Gigs

Festival Review: Download 2007

Venue: Donington Park
Date: 8-10 June 2007

My first ever Download Festival. The last time I’d visited Donington had been for the one-day Monsters of Rock festival and that was in 1992 to see headliners Iron Maiden. And now here I was again, 15 years later, and Maiden still closing out the show as champions of British heavy metal.

I nearly didn’t make it. After witnessing the deterioration of the once-awesome Reading Festival I had many fears that this would be just another riot-filled abomination of a festival; one giant excuse for an outpouring of male testosterone. But where Reading has its stench of burning plastic, Download has its sweet bouquet of honest toil. For Reading’s uncontrolled rioting, read Download’s effortless, yet necessary, security measures. For Reading’s almost total non-sponsored alcohol lockdown, Download has its Village where you can drink whatever you so choose. But Download’s real advantage over Reading is its bowl. Within the confines of its motorcycle track there is a dip down to the main stage with a significant raised bank on one side from which to sedately view your chosen band should you so wish. In short, everything that we hate about Reading doesn’t get a look-in here.

There is something else – something almost undefined that sets this metal festival apart from the others. It could be the unspoken camaraderie, “watch each other’s backs, you fuckers”, or the playful “Cheer Up Emo” flags and t-shirts. It could be the history of the place with its racing circuit and famous Dunlop tyre. It may even be the fact that it sits directly under the East Midlands flight-path so every few minutes you get a sonic blast as a huge jumbo screams over the crowd. It’s hard to tell, but I’m loving it.

And so to the music. First up on my long list of bands to see is Megadeth. This is unashamedly the loudest festival in the country. It’s a war-zone out there. My mind flicks back to stories of army troops playing Guns N’ Roses on continuous loop from Black Hawk choppers to oust Iraqi soldiers dug in to the desert. Yes, this a war-zone. And as soon as the instantly forgettable Hinder wander off it’s time for the party to begin. Guitarists swarm the stage. And there in the centre is the ginger genius himself, Dave Mustaine and, boy, is he on form today. “Symphony of Destruction” is the peak, and the fans lap it up. The finger-work, the riffs, the slides and the full-on thrashing leaves us all stunned.

Dragonforce come and go without even an eyebrow raise and then it’s Wolfmother’s turn to scorch the stage. “Colossal Gun” kicks it all off in style. I feel sorry for the keyboard as Chris Ross climbs the drum riser before taking a flying leap down onto the black keys. The poor thing is then yanked forwards and backwards as it’s bled dry of all its sound. How can a three-piece be this loud? “White Unicorn” is slightly muddled in delivery but the boys are saving their best for the end. And here it comes. “Woman”, in my opinion one of their worst tracks, is delivered to a baying audience who scream out every word alongside the afro-headed, black-eye-patched vocalist.

Velvet Revolver leave me uninspired with Scott Wieland’s dad-dancing a bitter pill to swallow. The biggest thrill is seeing Slash – another 15 year gap since I last saw him crank out that awesome talent. And then we’re on to the most controversial billing of them all; the reason we’re swamped by emo-wear. My Chemical Romance. Well, I say we. I didn’t attend but apparently they had to endure constant booing and bottles – “It’s great to be back in the UK”, joked Gerard Way, before wrapping up 20 minutes early. What were the festival organisers thinking of? Most metal-heads defected to the Dimebag Darrell Stage where Korn apparently played a blinder. Sources tell me the fans could have filled it twice over.

Onto Saturday, and my first band is Vinnie Paul Abbott’s new project, Hellyeah, who belt out a healthy volume of good-old-boy rock n’ roll. Line of the day is when the cursing lead singer drawls “Fuck, yeah, we’re Hellyeah!” Classic stuff. Shadows Fall start up straight after and let us know that there’s a whole mass of metalcore left to delight us. They hail a subtle change of mood from the heavy to the downright nasty. Aiden are abysmal and are rightfully bottled from start to finish.

Then my first real dilemma of the festival… Biffy Clyro or The Answer. I plump for Biffy and am not disappointed. The Dimebag Stage is heaving as the Battle of the Beards commences. Lead singer, Simon, looks like something out of the Addams Family with his mop of black hair as he thrashes his guitar in sudden spasmodic motions. “Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies” – long title, long intro. Gentle strumming followed by violent, abortive bursts of sound. It’s a thing of beauty when played live and today is no different. Each burst requires all three to be in perfect harmony every time, and yet they pull it off. The star of show goes to the anthemic “Who’s Got A Match?” Biffy are indeed “on fire” tonight and the crowd all sing along to each cry to “burn, burn, burn”. If anything it’s all over to quickly and we’re left staggering away invigorated but baying for more. I later learn that The Answer had just as much to offer.

