Desertfest 2018

London
4-6 May 2018

Friday: Justin

It’s a sunny Friday in Olde London Towne, and the weather’s predicted to be a strictly non-traditional scorcher of a May Bank Holiday weekend. What better time to punctuate outdoor drinking with a succession of slow bands in dark rooms?

And the answer is none. None better time to punctuate outdoor drinking with a succession of slow bands in dark rooms. For this is also the weekend of Desertfest, the heaviest fun you can have in London in any given year.

So after meeting up with the other Freqs for some pre-metal drinking in The Black Heart (the hub of the festival for the next two days) and discovering that Gary has seen three bands already (I mean, obviously it’s not a competition, but that’s pretty impressive), I decide to ease myself into the heaviness with something at least vaguely traditional.

So I head to The Underworld for the southern-fried boogie-woogie rock and roll of Radio Moscow. Shot through with Sabbath-esque psychedelia and epic soloing, they are the sound of tripping your nuts off in the pool hall of a biker bar and they are a great deal of fun indeed. This is trucking music for people who are on far too many drugs to drive, and makes a perfect start to my evening’s entertainment.

Then it’s off to The Electric Ballroom to catch Eyehategod. I’ve never really liked their name, and as a result haven’t ever really checked them out before, because I’m shallow like that. But it turns out they’re actually kinda awesome. Doomy Sabbathing with Oskerei-level black metal vocals is a pretty good start, but when they kick it up a notch and really get into their sludgy, thrashy stride, it’s a wonderful noise and all else is window dressing.

At this point I somehow get embroiled in a rather inept drugs bust — coming out of the cubicle in the Ballroom’s toilets I find myself standing between two guys who are being berated by a security guy for having gone into a cubicle together, something they both vehemently deny. Problem being that as another security guard arrives, the original one buggers off to summon more help, meaning I’m now in the middle of a line-up none of whom the person remaining recognises. Which is awkward and slightly surreal. Having to deny being the guy who has to deny doing anything is an odd experience, though not a particularly educational one. Eventually it’s all resolved and I get to leave to see Ghold, about whom I have heard great things.

There’s a lot of standing on the stairs in The Black Heart involved in seeing Ghold, and at this point it’s worth mentioning the crowd. Although it always looks like Camden’s been invaded by viking bikers and Satanists when this particular circus rolls into town, the Desertfest crowd are by and large lovely people, as metal crowds often are. There’s something about metal, especially stuff that’s often about weed and dragons, that doesn’t leave much room for cynicism, because if you let that in then the whole thing falls apart. This means the people you tend to bump into are more often than not extremely affable. Probably also really, really baked, too. Which means standing on the stairs waiting for the band to set up isn’t as onerous an experience as it has to be, and is more an exercise in community bonding.

And that’s all well and good, but we want LOUD MUSIC. And that’s what Ghold give us. There’s a lot of early Swans in their awkwardly-timed low end cacophony, but a lot more space, and plenty of slower, but only marginally quieter passages. They approach transcendence at times, but it’s not the kind associated with religious fervour or gentle chemicals — more like it’s hallucinatory in the sense of a serious head injury. “Intense” is probably the word I’d choose. Also “fucking” and “awesome”. Every now and then you get a full-on drop into Melvins-esque low riffing, and there’s even a hint of melodic black metal in there somewhere. As well as a bit where they get proper motorik. Yeah. This was well worth the stairs.

Then it’s off to The Underworld to see if I can catch a bit of Jex Thoth, which I do. There’s a lot to enjoy in her occult metal shenanigans, and it’s cool to have an enchanting yet still heavy traditional rock-based palate cleanser in between the avant-garde crushing of brains.

Warning rarely play, but tonight they’re bringing their hugely influential brand of doom to the Electric Ballroom. And it’s pretty epic. Drums play incredibly slowly, with that sense of a rotating planet you get from Earth, but this is a more song-based affair. And it’s practically hypnotic — how long do these songs even go on for? Fucking ages, is how long. And also not quite long enough. They’re great.

Every year there seems to be a band on at Desertfest who really don’t appear to fit the bill, but who are incredibly well-received. This year it’s the turn of Napalm Death. And Napalm Death are a band that is legendary to anyone like me who grew up listening to John Peel. They were probably my first taste of extreme music, but in over three decades I’ve still never managed to see them before, so I’m pretty hyped for this.

