Knebworth’s somewhat remote location means that fans have committed to something of a heavy metal pilgrimage to be here, though the feeling of distance between Eddfest and normality is slightly reduced by the gig’s partial clash with England’s World Cup fixture against Norway. “Fuck me, anyone would think there’s a football match on”, lead singer and ringleader Bruce Dickinson remarks. The band are known football fans – bassist Steve Harris is a longtime West Ham supporter. They even performed at the club’s stadium last year. But other that the occasional reference, the football talk ends here. Instead, for two hours, Iron Maiden celebrate the most remarkable of careers with some of the genre’s finest offerings.

The day’s earlier performances include Mongolia’s The Hu, Australia’s Airbourne and, most notably, The Darkness, whose unabashed theatricality aligns with Maiden’s penchant for stagecraft. “Exquisite” says vocalist Justin Hawkins following one of many crowd singalongs that he not so subtlety engineers. It’s a well-balanced performance that covers the new and the old, and even finds space for an abridged version of ‘Christmas Time (Don’t Let the Bells End)’, much to the supposed chagrin of the band’s manager. “My manager’s walking out in disgust”, says Hawkins. “He’s taking his manbag with him.” Punchy and always humble, The Darkness are the perfect warmup.

Armed with five decades of music, though opting to ignore any of the band’s more recent material, Iron Maiden begin in a reflective mood. They open with three of songs from ‘Killers’, an early album that featured original vocalist Paul Di’Anno. Following his death in 2024, Dickinson’s renditions here feel less like a continuation of the Di’Anno era and more like a tribute to the late vocalist, whose crucial contributions towards the beginning of Maiden’s journey are fundamental to their longevity. It makes for a sweltering opening run of songs, too, with the usual sight of Steve Harris’ thundering bass and guitarist Janick Gers’ arched back further adding to the excitement.

Shorts from the horror classic Nosferatu accompany an early showing of ‘The Number of the Beast’. Having been freshly recontextualised following the song’s use in ‘28 Years Later: The Bone Temple’, the sight of Ralph Fiennes’ flailing body will be forever associated with the Maiden classic. In Fiennes’ absence, the song still thunders along with an energy that belies the band’s age. It remains undeniably exhilarating, but a cynical reading would note how similar everything is thus far to Maiden’s 2025 shows. It is therefore pleasing to see the addition of ‘Infinite Dreams’ – a rarity that thankfully means there is something new here for those who attended Maiden’s 2025 London Stadium show.

Following this, the band launch into ‘Powerslave’, where a now masked Dickinson makes full use of the raised platform behind the band. This begins a run of three songs from the ‘Powerslave’ album, during which Dickinson’s voice appears fully warmed-up and blemish-free. ‘Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ – in all its 14-minute glory – is an exercise in stamina that is every bit as thrilling as the powerhouse performance of ‘Run to the Hills’ that follows. It’s hit-after-hit, with an unparalleled success-rate.

As the show progresses, so increases Maiden’s production value. Dry ice swamps the stage during a moody ‘Seventh Son of a Seventh Son’, while Dickinson sings from within a cage during ‘Hallowed Be Thy Name’. He eventually breaks free, only to be chased by a ghoulish creature on screens behind the band.

Then there’s Eddie, Iron Maiden’s longtime mascot, whose 10-feet tall body stalks Dickinson during numerous songs. The Trooper sees the two locked in battle, with Dickinson pausing only to wave a union jack triumphantly towards the crowd.

Certain moments have the audience questioning whether Dickinson is auditioning for the next Bond villain, given his various and increasingly bizarre costume choices. ‘Aces High’ sees him wearing a flight cap – apropos given Dickinson is himself a licenced airline pilot – while ‘Fear of the Dark’ has him holding a gas lamp as he prowls the stage, looking something like a hybrid between the highwayman and a Scooby Doo villain. One can only assume that the boxes upon boxes presumably required to store his wardrobe would fill multiple fancy dress shops, and that Dickinson is never short of outfits for Halloween.

As fatigued metalheads trudge back to Stevenage station, looking both enamoured by what they’ve seen and saddened that Eddfest is over, there’s a sense that, despite the occasion’s celebratory nature, this is far from the end of the road for Maiden. Other than the absence of drummer Nicko McBrain, who retired from touring in 2024, the band’s lineup has been unchanged for decades. “We’re not going anywhere”, Dickinson reassures. It all suggests that an event similar to Eddfest may well be on the cards for future years. And with such an extensive catalogue of titanic metal hits, enough youthful exuberance to keep the flames fanned, and more pomp than a Broadway show, there’s no reason to believe that Iron Maiden are done just yet.

BEN WILLIAMS

Words: Ben Williams

Nothing

Operating at the more direct end of shoegaze, Philadelphia’s Nothing revolves largely around Domenic Palermo. His on-stage persona is retiring. Head down, he studies his guitar almost as much as his effect’s pedals, something he has in common with his bandmates who are similarly indifference to ostentatious showmanship. Conversation is kept to a minimum too. We learn that Palermo doesn’t like the heat: “the sun sucks,” he says obliquely, but that’s about it. Nothing are simply content with creating foggy landscapes of distorted guitar the pass by meditatively, something that they do rather well.

