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The gathering of the clans. The coming together of the tribes. The massive drinkathon in the East Midlands. Whatever you call it, Donington has been at the very heart of loud music since the heady days of The Monsters Of Rock days from as long ago as the late 70s. Every band who could possibly have the word heavy associated with them have graced at least one of the stages in the spiritual home of all that is heavy. And it’s still bloody amazing. Over the following pages is an attempt to capture a tiny essence of what for many has become a quasi religious annual pilgrimage up the M1. Shitty, pissed up iPhone piccies. Blurred, pixellated, fucked up and often rubbish, I just want this to be an honest, heartfelt documentation of a fucking amazing weekend. We’ve all seen the pro pics. All clean, sharp, from the golden D or front row. This is from the pit. Right among the stupid hat wearing,cider-soused, skunk-smoking, unwashed, honest, loveable smelly bastards. Enjoy.


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with your krok out

krokodil, maverick stage friday


krokodil




The sun is shining. You ‘eard. The first morning at any festival is always pretty damned special. But Donington in the sun, with a belly full of festival food and a fair dose of chilled suds; things, my friends don’t get much finer. The first band to pull me away from my intra-venous supply of cider are the doomy, sludgy, hairy-bollocked latter day ‘super group’ Krokodil - assembled from the sock drawer of Sikth, Gallows, A, Slipknot and a heap of others, And what a grand start to the weekend. Heavier than a blue whale’s full on tumescent schlong, they power through a dirty, heavy, riff-laden assault on humanity with vocalist Simon Wright on the toppest of top form considering the early start. His vocal range is simply spectacular. Rectum-rogering lows, astringent and razor-sharp highs and a scream to stop a zombie apocalypse. What a filthy, wonderful start. Splendid.

krokodil

7.5


krokodil




gnarwol ves,

maveric k stage f riday


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9



gnarwolves



eater


defeater, maverick stage friday

eater


defeater



defeater Only the third act in, but it’s already becoming apparent that I ain’t going to be shifting my lardy, jager-spiked arse far from the impressive blue circus big top that is the Maverick stage. Following hot on the heels of Krokodil and the amazing Gnarwolves are the wonderful story tellers and melodic hardcore darlings Defeater. A mercifully fit and healthy Derek Archambault seems to have recovered from his pledgefunded hip operation and from the magnificent opener Bastards, leads his fellow stateside troubadours through a wonderful, engaging


and powerful set. Full of passion, emotion, power and heart, a beautifully balanced collection of provocative and profound narrations beguile and bewitch the huge crowd. There are stirring sing-backs, surfing, fist pumps and the odd chin rubbing moment of contemplation. The shiverinducing Dear Father is a particular highlight and is augmented by the arrival of Beartooth’s Caleb Shomo. As the set closes, a genuinely moved Archambault thanks the adoring Donington crowd. The pleasure sir, is all ours.

7.5

defeater



defeater


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am

iday r f e g ’s sta e k a j ngs, a f n erica


american fangs Well, looky here. The first one of those, well, I don’t know who they are, but ‘didn’t they tour with Papa Roach’ we should check them out moments. Yup, never heard of American Fangs. But on the strength of this astonishing half an hour of soul, sass, spirit and sweat, many, many more will have heard of them before too long. A blistering and vibrant mash up of pop rock, soul, southern rock (but mercifully only a microscopically vestigial trace - no cowboy boots or bootlace ties here - thank the Lord!) absolutely destroys the small but reasonably populated Jake’s stage.


Led from the front by the captivating, engaging and sprightly Gabriel Cavazos, the Texan five piece produce a slick, sizzling and smile-inducing brand of tuneful, soulful rock and roll that’s so infectious, it makes Ebola seem like a minor ball itch. We need American Fangs over here more. Those intrepid Yanks may no longer bring chocolate and nylons to steal our women. But if they’re all like this, they can steal whatever the fuck they want to. Astonishing. An absolute gem unearthed so soon into the weekend. This is shaping up to be a truly monumental and unforgettable Donington.

8.5



american fangs


american fangs




A brief sojourn away from some of the more off-the-wall or

clutch, main stage, friday

lesser- known acts and a trip to the main stage for some

good time boy medicine. And those oily rags Clutch, dish

7.5 out all manner of boogie snake oil from the back of their

jacked-up Ford. Uplifting, grin-making, unreconstructed

blue collar brilliance. With growls, woo-hoo-hoos and the

smell of diesel-doused denim that’s been washed in bourbon



fightstar, maverick stage, saturday


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fightstar




allusondrugs, jake’s stage, friday


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alluson drugs


decade

decade, jake’s stage friday



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8




decade


the one hundred, jake’s stage, friday

1


100 reasons


the one hundred


.5 8

Yup there’s hype. Yup there’s noise. But, are The One Hundred worthy of the column inches and pixel pages? Well, on tonight’s performance; well and truly. An absolutely replete Jake’s stage is totally brutalised and enchanted in equal measure with an unholy mix of smart lyrical flow, spitting UK rap, gut rumbling lows and screams and a down-tuned djenty undercarriage. Snarling, diminutive firecracker front man Jacob Field cajoles, implores,orders and controls the heaving mass of bouncing bodies throughout a totally mesmerising and original bill of fare. Absolutely fucking delicious.