And the hype is well-justified. After a slow and angry start, the grindcore kicks in and the entire crowd moves, like the moshpit’s ground zero and everyone’s fleeing for their lives — particularly those carrying expensive camera equipment. Barney Greenway jokes about their inappropriateness for the festival, saying they tried to choose some slow songs but “it was pretty fucking tricky”. He’s a crazy persona onstage, ranting, stomping around and generally flinging himself about while the band chuck everything into a food mixer and put it on the fastest setting.

He reminds me in a strange way of The Pop Group‘s Mark Stewart. (Tomorrow, Dave will tell me Barney reminded him of Ian Curtis. We split the difference and conclude he may just not be a very good dancer, though he’s an amazing frontman). Anarcho-punk grindcore may seem a strange fit for the slow and low ethos of Desertfest, but the sound of them slamming a square peg into that round hole is sublime.

*

Friday: Gary

It’s the May Day bank holiday and that can only mean one thing for me, and that’s a weekend of having my ears pummelled at Desertfest by some of the heaviest and out-there music around. Also a rare occurrence has happened, and that is the sun has decided to heat London to a rather pleasant twenty-six degrees, and that helps towards the enjoyment of the festival experience.

As I arrive in Camden, it seems fairly obvious that a lot of other people wanted to take advantage of the sun and the bands; normally Friday is the quieter day of the festival, one where you can quite easily get in and near the front at most venues; but as I sip a pint at The Black Heart, it becomes evident that there seem to be a lot more people attending today than in previous years.

My first port of call is normally The Underworld and I head down there to catch the first band on, Old Man Lizard. From the opening chord I know they are going to be a barrage on the ears and a great way to open the festival for me. Their sound is a big, heavy dose of sludge doom that attacks you with its sheer volume and audacity. It’s at this point that I realise just how much I have missed Desertfest in the last year.

The Black Wizards are the next band up and one of my must-see bands of the festival. They have a wonderful bluesy sound that is topped off by Joana Brito’s fantastic lead guitar, and she wrenches every ounce of passion from each note. Songs like “I Don’t Wanna Die” bristle with a psychedelic energy similar to that of The Jimi Hendrix Experience. During one track, Joana has a problem with her guitar amp, this is soon rectified and gets a massive cheer from the crowd as she crashes into a blinding solo. By the time their set finishes, we are left wanting more and my ears are still buzzing from their fuzzadelic sounds.

A short break and I am ready for the next band at The Underworld, Black Moth. There already seems to be a buzz about the band, even before they hit the stage, and again they are on my must-see list. Promoting their new album Anatomical Venus, the band give it all they have to kick the Desertfest crowd into submission. Harriet Bevan is a fantastic frontwoman, getting the audience to enjoy themselves by looking like she is having the time of her life. Her vocals soar on such tracks as “Tree of Woe” and “Tumbleweave”, with plenty of big riffs and wonderful guitar solos as the band powerhouse their way through the set. The melodies hum around the venue, both dark and delicious, as well as uplifting. The music at times mixes grunge-style assault with the laid-back kind of otherness that sounds a bit like Sleep. Their performance is fun, powerful, relaxed and taut, all at the same time.

Next is a quick trip to The Electric Ballroom to catch Five The Heirophant. I had not heard of this band before and was intrigued by a name that is obviously taken from a set of tarot cards (maybe even Aleister Crowley’s deck). The band are an odd mixture of Goat-style tribal drumming, black metal deep-throb chords and jazz-style saxophone that hovers over the top of it all (was that “Baker Street” being played in the soundcheck?). The tracks use a mixture of drones and Indian raga-style percussive beats while the guitars crash around, letting the sax sing. Certainly the most intriguing-sounding band of the day so far.

After four bands in a row it’s time for a food break before I head back to The Underworld. It’s here I notice just how packed Camden is with long hair, longer beards and denim jackets covered with patches. Certainly the atmosphere is buzzing already this year and the booze is definitely flowing freely as Camden is transformed by the invading hordes into heavy metal heaven.

A very different atmosphere descends as I enter the cavernous Underworld for Jex Thoth. I’ve been lucky enough to see all of Jex’s London performances so far and each one has been spellbinding. Haunted organ sounds and howling guitars introduce “Kagemni” as Jex wafts around the stage with her cloak billowing behind her. Like her previous shows, this is more of a ritual performance than a straightforward gig.

The heavy fug of sixties occult hangs so close in the air that you are almost close enough to touch it. Songs like “Raven Nor Spirit” and “Separated At Birth” conjure up the feeling of arcane arts practised in a mansion just outside town. Jex is mesmerising as she lights her incense and marks out mystical symbols on the floor. “Invocation” sounds like a message from the forces beyond, with Jex singing in a trance-like state. As she begins to wind down her set, I check the time and realise that I must head towards the Electric Ballroom, so I leave Jex in the final throes of her last song, with a halo of smoke surrounding the stage.

