rise and rise. Atlas was totally my favourite album last year and if you’ve never been to a Parkway show, then I implore you – get on that. It’s always a ridiculous amount of fun. The band themselves are flawless – every note is dead on, every drum beat is precise, Winston McCall’s vocals are just as brutal as on record. And they do it all with a massive smile on their faces. We didn’t really watch Stone Sour. We ate pulled pork sandwiches and I complained about how Corey Taylor didn’t know what he was doing with his hair. (For the uninitated, one time when we were coming back from a night out, in all seriousness, I announced “So, Corey Taylor has long hair when he’s in Slipknot and short hair when he’s in Stone Sour. This is a conscious decision. Right? Right?” For the record – still straight edge.) I had my mind kind of blown by Ghost. I wasn’t expecting a parade of dudes in massive black cloaks, and then a singer dressed up like some kind of satanic reverse Pope. And I certainly wasn’t expecting doom and black influenced metal with some proper soulful vocals and a ton of synths. But I liked it. I liked it a lot. I didn’t like it enough to purchase the special edition of Infestissumam with the butt plug, but enough to plump for the regular one. Sorry, Papa Emeritus. We hung out on the grass while Airborne yelled loudly – they’re alright, and highly preferable to AC/DC because there are no twenty minute long guitar solos, but it’s not really for me. Neither are A Day To Remember, no matter how hard I try to like them. Theoretically, they’re my ideal band – they’re like New Found Glory but with heavier breakdowns. I just can’t get on with it though! That’s not to say that I didn’t appreciate their set at all – t-shirt cannons, toilet roll wars and the most insane display of crowdsurfing I’ve seen in years were all a lot of fun to witness. They clearly love what they do and a lot of other people love it too.

Limp Bizkit, on a scale of one to awesome, were the shit. From the minute Fred and co bounced out and slammed into the opening riff of Rollin’, it was clear that we were in for the best party of the weekend. And party we did. Throwing some serious shapes, Kate and I shook our booties through a classic Bizkit set. They even brought up a guy who sang on stage with them at Download FOUR YEARS AGO to do it again – and he picked Half Nelson. Hero. Otherwise, Break Stuff! Nookie! Faith! My Way! Take A Look Around! Fred Durst’s MASSIVE beard! Wes being cool as! Sam’s light up bass! SO MUCH TURNTABLE! How much more do you need to know how brilliant this was?! I don’t think I’ve had so much fun outdoors before. We missed most of Rammstein, but we got there just in time to see Till spraying some dude dressed up in BDSM gear with fake jizz. There was a small girl dancing on top of a bin that saw it as well. Aces.

If my Download experience had ended there, it would have been the best weekend ever. Alas, it didn’t, and I had to wait an hour and a half for my coach because Big Green Coach were so disgustingly disorganised. We could have left at least half an hour before we did, and after being loaded onto the wrong coach twice (!) and then missing my bus home because I got to my drop off ninety minutes late, I spent my Monday being ridiculously miserable. I guess that’s a lesson learnt – check your tent properly, drive there instead and potentially pack appropriate reading material. But otherwise, I think that Download will become my festival of choice. Varied enough to keep even the most sceptical rock fan happy and with a spirit of fun unlike any other, Download rocked pretty hard.

Converge – Brighton Concorde 2, 01/12/12

Tonight the temperature on a winter Sunday night is straggling the minuses but inside the seafront confines of Brighton’s finest venue, the Concorde 2, things are about to get very sweaty. Marking their return to the venue on the back of their startlingly good new album All We Love We Leave Behind, Converge bring three diverse but no less extreme bands to warm the frozen crowd.

First on is Italy’s The Secret, a four headed beast of a band who play something akin to black metal interspersed with Sabbath riffs covered in a crust some twelve inches thick. Approval is shown through an increasing amount of devil horn salutes and raised pints, commending the band’s ability to switch between blastbeats and sludge riffs in a manner not unlike tonight’s headliners.

A Storm Of Light rely on atmospherics rather than brute force to communicate their sprawling, multi visual, sludgey post-rock compositions. A film collage, projected behind the band, shows images of warfare, atomic bombs and riots, providing the ideal backdrop for the ear-splitting cacophony that envelops the crowd in an inescapable wall of pure noise.