End It

Given that End It recently became notorious for a mid-gig confrontation between the band and a man dressed as a banana, the enormous crowd they draw is expected. But those hoping to see another fruit-related incident were instead treated to the most faithful of hardcore bands. Indeed, the word “hardcore” is used so frequently during frontman Akil Godsey’s stage patter that it begins to sound like gibberish. It’s a volatile performance. During an opening monologue, which somehow namedrops both Jesus and Stalin, Godsey informs everyone to expect “25-27 minutes” of hardcore; and that is what happens. Everything about the performance feels dangerous, even down to the animated devils that hold the band’s projected logo behind them. It all feels rather more serious than it perhaps should be, but there’s a refreshing honesty with which End it pay tribute to the genre.

La Dispute

Jordan Dreyer is a natural storyteller. The La Dispute frontman’s charisma is tangible as he traverses songs from the Michigan band’s 2025 album ‘No One Was Driving The Car’, with highly conceptual and impressively complex song structures. What results is a performance that isn’t as confrontational as it is introspective, with the content of Dreyer’s lyrics forming the fundamental centrepiece for the performance. This is epitomised by ‘King Park’, a heartbreaking song from the band’s second album ‘Wildlife’ that is devastatingly visceral. And as Dreyer’s imagery comes to life, the bleakness of his lyrics are every bit as affecting as the musicality on display.

Snail Mail

Standing out as one of the festival’s stranger bookings, Snail Mail’s comparatively gentle indie rock is pleasant in the sunshine. Effectively a Lindsey Erin Jordan solo project, Baltimore’s Snail Mail does admittedly possess a fragile approach to lyricism that’s akin to the festival’s opening night of emo opulence. When performed live, her songs also evoke the sounds of slacker rock, which gives her guitar playing a groovier feel than on record. It cannot, however, be ignored that the paucity of festival-goers watching Snail Mail is due to an abundance of attendees watching Hatebreed at the smaller indoor stage, which is promptly closed to avoid over-crowding. It’s always pleasing to see something different on the lineup, but the scheduling of these two artists feels unfortunately misguided.

Trapped Under Ice

Trapped Under Ice’s three albums in almost 20 years sounds unproductive. Yet considering how busy the band are with their other projects (Angel Du$t, Cold Mega, Turnstile) it’s remarkable they’ve found any time to play at all. It’s a performance of merciless aggression. This is hardcore punk that is upfront and hostile; there’s as consistent a stream of stage divers as there’s been all weekend to prove it. Justice Tripp’s vocals are as gnarled as barbed wire. His growl roars from the speakers with a fierce intent. Occasional interruptions to this take place only in the form of the audience members who periodically acquire Tripp’s microphone. These vocals are a little less impressive but stand as a reminder that hardcore is egalitarian. Band and audience are at one, as proven by the lack of barrier between them.

Suicidal Tendencies

Mike Muir is the only original member of Suicidal Tendencies. He is at once a frontman, a hype man and the glue that keeps the legendary project alive. Known for creatively combining elements of punk and trash, the band now have a legacy to uphold, but solemnity is not in their wheelhouse. Instead, there’s something wonderfully silly about much of the performance. Muir’s rambling political addresses wouldn’t hold to scrutiny, but chants of “SC” and a David Byrne vocal style are enough to delight this weary Sunday crowd. The combination of “You Can’t Bring Me Down” and a head-banging Muir is a joyous sight. It isn’t the slickest of performances but it might be the most fun anyone has all weekend.

Basement

Basement are Outbreak regulars. They headlined in 2024, having played numerous times before then. It makes them a somewhat uninspired booking, but the fact they’re tried-and-tested helps them deliver a crowd-pleasing hour of alternative rock/emo. Having released their last album ‘WIRED’ earlier this year – their first in eight years – there is added impetus to the show. That said, it takes time for Basement to warm up. A string of new songs leaves everyone waiting for the jubilation brought by older songs like ‘Covet’ and ‘Spoiled’. There are many attendees sporting Basement T-shirts today, but the lack of a reaction to songs from ‘WIRED’ suggests that not all of their fans are here for Basement’s new music. Then again, to end Outbreak Festival 2026 – which celebrates its 15^th anniversary edition with one eye looking into the past – with a band who are veterans of the festival feels thoroughly apropos.

It is both an intriguing and familiar setting. Fans of SUNN O))) will recognise this description from previous live shows. This is a proven formula that works for the duo, regardless of which particular series of drones O’Malley and Anderson choose to unleash.

SUNN O))) has experienced something of a purple patch as of late. Their self-titled tenth album was released earlier this year. It was their first in seven years, as well as their first for Sub Pop, and the reviews were some of their most favourable yet. SUNN O))) as a project has existed for almost 30 years, but it feels like their status as legends of the drone and doom genres has never been more solidified.

