It’s Saturday...and I begrudgingly wake up to the sweet song of seagulls outside my hotel window at roughly too early in the morning. The view from which is spectacular by the way...I’m overlooking the adjacent shopping precinct, so I get a wonderful look at the roof from an angle that aspiring scaffolders can only dream of. The seagulls mock me. I’m not hungover though which is a good thing (I think), so I have a quick shower and decide that, if I’m to cover a full day of bands today, I will need sustenance other than alcohol. Wetherspoons it is! I jest...I have my Michelin-Scarred breakfast and chill out until the 2pm doors at The Alhambra. 

There is a small queue of committed, early Goths formed on the street corner where The Alhambra is situated on the seafront...and in the sunshine, with people walking their dogs, joggers, general townsfolk going about their day...it’s a bizarre visual for a Saturday afternoon I have to admit, and I’m in the bloody queue! Nevertheless, we head in, find a table spot where there are again complimentary Haribo’s and other sweets (Listen, Goth’s like Gummy Bears too OK!) and we get our first drinks in, ready for our first band of the day...but it’s a slow start... 

The first band in question is ART GALLERY [2] who sadly suffer for several things...the first being the time. It’s 2pm and the weather is ACTUALLY nice, so the huge windows at the front of the building are letting all of the sunlight in. I’m wearing a fishnet shirt; I don’t want to explain THAT tan at the day job. Also, while we’re not REALLY vampires, the Sun doesn’t make us turn into dust, it DOES kill a Gothic atmosphere pretty quickly. Just close the bloody curtains! The vibe is well-off before we even start!

Secondly...it’s a motivational thing, and I’ll use my love of pro-wrestling as an example here. Typically...you want your first match of the night to be short, sharp, energetic and entertaining to rile up the crowd; get them settled and invested for a good time, which is why WCW succeeded with its Cruiserweight division. Gigs are the same...it doesn’t matter what genre you’re dealing with, have the opening act bring some fun, bring some energy and gear up the audience. Art Gallery don’t do that. An actual art gallery would be more audibly entertaining. They’re like a library for someone who can’t read. Just shut up and look at the pictures, all of which are black & white. Ironically Cathy went to a gallery yesterday that was disappointingly only half open, and that was still better. Cathy is now canon in Morecambe content... 
Songs like “Dandelions” utilise elements of post-punk, indie and shoegaze for an incredibly dreary number. Post-Surrealist apparently. Sometimes plants are pretty, sometimes plants are weeds, flowers or not...this is a weed of a song. There is some nostalgic Vox Continental instrumentation akin to THE ANIMALS or THE DOORS giving a sense of old-school authenticity but it’s rather drab. “On The Factory Floor” highlights industrial, working-class roots of the community and culture, which is applaudable, while “C’est La Vie” which translates as “Such Is Life” sums up the set. It happened; it’s a thing. The singer goes on a rant about how a bug flew into his mouth or throat, or something, and it nearly stopped him being able to perform for us today...it was just awkward between-track banter that made me wish the bug was Megaguirus.  

Our second band come accompanied by our 3rd pint of Detention, which is some guest ale, and it feels like I’m being punished with detention as DRAVE [3] hit the stage. There is a sluggish, stoner / grunge quality to the Indie rock they present, and it reminds me why I have zero intention of ever going to see a band like SLEAFORD MODS live. Or dead, either one. The practically spoken delivery of “White Whine” which sounds like the theme for some early 2000’s Channel 4 late-night show is uninspiring...while “Drave”...yes they named one of their songs after themselves...not a self-titled album...a song...and my first thoughts of the word are, oh it must be a play on words, like, a dreary rave, tongue in cheek type deal, like my own name. No. Drave is an archaic term for drive, as in to be forced or impelled. Well, I am forced to listen to this and impelled to tell you to not really bother with this lot. I mean you can, but don’t. I rambled there...lost my point...crap song. 

More weak pints of ale later because even though we improved the Dracula cocktails, they are still very sweet and not worth it, it’s time for band number three, IAMIMPERFECT [6] who at least bring some tunes despite their honesty. Tracks like “Static & Feeling” embrace a very alt. electronic, pre-programmed approach that you can compare to artists like CELLDWELLER or SCANDROID etc. They sound like they would genuinely be at home on the FiXT roster to be fair which is an honest endorsement. “Inside Of Me” has a softer vocal approach generally but it’s similar, and credit to them they produce some catchy noise. Easily the first highlight of the day. 

Who do we have next? SUBATOMIC STRANGERS [6] have travelled from Belgium to Morecambe and I'm personally grateful of that, as vocalist Sharon Braye has a fantastic set of pipes on her. Only two albums into their career, she projects herself like a seasoned veteran and really carries the group, who peddle more synth-driven emotionally tinged indie-rock. “What Goes Around” is a funk-driven, light guitar piece with a decent hook, while “Air” harbours more of a ballad quality; being crooned away nicely to their credit. The primary highlight however comes from “Ashes Of The Past”, as we get our first bout of crowd-interaction and sing-along participation. The simple yet melodic “Whoa-oh’s” give light IRON MAIDEN chorus vibes and it’s fun to see a room full of Goth’s have a bit of a sing song. They don’t blow you away, but they are enjoyable, despite not quite fitting the aesthetic as you’d imagine. 

Speaking of, we have our next band, THE EDDIES [6] who take the post out of post-punk. Yes, the Scottish ensemble are a straight-up punk band, and while there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, there was a nagging thought in the back of my mind that they would be like PRETTY ADDICTED from 2025. Fine on paper and in principle but presented with the finesse of a coat-hanger abortion. What? That’s exactly what she sounded like! Luckily The Eddies don’t have that issue as despite the punk-by-numbers sound, they are vibrant and provide a welcomed dose of energy at the halfway point. They’ve been asked to play before, but scheduling conflicts prevented it until now, and I’m glad it came when it did. Tracks like “Control” off of the album “Unfinished Business” just deliver simple, no-nonsense punk rock, and the crowd are moving. What more could you ask for? Food...that is the answer...and luckily, it’s half-time. 

​The little kitchen area opens, and once again they have some hearty vegetable curry with rice and naan, and also the option of cheesy nacho’s with salsa, hot dogs and burgers. It’s a welcome respite from the so-far generally uninspiring line-up, and while the sound-quality has been OK, the sounds themselves pack as much punch as these pints of Detention. It’s barely beer flavoured water really and I’ve been to the toilet about eleventeen hundred times already...time for some red wine before I detox! Mind you, a plastic wine glass? Of course...where is Marcel Lucont when you need his vitriolic verbiage towards such heinous crimes. Sacre bleu!  

Dinner is over, and we’re on the final stretch as the last couple of bands are ready to round-off Corrosion 2026...as next up we have SEEKERS ARE LOVERS [2]. It might as well have been a death row meal as these died a death. The German outfit combine electronic inspired early post-punk with wailing and screeching guitar licks more akin to thrash and glam metal in places, yet have the stage presence of that failed Trump assassination. I mean they tried but, it was a bit embarrassing, and a bit of a failure, and the only things hurt are our ears. Even the mic stand gave up, falling over at least three times. The universe sends its hints. Tracks like “Hunting A Ghost” have more mood and atmosphere but overall, the best thing about this band was the bassist. I wholeheartedly apologise for any notion of sexism or misogyny but, to be fair, she was pretty. Doesn’t say much for the band when that is your only honest highlight. Actually I take that back...the highlight was the fact they DIDN’T play their cover of “Smalltown Boy”...merciful god... 

Next, we have our penultimate band and thank the ever-loving fuck for MANUSKRIPT [10]. EASILY, not only the best band of the night but of the entire weekend and I’m so glad they have been booked here today! These Nottingham based rockers have been on Mike and Donna’s radar for a while, so seeing the glee on Mike’s face when he introduced them on stage, saying he remembers seeing them so many years ago, it was another reminder that, this is at its heart, a community. There are your regulars, your relatives near and far, neighbours, new friends, old acquaintances, and this is what we live for. The dance floor is packed as these veterans absolutely OWN the stage.  

They coincidentally open with MORECAMBE & WISE hit “Bring Me Sunshine”, which I used to introduce part one of my review, great minds think alike! Their new single “Doomscrolling” does more than show there’s life in these veterans yet, as they have a satirical socio-political stab at the world, but they are so jovial in general! There is an idiot at the front with a damn Glastonbury style Manuskript flag, waving it around like Hulk Hogan at WrestleMania VII, ready to defend some sort of honour. You are indoors...put the flag away...Nottingham they are from not Normandy...fucking hell.  