The front rows who await Touche Amore are made up almost exclusively of teenagers, proving the bands popularity with the young Tumblr-savvy crowd. As the band plays the first few warm chords of ‘~’ the venue suddenly explodes into life with the soul baring lyrics being screamed back at frontman Jeremy with aplomb. Always emphasising brevity over longevity, the band rattle through songs in quick succession, covering most of 2011’s acclaimed Parting The Sea Before The Brightness And Me as well as a number from their debut …To The Beat Of A Dead Horse. A new song entitled ‘Gravity’ gives the first indication of the bands future direction, a track where ideas are allowed to develop and flourish into the band’s longest song to date.

As the crowd forms in front of the stage, a distinct smell of stale sweat, beer and marijuana emits from the gaggle of metalheads, hardcore kids and other down and outs who have gathered to watch the most influential extreme bands of recent times. Converge take to the stage to little fanfare, no backing track or elaborate entrance. Vocalist Jacob Bannon bluntly states “we’re ready to play” and they launch headfirst into ‘Concubine’ (probably the most extreme seventy-nine seconds of music ever written); the crowd quite literally goes wild for their blastbeat infected hardcore. Driving bass and drums signals the intro to ‘Dark Horse’, a track that possesses much of the unstoppable kinetic energy of a speeding train. The masses at the front exercise their demons in all manner of violent gestures. From some extremely vicious headbanging and air punching to the flailing throng in the pit, the floor is soon covered in puddles of sweat and splattered with blood fallen from smashed noses. ‘Aimless Arrow’ and ‘All We Love We Leave Behind’ represent the new album with the crowd reacting to the new songs like they were old favourites. ‘No Light Escapes’ from the recent split seven inch with Napalm Death spurts a fifty second long tirade of aggression. Guitarist Kurt Ballou is every bit the virtuosic guitarist, switching from caustic breakdowns on ‘Axe To Fall’, to two finger tapping and relentless chugging whilst Nate Newton’s driving bass and booming vocals dominate ‘Worms Will Feed’. Converge’s backbone- Ben Koller, provides some of the most devilishly difficult yet undeniably solid drumming in heavy music. As the band leave the stage the crowd are still thirsting for more aural brutality and the band oblige readily with an encore of ‘First Light/ Last Light’ from You Fail Me. The closing schizophrenic breakdown sees the bruised and battered crowd losing their shit for a final time. As the house lights come on, the state of the crowd speaks volumes about the intensity of tonight’s show. The bloodied, sweat-covered throng certainly got what they came for- a masterful performance by one of the most uncompromising bands on the planet.

Hevy Festival 2012 [3-5/8/12, Port Lympyne, Kent]

Kent’s Hevy Festival, situated amidst the idyllic rolling hills of the English countryside hosts its 4th, and if rumours are to be believed – final year of the best underground and overground acts in the field of heavy music. Now boasting three days of continuous live music, Hevy caters for a huge array of tastes, from Swedish math-metal to ska and everything in-between. This year, the organisers have also catered for every possible force the English weather can throw at it by placing the two main stages adjacent to one another in a huge tent- meaning no clashes between the two stages. Genius!

Friday

After the seemingly traditional three hour queue to get in the place there was palpable excitement for the music to commence but due to an inexplicable reason, security stopped the crowd from entering the arena as the first chords of opening band Gnarwolves‘ set rang out. By the time the error was rectified by simply running past the lone and very annoyed security guard, the band were almost halfway through their set. Gnarwolves however, seemed hugely relieved that anybody had come to watch them and the crowd reached a respectable size for such a young, underground band. Playing on a stage about ten times the size of anything they have played on before they remain surprisingly tight and receive the first crowd surfers of the weekend.

Southampton’s Desolated are the first band to really cause a stir as their ridiculously down-tuned chug-core gets the pit moving. In a small venue, Desolated are nothing short of intense but the cavernous tent robs the band of much of their impact. Lead vocalist/growler Paul possesses a voice that sounds downright satanic and as he calls for a circle pit, the early afternoon moshers reply with aplomb.

The rarity at which Last Witness perform live gives today’s show a due sense of occasion and one to which both crowd and band rise to. The band are surprisingly tight considering the scarcity at which they play live – breakdown after breakdown is lapped up by the swarming two steppers in the pit. Songs from recent album Mourning After sound much more visceral than on record mainly due to frontman Theo’s caustic, ultra-aggressive vocal delivery. Judging from the extent of the flailing limbs it is the older songs that incite the most carnage down the front.

Shouts of “TUI!” had been a regular occurrence on the Friday and I expected Baltimore’s Trapped Under Ice to draw a large crowd as they seem to be one of the more ‘trendy’ bands at the moment. Their groove-laden hardcore evokes a pit that surpasses that of the brilliant Last Witness and every shout of “TUI!” (of which there are many) is screamed back at the band who look pretty darn pleased with themselves to have provoked such a reaction. Frontman Justice, with his brick shit-house physique spends much of the set at the barrier handing out the mic to the baying crowd and refusing to let the huge stage rob the band of the intimacy they thrive on. By doing so, they turn what would have been a great performance into one of headliner proportions.