Testament to this is the extensiveness of their UK tour, which spans six cities. The chosen venues are not small either; almost no other band would fill capacities of this scale with music so uncompromising.

But physically seeing SUNN O))) might be harder than you’d think. The amount of haze that fills the room – combined with the fiercely bright lighting behind their occult arrangement of amplifiers – renders the duo near invisible at times. On the limited occasions when an easing of smoke allows either member to be seen, the combination of their robed figures and the vibrating floor is almost sinister. That only two individuals can wield such power is remarkable, but it’s also menacing.

As is the case on record, the duo’s compositions blend into one another. With attuned ears, the unrelenting sounds of the duo’s most recent self-titled album are present, but this is intermingled with older material too. To this extent, the entire performance becomes one solidified drone of destruction that can be felt on a cellular level.

This prompts audience members to act in a couple of ways. Most stand ruthlessly still, arms folded and rooted in position as the rumbling chords propagate through their bones. Other’s raise arms to the sky in both jubilation and submission. For over ninety minutes, there are few other ways to respond to sounds waves that are this authoritative.

This is partly because certain portions of the performance are genuinely spooky. The merciless consistency of each chord is portentous. There’s a sense that this music is a warning signal, designed to strike fear into all who hear it – which is presumably the majority of Leeds.

SUNN O))) are a band over whom it’s easy to spill words of hyperbole. Adjectives like “heaviest” and “loudest” are often appended to descriptions of the band for good reason, but this should never belittle how well constructed the music often is. Piercing highs periodically invert the drones so as to provide a contrast to the ribcage-rattling lows, and the occasional introduction of pulsating rhythms means that the more attentive listeners will find variation amongst the brutality.

There’s also something demonstrably bonkers about the whole affair that only the most po-faced of individual would refute. The very nature of a SUNN O)))’s live performance is indebted to excess. The genius, however, lies in the ways SUNN O))) use the minimalistic forces of two guitars, thick haze and resourceful lighting to achieve this excess. For this, SUNN O))) are more than simply one of the heaviest bands to ever exist. They’re also, however obliquely, one of the most creative too.

BEN WILLIAMS

One of the day’s quirks is the World Cup screening of England Vs Panama that closes out the third stage, which means a number of attendees arrive sporting the peculiar combination of band t-shirt and bucket hat. Many of them attempt to end their evening positioned judiciously between stages so as to simultaneously listen to Converge and watch Harry Kane. Nonetheless, the dedicated fanbase associated with hardcore and metal remains ever-present, as does the supply of innovative festival performances.

Words: Ben Williams

Truck Violence

There’s something refreshing straightforward about the sludgy riffs that howl from the Marshall amps forming Truck Violence’s backdrop, even if the reality is more complex. The shirtless and tattooed Karsyn Henderson’s feral vocal performances belie the Canadians’ smartly crafted combinations of hardcore and folk. It’s a unique sound that’s further bolstered by the banjo added to ‘Guns buried in the front yard’ – a perfect contrast to the sludgy ‘Drunk to death’, which has the band at their most imperious.

Reclus.É

Having recently toured with A Perfect Circle, the duo of Soren Bryce (Tummyache) and musician/DJ Daniel P Carter deliver a balance of soaring melodies and piercing screams that show off Bryce’s depth as a vocalist. ‘Fire With Fire’ offers bite and grit, while some the less heavy moments have a more lugubrious demeanour. For an early afternoon performance in the sweltering heat, it’s an impressively dynamic showing from one of the lineup’s most creative performers.

Bodyweb

Bodyweb are insistent. “Get on the fucking stage,” yells frontman Louis Hardy. The band hasn’t actually played a note yet – they’re just that overwrought. Everything about this band is over-the-top, even down to the way their logo pulsates behind them like a radiation warning. Clearly worshippers of nu-metal, there are shades of Korn when we’re told to “get the fuck up” and touches of Slipknot when bizarre and off-kilter jungle breakdowns are shoe-horned amongst two-note riffs. It’s far from the most inspired of performances, especially given just how indebted the band are to their influences, but there’s still something enjoyable about the brute-force of Bodyweb’s antics.

Static Dress

Billed as ‘???’, Outbreak 2026’s mystery act is not Title Fight, despite the optimistic rumours and Static Dress’ decision to cheekily open with the intro to ‘Safe In Your Skin’. To add to the confusion, they jokingly introduce themselves as Guilt Trip (one of the other rumoured bands for this slot) but after much trolling, it is finally understood that the individuals standing on stage – who are clearly the members of Static Dress – are indeed the members of Static Dress. Despite a handful of individuals leaving upon realising this – did they really expect Title Fight? – the Leeds band are monstrously energetic, almost to a fault given the slightly forced shouts of “why the fuck are you standing still” from vocalist Olli Appleyard. It’s an overall consummate performance, but one that is more defined by the band who aren’t there than the one that is, thanks in no small way to Static Dress’ mischievousness.