Tracks like “Natural High” and “No Reprise” really showcase the bands tendencies of bridging 90’s Brit-pop aesthetics with more traditional 80’s synth-rich proto-Goth ideas musically, and it’s a fantastic combination, while the unexpected cover of PET SHOP BOYS classic “It’s A Sin” harbours a wonderfully gleeful sing-along. Now I’ll be honest...Manuskript are a real example of a band’s band...and I say that as, I went into this weekend only really checking out some tracks on Spotify to get a gauge of their style and sound...and on paper they were alright...but on stage? They rewrote the script. The between song banter, the camaraderie between the members, the noticeable, genuine fun the guys were having on stage, the crowd interaction...these guys SHOULD have headlined the weekend in all honesty...but we still have one more band to come... 

On first listen, Canada’s TRAITRS [7] should be on par performance wise, as they have been entrusted with closing the weekend, and have a decent enough back catalogue to pluck from, but, they somehow manage to fall a little flat. Opening track “Oh, Ballerina” starts slowly, teasing atmosphere and anticipation, before growing into this energetic, proto-Goth plume of nostalgia. The pace of the percussion here drives this track with an impatience, as it dances desperately around The Alhambra.  

Tracks like “The Suffering Of Spiders” channel the likes of THE CURE, especially with Shawn Tucker’s vocals, being delivered with a pained drone amidst the light, melodic and synth-backed guitars and prominent bassline. “Mouth Poisons” sounds like a term Danhausen would diagnose you with for telling lies before cursing you, but it’s a catchy enough, melodic piece of post-punk. Early cuts like “Youth Cults” house THE SMITHS elements and overall, the band sound like an amalgamation of iconic early influences with a modern production budget and software.  

As decent as these are, I still believe Manuskript should have been the ones to close the show this weekend as they clearly had the biggest following and reception, but truthfully this Saturday as a whole, has been a little underwhelming. A lot of the bands are new or simply have very little material to play with for numerous reasons, and while it is genuinely fantastic that they are given a chance, and a platform through weekends such as this, it’s a hell of a trip out of your way to Morecambe with expenses, to take a gamble on a sadly shallow line-up.  

On one hand sure, we turn up regardless because at the end of the day it IS about friends and community, we enjoy the company, the reunion and the celebration of Goth subculture... but on the other hand, we are still there for a weekend line-up of bands by the by and, for the most part this weekend, Saturday mainly, the bands are just a bit...boring. I leave The Alhambra, full of weak ale, cold in the seaside March air, appreciating the community and grateful for working alongside some truly wonderful people, staying as positive as I can ahead of a 200+ mile trip home on a Sunday. Has this line-up put me off future events? Hell no... I’ll be around...just as I purchased a Morecambe FC shirt on this visit, I will support the Shrimps and cockle pickers (Damnit we were so close!) of the Alhambra team and continue to give my honest feedback and try to encourage more people to attend future events. Embrace a little West-coast adventure. September see’s the return of BATS IN THE ATTIC...a week after I’m in Helsinki, Finland, for THE 69 EYES...I'm going to be absolutely knackered... watch this space...I’m going to need stronger beer than Detention that's for sure!

​“Bring me sunshine...in your smile. Bring me laughter...all the while. In this world where we live, there should be more happiness. So much joy you can give, to each brand-new bright tomorrow”... Such positive, inspirational and heart-warming lyricism from British TV comedy royalty, Morecambe & Wise...which, admittedly I am now going to absolutely, brutally contradict by once again, returning to Morecambe town. Already my third consecutive Gothic weekender...time flies when you wish you were having fun...I jest. Happiness is subjective; it’s a grey area...a bit like Morecambe’s weather front...or is it? 

Yes, it’s time for CORROSION FEST 2026, and we have another splendid couple of nights to look forward to at the Alhambra, where we celebrate multicultural subculture as bands from the UK, Europe and beyond champion some things synthy, plenty of things post-punky and generally all things Goth coated.  Join me on another adventure north, as we hope the bands play all of the right notes, but actually in the right order... 

The journey up to Morecambe on Thursday isn’t as gruelling this time around, as I bit the bullet and got the train from Cardiff instead of the coach, which I can estimate saved me around 3-5 business days travel time. The coach maybe cheaper, but it’s honestly on par with expecting a parcel from EVRI...delivery estimated between 1pm Thursday and November 25th 2029.  

Last March, Morecambe seemed like a ghost town as I've previously stated, but...to my utter disbelief, the sun was out, and the little seaside town had a buzz of activity! There were people sat outside Wetherspoons chattering away, there were kids in the little skatepark, bunking off school given the time of day...people walking dogs along the seafront...it was...warm! I half expected to see Judith Chalmers Zimmer-framing it across the bay! Anyway, quick beverage, check into my hotel, bite to eat, meet up with Donna, Mike and the early bird crew for evening drinks, redeem myself at pool at Davy Jones Locker (Sorry Cathy) and look forward to another wonderful weekend of live music. Sleep is well overdue.

Friday as always only has the 4-band evening line-up, so I have a day to explore and chill ahead of opening night. The obligatory fridge magnets and tea-towels were purchased, but this time I went on an extra side-quest. I’m a football fan, and my team is Man United...as unpleasant as that has been in the last decade...but I also have soft spots for some neutral teams. My Grandad used to play for Portsmouth back in the day, so I follow their results...and there are others like Merthyr Town, Fulham or HJK Helsinki for example. All those aside, I had a wander around town to visit the Mazuma Stadium, because with Morecambe FC struggling in the relegation zone of the National League...I wanted to visit the gift shop and support the club.  

The lady at the counter wasn’t expecting anyone to be fair, as she was deep throating a croissant and not prepared to serve a random Welsh customer not long after opening! Wiping the pastry crumbs off my receipt, with my new Morecambe FC home shirt and wrist bands...I felt part of a seaside community. What cost me £30 for a shirt...didn’t cost me my life, unlike some certain cockle pickers... (DAMNIT GAV YOU DID IT AGAIN! FFS! WE’RE OVER THIS!) 

Let’s get back on track, shall we? Yes? Good. After a brief delay at doors, we’re back at The Alhambra, my first Jack & Coke is purchased, and we’re ready for our opening act; SCHEITAN [5]. The Swedish duo are a pleasant enough introduction to the weekends line-up, with their subtle blend of synthy rock, which you’ll be interested to know is a complete departure from their 1996 origins. While initially black metal inspired, after an incredibly lengthy hiatus, they returned with a far more melodic, post-punk aesthetic and it’s a far mellower, accessible shift in direction. Tracks like “Heaven Tonight” are wonderfully light, airy and electronically tinged, while “A Kiss Of Death” and “Love ‘N Death” round off the promotion of the album “Wine For A Tormented Soul”.  

I could do with some of that frankly, the Jack & Coke tastes off. Trust me I should know. There is a simplicity here that harks back to early 2000’s THE 69 EYES, where they first truly embraced an almost-baritone, Gothic rock approach as opposed to their garage glam roots, and it works here too. Tracks like “Hearse” from “Songs For The Gothic People” remind us that we’re all here to embrace the community, as you only live once and these moments are to be appreciated. A solid first band, but being openers on day one, we’re not exactly at capacity just yet, but they go down well. 

Next up we have my first highlight of the weekend, as we welcome DARKWAYS [8] from Barcelona, Spain. The last time I was in Spain I was a young teenager, really just getting into rock and metal...and for the life of me I can’t recall ever seeing anyone of an alternative disposition, bar one record store in Tossa De Mar where I bought “Untouchables” by KORN (The best Korn album IMO) while on holiday...so to have a post-punk/darkwave band from Spain get to also witness the depression that is this seaside town is beautiful. 

Tracks like “Ash Maker” blend post-punk qualities with New-Romantic vibes for a catchy little number with some distinct, almost nasally vocals, and while dark in its own right, it’s got plenty of pop hooks, resulting in a dance-floor filler. “Leaves No Trace Behind”, with its up-tempo delivery, completes the promotion of “Rust” but disappointingly they don’t play “Rust” itself which I find annoying. They do however round things up with a fantastic rendition of “I Like The Night (And The Night Likes Me)” which again, is a rallying cry for all in attendance, to embrace their true selves, which is what these events are for. 