Another of my must-see bands at this year’s festival is Warning. I loved Watching From A Distance when it came out in 2006, but somehow I missed seeing them live, so for me to catch these legends today is a big thing, especially as they are the last band of the classic doom resurgence for me to tick off my live list. Their sound is monumental, full of big, heavy slow riffs that pull you into their vortex. Its an amazing experience to hear songs live for the first time that I have loved for years.

Tonight, the band play the entirity of Watching From A Distance in order. “Bridges” sounds like a cry from the damned trapped in some Dantesque hell, and “Echoes” is just monolithic in its soundscape, a dirge of such magnificence that it sums up the whole human experience in its pounding heaviness. By the time the band have finished there are some members of the audience who look visibly moved at finally hearing this master work played after so many years — so please don’t leave it so long next time, chaps.

Afterwards, I catch my breath and head over to The Black Heart to see White Hills, and on the way I bump into our photographer Dave, who tells me that the queue is almost outside the door for it. So the chances of getting into the tiny venue are slim, and when I arrive the line of people is rather massive. I feel that it’s probably a sign from the gods that the last thing I should hear today is the sound of Warning ringing in my ears, so I start my long journey home.

*

Saturday: Justin

The only real disappointment about Made Of Teeth, who I watch upstairs at The Black Heart, is that they are not literally made of actual teeth, because that would have been pretty fucking metal. Fortunately, if you close your eyes it’s not hard to imagine that they are, because they themselves are also pretty fucking metal. Well, actually they’re more like prog punk. There’s a bit of Tool under there somewhere, and one of the two vocalists has a really good line in Zack de la Rocha-style angry shouting. Their more introspective parts are built on huge, looping bass riffs which eventually give way to epic cymbal-heavy crescendos. I can kinda forgive them the not actually being made of teeth thing. We’re good.

Then a quick pint in a nearby pub, and a catch-up with Dave, wherein we discuss all the bands we saw the day before and conclude that yes, Desertfest is, as ever, a lot of fun.

So… Japanese doom metal about serial killers? Sounds awesome. Fortunately this is exactly what Church Of Misery make, and a lot of it, and they’re playing at the Ballroom RIGHT NOW. Japan’s answer to Electric Wizard, Church Of Misery take that signature Black Sabbath sound, rock histrionics and all, duct-tape its hands together and strangle it before trying to flush the remains down the toilet.

They’re very heavy, as you’d imagine, but they don’t shy away from using the more traditional elements of Sabbath either, meaning what you get is an immensely sleazy and sordid rock’n’roll monster. About serial killers.

Did someone mention Electric Wizard? Oh yes. I did. I mentioned Electric Wizard. And it just so happens that ex-Electric Wizard drummer Mark Greening is playing at The Underworld with his band Dead Witches. And they sound… well, they sound kinda like Electric Wizard. Which is a good thing to sound like. They sound very much like Electric Wizard, but with female vocals courtesy of new addition Soozi Chameleone, which latter detail probably makes them “occult metal” rather than “stoner doom”, but I’m not entirely sure how or why.

That said, I don’t really give a shit, because I’m too busy grooving on those ultra-heavy riffs and that deep, deep bass. Oh, and all that psych wah-wah. Every now and then they drop some Melvinsy stuff as well, and by the time they end in a squall of noise they have got me under their spell. (See what I did there? Witches, spell… oh, never mind).

The Ballroom reeks of weed, and it’s ripe for the eatin’. Which is fortunate, because on hand are Weedeater to provide their Southern-fried rock and roll for the herbally inclined. At times it’s hard to escape the idea that if you sped them up they’d be Lynyrd Skynyrd, but the truth is that if you DIDN’T speed them up, you’d obviously be left with what we have here, which is a seriously Sleep-heavy backwoods piledriver of a metal beast. And then when they speed themselves up they sound nothing like Lynyrd Skynyrd at all, but opt instead for hefty psych riffage married to swamp rock. Me like.

Black Rainbows, playing at The Underworld, have a bassist rocking perfect Lemmy facial hair, and that’s as it should be, because Black Rainbows, like Motörhead, play rock and roll. As an aside, I wonder if metal bands ever get pissed off that they’re not getting as much applause as they’d like because everyone’s throwing the horns instead, a thought that comes to mind because there are a LOT of horns being thrown for Black Rainbows. Hard, heavy and high, what Black Rainbows do is rock the fuck out.