Touché Amoré

Ten years on from the release of Touché Amoré’s ‘Stage Four’, the band arrive at Outbreak Festival ready to perform the album in full, much to the joy of one of the weekend’s most ecstatic fanbases. That said, no attendee quite matches the apparent happiness of vocalist Jeremy Bolm, who appears to be positively beaming at the occasion. Guitarist Nick Steinhardt meanwhile braves the heat in a full jacket for the opening portion of the show before eventually succumbing to the heat and removing it. The event brings with it a celebratory feel that’s devoid of the tough-guy nonsense that occasionally belittles the post-hardcore genre. Bolm’s decision to walk into the crowd sees him swamped by his adoring fans like he’s one of The Beatles. One gets the feeling that, while it’s not one for the newcomers, the already-converted will treat this as the weekend’s highlight.

Lip Critic

Bret Kaser and Connor Kleitz face each other with a couple of beefy electrics/sampling units between them. Their flanked by the band’s two drummers, whose in-unison bashing forms something akin to the backbeat of New York ‘90s hip hop. – apropos for four Brooklynites. Together, Lip Critic produce maximalist electronic hardcore that stands apart from the festival’s array of guitar-centric bands by offering a pleasingly feral energy. Kaser’s vocals are savage; he sounds more creature than human as he growls his way through songs from the band’s recent album ‘Theft World’. Other songs like ‘Sermon’ are ominous, with the listless Kaser bouncing amongst band members, conducting chaos as he goes.

Upchuck

The high ceilings of the BEC Arena do few favours for Atlanta’s Upchuck. The room gobbles up the intricacies of the band’s music, rendering the politically-conscious lyrics of vocalist KT difficult to hear. While the content of Upchuck’s words don’t necessarily translate, she nonetheless yells through the most savage of punk songs with ruthless aggression. The scraping of guitar against cymbals, a drummer who mid-set becomes the vocalist, and the combining of gritty bass tones and droning guitars remain remarkable, despite the muddiness of the acoustics.

High Vis

High Vis are one of the weekend’s tightest performers. The band seem to share a telepathic relationship as they traverse songs that contain as much pain as they do hope. It’s all centres on Graham Sayle, a passionate frontman whose honestly between songs is as inspired as his charismatic vocals. He delivers a lengthy speech about friendship and the importance of speaking to others during difficult times, with Sayle drawing upon his own experiences with alcohol with a stark honesty. By framing past difficulties as exactly that – in the past – the future looks bright. It means that his subsequently Olympian-like stage dives become euphoric displays of uninhibited joy.

Pup

Canadian pop-punkers Pup offer something lighter than the hardcore that dominates much of the weekend. This, alongside a fleeting downpour, delights a crowd that welcome the rain as much as a singalong. ‘Kids’ and ‘Reservoir’ offer the latter, as does the featuring of a selection of songs from the band’s debut album, ‘The Dream is Over’. The decision to so heavily feature a now decade-old album is in keeping with the nostalgia that has imbued the festival. Nonetheless, there remains an exciting rawness to the music. “I’m not gonna say very much, we’re just gonna fucking rip,” says frontman Stefan Babcock, which pithily summarises the experience.

Higher Power

For not the first time this weekend, a Leeds-based hardcore band take to Outbreak 2026. Having been recommended by High Vis a few hours prior, Higher Power draw from the aesthetics of ‘90s alternative rock to deliver something rather aloof. The band are mostly backlit, making it difficult to see anything more than a few profiles. This combines with the hazy guitars to create a unique atmosphere, over which High power blast through their set with workmanlike efficiency. With drums that are de-tuned to the point of sounding like timpani, and guitars that sounds ready to raw, it sums to an impressive showing.

Loathe

They’ve consistently performed live in recent years, but Liverpudlian’s Loathe haven’t released an album since 2021’s instrumental and ambient ‘The Things They Believe’. Knowing that another is on the way this summer means that the mere appearance of the band’s on-screen logo is enough to bring a sense that, though they never went away, Loathe are back. They’re old-fashioned in some ways – four musicians dressed in black playing heavy metal music. In reality, these songs are some of the weekend’s most complex. The 6-minute ‘Screaming’ shows off instrumental prowess and crunching riffs, all alongside Kadeem France’s talismanic charisma. “This is our favourite festival to play ever,” says France. It sounds like a trope, but given the symbiotic relationship between band and audience, it’s not so difficult to believe.

The Armed

Various performers at Outbreak 2026 could be described as chaotic. The Armed, however, take things further. In an unhinged display of madness, The Armed create pandemonium as soon as they clatter their way through the opening moments of ‘THE MUSIC BECOMES A SKULL’. Musicians are crowd surfing (with their instruments), a saxophone is made to sound like a pained animal, and ‘ALL FUTURES’ manages to manifest a mosh pit on the stage itself. Converge’s Jacob Bannon joins for a cover of ‘Homewrecker’ and bedlam ensues once more. For some, it’s sensory overload. For others. it’s a cathartic release. But for all it’s a performance that’s impossible to turn away from.