Back at the Main Stage, Bowling For Soup have brought some giant inflatable sheep with them. How thoughtful. They tear into each song with gusto before pulling up short to spew forth a joke or comment. While we all laugh they’re back into the song and we’re struggling to breathe. At one point we learn that the Dunlop Tyre around the Donington track could quite possibly part of God’s big car. “I bet he’s got a big cock too”, quips the hulking figure of Chris Burney. Their brand of good-humoured pop-punk is infectious and is a welcome sorbet to clear the palette. In fact, I’m still humming their hit “1985″ today as I write.

Afterwards, Machine Head disappoint with a torpid display but Slayer soon have the crowd kicking seven shades of shit out of each other. The circle pits are forming, the metal fingers are raised, and Slayer respond with an awesome rendition of “Raining Blood”. I manage to catch a bit of Motley Crue who I find a little mind-numbing and uninspiring but others disagree wholeheartedly. I swear this shit died in the 80s but apparently they’re back in fashion. I finish up for the day with Linkin Park. Again not my cup of tea but they seem to go down well in the moshpits. There are plenty of twiddly bits to fill the voids between each top ten hit, which are the real crowd-pleasers.

Before we retire to our tents, however, there is the beast that is the Duracell Powerhouse to be tamed - a giant inflatable nightclub situated firmly in the centre of The Village. It’s heaving tonight and the DJ’s are on top form getting those massed to scream along with classics such as Pantera’s “Walk” and Metallica’s “Enter Sandman”.

Sunday dawns and Reuben rouse me with their softly, softly, loudly, loudly approach. They play a few off the forthcoming album “In Nothing We Trust”. It’s sounding all grown-up and I’m left feeling a little saddened that they only played one number off debut album, “Racecar Is Racecar Backwards”.

I pop my head into the Tuborg Tent and find World War III breaking out. In This Moment are at full tilt with the guitarists destroying eardrums left, right and centre. The leading lady, Maria Brink, is dressed in something akin to a tu-tu and she’s wringing every last ounce out of her lungs as she strides about the stage. As she goes down for a quick headbang she grasps her breasts to stop them falling free, and then she’s up to continue the aural assault once more. I’d have stayed watching but they went a bit limp after that and started singing a sort of camp AOR. Shame.

I manage to catch a battering from Unearth before I see the most punishing sequence of bands I’ve ever witnessed at any festival. I speak of Lamb Of God, Stone Sour and Killswitch Engage. Lamb Of God kick off as I take a place behind three long-haired metal-heads who spend 90% of the time bent-double, rolling their heads around and around. How they manage it without bursting blood vessels is beyond me. This level of worship is apparent in most places forward of the sound-desk and the crowd is a boiling pit of arms and legs. The noise is simply frightening and I make a mental note to buy as many albums as I can on my return to sanity. Stone Sour have ex-Slipknot frontman, Corey Taylor, shorn of hair, skull tattoo adorning his chest and sounding desperately in need of a throat pastille. He implores the crowd to get on board and we gleefully oblige as the band rip into each song with gusto. Just before he launches into “30/30-150″, Corey screams, “I want a circle-pit here, another circle-pit here and one big fucking circle-pit here. OKAY?” As the crowd spread to accommodate it’s apparent that this song is going to be the highlight of the festival. Boy, is it ever. And the fun continues as Killswitch Engage, battling gamely on with replacement guitarist, inspire a conveyor belt of crowd-surfers. I’ve never seen anything quite like it and I’m amazed that there are any fans left in the pit at the end! Just an incredible sequence.

All that remains is for an act to grab the festival by the balls to cap the perfect weekend. And who’s this rolling onto stage? Why, it’s only sing-a-long-a-Iron Maiden. But, god no, they’ve started by trying to get us singing all the new stuff. That’s not how the script goes. “A Matter Of Life And Death” is a poor album. They must know that’s not why most of this weekends’ festival-goers are crammed into the Donington bowl, with hundreds of thousands more watching their live internet broadcast. Eventually, they lovingly serve up what we’ve been craving. “Number Of The Beast” is hauled out and the crowd clamber all over it, singing not just the words but the riffs too. And it’s not long before we peak with “Run To The Hills” which is belted out by every man and woman in the place – it’s clearly the loudest sound all day and drowns out the roar of the jumbo jets hiding over the horizon. There’s even a circle-pit back at the sound-desk but it’s a pretty lame one as everyone’s way to busy catawauling along in their own little worlds to pay attention to anyone else. “Fear Of The Dark” is a misnomer tonight and it leaves us breathlessly wandering back to our tents, arm in arm, still singing, oblivious to anything that may be lurking. Even the emo’s must admit this festival has really been something to smile about.

John’s review also published in Big Cheese magazine.

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