Lower Than Atlantis seem to be as much of a Hevy tradition as the obligatory three hour queue to get in the place. Three years ago they were snotty punks playing to a hundred or so people in a tent little larger than those the festival goers themselves were camping in. Last year’s performance caused such a ruckus the security had to physically hold back the crowd from destroying the sound desk. Now, they have evolved into a slick rock band and are one of the festivals biggest crowd pullers with many singing back most, if not every word. Songs both old and new receive equal adulation with Motorway Of Life getting the crowd jumping and frontman Mike Duce lets the crowd sing the very personal chorus of Far Q. With their gradual rise as leading lights in reviving the UK rock scene it seems that LTA are on track to becoming a fully fledged arena rock band.

Saturday

Saturday began on a sombre note with the final ever show from Crocus, a band who have received nowhere near the amount of attention they deserve despite years of touring the tiniest, dirtiest venues the UK has to offer. Nevertheless, an impressive crowd has gathered to bid them farewell. Rather than let this be a sad passing of a criminally underrated and talented group of musicians, the band seem to be in a party mood with the drummer swigging from a bottle of whiskey throughout their set of frantic screamo.

Seahaven provide a welcome relief from all the beatdowns and screaming with some soulful alt-rock channelling Brand New and Crime In Stereo, but the bands emo leanings and vocalist’s unique crooning vocal are seemingly at odds with the interests of many as they draw only a small crowd. Although far from the most engaging band to grace the stage this weekend their melodic choruses have distinct sing along potential.

Pennsylvania’s Balance And Composure have gained significant popularity since the release of last years brilliant album Separation. Their triple guitar attack may get lost in the mix at times but for the most part the subtleties within the guitar work that makes Balance and Composure such an amazing band shine through. Relying heavily on songs from Separation means that most are familiar with the material and lyrics are sung back heartily. The slow building opener The Void gets heads banging but the crowd doesn’t really start to provide much of an overtly physical response until final song I Tore You Apart In My Head which sees fans scrambling to the barrier to howl the angst infused lyrics.

Relying heavily on shifting dynamics and intense emotional tension Pianos Become The Teeth enthral the crowd. Switching from beautiful clean guitar parts to pure hardcore fury ensures the band retain the crowds attention throughout. Boasting one of the best drummers in their field, I find myself constantly watching the sticksman as he breaks into intricate rhythms whilst his face is constantly obscured by flailing hair. Lead singer Kyle’s cathartic screams are full of anguish and when songs reach their climax he screams with astounding intensity.

Rolo Tomassi returns to Hevy with a new line-up, new songs and renewed vigour. Opening with latest single Old Mystics the band seem to be re-energized since the departure of two original members earlier in the year. Old favourites such as the jazzy technicalities of I Love Turbulence and the epic, progressive leanings of Kasia are welcomed like old friends. Frontwoman Eva Spence and brother James use the huge stage to their advantage, jumping and flailing as they deliver throat shredding vocals. The band is given a fitting send off as the breakdown to closer Party Wounds induces a rabid reaction from fans.

On the face of it, Meshuggah are somewhat of a wildcard booking, being one of the few metal bands on the bill, they don’t appear to fit in with the tastes of the more hardcore inclined festival goers. Any doubts are swiftly swept aside because tonight Meshuggah resemble less of a band but more a force of nature. Even those with no care for brutal math-metal are in awe at the precision at which the devastating riffs are delivered. Emerging onto a smoke filled stage the band looms over the huge crowd. Launching into Demiurge from this year’s flawless album Koloss I am suddenly aware of their boding and unmatched stage presence. Songs are aired from most of their albums and Bleed, from the breakthrough album Obzen, creates scenes of unparalleled chaos amongst the sweaty crowd. As the band walk off stage to huge ovation there is a realisation that Meshuggah have delivered perhaps the most grippingly destructive and extreme performances of the weekend.

Glassjaw are given the tough job of following Meshuggah’s blinding set but Daryl and co rise to the opportunity, playing a set that draws heavily from the band’s seminal masterpiece Worship and Tribute. The opening one-two of Tip Your Bartender and Mu Empire spurs the pit into action whilst the slow paced anthem Ape Dos Mil receives deafening adulation with every word screamed at their charismatic frontman. Siberian Kiss ends the set in a flurry of schizophrenic yet undeniably catchy post-hardcore. Just as in their headline set two years ago, band and fans alike are robbed of an encore that would have no doubt given a perfect ending to a perfect set as roars of “We want more!” go unanswered.