the one hundred


all the youn

young guns, jake’s stage friday




young guns


young guns



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9


young guns


young guns



a, jake’s stage friday




a


a


psychos and ass murdering m n, ow cl e qu band of grotes ere’s an odd considering th out Starbucks. h here for so did one ab al ey Th all pretty muc . re ng e’ hi w ot N at , th ow g in e feel song. You kn But you get th They did that e main stage. th on os rd ei w important ul and were a bloody A , ng ro w ernally youthf e m . Don’t get annoyingly et e ey th th t to n’ t id di .d re ... rs terrible disc And some othe Which does a the one song. d them. uies. And I love ht ug no illfully manoe rly ea anfully and sk the late 90s, m m nd fro ba nd e ba Th . minal d his mates and hugely se Jason Perry an fresh-of-voice video That riff. The ( a lot of which was Nothing. e er th se dad dancing ur h co uc f O m s d. e’ di er I t . Th I though e ‘other songs’ Well, at least through all th vre their way (and having ing house despite owning t, ha w ow brings the fuck kn at u th Yo f? ng uf hi st ot r N bly But the othe but it is, inevita on a carpark. stage ahem!) is actually on h all of their a tsunami ys) pretty muc da e es th lk rises up like fo y g jo d un le yo t id os br m s and un velty among love, happines paid for - a no explosion of ue tr A n. w do st, I don’t ords. d, to be hone An e. or m for many w h uc too special ember too m m tly re es ly st on H ne t ho hordes. oeuvre, I can’ the singing and engulfs e feat ng. is a remarkabl Nothing. Nothi mmed, which ra is nt te e ose to beating cl Th e g. m in co en to ev nd e this se this weeke think I’m alon be nothing el Surely there’ll

7


school of hard


mallory knox, main stage, saturday

7

Saturday lunchtime. Mud. Hangovers. Rain. It takes some balls, neck, nerve and talent to be able to conquer all those distractions and get a sizeable, damp main stage crowd grinning and getting involved. But the affable and spirited fenland five piece rise above all those imposters and crack out a mighty set of big-boned pop rock that gets heads bobbing, toes tapping (well squelching) and hearts racing. A creditable and hearty performance to get things rolling on day two. Two years ago, I saw this bunch in little more than a scout hut in Islington. They’ve come a long way. In a short time. Something that’s not lost on a damp but genuinely humbled Mikey Chapman as he thanks the huge crowd. Get used to it laddie.


hands like houses, maverick stage, saturday




hands like houses


s nd ha e lik

Not

But judging by the packed

side stage which is rammed with every

promoter, plugger, ligger and lollygagger in the western

world, looks like we should expect something special. And pretty

darned special is what we get. A crackling collection of mature, engaging and

infectious alt rock gets the Saturday lunchtime crowd on their feet, off their feet and into the spirit.

es us ho

heard of this lot.


While not 100% original, there’s well enough on show to put these chaps from the colonies onto a

sparsely populated list. There’s poppy energy but with hairy, grizzly guitars. A smattering

of aggression to sit alongside the schmoove creamy tunefulness and fruity

hooks. In short, it’s bloody tasty and eminently scoffable stuff. They’d

definitely sit on bills alongside YMAS, LTA, Deaf Havana ,

Don Broco et al and show enough signs that

it might not just be alongside but

at the top table before

too long.

8


northern

exposure northlane, maverick stage, saturday




northlane 9

I’ve foolishly sidestepped Northlane for far too long. Definitely aware of them, but my ill-formed pre-conceptions that they’d be another Parkway Drive couldn’t have been wider of the mark. The boys from Sydney absolutely lay waste to the Maverick stage this afternoon. Not with bludgeoning metal spiked with ubiquitous growls and sub drops, but with a fiendishly and brilliantly cleverly mixed cocktail of prog, djent, pop, metal, deathcore and just about every genre or sub genre you could imagine. And some you couldn’t. And the result is nothing short of astonishing. I must have been living under a huge rock to have missed out on these boys. There are moments of TesseracT, Karnivool, Mastodon, Deftones, Tool, Fall of Troy and a multitude of others. But that’s largely erroneous, the sound is, well, Northlane. And it’s nigh on genius. Bloody marvellous.