Stooges, MC5, Hawkwind… you can hear bits of all of them in their lysergic sonic assault, with some proggy (as in Mastodon or the Nephilim‘s Elizium period rather than Yes) interludes providing a nice balance. Black Rainbows sound like the dark side of the Summer Of Love.

And then it’s back to the Ballroom for tonight’s headliner, the mighty High On Fire. You know how this story goes. Once upon a time there was a band called Sleep. And then Sleep split up, and Al Cisneros got custody of the really stoned bits, and Matt Pike got the guitar solos. And Om kept everything slow and meditative, while High On Fire went in the exact opposite direction to become the bastard offspring of Motörhead and Metallica (when they were young and, more to the point, good). And Slayer.

Already shirtless, Pike dips his metaphorical hand into his figurative bag of riffs, takes a few out and waves them about, and then decides to upend the entire thing and flood the whole venue with more riffs than you could shake a shitty stick at. Although why you’d want to is beyond me, they’re all tremendous. The hardest metal known to humanity? Possibly. One thing’s for sure, High On Fire are definitely on fire tonight. Though not literally. But possibly also literally high.

Another thing’s not for sure, though, and that’s whether I’ll be able to hear any of the bands tomorrow. I think they may have broken my ears.

*

Sunday: Gary

Today, I am going to do the rare thing at Desertfest, and stay in one venue. Normally every year I rush between different venues, but seeing as I have an injured foot this time around, I thought it wise to stay in one place and to be honest The Roundhouse has a stunning line-up today. Its also the hottest day of the weekend, so the venue actually turns out to be the coolest place to be, rather than in the smaller and hotter venues (though I miss Bison, who I wanted to see).

Monolord kick things off for this afternoon with some big powerful riffs that bulldoze over the assembling audience. Tracks such as “Lord Of Suffering” and “Empress Rising” release a barrage of psychedelic riffs that get your head shaking in time to the monstrous drums. The Roundhouse can be a bit of a punishing venue sound-wise, but Monolord sound mighty as their music caresses the ears of the enraptured throng.

It’s this sound problem that plagues Elder’s set, turning some of their tracks into a swirling echoed mush. The band give it all they have, tracks like “Blind” and “Dead Roots Stirring” are certainly played with passion and fire, and the audience are behind the band as they battle against the sound. The riffs are catchy and the songs pull ahead with a forward momentum that fizzes at times with electricity; however, the sound out front lets them down at times. It’s so frustrating as they are a great band who can really keep a venue full of people captivated.

No such sound problems though for Nebula — their set crackles and fizzes with wonderful psychedelic goodness. Wah-wahed guitar is pushed into the red on overdrive as they pile through the tracks at a pace. “Perfect Rapture” manifests itself into a liquid creature from the wrong side of Saturn, while “Fall Of Icarus” and “Fistful Of Pills” hum with multi-coloured fuzziness that the band achieve when they hit into overdrive. Eddie Glass reads the crowd well and plays on the band’s strengths in a festival situation, but by the time they leave the stage you feel like you have been hit by a big psychedelic stick.

The big buzz of the day is going around just before Hawkwind start their set: will they play “Silver Machine”? Thankfully, this time they don’t, as they decide to hang their set on some classic numbers and even go off-script into some marvellous improvisation. From the stunning psychedelic space visuals, with Mr Dibb’s swirling synth and intoning “Sonic Attack”, I know we are going to be in for a classic set from the band. Captain Dave Brock cranks up the guitar as the group hit into “Damnation Alley” and the good ship Hawkwind takes off.

Haz Wheaton’s bass guitar playing is quite astounding and equally matches the likes of both Lemmy and Alan Davey’s style. “Upside Down” follows and the band get into full cosmic phase, powering off into the outer limits at full speed ahead. “The Watcher” sounds quite magical, but it’s the lengthy rendition of “Born To Go” that really hits all the right spots, its improvised middle section drawing the main riff out until it explodes in cosmic light.

Hawkwind have been playing festivals for nearly fifty years now, but tonight they have chosen the perfect set, a mixture of psychedelic space rock and bombast that showed some of the younger bands a thing or two. “Assassins Of Allah” closes their set in a wonderful tripped-out trance state that leaves the audience wanting more — to be fair, a lot more, as their set seems remarkably short, as just over an hour doesn’t really do Hawkwind justice.

Monster Magnet almost want to beat Hawkwind at a game they invented, by trying to out-space rock them at points. “Dopes To Infinity”, “Rocket Freak” and “Look to Your Orb For The Warning” are bashed out in a brash, over the top psychedelic way at full throttle and top volume. Part big riff blues, part sludge monster and certainly powerful acid casualties’ music, Monster Magnet are on top form as they career through their set into the space void.

