Sonisphere might have had the Big Four of Thrash this year, but Bloodstock is the true gem of the British metal calendar - at least for people who don’t also want to see Biffy Clyro. This family-run affair hosts about 12000 people, and originated in my home town of Derby as a means of ‘Defending the Faith’ when those publications now using that slogan were agog with dummkopf nu-metal. Despite the fact that I missed a couple of key acts on the last day due to logistical arrangements (Morbid Angel and At the Gates), a bloody marvellous time was had. And guess what? I even met someone. From across a crowded field a face triggered a dim recognition: not some long-lost relative, nor some figure from the distant past, but fucking Radagast from the metalreviews.com forums! Infernal hails!

Anyway, the festival. Because Bloodstock is relatively small, it has a laid-back and friendly atmosphere which you don’t really get at mainstream festivals. This only backfired when a pink-haired man licked my friend’s face, only to accuse him of being ‘uncomfortable with his sexuality’ when he objected. Still, on the first day alone seven people stopped me to offer heartfelt congratulations on wearing an Iron Monkey t-shirt, which is a sure-fire sign of a generally sophisticated crowd. There was a live battle re-enactment, and a vinyl shop which was sufficiently kvlt to have Menace Ruine’s Union of Irreconcilables 2LP in stock. Plus a supply of vegetarian food which ill-befits a metal festival but which was nonetheless welcome in my book. Excellent!

On to the music. Day one, and I arrived in the arena to hear Forbidden doing a superb job of warming the crowd up with well-executed olden-days thrash merriment. I drifted off a little during Poisonblack - not my thing at all- but this can perhaps be forgiven because I was getting all tingly at the prospect of Triptykon’s emergence. Theirs was a performance of such crushing heaviness, such gargantuan guitar tones, and such perfectly-pitched slow riffing, that they really should have had a headline slot. Just as Tom “UGH!!!”-ed the introduction to Procreation of the Wicked and gestured up towards the heavens, the skies clouded over and the only rain of the weekend began to fell- the pinnacle of unforgettable metal brilliance. Aside from that there were good, tight sets from Kreator and Coroner, and a monumentally entertaining set from the Devin Townsend Project, whose extravagant mugging, comedy voiceovers (“how are you doing, Terrence Trent-Derby?”), and flawlessly-executed crowd-pleasers seemed to encapsulate the festival’s best features.

Day two. Can I be honest? I know it’s not my genre, but I found it hard to understand why anyone would ever want to listen to Grave Digger. For me, the day didn’t get started properly until Finntroll’s set, which was somewhat darker than when I saw them on the Nattfodd tour. Ihsahn and Wintersun followed (the latter’s appearance, appropriately, substantially delayed by technical hitches), both of whose finesse and creativity was somewhat marred by a sound mix under which several golden lead lines were lost. Fast-forward through both the sublime (Angel Witch) and the ridiculous (Rhapsody of Fire) and we got to headliners Immortal. It’s good to see a black metal band that are so adept at playing the rock stars- perhaps fitting, given that the festival described them as “black metal that people who aren’t into black metal can enjoy”- but they aren’t the most varied of acts, and you’d have to be pretty die-hard not to find your mind wandering over the course of a ninety minute set. They weren’t helped by sound issues, with bass and guitar both feeling somewhat underpowered from where I was standing.

And so on to day three. As noted above, I only caught four acts here. Hell’s onstage patter was something to behold, wheeling out an enormous parapet from which their frontman declared “our father, who aren’t in heaven…. Shallow be thy name”, to much amusement. I actually enjoyed 1349’s set somewhat more than Immortal’s the previous night, though its atmosphere was marred by the brilliant sunshine. Primordial sounded superb, and threatened to become the weekend’s most impressive act until disaster struck- A. A. Nemtheanga completely lost his voice! The band soldiered on, getting the crowd to sing along, but the ghosts of the melodies that drifted across the arena, unsung by their intended deliverer, were a forlorn reminder of what we were missing. And so on to my last band of the weekend- Napalm Death, who just ripped everything apart. My friend (somewhat more right-wing than I) commented on the odd juxtaposition of ‘hippy’ lyrics with such blinding death metal, but to me there is no contradiction. Napalm Death are the sound of anger at injustice, not hate. The latter is a weakness, and the former a source of strength- which is why RAC and NSBM bands can try for all eternity and still not even come close to this band’s energy and intensity. A total institution.

Anyway… the moral is, go to Bloodstock! I’m off to get married and will be back in mid-September. Until then, screw you, dear reader!