o u t

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b u r n i n g

upon a burning body, maverick stage, saturday

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3


upon a burning body




a day to remember, main stage, saturday


Don’t get me wrong. I’ve nothing against ADTR. Nothing at all. They mix up genres neatly. Put on great shows. Write school bus loads of catchy teen-friendly bangers. And are never afraid to experiment, push boundaries or fuck with stuff. But I get this overriding feeling they’ve been, well, a bit lucky. There are so many other deserving bands in or around the space that ADTR live in, but it’s only this lot who seemed to have cracked it. Nevertheless, a heaving main stage doesn’t seem to give a flying skunk’s shitter about luck or otherwise. Mr McKinnon leads his band of pop punky metal-infused miscreants through a crowd-pleasing collection of all the big ones. And every single person seems to love it. Which is lucky. There’s pyro, acoustic cover snatches, huge bowel-loosening bass drops and a bunch of unadulterated fun. You know

adtr

what? Good luck to them.

7




bodycount, maverick stage, saturday


bodycount

Yu p ,i w t’s it Ic h eki a T. p n p d Yu e of Bu a p r a it rn m n ’s et in ce Fu ki a g ck nd l. fr Bo Yu om sp of d Th p y. a ra e t st t he he Yu p an ic P .M re p ol .Y d l , a ’s ic ix u s t d w Yu he p e. ed a s e I p y ar ce g in Y ,i u d up s -T es t’s U o a p is t fu a ti o e re m ck n ve co e l in ry a A ve fo ti ’l on ve r r o t. so e of ly Yu m g a p oe e m th m oo s ey or oz e ’re in b do oo ne ze . .Y up .

6



andrew wk, maverick stage, saturday

animal




andrew wk

9 Saturday night is party night? Right? Well, if you’re going to party on any night, but especially on a Saturday, there’s only one guest you need. And tonight Mr Andrew WK is in the freakin’ house. And from the first note to the last, there’s an irresistible and infectious party mood sweeping the sardine-packed tent. Seldom does a gig pick up the pace so quickly and then maintain it throughout. Unfuckingrelentingly! There’s no respite. Every song is about partying, women or fun. Or all three. And party is what we do.Underneath the shitty t-shirt and greasy mop there’s actually a dazzlingly sharp mind and a bloody accomplished musician. And tonight, the sweaty, ripped, greased up, white-clad bastard bag of pizza takes several thousand sweaty, greased up bastards on the party ride to end all party rides. There’s a pizza guitar. A sing along to a Christmas Carol. In June! More party than Tommy Lee’s septum. And a 7 foot fox. And by the time Party Hard has wrung the last microlitre of sweat and energy from every pore on every twitching and satiated square inch of flesh there is not one face that hasn’t cracked from smiling. This man is the embodiment of party. The Party Lord. And we love him.


muse, main stage, saturday




muse



muse



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s ock boll ll a e v e i s y’r mas The ir of aid. a s p y t e rlies d th first gna ban , t k the s y c e e o m i r h o v t r r f r ea rope ette ces st, h s’ fa tap be b gge n o i o a n t b f 0 ’re ed he 0,00 hey ed t y us ded n 12 ack The id. T i . p a l d g s l i soun e n a a r y i v s v e e a e v y h a h t W er, e use ork ou. s the nd w nev day ck y ut a n’t w ht, M e u a o o g v F i w w . a m n o y h It n To t the n , the ica and ctio y ge Well tron ock e . c r , h d e t s i l e rodu n e a h d p t s o y n i t l t e y A h c d h the oug noo ble. roje nd t usic e br cs a inea and ed p m i v t t g ’ n a f a s a o l h o s tr im y im Gir e The elec ; an aid. olut the tion ver. , c a ey s s k abs u u h c o t i d n q o t o a y i b a r v r s e i a ope tal p i-sem t he in th tune men , the . No rick -dem ery s u t i d v c i n r i E m o a e n . s h o he ic lly m istri lly ry ot mus r ma pica he h the t eve t y t u t o s ’ s u o l . No h e o b t a r it b a n e ’s t w a e s e th ed atm d ju s all ther Yes g, it s tre . Arm od. e an trio, n r d o d i i i n f a g n l , a a i s i e s tt v a o 11 evon ne e onfe ered up t ls, c y Ju ng D e l i r . r n pow a g a e o e n e m u i r t s , n q i d i s c n h g b t a o pe t en bom t on ’t ex turn rld-c to je ies, s. Bu eren et’s n e wo l i k w h c ’ t e d i mov y e tr th e m turn e ‘th t fro ven e to are pec at th n gi e ar x s h s e e t e e u f y n r o u it’s b ht, M ind mou on t ir ar and traig u’d k salo e s r o h y y e s t l i t i g in th m tha ban ght get y fa eat brou et’s lass l c e , t ’v k he h u t y o b e o p h L n t . ed u else enig ines turn ly b ach hing y e t m v e e i t h d t som rela ark, spee w? ing on P r t a g g no o n r i n i , n y g o a in D arlin re s y’ a ight g, sn e n n h i o t t t ‘ t t ,spi hat t, bu er w ane l d p n o e .Iw n th how nd o S a . b A . est . Do hott . To w o H Is . his. T . e or nm eve

