For the first time in history the Zero Tolerance press-team hit Bloodstock Open Air, armed with a fistful of street metal judgement and an endless bag full of butt-kicking, against-the-grain opinions/nay-sayery. Having stocked our tiny rental-car with as much outdated-but-cheap beer as possible we set off – fearless and Lichfield bound.

With a team consisting of reporters-turned-salesmen (posing from left to right) Callum Bronwson-Smith and Miika Virtanen, photographer Jack Latimer and, of course, mighty assistant editor Alex de Moller (horizontally) we were out to judge others, but never ourselves from the comfort of the ZT gazebo and rather successfully (if I may say so – or remember so) flogging our awesome print-zine.


I would like to begin by saying that Bloodstock blew us all away completely! Easily capable of competing with the German megafests, we enjoyed a incredibly well organized fest with an brilliant atmosphere throughout. We met some killer folks who came to the stand (some of you liked snooze, some of you didn’t) and destroyed our necks headbanging to some top-notch bands.


A full review is coming in the next issue of the mag, however, mentions for outstanding performances (covered by this reporter) go to Coroner, Triptykon (ugh!), Angel Witch, Hell and last, but by no means least, Primordial. The Irish gods suffered an early casualty as frontman Alan Nemtheanga completely lost his voice only a few songs into the set. Continuing as a four-piece and led by a energetic-yet-mute singer, the band relied on the loud chants of the crowd, who sang along to every lyric. Even as a four-piece, they remain up there with today’s best of the best.


A big shout out also goes to the camping area, which provided a booze-tastic platform for getting absolutely devastatingly hammered. Zeus must have also looked at the festival with an approving eye as he remained in high spirit throughout (in other words in didn’t rain all the time). Friends from London, South America and all over them Isles made it a time to remember, though, we are still trying to find pieces of that whole puzzle. Sadly those might be forever lost in the trampled soil of Catton Hall.


Anyhow, always remember: there’s no B in Balotelli.


Thanks for dropping in!

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