Alexisonfire

“Alright,” screams George Pettit. “This is from our hearts,” responds the jubilant crowd, as Alexisonfire launch into ‘Drunks, Lovers, Sinners and Saints’. It’s been twenty years since the genre-defining ‘Crisis’ was released. Two decades on and much has changed. Pettit looks less tough-guy and more avuncular coworker; endearing with his floppy hair and leather jacket. Vocally, he sounds largely unchanged, as does Dallas Green, whose cleanly delivered vocals sound remarkably youthful. It’s a curiously young crowd in attendance, some of whom were likely too young to remember ‘Crisis’ upon its 2006 release. It results in a charming cross-generational audience of students and masters, all standing before Alexisonfire’s titanic presence.

Converge

There have been many whole-album performances across the weekend. This penchant for the music of the past brings mixed emotions. At times it is celebratory, while at others it feels regressive. Ideally, bands should remain innovative, with each new release able to sit alongside older songs with seamless integration. Converge are one of very few to get this right. Opener ‘Love is Not Enough’, the title track from one of two albums released this year by the metalcore legends, sends their audience into as much of a frenzy as classics like ‘Conduit’ and ‘Concubine’. Over three decades into what is becoming an illustrious career, Converge eschew nostalgia with new music that is every bit as gutsy as the band they were all those years ago.

The opening night is also somewhat scaled-back, with the outdoor stage – which becomes the main stage on Saturday and Sunday – unused for Friday’s performances. Add to this that the festival starts in the evening (presumably to allow attendees to arrive after work) and the opening night feels more like the blurb than the first chapter. But there’s something about the combination of this genre, these bands and a crowd this vociferous that leads to the industrial confines of Manchester’ BEC Arena being nothing short of electric.

Words: Ben Williams

Balance & Composure

The Pennsylvanian emo band Balance & Composure supposedly disbanded in 2019. In 2023, however, they reunited. They even released an album, ‘with you in spirit’, as soon after the reformation as 2024. This makes it all the more dubious that the band’s performance at Outbreak 2026 consists entirely of songs from their first two albums, 2011’s ‘Separation (2011)’ and 2013’s ‘The Things We Think We’re Missing’. The band’s name even appears behind them like a 2010-era trippy technicolour screensaver. This may all sound a little like Balance & Composure are obsessed with their past, but their crowd appear unconcerned as they lap up every shoegaze-tinged note. For their part, the band sound sincere, with Jon Simmons’ vocals on ‘Notice Me’ soaring passionately above this particularly smitten audience.

Love Rarely

One of Friday night’s more enterprising bookings is Love Rarely, whose debut album ‘Pain Travels’ turned heads earlier in 2026 for its proudly intricate math rock musings. The Leeds band give it their all and it’s quite the spectacle, not least due to vocalist Courtney Lewitt launching herself across the stage, as every scream shoots sonic splinters from her vocal cords. The music is high-impact, densely written and filled with guitar lines that, despite the often muddy acoustics of the venue, remain audibly dextrous. They’re somewhat at odds with the emo-leanings of the evening, but Love Rarely are unabashed by their presence, which they announce to Outbreak 2026 with a refreshing intensity.

Joyce Manor

Opening with a song from their latest album (take note Balance & Composure), Joyce Manor receive something of a hero’s welcome. The Californians bring pop-punk to Outbreak with singalongs aplenty, producing some of the weekend’s catchiest choruses. ‘Heart Tattoo’ is a highlight, as is the vast quantity of attendees who have stormed the stage alongside a band that appear humbled by such proceedings. By the time they play ‘NBTSA’, the stage is so littered with people that spotting who’s in the band and who isn’t is like an alternative rock equivalent to ‘Where’s Wally’, which only adds to the enjoyable lunacy of it all.

Algernon Cadwallader

Algernon Cadwallader’s ‘Trying Not to Have a Thought’ is the band’s first album in 14 years, as well as their first with original members Nick Tazza and Colin Mahoney since their 2008 debut. The band’s near-twenty year existence has vocalist/bassist Peter Helmis – who incidentally earns the title of best beard of the weekend – in a reflective mood. He congratulates Outbreak Festival on 15 years as his all-consuming bass tones merge seamlessly into the surrounding landscapes of the emo revivalist’s set. It’s more subdued that expected, perhaps due to the comparatively small crowd they draw, but it’s a textured and smart performance nonetheless.

The Front Bottoms

Friday night headliners The Front Bottoms are emo heroes and their 2013 album ‘Talon of the Hawk’ is a classic for many. So, when the band launch into ‘Au Revoir (Adios)’, so begins a performance that sees the most dedicated of fanbases pack the venue, the stage and anywhere within the general vicinity. Only vocalist/guitarist Brian Sella and drummer Mat Uychich remain from the ‘Talon of the Hawk’ era, but the album remains pinpoint accurate, with Sella’s vocals sounding particularly unchanged since the album’s recording. Yet even better than the album’s full rendition is the remainder of the night, which sees The Front Bottoms perform nine additional songs, extending the evening to well beyond the billed runtime. For a fanbase this dedicated and besotted, though, it causes little concern.