9.5


the future’s

dark

the future’s orange

code orange,


ange, maverick stage, sunday


DARK. BLEAK.HEAVY. ODD.QUIRKY. GLOOMY. CHALLENGING. HARD. BLACK.STRONG. INTENSE. MURDEROUS. WHIMSICAL. FRIGHTENING. GUTTERAL. VISCERAL. UNCOMFORTABLE. MAD. ANGRY. VIOLENT. BALANCED. WEIRD. STONER. FIERCE, ORIGINAL. CONFRONTATIONAL. AGGRESSIVE. DIRTY. SCARY. BOLD. DIFFERENT. THE. DYSTOPIAN. FUTURE. IS. CODE. ORANGE.


code orange

7.5


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8.5



the shit bits

Brief break to mention some of the, er low lights of a a near perfect weekend. Start with a biggie. Kiss. Headlining. Really? Tired old anachronistic pantomime. Bah Humbug. Love Zombies. Shit. Weather. Grrrr. Consequently mud. Double grrrr. Quemists having one channel of their FOH completely bass-free. Drum. No bass. No one wants to listen to Drum. Not knowing Dub War were playing until it was too late. Truly sucks. Beartooth clashing with Allusondrugs. Shame. Rain. Again. Grrrr. Lacuna Coil. Just why? Too many unneeded sub drops. When used correctly, brilliant. But not on every accent. Not being able to get in the tent for The Darkness. Along with about 20,000 others. Did I mention rain? And mud? Rene LaVice’s hipster hype man. Total bellend. Enter Shikari not headlining the main stage. Everything else has been perfect.


out

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8



the ghos t inside



the ghost inside


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n and bearpit

chelsea grin, jake’s stage, sunday



chelsea grin


chelsea grin


7.5

And the award for fewest fucks given and for the heaviest fucking band of the weekend. Strike that. For the heaviest fucking band in the known universe goes to....yup, Chelsea Grin make a fucking heavy din. They’re downtuned so far that it’s almost inaudible. You have to use your anal sphincter to listen. Huge chugging fuck bombs. Vocal lows, growls, burps, yells, screams. Mor breakdowns and more savage breakdowns than at a vintage Skoda rally, this lot really take things up (or, more correctly down) to a new level. And you know what, tonight I fucking love every ‘1 down’ dropped E. Savage. Heavy. Splendid.


that’s


enter shikari, second stage, sunday



enter shikari



enter shikari



enter shikari


r ente

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10


As a couple of footnotes This whole thing is for fun only. No money changes hands. No industry types are involved (even my mates). My ratings are obviously purely personal and in the case of festivals they’re going to be naturally quite high as it’s the bands and acts I actually want to go and see that I generally do go and see. So I’m kind of biased. Not that that’s really that important. This is meant to be nothing more than the view of the festival through the very pissed eyes of one individual. No payment, payola, favours, corporate or record company money is involved. It’s a hobby. So if you disagree with some of my (or all of my opinions) then that’s cool. The pictures are all shot from my iPhone and then tinkered and tidied up a bit in photoshop. They’re not clean, anodyne, perfectly focused, framed or metered. Most of them are taken while moshing, usually pissed and often with one hand while trying to avoid spiling my pint. They’re not hi-resolution as you can tell, but feel free to nick any of them you want and re-use or repurpose. As I say, they’re shit quality but they are copyleft (copyright free). I obviously have no image rights ownership or an image rights lawyer. If I have goofed up and broken any laws, then sorry. Don’t send me to jail where I’ll get anally fisted by a big bloke called Jeremy in E wing. That would be bad. Just let me know and I’ll do my best to delete or credit the artists etc. As I say, this is all for fun. It’s all for free. feel free to share, quote, steal or re-use anything from here. I won’t hassle you. Promise. And that’s about it. Donington was a blast. if you weren’t lucky enough to be there, then just maybe some of the images and word farts in this book thing go some way to convey just how bloody special it was. I bloody love live music. Cheers, Bwoooar.

c All shots are my own and are copyleft. Feel free to nick ‘em. Go on. It’s ok. O

http://bwoooartunes.blogspot.co.uk

catch up with my rambling word farts about loud music


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