DER HIMMEL [5] are up next and I have to admit...I’m giving them a neutral score because I was otherwise engaged. Sorry guys. Sure, the German sounding Italian’s performed well enough, and one can assume they played “Sweet Dancing Butterfly”, which gives off SISTERS OF MERCY vibes, going off background noise alone, but I was off getting a signed vinyl from DARWKWAYS and correcting the cocktails at the bar. They had a special on...”Dracula’s Kiss”...which was cherry vodka and coke. Incredibly tart. Me and Cathy were like...do us a favour, make that but chuck some Amaretto in there as well. The barmaid complies...and et voila...you’ve gone from “Dracula’s Kiss” to “Dracula’s Battenberg”. You are welcome. Der Himmel might have played “White Dream” as well...I don’t know. I’m assuming at this point, but as far as background noise goes, it’s alright. 

Finally, then, we get Friday’s headliner’s, MOTEL TRANSYLVANIA [8] who bring a whole new rock ‘n’ roll aura to proceedings. Despite only having the one album under their belt, they carry themselves with a certain swagger and self-assured confidence befitting Bonafide rock stars, and these Italian’s are here to have fun. With their harder rock and metal intensity, coupled with light industrial elements, they remind of SOUTH OF SALEM mixed with DOPE STARS INC. in places and I’m sure both sets of fans would appreciate these, with tracks like “Plastic World” and “Burning Lust”. There is a lot of cussing, effing and blinding and you get the idea they are enjoying every living second of being rock stars headlining tonight...but we have to remember they are one album deep into their career, they aren’t exactly LIMP BIZKIT right now...so the swearing does come across as a bit cringe after a while. Cunts. Jokes aside, the band manage to get dancers on stage to really hammer home the party/celebratory atmosphere and coupled with GOTHZILLA’s Tim Jarvis joining them for an incredible rendition of “Children Of The Dark”...this set is nothing short of triumphant.  They came to have fun and boy did they. 
Corrosion night one is always a brief affair, but it perfectly sets a mood and tone for the weekend as a whole. Everyone is dressed up, the tunes and beers flow in harmony, people are dancing, people are catching up from either BITA or last year's Corrosion, and it really does feel like a family gathering. Most festivals are sold on the popularity of the headliners or the line-up as a whole...that’s an afterthought at best in Morecambe...I mean you’ve got Italian and Spanish alternative and darkwave bands playing an English seaside town famous for comedy in the 1970’s...and it’s not done for laughs. This is community driven...and the support is abundant. Whitby might be celebrated but it’s also compromised...if you like to take part in a Gothic Comicon then by all means, but if you appreciate the music, the subculture and the community without the bells and whistles; if you want to discover new bands...go West...and I don’t mean John West...no cockles there...GODDAMNIT! Look just check out Morecambe...please. This was just night one. Words: Gavin Griffiths

Dealing with all of these first world problems I forget momentarily that there is in fact another band to play, and I’m not about to complain because D-A-D [8] are fucking good to be fair. While I might not appreciate Portuguese gig etiquette or manners on this first experience I can sure as hell enjoy a good band, who to zero surprise, deliver a superb set. They open up with the classic “Jihad” which see’s tonight’s crowd finally come to life. There may be no fuel left for the pilgrims, but Portugal has seemingly been saving energy for these Dane’s and it’s fascinating to see different cultures appreciate different bands. it was 2019 D-A-D last played in the UK...but they are adored here! 

That 1989 record seemingly strikes a chord with this crowd as “Girl Nation” and ESPECIALLY “Point Of View” get rapturous sing-along moments of sheer joy. This is wonderfully insane to me as the majority of punters are dressed like Lisboa Ao Vivo is a library not a venue...and any sense of subculture visually is an afterthought. The crowd here really are giving it their all for D-A-D and it’s frankly educational. 

When THE BIRTHDAY MASSACRE played La Belle Angele on Sunday 26th October 2025, Edinburgh had worked hard to freeze and soak us all into submission. The title of the venue "the beautiful angel"—was a snarky let-down as goths shuffled in the door, dripping eyeliner and despair. One guy's perfectly coiffed hair had been pushed down by the savage harshness of Scottish weather. Another was cinching their velvet jacket in like a filthy rag. This is what religion tastes like at 7 PM on Sunday when you're fifty two and your knees hurt. In here, though, the club shone like a dream preserved in a space between a Hot Topic and a weird dollhouse.

The bar was doing great business in gin, the unofficial drink of people who've long since forgotten lying to themselves about needing to "loosen up" for a concert. THE BIRTHDAY MASSACRE are less a group and more a time capsule that never really got lost. They've been doing this for over twenty years now—this fizzy-splotched, synth-saturated melodrama of broken hearts—and it continues to work because they understand the force of myth. Everyone else from the mid-2000s tried to rebrand themselves as ironic fathers or crypto-interested podcasters, TBM doubled down. Same aesthetic, same dedication to emotional overstatement, same refusal to pretend like you outgrow it. The issue with nostalgia, however, is that it's embarrassing. We're supposed to roll our eyes at our teens, erase the LiveJournal posts, act like we never stood for three hours mastering winged eyeliner to see a band play in a club that smelled of Red Bull spilled and shattered dreams.

The Birthday Massacre began with "Night Shift", which thudded like a neon requiem—half candyfloss, half corpse makeup. The synthesizers burbled like smoke machines full of existential horror. "Sleep Tonight" interrupted later, its chorus washing over the audience like some collective breath of all who have known what it is to feel things honestly.

The audience had melted into one, flowing mass by "Sleepwalking" and "Superstition"—middle-aged goths singing along as teenagers again in EVANESCENCE-poster-filled rooms and bad poetry. The woman next to me was crying. Not crying—just cold-hard, plain tears, the sort that demand this has nothing to do with the music and everything to do with what the music represents. Maybe it's the version of her she'd imagined herself to be. Maybe it's the friends who'd all stopped answering calls when they'd all gotten "real jobs." There was also a marriage proposal which caused more tears. This time, tears of joy mixed with the running of freshly applied mascara.

This is the band for all of the freaks who still get this strange pang of nostalgia when they hear the words "LiveJournal," that mourns the return to the way MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE made existential crisis sound like a halftime show. My Chemical Toilet (Sorry, Romance) gave the game's introduction to a whole generation of kids who had to ask permission before they could possibly be allowed big feelings out there in the world. MCR, though, had that melodramatic detachment, that comic book mythos, that being-in-character thing. Gerard Way wore his heart on his sleeve, sure, but the sleeve was a costume. It was safe because it was in disguise. By "Kill The Lights", I finally understood that TBM are what MCR would have been had they abandoned their leather jackets and lost whatever sense of saving anyone.

But TBM sing to the same children in their twenties, having bought a house they can ill afford and discovered their fear to have no prejudice against eyeliner.

It's a subtle but essential one: MCR wanted to save your soul; TBM only want to give it a comfortable home in which to live. There is something nearly obscene in seeing a cohort of adult men and women in their thirties and their forties bending to this kind of sincerity. We can do better than this. We're supposed to listen to murder podcasts and bob our heads up and down in agreement to whatever algorithmic playlist Spotify determines is right for our "vibe." But there we all were, shoulder to shoulder in a decidedly über-capacity space, bobbing our heads to tunes of melancholy and darkness as if 2006 and anything else was once more possible.

Chibi, the ghost ringmaster of all time, has that kind of charm that can turn even mannered Scottish goths into cult acolytes. She grins like a ghost remembering human existence. You don't often get a front woman who can survey a horizon of PVC corsets and black lipstick and make everyone feel spied upon and not scrutinized.

She could have sold us all a coffin and we would have loved the regard. There's a commerciality to her stage that teeters on the edge of the uncomfortable. No congratulatory theatrics, no pretences of modesty, she’s merely a woman in her own space, acutely conscious that every single individual in this room has paid money for the privilege of sitting in on something polite society is otherwise well-trained to button up. She wields that sensitivity as a scalpel. With "The Vanishing Game" and "Lovers End", however, the band had it nailed, with just a touch of self-awareness to see how dorky it is. The bassist looked like someone who'd been playing that long he'd at last achieved some sort of zen plateau.

The guitarist's fingers bore the muscle memory of a player who plays these songs so many times that they become second nature to him.

This is what artistry is like when it has been sharpened to the point of almost spiritual fervour. At one point, someone beside me exclaimed, "I love you, Chibi!" with the sort of arid seriousness that only the gin and tonics and ten years of repressed despair can allow. The audience laughed—not at him, but because we've all been that guy. Some of us still are.

"Destroyer" exploded in heroic peril; "Under Your Spell" swayed with agonizing suffering. And then "Pins and Needles"--still the best synth-goth tune ever dreamed up—hit, and the room literally bounced up off the floor. Everybody screamed the song out, off-tune and completely sincere. You could sense the overall feeling of catharsis in the room: irony was actually dead, and nobody cared. This is something they don't teach you when you're growing up: you don't actually grow out of the things that saved you. You learn to be ashamed of them.