Andrew W.K is a rather one-dimensional act with a vocabulary that stretches little beyond the word “party” and its affiliates. Yet, his good time party anthems fit the mood of the Saturday night perfectly. Despite playing his most well known song Party Hard first, Andrew manages to maintain the atmosphere inciting circle pits and general crowd antics amongst the many festival goers who are by now a little worse for wear. Andrew W.K resembles less of a band and more of a circus, with four guitarists on stage at any one time and a very scantily clad woman who only seems to shout “yeah!” into the mic. Nevertheless, it provides an amusing spectacle. Disappointingly, and rather inappropriately, the band’s set is cut halfway through their final song and the frustration on their faces is obvious. The crowd shows no sign of leaving for a good half an hour by which time chants of “fuck you Hevy” emit through the tent. A lone guitarist attempts to appease the crowd by playing some Slayer riffs but even he is forced off of stage by the crew.

Sunday

Cruel Hand face a very early afternoon slot and a weary Sunday crowd who are still feeling the night before. Seemingly unfazed by the challenge the band unleash slabs of metal infused hardcore and it’s not long before those in the mood for some pit action rise to the occasion. Tracks from the recent release Lock and Key, which rarely reach past the two minute mark are lapped up by the ever growing crowd. The closing extended mosh outro to Cruel Hand sees the pit reach its climax and the band seem humbled by the response.

Sweden’s Suis La Lune are shunned by many of the festival goers, and most of those gathered before them seem to be there only out of curiosity. Highly regarded as one, if not the best of the ‘real’ screamo bands, they hold ethereal atmospheric guitars and harsh, anguished vocals in perfect juxtaposition. The only detractor to their otherwise engrossing set is the long periods in between songs due to the constant need for guitars to be re-tuned.

After Will Haven sadly pulled out several days before, Belgium’s Rise and Fall are gifted a later slot. Their recent release Faith, produced by Kurt Ballou of Converge fame is one of the best records of the year so far. At times sludgy and at others bursting with primal aggression the band also commands a certain progressive edge that is only possessed by a handful of bands and used to its full potential by even fewer. Tracks like Deceiver are intense bursts of hardcore held together with impeccable drumming and furious riffing. The crowd however seems to be saving their energy as they receive en masse headbanging rather than any significant pit movement.

Converge are arguably the most influential band on the bill as fragments of their sound are found in countless bands. There is a fervent excitement in the air before they take to the stage as many in the crowd are well aware of the sheer carnage the band are capable of creating. Opening with the rarely played Jane Doe from the decisive album of the same name is a bold move but the intensity of the band is perfectly visible as they drop into the breakneck Dark Horse, the breakdown of which sends bodies flying down the front. Although at times their set may stray into more meandering moments it all helps to make the heavy moments sound even crushing. Unfortunately, the sound of The Descendents’ sound checking is audible through several of the band’s songs. although the band treats the interruption with admirable humour. It is only when you see the band in the flesh that you realise that every member is so musically competent they are on almost virtuosic levels. Guitarist Kurt switches between two-handed tapping and bouts of chugging with ease whilst on the drum kit Ben Koller gives a master class in blastbeats and brings his sticks down so hard on the drums he looks like he’s trying to break them open. On Last Light frontman Jacob Bannon gets down to the barrier and those at the front try and claw their way toward him to get a chance to scream into the mic. Closer Concubine may only be a minute long, but within the song is condensed such huge amounts of sheer brutality it is impossible not to have the desire to jump in the pit and start swinging your limbs. As the set ends and the crowd disperse in bewilderment and the primal aggression they have just witnessed, it is only the Swedish metal titans Meshuggah that can claim to have made such an impact.

It is up to California’s Descendents to bring the weekend to a close. Now celebrating over thirty years as a band, I initially had high hopes for the ageing four piece. However, the band puts in a frankly underwhelming set. Playing after Converge and also a case of widespread Sunday night lethargy are contributing factors. It does seem that their angst ridden thirty-or-so year old punk draws a blank with many of the crowd. After all, these are middle-aged men singing about hating your parents and the tribulations of school. Although a dedicated contingent at the front repeatedly expresses their enthusiasm, the majority seem quite content to stand idly by or wander back to their tents. Whatever the reason for the band’s underwhelming set, it means an otherwise brilliant weekend ends with a whimper instead of a bang.