While not vastly different from some of the band’s previous work, their tenth album – ‘in grief or in hope’ – does lean liberally into the abstract. While BIG|BRAVE do remain within the ballpark of folk-tinged drone music, there aren’t many riffs here. Previous releases, such as 2024’s magnificent ‘A Chaos Of Flowers’, were undeniably experimental. But the music was consistently underpinned by easily identifiable riffs. While there are some riffs on ‘in grief or in hope’, they do not constitute the album’s defining features.

The band don’t play their instruments on ‘in grief or in hope’; they interact with them. It’s a lofty claim, but one that’s evidenced by the album’s credits, which list every musician as “playing” the amplifier. Take note of this: a tool used to make an instrument louder is now the instrument itself. The result; noise. And, for the most part, it’s actually rather beautiful.

Take ‘what may be the kindest way to leave’, the album’s opener and, at just over 7-minutes, its scene-setter. The piece is built around a distorted soundscape that is suspended in motion; quivering underneath its own weight. It possesses a quiet heftiness. To this end, BIG|BRAVE have tamed noise. Despite the constant threat that it will escape them, ‘in grief or in hope’ remains remarkably controlled under their watchful stewardship.

Their skilful compositional approaches lead also to the hazy soundscapes that underscore ‘holding tongue’, as the gentle ringing of strings swell with each dizzying release. It adds a protean quality to proceedings; equally pleasant on the ear as it is difficult to predict.

The counterpart to all this is Robin Wattie’s voice. The noise of the album is all-consuming, but Wattie ensures everything remains grounded. Her vocals are intimate. Whether distantly obscured behind growing instrumental swirls in ‘the ineptitude for mutual discernment’ or upfront and wounded during ‘a shape of shame’ – her performances here are frequently breathtaking.

The sound of Wattie’s vocals is further enhanced by the content of her lyrics. Grief and hope are the album’s underlying emotions, but the expressing of these emotions is impressionistic – there aren’t many lyrics across the album in general. This is a mixed blessing. While there are occasions when the brevity of Wattie’s words reads like an indecipherable extract from ‘Finnegans Wake’, BIG|BRAVE do frequently produce fractions of sentences that are themselves pure poetry. Simple phrases become elevated by Wattie’s expressive voice: “I am tested while you get to walk away” from ‘verdure’, for example, is suitably chilling.

BIG|BRAVE’s purposefully, and mostly successfully, vague approach to lyrics neatly centres on the album’s core themes, but they are perhaps best explored on ‘skin ripper’. “The truth of grief lies in what is left of hope” is a lyric that effectively summarises what ‘in grief or in hope’ stands for. It is a lyric that invites meditation. Is hope the antidote to grief, or is grief itself so painful precisely because it thwarts all hope? By adopting an ambiguity to their lyrics, BIG|BRAVE allow us as listeners to ask these questions. As if to emulate this, ‘skin ripper’ is then bolstered further by a shrewd approach to tempo, whereby rhythmic undulations ebb and flow between the conflicting yet strangely intertwined dual emotions.

This all then culminates with the album’s closing title track, which bluntly asks: “when does one feel the most/is it in grief or is it in hope.” It is apropos that only this far into the album do BIG|BRAVE fully form such a manifesto. The album subsequently becomes a live self-led journey that aims to uncover the complexities of these feelings. Heaving crushes of distortion accompany this resolution as a solution is finally reached.

And then… the album ends. Abruptly, and with no fanfare, it simply finishes. It’s an unusual finale that is, intentionally perhaps, underwhelming. But having traversed mountains of distortion and an even heavier emotional foundation, such a unanimous conclusion is, while odd, strangely satisfying. And strangely hopeful too.

BEN WILLIAMS

Converge are unlikely to be the first to be musically inspired by the hum, but their influence is informed less by the hum’s aesthetics than it is by the same bleakness experienced by The Listeners’ Claire. ‘Hum of Hurt’, Converge’s 12th studio album, reimagines the hum as what vocalist Jacob Bannon calls an “audible culmination of all the pain in the world”. The album is therefore, perhaps unsurprisingly, a disconsolate one.

The Massachusetts band has no aversion to melancholia. Their last album ‘Love Is Not Enough’ – released only a matter of months prior to ‘Hum of Hurt’ – was a gloomy experience, despite containing an underlying thread of hopefulness. But portents aside, the fact that Converge, a beloved band with over three decades of recording now behind them, has released two albums in the same year is enough to have heavy music fans positively salivating.

Bonus points are also awarded for how vastly different the two albums are. The metal leanings of ‘Love Is Not Enough’ are here substituted for what Bannon calls “emotional hardcore”. His vocals testify to this. In addition to the usual growls and screams, it is the pained yelps of his higher register that dominate. ‘Doom in Bloom’ epitomises this. It’s a riff-based and moodier side to Converge, but one that suits this album’s lyrical pessimism. Bannon ranges from displays of discontent (“Everything’s a shade of red/from the mirror to my hands/Staining everything I touch/as I reach for what is loved”) to outright misanthropy upon the declaration that doom is flowering and despair is all the rage.