So that was my Desertfest for another year, and I slowly hobble my way back to the tube station and think of the acts I’ve witnessed over the weekend. For me, its always great to see the newer bands at The Black Heart and The Underworld; these places are my spiritual home over the festival normally, so to spend the day at one venue, and a big one as well, was a bit strange for me, but certainly doesn’t take anything away from the experience. Again, I’m always amazed how Desertfest runs like clockwork, with bands being ready to perform on time and with very few visible hitches.

Desertfest transforms Camden back to something it used to be years ago, a place for the alternative people to be and hang out, rather than just a tourist spectacle. For three days the tribes from all over the country come to hear music, to drink too much and enjoy the spirit and atmosphere, just as they did at Stonehenge in ancient times. In my opinion, it’s still London’s best festival, and I’ve just got to get my foot right for next May Day bank holiday when the streets of Camden will ring to the sound of electric guitars once more.

*

Sunday: Justin

Good news! High On Fire didn’t break my ears, though it was not for want of trying. And this is a VERY GOOD THING, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to hear Suma, who are playing at the Underworld. Although I suspect I would probably still be able to feel them, such is the immensity of their heaviness.

Marrying the crushing remorselessness of Swans with the crushing remorselessness of Neurosis, Suma are the most crushingly remorseless band I’ve seen all weekend. Also the heaviest. I really can’t stress that part enough. They really are very heavy indeed. Great gig. I especially liked the parts where they were heavy and crushingly remorseless. Oh, and heavy. At their less heavy moments they are like a heavier version of Wolves In The Throne Room‘s more tranquil bits.

After this I need something of a palate cleanser, so I go to see Blackwülf at The Black Heart. And I mean no criticism when I say that they are one of the least heavy bands I’ve seen all weekend — because they’re still as heavy as Sabbath. When you have a festival celebrating heaviness, and the least heavy bands on the bill are as heavy as Sabbath, then you have to be doing something right. And Blackwulf are great — they’re a kick-ass rock’n’roll band, and sometimes between all the remorseless crushing that’s all you really need.

And then it’s the long walk to Chalk Farm, there to meet up with the guys again and indulge in a spot (well, quite a lot, to be strictly honest) of street drinking and to compare notes on all the bands we’ve seen while we wait for Hawkwind.

Ah, Hawkwind. It was kind of inevitable that they’d get to do Desertfest one day. Hawkwind shirts have been as popular among band members in previous years as they have among festival-goers. The spectre of Hawkwind has loomed over the proceedings almost as much as that of Black Sabbath. Their space rock has been as influential on as many of today’s players as Sabbath’s doom.

But the real question is — who the fuck even ARE Hawkwind these days? After so many splits and factions, who’s going to be on stage? Turns out the answer is “Dave Brock and some younger people”. But that’s OK; in fact, that’s more than OK, because the younger people all seem to be excellent musicians. The dude on vocals looks like he should be in Ministry, but he does a cracking impression of both Bob Calvert and Nik Turner. They start (of course) with “Sonic Attack”.

There’s a dancer. There’s riffing. There’s a lot of space rock. There’s a LOT of “Born To Go”, which they play for a) several years and b) not quite long enough. And, of course, this being Desertfest, they finish with “Hassan i Sabbah”, because who other than this crowd is going to appreciate the “Hashish, hashish” mantra the most? Space, rock, weed. That’s a perfect combination for Desertfest.

Now, I said before about how metal has a certain nerdy sincerity. And what could be more nerdy than a band who are obsessed with science fiction? A band who are obsessed with comics, that’s what. And that band is Monster Magnet. Their back projection even includes panels from Marvel comics, that’s how much Dave Wyndorf loves comics. After a detour into LA metal for a few years, recent releases have seen Monster Magnet rediscovering their love of psychedelia and heaviness. Tonight’s set showcases a whole bunch of stuff from the new album Mindfucker, and Wyndorf is clearly having the time of his life.

There’s a neat trick Desertfest do whereby the final headliner somehow encapsulates the spirit of the whole weekend, and Monster Magnet do just that. You want the riffs? They’ve got the riffs. You want the dark trippiness? They’ve got the dark trippiness. You want the fun? Fuck, they’ve definitely got that. Finishing with a triumphant “Space Lord” (“this is where you get to shout ‘motherfucker’”, announces Mr Wyndorf) they leave Desertfest the way it should be — loud.

All in all another wonderful weekend. Can’t fucking wait for Desertfest 2019.

-Words: Justin Farrington and Gary Parsons-
-Pictures: Dave Pettit-