You learn to giggle first, before everyone else. You learn to insert the words "guilty pleasure" into your vocabulary, rather than just "pleasure," to excuse the things that make you live. But here, in such places as this one, the apologetic squinch is abandoned. No apologies are offered. Nobody is guilty. By the time they reached "Happy Birthday", it was catharsis in plain sight—a hymn that imbues sentiment and mourning with a kind of religious fervour. Chibi delivered it with an unusual euphoria, half-teasing, half-mourning innocence. It's the only hymn that comes to mind that employs "happy" as an illness. Everyone was crying in earnest now, and no one cared who noticed. What is armour for if you never take it off?

The charm of The Birthday Massacre is that they've finally figured it out, something that most bands will spend the rest of their careers attempting to find: they know who they are and who they're playing it for. And then "Red Stars" and "Blue"—two songs that're literally an epilogue to this perpetual puberty.

In a world in which the truth is employed as a punchline, in which it's more popular to be talking about the fact that you don't care about something than not caring about anything at all, perhaps that is the punkiest thing that's left. They're not here to save the world. They're not here to save you. They're just creating room for the part of you that never did learn how to do normalcy very, very well. The part that still appreciates the fog machines and purple lights. The part that gets it, deep within its heart of hearts, that becoming grown-up was always a charade.

MCR would quote that teens scare the wits out of everyone. But The Birthday Massacre? They're here when those teens grow up—and terrorize themselves. When they're at home and the phone is ringing. When they look in the mirror and their parent's faces stare back, but the music remains unchanged. And on a genuine note? That's scarier than anything Gerard Way ever wrote.

We scattered out into the October darkness, satisfied and dressed in black, already anticipating the next chance to meet up and revel in our common fate. Some accompanied us to the local chip shop, because even existential terror cannot do without proper fuel. Whilst others went on to the Cowgate's establishments, hoping to extend the evening's fellowship with the dark through the ageless Scottish ritual of drinking. until great ideas come or oblivion sets in (whichever comes first).

THE BIRTHDAY MASSACRE, undoubtedly, packed up their equipment with the same weary professionalism that all road musicians have to possess in order to be ready to decamp to the next town, the next venue, the next set of devotees clamouring for their daily dose of cultured despair. It's an odd existence, really, to travel the world warning folks that life is sad by nature, but at least it sounds pretty nice. Words: Matt Denny.

It’s Saturday, September 20th, and I wake up in my Travelodge hotel room in Morecambe, and you know when your compos mentis but are fully aware of the fact you are incredibly hungover at the same time? You need a minute. I look up at the TV, which is still on, I don’t know what I’ve been watching, but I know it wasn’t disabled porn, they said it was, I may have gotten confused. There’s a Burger King gift bag on my desk; they have room service? No, it’s empty, that was from last night, that’s a good sign. I ate. Check the note...LANCASTER? I can’t remember going to Lancaster? Oh no wait, I used Uber. Wait what?! How much did that cost?! Fuck me it may as well have come from Camelot.  

I stick my nose out the window for some clarity and fresh air, the type that only opens around 3 inches to prevent suicide, I admire their foresight, and all I see through the pouring rain is more rain, despair and clouds promising even more rain. Eric Draven said it can’t rain all the time...the bastard is a liar, as he’s clearly never been to Morecambe in September. I know the football team are called the shrimps but surely, they don’t play in an aquarium? What’s the pitch made of? Seaweed?  

Anyway, I digress...after a shower, a quick dash to Wetherspoons down the street for breakfast, there wasn’t a lot of time before Saturday’s shenanigans, as we have a full day of bands today, starting at 2pm. Back in March, I made the mistake of not realising this and ended up missing half of CORROSION, but this time I am prepared. What I wasn’t prepared for, was the aforementioned weather. Honestly it hasn’t stopped pissing it down all morning and it showed no signs of stopping. Never mind coaches and trains I may need to book an Arc home tomorrow! Admitting defeat, I make a slight detour to the local Morrisons, buy an umbrella (They had dinosaurs and leopard print, of course I chose leopard print) and head back to the Alhambra to resume my coverage of BATS IN THE ATTIC... 
​
I get there for 2pm, somewhat damp despite the umbrella, (I may as well have swum across the bay) and head to the bar. I don’t exactly know how much I drank last night but the lady serving me was like “Jack & Coke?”...of course it is. I clearly established myself. OH MY GOTH was at the bar too and joked “It’s too early for me!”...but as they say it’s 5 O'clock somewhere. That’s never bothered me I don’t care what time of day it is; I’m having a drink. Pleasantries aside, we have a long night ahead of us, so let’s get stuck into our first band... 

Being the opening band can be a daunting task in any live situation, even more so when you’re the youngest band playing the weekend, but credit to them, SOCIAL YOUTH CULT [7] take it in their stride like seasoned post-punk veterans. These Newcastle natives play as though they’ve been plucked fresh out of the late 70’s, as they effortlessly channel the likes of JOY DIVISION and BAUHAUS, perfectly recreating that distinctly dark, indie-rock sound. With tracks like “Temporary Love” off of their debut EP “Memento Vivere”, plus recent singles like “Black Lipstick”, they pleasantly surprise not only the crowd, but the other bands in attendance with their authenticity. With their debut album on the horizon (More on that soon, watch this space), these youngsters are a welcome breath of fresh cemetery air. 

Next up we have Nottingham-based outfit CHAOS BLEAK [6] who while themselves haven’t been together long (Forming in 2019), are actually 20+ year veterans of the underground Gothic music scene. Comprising of former members of the likes of MIDNIGHT CONFIGURATION and CRIMSON BRIGADE to name some, they bridge traditional hard rock with socially charged post-punk lyricism, and a hint of semi-industrial cyber-punk in their aesthetic.

With recent releases like the single “Deathtrain” and their 2024 album “Agents Of Chaos” to promote, they chug their way through their set with a solid consistency and cool, controlled swagger, allowing the early afternoon punters to groove along nicely. “Long Black Coat” is dedicated to all those in attendance, celebrating the togetherness, while “Dress The Kids For War” comes with a “Free Palestine” call for peace, which gets a cheer. Not the most exciting band I’ve ever seen live, but they perform well despite a certain level of monotony it can be argued they bring sonically. Bleak is a strong word but SOME chaos would have been nice...

We liven things up a little for our third band, as Bristol’s NAUT [7] add a little sparkle to proceedings…in a sense. Frontman Gavin Laubscher is wearing this wonderfully sequined black blazer jacket, coming across as either a depressed disco ball, or SAM RYDER’s evil twin. I would have tried to take a photo, but I feared the flash would cause serious reflective damage to both the venue and all those in attendance. Imagine the bit from “Shin Godzilla”, when all the atomic rays come out of his dorsal fins, taking out buildings, helicopters, possibly low orbiting satellites…I mean I’ve seen Morecambe, I doubt the fire brigade answer the phone.

I digress…with their dark blend of indie-rock, melodic post-punk and Gavin’s baritone drawl, they treat the crowd to some fine Goth ‘N’ Roll. Tracks off of their debut album “Hunt”, such as “Dissent” and “Nightfall” go down a treat with their subtle synth elements, while earlier EP cuts like “Disintegration” show that Bristol has its own bat population too. It’s a fun set, and here we have another band full of potential among the UK’s darker musical circles. Don’t miss the boat on Naut…

Next up we have a band I was more familiar with, as THE BLACK CAPES [8] made the trip from Greece to grace us with their dark, Goth rock intensity. I’d previously reviewed their album “Lullabies For The Dead” a couple of years ago, which I thoroughly enjoyed, so it was good to finally catch the guys on the live stage. Tracks like “Wolf Child” off of said album, are justifiably popular, but they’ve since released their most recent LP “Looks Like Death”, which gets strong representation. With cuts like “Love Is Love” and “The Reject Anthem”, frontman Alex prowls the stage like he should be wearing a black cape himself. So brooding and ominous is their stage presence; add this to the heavier riff work and Alex’s deep vocals, this is a more doom-influenced Goth rock treat, and Alhambra is left trembling. These aren’t so much as Greek Gods…no…more like Hades’ own in-house band; inspiring his schemes to murder Hercules with each and every note while he gives Cerberus belly rubs… 

By this point I should remind everyone that this is day two of a festival of sorts, not a stand-alone gig night, and we’re having a full day of it, so what better time to hammer home the hospitality, foresight and organisation of the whole team that run both BATS IN THE ATTIC and Alhambra as a whole, than to highlight their half-time scran. Yes, that’s right, in a small kitchen set-up adjacent to the bar, everyone in attendance can pop up and get some homemade vegetable Saag Aloo curry with rice, naan bread…and there’s nachos and cheese with salsa, for a fiver!