The following ‘It Only Gets Worse’ is equally devoid of optimism, as Bannon contemplates “Rising waters/drowning me/slitting my throat/writhing, as blood flows into the sea” – lovely stuff. It’s also a barnstormer, even by Converge’s untamed sonic standards. Where the opening ‘Slip the Noose’ has Converge walking a well-trodden, albeit typically ferocious path, it is the off-kilter jazz-like grooves that give ‘It Only Gets Worse’ a more impressive and altogether audacious swagger.

Like its predecessor, ‘Hum of Hurt’ is a relatively concise album that only narrowly breaches the 30-minute threshold. It’s a good job too, as there’s only so much existential dread one can take. On ‘Detonator’, the titular hum manifests as an amelodic chug that’s tantamount to a funeral march. Above this, Bannon is at his most self-destructive yet; “There is something that I must admit/giving up is starting to make sense”.

The following ‘It’s Not Up To Us’ breaks the grim tension by offering a welcome sense of hopefulness. “There is no end in sight/without the will to fight”, sings Bannon, and fight they do, as frenetic yet controlled drumming abounds. There is also the peculiar addition of guitar squeaks that sound borrowed from the realms of science-fiction. Converge aren’t known for sounding quirky, but it’s an endearing and – by contrast to the album’s wider lyrical themes – not unwelcome addition.

Similarly idiosyncratic is the dilatory riff that underpins ‘Dream Debris’, whose stop-start structure unfortunately does it few favours. It does feature some pleasingly groggy guitar tones and inherits a certain epicness, but at six-minutes in length– roughly 20% of the album – it does momentarily halt momentum.

The impetus nonetheless returns with the fierce title track. Bannon’s throaty roars are defiant on what is the album’s centrepiece. It’s heavy in all the usual ways, but its greatness lies in the band’s songwriting. Beneath the rawness of Converge are compositions that are as well-constructed as any smartly-written pop song. In a genre that relies all too often on brute-force, Converge stand out. Heavy music is rarely written this well.

It is important to state that while ‘Hum of Hurt’ is thematically indebted to humankind’s follies, it is not an indulgent album. As dreary as the music is, it’s never voyeuristic when approaching dark subject matter. It instead earnestly reflects an epoch that is itself maddening. As the finale ‘Nothing Is Over’ splinters to a dizzying conclusion, our maddening times are portrayed by distant voices that are twisted, otherworldly, and not dissimilar to the phenomenon of the hum itself. Like the album at large, it is an all-consuming meditation that Converge have neatly distilled into a half-hour balancing-act; the horrors of civilisation versus a belief that those horrors will one day weaken and ultimately disappear.

BEN WILLIAMS

It’s for this reason that the depth of Supersonic 2026’s lineup is so ineffable. This year’s performers exist not within genre but within some hazy universe of their own making. Acceptance is a central pillar of Supersonic and this extends to the music, however arcane; Thorn Wych’s experiments with homemade instruments, Lucifer Sky’s brutal soundscapes of noise, etc. Folk remains ever-present too, as ØXN and Milkweed draw two of the weekend’s most attentive audiences.

Similarly evident is Supersonic’s penchant for the type of heavy music that thrives within counter-cultural spaces. “Supersonic recommends wearing earplugs to all shows” says a sign near the bar at the festival’s main venue, The Crossing. As the weekend progresses, one thing is clear. This is extremely sage advice.

Words: Ben Williams  //  Photos: Supersonic – Joe Singh, Robert Barrett & Sam Frank Wood

Saturday

Greet

Greet consists of little more than harmonium and voice. Masterminded by Yorkshire’s Matthew Broadley, it is in principle a minimalistic project. The result, however, is akin to the maximalism of the undulating Yorkshire Dales. Alongside a free-standing setup of harmonium and microphone, Broadley plays the instrument like a pair of bellows, breathing life into each fiery pulse of the harmonium’s stoic chords. These dense textures neatly sit underneath Broadley’s voice, at once both gentle and valiant. Crafted as folk songs, the compositions themselves have more in common with the sombre ambience of genres like doom metal and drone, as instrument and voice blend into the room, becoming one with the building itself.

Bong II

Original Bong members Dawn Terry and Mike Smith reunite alongside Smote’s Daniel Foggin to present the inaugural performance of Bong II, an exciting continuation of the longstanding drone metal project. It begins with a roaring eight minutes of noise, with Foggin, back to audience and guitar pointed firmly towards amplifier, handling his instrument like an ancient relic. Smith’s drums, once they eventually begin, build to a pummelling of seismic crunches that produce visible wobbles from the precariously placed surrounding microphones. Terry meanwhile adds melodic depth through both bass and vocals. The latter is far from lyrical, and instead adds an additional texture to the already multi-layered performance. Between the three musicians is a remarkable telepathy too, as tempos are pushed, pulled and twisted across a 45-minute display of rib-cage rattling vibration.