​For a break between bands and to soak up your Jack & Coke, and for just a moment to sit, chat and recharge if anything, it’s a wonderful inclusion and just goes to show once again that the team behind all of this care about you. Sure, you can survive off crisps and peanuts from behind the bar, or brave the weather for a local establishment, there is a KFC down the road, Kentucky Fried Cockles anyone? (For fuck sake Gav! For the last time! I’m not telling myself again!) but, Bats has you covered. It was bloody nice too to be fair! You cannot fault the organisation here. 

Our next band are notable by their absence, and that is because sadly, WITCH OF THE VALE [N/A] pulled out of the event. I was genuinely gutted to hear this, as having previously seen the Scottish dark electronic duo supporting THE BIRTHDAY MASSACRE, I was looking forward another set of their nonchalant, ethereal splendour. Their cover of “Hurt” for example almost brought me to tears. We instead, have the replacement bus service that is MARK E MOON [6].

Not to knock the Isle Of Man…man…as his electronic-tinged post-punk fleets between darker indie-pop and nostalgic synth-wave, as he and his backing band promote their new album “Pop Noir”. Tracks like “A Kiss Before Dying” and “Children” (I think) are decent, but my disappointment got the better of me and I kind of wandered off to chat with The Black Capes and grab another Jack & Coke. To be fair I felt bad and went back and had a listen after the fact, Mark’s earlier stuff on Bandcamp is better than the new and only record on Spotify, but that’s just me.

Our penultimate act of the weekend are a Swedish outfit by the name DARK SIDE COWBOYS [8] and outfit is a fitting term. Channelling the likes of FIELDS OF THE NEPHILIM and PHANTOM OF THE BLACK HILLS, they truly embrace a sense of Gothic Americana, with their Stetson’s, long coats, and generally coming across as the kind of ghosts Zak Bagans would be playing with in some haunted-ass saloon somewhere obscure in Texas. The smoke machine only adds to the spooky aura these Swedes bring…it’s like John Carpenter’s “The Fog” but the costume department somehow confused pirates for cowboys.

Their sound is more of a traditional rock ‘n’ roll with a semi-Southern twang. It’s a bit bluesy, they have solo’s, they have aura and atmosphere, but it’s delivered with a darkness that can only truly be appreciated on the live stage.  With their latest EP “Gunslinger” and a hefty back-catalogue spanning over twenty years, they really embrace both a lifestyle and gimmick in their art. With an imposing stage presence, and the tunes to match, they’ll be your huckleberry for sure, delivering a solid set at the Alhambra. Despite the gimmick, the subtle theatrics and face-value niche appeal, remember this quote from John Wayne; “Real art is basic emotion. If a scene is handled with simplicity – and I don’t mean simple – it’ll be good., and the public will know it”. Dark Side Cowboys don’t mess around and play from the heart. They’ll finish up, down a bourbon and saddle up for the next town. Well…when the rain stops at least. In the mean time they can enjoy tonight’s headliner…

Finally, then, when the smoke clears, it’s time for our final act of the weekend. Another Swedish act by the name of THEN COMES SILENCE [8]. Silence, however, is not on the cards, as the dancefloor / pit area is packed, and the Alhambra is in full swing for this lot. Dressed like somewhere between ALKALINE TRIO and TURBONEGRO, these Swede’s deliver a punk-riddled dose of dark alternative rock with more hooks than a Morecambe fisherman. Tracks off their latest album “Trickery”, such as “Like A Hammer” and “Stay Strange” bring a boisterousness that invigorate the late-night crowd for the largest dance along of the weekend. “Pretty Creatures” houses certain KILLING JOKE vibes which is never a bad thing, while older cuts like “Apocalypse Flare” only reiterates the capability of these Swede’s and their penchant for catchy, alternative rock bangers.

​It's been a long day and night…it’s an endurance for anybody, no matter how much you love a genre, but what’s evident yet again, is the team behind CORROSION and BITA care about what they put on, who they put on, and who they cater for. There is a budget for everything in music promotion, marketing and booking, and I’m sure they could have booked a big artist to sell tickets…but that’s not what these weekends in Morecambe are about. The whole point in these events at the Alhambra are to celebrate the alternative Gothic scene…forget genre specifics and flow charts and where what sound came from…the point here is togetherness, appreciating music, appreciating bands, discovering bands, and being a family. I’ve only attended twice now myself, but I feel more welcome and appreciated here than my local bars and rock clubs (Not that there are many).

​Between the half time scran, the personalised bottles of wine for the artists, the goody bags, sweets and promotional flyers on the tables, the warm welcome, games of pool, banter…this is a true community. If you’re into your old-school Gothic rock, or even if you’re just discovering your new favourite alternative genre, Morecambe needs to be on your radar. I can’t celebrate these events enough as mere words don’t do them justice. You have to be there. Bats in the attic in any part of the country are protected by law…well I’m making it law that this event be protected and celebrated. Embrace West coast Gothic…and allow a real grassroots alternative festival to flourish. Corrosion returns in March…I’ll see you there… Words: Gavin Griffiths

Back in March, you may recall that I embarked on an adventure Northbound, to the west coast of England, and a quiet little seaside town called Morecambe. Quiet as in dead, that is...even the convenience stores closed conveniently early. Dystopian IS a strong word, but the seafront looked more like the front line of a battlefield. On the losing side. Like, “Humanoids From The Deep”, without a budget, or extras, and less appeal. I jest it's lovely looking out to the sea...just...don't turn around.

I explored a little more this time around. The stick of rock was probably mined in Littledale before Thatcher, and in that same touristy shop I found open, they were selling fridge magnets saying Cornwall. Made me equally dyslexic and disorientated. I travelled 230 miles North, to Morecambe remember, and Cornwall is even further South than me! Can you physically travel North to Cornwall from the UK? I’d take a paracetamol right now but apparently Donald Trump said they give you Autism...I have enough on my plate. 

Anyway, as per Morecambe, famous for its footballing shrimps, heavyweight boxing dosser and self-proclaimed gypsy king Tyson Fury, and of course, comedic legend Eric Bartholomew, who is such a national treasure he has a Wetherspoons named after him, (That's better than being fucking Knighted!) we were here once again to try to appreciate this post-apocalyptic seaside destination, and the music was fitting. What is it that’s so alluring about Morecambe’s dark side? No, I’m not going to make another cockle picker reference, I did that already for GOTHZILLA months ago and that was pushing it. We’re of course going to be taking a look at Morecambe’s Gothic scene...and the family vibes surrounding events at the Alhambra.  

While March hosted COROSSION FEST, the main West-Coast Gothic event of the year, acting as an alternative to the already established East-coast Whitby weekend, September finds the team putting on the Sister show if you will; BATS IN THE ATTIC. Really it differs only in name, as again we have two nights at the Alhambra, a genuinely lovely venue, filled with bands covering everything under the Gothic umbrella. I must emphasise umbrella at this point as the weather this weekend is wetter than an otter's pocket, after said otter drowned looking for cockles...DAMNIT! I did it again! Moving swiftly on...let’s hit the Alhambra for night one and get that Friday feeling underway... 

Our first band of the weekend are an immediate highlight, as Sweden’s SJÖBLOM [8] entertain the early crowd with their finely stripped back synth-rich delivery. A group I’ve been looking forward to personally (Even though I honestly can’t pronounce them); the duo utilises a backing track for percussion as they bridge indie aesthetics with a sense of new romantic melody. Their stage presence may be minimal; jeans, hoodies and leather jackets...one guitar, around two keyboards, but they have the tunes to carry this set effortlessly.  

​“Oh My Heart” from 2016’s “6” for example, is an incredibly infectious number, with a solid bass groove, piercing keys and dance-along qualities, easily an early hit and fan-favourite, getting people up on the dancefloor early on. Their latest album “Dead Of Night” gets good representation, including a wonderful rendition of “Turn My Head”. Instrumentally it channels the likes of early DEPECHE MODE with its quirky electro-pop aesthetics, while “Telephone” from 2021’s “Demons” only cements their status as a solid indie-synth ensemble, and they’re a brilliant way to open the weekend and get everyone in a great mood. Their sound could easily do well in UK markets, given the trend for nostalgic 80’s throwback lately and hopefully, we’ll see a lot more of these Swedes in the future, as they are well worth checking out. I purchased vinyl, trust me. 

 

Finally, then, we get Friday night’s headliner, GHOST DANCE [8] and to give a sense of perspective, this Leeds-based bunch initially broke up the year I was BORN. Having themselves been born out of THE SISTERS OF MERCY and SKELETAL FAMILY you just know the heritage is there, and vocalist Anne-Marie Hurst turns back the clock to perfectly encapsulate what post-punk and proto-Goth should embody, with this newest iteration of the band line-up.  

Tracks like “I Will Wait” chug-along rhythmically with some solid riffs and slick guitar licks, almost bordering on classic heavy metal tropes, and they allow for an intense, end of night dance along as the track grows and grows into a wonderful crescendo. Forget about genres for a minute, this is a wonderfully crafted song. “Spin The Wheel” showcases a softer side of the band, as Anne-Marie allows her melodious vocals to take centre stage, sounding pained and perturbed, over the gambles and uncertainties of life, but in a venue full of likeminded friends, acquaintances and adopted family, it’s a message that we can all relate to. Both Corrosion and Bats In The Attic provide a haven for likeminded people to congregate and enjoy culture, and we always run the risk of judgement, or ridicule, it’s the wheel we spin when we make these choices growing up, but this community has shown me that they thrive; WE thrive, when bands like this bring us together.  

Further tracks like “Down To The Wire” highlight the joviality you can have with alternative music with its clap-along qualities and indie-pop sensibilities, while newer tracks, like “Goodbye” and “Jessamine” only cement them as lost icons of the UK’s proto-Goth music scene. We’re so used to reliving the good old days, or at least yearning for them in some generation's cases, that some bands can often be overlooked in favour of the big guns. This is one of those bands, that we need to appreciate more, and the Corrosion/Bats team ensure that we do. For that, we applaud them. 

Regardless of any sense of genre bias we have for these weekends in Morecambe, what’s important, is that night one of 2025’s Bats In The Attic went down a storm. Friday may only have had four bands, but each and every one of them delivered in their own way, and it’s that which makes this community flourish. Music is subjective in nature, but the message is always the selling point, and the whole point of this Morecambe-based congregation, is this menagerie of unrelated family members can come together, have fun, and appreciate not only the legacy and history of Gothic rock and post-punk, but enjoy each other's company in what’s become a bi-annual reunion. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my hotel, order a Burger King from Lancaster because of course I do, nothing is fucking alive let alone open in Morecambe as far as I can tell, and make notes ahead of tomorrow...because there are plenty of bats left in the attic. It’s going to be a long one...not unlike my journey here to be fair! - Words: Gavin Griffiths

As we wander through the gates of BLOODSTOCK 2025, ORANGE GOBLIN - closing in on their final show ever later this year - are on FEROCIOUS form on the Ronnie James Dio stage. Their “meat and potatoes heavy metal” lacks the hedonism of PALEFACE SWISS, the chaotic deathcore band whose set they followed, and is worlds away from the pomp of the melodramatic LACUNA COIL show that follows it. But Orange Goblin need no frills. Their groovy, swaggering riffs and gruff vocals are more than enough to entertain this mid-afternoon audience, and it’s not until after the final notes of "Red Tide Rising" ring out that you realise Orange Goblin have been a subtle mainstay of metal for thirty years. It’s sad to see them go

​The show goes on, though, and we catch Polish "Metal 2 The Masses" winners RASCAL on the New Blood stage. All About The Rock flew out to Bydgoszcz to join the judging panel for M2TM Poland earlier in the year, and while our winners AEONION didn’t win the final round, Rascal are worthy winners. Their melodic speed metal has earned them a decent crowd, and vocalist Kacper Pędziszewski is certainly one to watch. Over on the Sophie Lancaster stage, EIHWAR are showing off the other end of the metal spectrum. Frontwoman Asrunn is a theatrical performer with a hypnotic voice who wields a shamanic drum, while Mark (...) handles multi-instrumental duties effortlessly. Their sound is a pagan-style blurring of folk, electronica and metal influences. Like a heavy version of Jockstrap.

As is Bloodstock tradition, next year's line-up is announced early on Friday evening. Despite the hype surrounding this being the festival’s 25th anniversary, the announcement falls a little flat. Sure, we get some phenomenal bands like LAMB OF GOD, JUDAS PRIEST, SHINING, SEPULTURA and CRYPTOPSY, but there’s no return for first-ever headliners SAXON (Though admittedly this could be down to Biff Bifford’s recent cancer diagnosis) and none of the huge-scale bookings seen floating around the rumour mill. Most problematically, one of the headliner slots has been given to a certain Russian deathcore band with Nazi ties. There has already been a lot of understandable backlash, including calls to boycott next year’s festival… [Editor: We've covered said band, recently, and for transparency, it was an album review, nothing more, and in no means endorsing or championing any semblance of Nazi ideology or fascism...we don't do hypocrisy here]

But that’s next year’s problem. Spirits are lifted quickly by the triumphant return of black metal legends - at one time controversial in their own right - EMPOROR. Fronted by the bespectacled, purple-guitar-wielding IHSAHN, the band power through their dark, ferocious anthems with almost no break. They’ve felt no need to release new music in the last twenty-five years, and you can see why when the brutal shrieks of "Ye Entrancemperium" and "Inno A Satana" haven’t aged a day.

The Sophie tent is almost as full as it was for MACHINE HEAD’s secret set a few years ago, even though until a couple of weeks ago, NAILBOMB hadn’t performed live since their debut show back in 1994. It’s hard to tell who is there as a fan (After all, the band only released one album and disbanded almost immediately after) and who is just following hype, but either way, we stand no chance of getting in the tent, so make our way back across the field and over to the miniscule EMP stage, where hidden gems are often lurking. Northern Irish death metal trio INSIDIOUS VOID are on hand to deliver one of the heaviest sets of the weekend, complete with the fastest, most mechanical-sounding blast beats I’ve ever heard. 

TRIVIUM were the first metal band I ever saw live, but despite adoring "In Waves" at the time, I never really got stuck into any of their other output. I already knew their set was likely to only touch upon that album’s title track, so aside from recognising the odd tune here and there, I was going in blind. The band, clearly relishing an opportunity to headline a major festival, promised a ‘very special’ set for Bloodstock, and they weren’t lying.

‘"Rain", "Pull Harder On The Strings Of Your Martyr" and "Like Light To The Flies" from the "Ascendancy" album they had been performing in full recently are clearly well-oiled and all hit hard as an opening trio. They quickly transition to a covers-heavy middle section, with their version of "Symptom Of The Universe" seeing them joined by Machine Head’s beaming Rob Flynn, and their rarely performed cover of "Master Of Puppets" going down about as well as you’d expect a true heavy metal anthem to go down.

That said, it’s frustratingly hard to ignore the duds, and Trivium certainly have some duds. The lifeless "Until The World Goes Cold", generic "The Sin And The Sentence" and especially the slog of "The Heart From Your Hate" are tough listens that can’t be salvaged by any amount of infectious live energy. Their melodies are as bland as they come, and instrumentally all three tracks just play it way too safe to be of any interest. What does bring the energy up, however, is their new track, "Bury Me With Your Screams", which is a chuggy cut that doesn’t skimp on the heaviness, leaning into Matt Heafy’s gritty shout without an over-reliance on a big clean chorus. This is immediately followed by the set’s inevitable highlight, the unfathomably groovy "In Waves", which welcomes Ihsahn back to the stage for some backing vocals, and, despite Heafy’s insistence that it wouldn’t be, should have been their closing number. 

Death, taxes and a bit of atmospheric post-metal on a Saturday morning at Bloodstock. VNDER A CRVMBLING MOON deliver a harsh, melancholy set of slow, doomy, widescreen metal before BA'AL replace them to do a very similar thing, but with slightly more syncopation and a slightly less visceral vocal performance. We head over to the New Blood stage to bring the energy back up in the early afternoon, and through the bouncy fun of Mantis Defeats Jaguar and intense slam of MECHROMORPH, our mission is accomplished with ease.

The same can’t be said for the main stage, which seems to be going through a bit of a mid-festival crisis. CREEPER, whose frontman William Von Ghould has been seen on the big screens relentlessly advertising Tixtel all weekend, might look the part, but their punky gothic rock lacks bite and sounds weak throughout almost the entire set. On stage performances that lack confidence and very wobbly vocals don’t help their case either

They’re followed by KUBLAI KHAN TX, a metalcore band who look like they’d have bullied every member of Creeper at school. The toxic masculinity is off the charts from frontman Matt Honeycutt, who spends as much time grabbing his crotch, flexing his muscles and reminding the audience the band are from Texas as he does singing. For the first time ever, I see the Bloodstock pit turn from its usual haven of heaviness, into a blurry mess of fist-flailing incels, most of whom are foaming at the mouth as they’re crowd-surfed into the photo pit. The band’s obvious popularity makes it hard to call them a bad booking, but it certainly doesn’t feel like the right atmosphere for Bloodstock.

The flamboyant NEONFLY are a great antidote to an overdose of masculinity. They’re not my usual cup of tea, but any set that opens with some unrelated fire-breathing is going to bring me on side. Willy Norton’s voice in particular is a soaring, melodic weapon and his prowling stagecraft alone should lead him to the Ronnie James Dio stage one day soon. The Sophie stage remains on fine form for the rest of the day, with the tongue-in-cheek brutality of UNDEATH contrasting the singalong flamenco metal of “the biggest unsigned band at Bloodstock”, BREED 77, who even sneak a cover of THE CRANBERRIES’  "Zombie" into their set. 

As is the way at Bloodstock, momentum can shift at any moment, and the main stage quickly recovered from its mid-afternoon stupor to switch gears into a triple threat of legends. First up is FEAR FACTORY, playing the entirety of their groundbreaking second album, "Demanufacture". Only instantly-recognisable guitarist Dino Cazares remains from the band’s most influential era, but Milo Silverstro does a good job of stepping into the shoes of Burton C. Bell and their sound is as weighty and futuristic as ever. Their signature blend of industrial timbres, subtle electronics and grating riffs represents itself best on tracks like "Self Bias Resistor" and "Dog Day Sunrise", which sound about as close to the record as they can. They’re followed by fellow industrial legends MINISTRY. The unsmiling Al Jourgensen looks incredible and carries himself with the unshakeable confidence only a true icon can muster, but aside from the hardcore fans gathered on the barrier, there isn’t much enthusiasm for Ministry around Catton Park. Their performance is tight and their sound is loud and crisp, but to put it bluntly, they just don’t have the tunes. 

An evening of certified legends is rounded out by MACHINE HEAD, who deliver one of the best headline sets in Bloodstock history. Rob Flynn, who looks simultaneously like a huge, hairy monster and a soft, cuddly teddy bear, is unmatched in terms of stage presence. He can switch between a totally genuine grin and the frenzied stare of a man locked into one of the grooviest riffs you’ve ever heard with ease. And that comes before we even mention the sheer might of the setlist. It’s hard to argue with a band that can open with "Imperium", drop their most played song fifth in the set and swap out a mid-set lull with the anthemic "Locust".

Later in the set, Flynn pays a moving tribute to Michelle Kerr, his (and, previously, Bloodstock’s) PR, who sadly died in September 2024. Over the tender chords of "Darkness Within", he tells stories from their many years working together, and leads the audience in a celebration of her legacy, pointing out the bands that many of us would never have even heard of without her influence. It’s a beautiful moment, handled with so much care that when the energy picks up ​again, everyone in the audience knows she wouldn’t want us to wallow, but to get stuck into yet another huge-scale metal show that wouldn’t exist without her.

The back-to-back of "Davidian" and "Halo" that brings the show to a close is a fitting power move the likes of which haven’t been seen at Bloodstock since LAMB OF GOD hit us with "Laid To Rest" and "Redneck" in 2022. The night is rounded out by a mass shout-along, a sea of headbanging and a flurry of fireworks. 

We take up our usual late morning spot at the back of the Sophie Lancaster stage. APATHY UK are as energetic as it is possible to be at 10:30am on day three of a metal festival, while BARBARIAN HERMIT are as loud as the hungover heads in front of them can take. FRAYLE, however, are just dull - they claim to take influence from the likes of SLEEP, BLACK SABBATH, BJORK and PORTISHEAD, but realistically, their sound is bland and vaguely doomy. It goes nowhere and offers very little.

RIVERS OF NIHIL, however, offer a hell of a lot. Not only is their progressive death metal musically interesting (Saxophone at Bloodstock alert!), but their performance is passionate and intense. Bassist/vocalist Adam Biggs sprays spit as he alternates between surprisingly catchy melodies and the brutal screams of "Where Owls Know My Name". Over on the EMP stage, Z MACHINE are the weekend’s token prog band. Until just an hour before, they believed themselves to be introducing Bloodstock to its first saxophone. Bad timing. But their blend of King Crimson-esque experimental prog-jazz-fusion-metal is an endearing chance of pace, and the small gathering of confused metalheads still manage to mosh to it. 

In an attempt to overcome my obvious anti-metalcore bias, we sought out AUGUST BURNS RED. From their clever SYSTEM OF A DOWN fake-out opening right up until "White Washed", I was hooked. Every moment of melody was carefully balanced by a crushingly heavy groove or a tempo-chopping breakdown that would take the audience by surprise. The mellower moments didn’t feel self-indulgent, but a necessary moment of calm used to make the shift back into intensity worthwhile. Maybe not a hidden gem to the thousands that gathered to watch them, but certainly one to me.

Between seeing Cypriot progressive groove metaller's SPEAK IN WHISPERS on the New Blood stage and THROWN on the Sophie, we don’t catch much of FEUERSCHWANZ, aside from a cover of "Dragostea Din Tei" when walking in one direction, and a snippet of "Gangnam Style" while walking in the other. I feel like that may have been all I needed to know. There was a lot more intrigue surrounding ORME, though, who may be the first true drone band to grace a Bloodstock stage. Their set, which consisted of a heavily truncated performance of the normally hour-long "Onward to Sarnath", turned most passers by away with the sheer might of its unshifting slab of noise presented at a ferocious decibel level, but those who stuck with it were rewarded by a slow build into some truly satisfying doomy, sludgy riffs. This is the sort of thing the EMP tent was made for.

MASTODON were always the band I was most excited to see this weekend, and it was especially interesting to see how they played without recently not-so-amicably-departed guitarist Brent Hinds. The answer seems to be that it made absolutely no impact on them whatsoever. Brann Dailor’s ability to sing the band’s most melodic tracks while unflinchingly powering through proggy drum beats is incredible. Equally, Troy Sanders’ hoarse grunt is the perfect match to the thunderous tone of the likes of "Black Tongue".

"The Motherload" is a frenzied web of riffs interspersed with the band’s biggest hook, while "Megalodon" offers a dreamy, psychedelic haze of rhythmic instability that keeps the listener on their toes. The evergreen "Blood And Thunder" holds an almost indefinable power that makes the entire audience ignore almost every lyric in favour of relentlessly singing along to that riff. 
​
[Editor: In the process of publishing this review, it has come to light that Brent Hinds, former guitarist of Mastodon, tragically passed away in a motorcycle accident, on August 20th. Everyone involved in the All About The Rock / Gav The Gothic Chav collaborative team, sends our condolences to Brent's immediate family, close friends and loved ones. A powerful force in modern metal...talented, creative and adored by many. RIP Brent Hinds.]

In the eight years I’ve been reviewing Bloodstock, GOJIRA are the first returning headliners I’ve seen. If there’s a band more deserving, I don’t know who it is. Since their last performance, they’ve become tighter, their stage show has expanded into a true spectacle and they’ve become international flag carriers of metal thanks to their Olympic triumph.

Their music, however, remains largely unchanged. Aside from three tracks from "Fortitude", a lot of their set overlaps with that of 2018 - but that’s no bad thing. The opening sucker punch of "Only Pain" is the perfect way to set the tone, filled with those trademark walls of thick, distorted sound Gojira are known for, completed by an off-kilter, polyrhythmic drumming style that could only be Mario Duplantier. "The Axe" gives his brother Joe Duplantier a vocal workout with its ferociously catchy tech-death first half, before giving way to a cinematic instrumental outro that is every bit as perfect live as it is on the album.

Tracks 4, 5 and 6 are identical to 2018, probably because they act as a beautiful way to encapsulate the band’s career and evolution, with the Grammy-winning, ultra-catchy "Stranded" giving way to the atmospheric expanse of "Flying Whales" from more than ten years earlier, before returning to "Magma" for the relentless energy of "The Cell". "Mea culpa (Ah! Ça ira!)" is a welcome new addition to the set, and its blend of ferocious Gojira-style groove and operatic interjections show exactly why this was the perfect choice for their Olympic performance.

The only thing that disappoints is the way they bring the set to a close. Aside from the incredible encore-opening "L'enfant Sauvage", their decision to with the two tracks from the disappointing "Fortitude" shows that they either aren’t in tune with what their audience wants, or a need to back their newer material overshadows their commitment to better show structure. Their "Under the Sun/Every Day Comes and Goes" BLACK SABBATH cover is great, but it feels like it may have landed better earlier in the set rather than in place of a hard-hitting penultimate number. Similarly, the show-closing "The Gift Of Guilt" is anticlimactic, especially when the likes of "The Heaviest Matter Of The Universe" are left out entirely. But these are minor details, and the important thing is that overall their set is a triumphant success and a welcome return to Catton Hall.

2025 is yet another impeccable year for Bloodstock. Where else can you see Mastodon and Gojira back to back, discover your new favourite unsigned band, watch a potato-eating competition, do a Raised By Owls-hosted metal pub quiz and mosh to an authentic classic-era Slipknot tribute band in the same day? There’s nowhere else quite like it...

Words AND Photography: Dan Peeke

I THINK I was there. I MUST have been. There’s blood on my sleeve and a set of co-ordinates in my back pocket in someone else's handwriting. Bannerman's. Underground stone. Hot, wet, shaking. Maybe it was last night. Maybe it hasn’t happened yet. Time did something funny in there. Slid sideways.

I remember the wall. Cold against my spine, or maybe it was breathing. Hard to tell. Could’ve been me. It could’ve been the wall.

I came to watch. That I know. Not to move. Not to feel. Just to witness. Someone needs to remember this properly when it’s over. I think I forgot what I was meant to remember.

Nero Bellum arrived by not arriving. One blink—nothing. The next—there. Smoke, red light, some metallic hum in my teeth. His shadow hit the ceiling before his feet hit the floor. He didn’t walk. He slid. Or maybe the floor moved for him. I looked down to check. The tiles were twitching. Not metaphorically. Actually twitching. I think one licked my boot.

Then “Devils Work”. Or what I assumed was it. It could’ve been a fire alarm. It could’ve been someone screaming backwards into a pipe. The noise didn’t feel like noise. It was weight. It came through the speakers and pushed the air out of my lungs in reverse.

People started jerking forward, twitching in place like wires were being yanked from inside their bones. Someone fell. Someone else fell on them. Nobody noticed. I stood still. I tried to blink slower as I didn’t want to miss anything important. A vole appeared from beneath the drum riser. A serious little fella. It might’ve had glasses. It was hard to tell in the strobe.

“The Poison Will Deaden The Pain” melted the centre of the room. I saw it happen. One second—people. The next—just blur. Hands, faces, teeth. Bellum was the only thing not vibrating. Just prowling through the distortion, mouth open, arms twitching like he was pulling threads only he could see. I thought he was bleeding, but it was just light. Or sweat. Or memory.

Every track hit with a new shape. “I Choose Violence” came with static in my eyes. I couldn’t see properly for the whole thing. I felt like someone shoved me into a microwave and hit purée. The synth lines crawled under my skin. I scratched at my arm and found ink I don’t remember writing.

There was a moment louder than the rest. I swear to God the bass spoke. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. ACTUAL words. I couldn’t hear them, but they were there. In the corners.

Nero stared out over us like we were ants he'd decided not to crush just yet. Or maybe he was somewhere else entirely. His mouth moved. Lyrics, probably. Or instructions. Or prophecy. My ears were bleeding by then, so I just smiled and pretended I understood. The strobes stopped briefly, and I swear I saw the crowd aging in fast-forward. Just for a second. Then we were back inside it.

I don’t remember hearing the final song. I remember feeling something explode behind my right eye. I leaned into the speaker and let it rattle my thoughts loose. When it ended, I wasn’t sure what year it was.

Everyone exhaled at once. The collective moan of the overused. People fell into each other. Some collapsed. Some crawled. One couple kissed with the urgency of people escaping a burning building. I stayed. Couldn’t move yet. My knees felt fictional.
Cleanup came. Gloves. Mops. One of them looked at me and flinched. I smiled. Didn’t mean to.

Outside, the night was wrong. Too empty. The cars looked fake. I followed the last few disciples up the hill. They limped like they’d left something behind and weren’t sure if it mattered. One of them turned and looked straight at me like I was part of it now. I tasted metal in the back of my mouth and it didn’t go away. Neither did the vole.

Tonight's gig coming in at 9 minutes of the sound of AOL dial-up internet through damaged speakers, out of 10.

Words: Matt Denny. 

The new album, "And Then Oblivion" by PSYCLON NINE is out now, via METROPOLIS RECORDS.

“Your world is coming to its end, but you don’t have to be afraid”…never before have these lyrics been as poignant but sadly, we ironically find ourselves in joy and sorrow as HIM…Finland’s finest romantic rockers, are bidding us farewell, calling time on their 20+ year career. Yes back in March, the news was dropped by Daniel. P. Carter on the Radio 1 Rock Show that HIM were embarking on a farewell tour, after announcing that 2017 would see the band play their final shows and go their separate ways, breaking countless hearts around the world…with the departure of drummer Gas after the last album “Tears On Tape” things were just never the same and despite having Jukka take over behind the kit, new material simply wasn’t working…the spark had gone and it was time to say goodbye. With the UK only getting 5 dates on the “Bang And Whimper” farewell tour, I was lucky enough to see them one last time at Nottingham Rock City…and I should have taken tissues.

Any HIM gig starts early in the morning and today was certainly no exception…even though we’re in the middle of December, there were people queuing at the venue from 8am, camped out with blankets, highlighting the dedication and commitment HIM’s fans truly have…but by the time doors were opened, this sold out show had a line of fans literally streets long…never mind meters, you could measure the queue in postcodes! As the crowd inside started to grow and settle in and while the bar was all hands on deck, we were warmed up by tonight’s only support act, BITERS [7] from Atlanta, Georgia. The four-piece strutted their stuff on stage like seasoned veterans and their style echoed the same sentiments…inspired by the hey-days of rock ‘n’ roll, taking elements from the likes of T-REX and the NEW YORK DOLLS they took the crowd on a semi-nostalgic journey back into the 70’s, the denim and leather, the long hair, the rock star swagger and the tunes to back it all up…tracks such as “Gypsy Rose” with its clap-along charm and the simplistic merriment of “Stone Cold Love” allowing front man Tuk to channel his inner Marc Bolan…while “1975” exudes a true sense of heritage, harking back to a time when rock ‘n’ roll was fresh and captivating, and it’s still not gone out of style today. Their set may have been brief but with the time they had they won over tonight’s crowd and it got the gig off to a great start.

Now, in this situation, normally we’d be excited knowing HIM [8] were about to make their grand entrance but tonight, we know it’s also their swansong…this really is the beginning of the end as it’s the final time we get to witness Ville Valo and co work their magic on stage, and the excitement is mixed with a sense of sadness. Simply knowing that once tonight is over, they will be but a cherished memory and it genuinely is heart breaking for many, many fans. Luckily however, HIM have a back catalogue of hits that can turn any frown upside down and they waste little time getting going, opening up with “Buried Alive By Love”. Mige’s pummelling bass and Valo’s powerful vocals breathe life into an already swelling crowd and the energy in Rock City tonight is incredible. Every word is sung back by each and every person in the room and you can feel the love and appreciation everyone has for the band, and as they plough through fan favourites like “Heartache Every Moment” and “Wings Of A Butterfly” it really does send chills down your spine. Each of their eight albums are represented in some way with inclusions of “Kiss Of Dawn” and “Heartkiller”…and we’re even treated to a rare inclusion of “Sigillum Diaboli” to rapturous applause…but as the set draws to a close, the realisation of what’s transpiring hits home and when Ville humbly says his thanks for the love and support over the years, and as they slide into “Funeral Of Hearts” there are plenty of mixed emotions. The beauty of the moment, the sadness of the occasion and feelings of both togetherness and loss, there’s barely a dry eye in the room as HIM don't really have fans, no, they’re more like family and it feels like we’re saying goodbye to a loved one. Then, after closing with an encore of BILLY IDOL hit “Rebel Yell” and a painfully apropos rendition of “When Love And Death Embrace”, the Finns leave not only the stage, but a gaping hole in our hearts. HIM were one of a kind and their iconic Heartagram, whether tattooed on the skin of fans worldwide, or emblazoned on proudly worn t-shirts, will forever be a reminder, a symbol of happiness and positivity, as Ville, Mige, Linde, Burton, Gas and later Jukka, touched each and every one of us with their music. As a band HIM were too often underrated but tonight, everyone in attendance knows the world just lost something truly special. There really is no love without tears and tonight really does prove we will always love HIM. Kiitos ja jäähyväiset, ystäväni ...