Traidora

Traidora are an anti-fascist queer punk band led by Eva Leblanc, a Venezuelan-born trans-woman currently living in the UK. Performing tonight alongside Charley (guitar) and Maeve (drums) as a three-piece, although the exact personnel of musicians vary between performances, the scale of the occasion has not escaped Traidora. “You can usually see us in the basement of a stinky-ass pub” says Charley. The band however remain unbothered by the venue’s size as they power through a 30-minute performance of gnashing punk energy. Leblanc’s conversational tone between songs adds context to Traidora, a project that celebrates queerness in a way that aligns to Supersonic Festival’s continued support of queercore music. It’s a rapid half-an-hour of effervescence that viscerally entertains as much as it culturally matters, perhaps now more than ever.

Sunday

Guttersnipe

Leeds’ Guttersnipe is a curious prospect. The duo, consisting of Urocerus Gigas (guitar/keyboard) and Tipula Confusa (drums), face each other on stage as they unleash a cocktail of noise rock, their flailing profiles partly obscured by their equally flailing hair. Tipula Confusa’s drumming style is jazzy, sticks falling into a mic’d up drum kit that is itself heavily distorted. It adds an industrial edge that blends well with Urocerus Gigas’ frenetic guitar playing. What’s most remarkable about Guttersnipe however is the duo’s ability to conjure a variety of sounds, seemingly from thin air. The music at times slows to a grungy sludge, and at others accelerates to something of chiptune free-for-all. With both members singing into microphones that are fed through enough processing units to make their between-song stage patter sound like the clangers (to their own admission), the duo’s endearing chemistry only adds to the thrill of each noisy digression.

Monoxide Brothers

The pleasingly DIY Monoxide Brothers – made up of Emily Doyle and Sophie Hack – stand before their setup of electronics with a sense of pride. It looks like a collection of findings that an EDM-obsessed magpie has gathered. This motley assemblage is the powerhouse behind Monoxide Brothers’ surprisingly catchy but nonetheless heavy electro-leanings. Above this sits Hack’s vocals. Her lyrics traverse songs about trans rights and female body autonomy, consistently delivered with a sly and cutting matter-of-fact sardonicism. Doyle’s supporting role is one of controlled chaos, as she battles, mostly successfully, to keep each looped electronic pulse under control. They’re backed by a tapestry of live coded visuals courtesy of collaborator Rose Davies. Protean shapes of psychedelia create colourful swirls as code sprawls across the screen, adding a techno-futuristic flair.

Microplastics

Microplastics’ debut performance is one of Supersonic 2026’s most hotly discussed bookings. Jennifer Walton, 96 back and aya are each known predominantly as solo artists. Now united, they unleash a whirlpool that intersects black metal, hardcore and techno with seldom paralleled creativity. With 96 back’s frantic electronics remaining centre stage throughout, the remaining two members swap sides and instruments (guitar and drums) during what aya calls “switcheroo time”. It offers ample opportunity for some friendly bickering about which ear aya is slightly deaf in (the right apparently) and why Walton’s glasses are falling apart (aya accidentally punched her in the face earlier this evening). Following an incendiary opening run, ‘Kick Stupid’ brings a moodier energy that’s haunted by the ghosts of stoner rock, while a cover of ‘It Eats Itself’ from Walton’s debut album ‘Daughters’ is aptly melancholy. It all sums to a breathtaking premiere as the trio deliver the performance of the weekend.

Ameretat

Formed by S and K but performing as a five-piece, Ameretat are a punk band who seriously know how to riff. They’re also likely the fastest band to perform at Supersonic 2026, but much is hidden amongst the velocity. With both core members contributing vocals – each deploying vastly contrasting registers (Blood Brothers, anyone?) – S and K are a complementary pairing. Both can roar like they’ve eaten barbed wire for breakfast too. They are also children of the Iranian diaspora, and the sounds of Iranian music permeate Ameretat’s sound palette. Away from the music lies the reality of the band’s friends and family, living in Iran during what has in the past few months become an increasingly unsafe environment. The band retell a harrowing story of the fatality of a loved one, while imploring everyone: “Don’t talk over people when they’re telling you their experiences.” It’s one of several moments of Supersonic 2026 where the bleak realities that exist outside the festival’s perimeter are acknowledged with candid honestly.

Prostitute

“I’ve come to dance”, deadpans Prostitute frontman Moe. “So, let’s dance.” He means it too. As Detroit’s Prostitute bully their way through the experimental post-punk of their debut album ‘Attempted Martyr’, Moe’s body is transformed into a vessel through which every musical impulse the band produce is electrically passed. The band are tight, fearfully quick in dexterity and aloof in presentation. The music is aggressive too, but having come here to dance, there’s also a spritely energy to Prostitute’s toe-tappers. Between songs, Moe pauses. Staring at the audience and saying nothing, his eye contact is eerily intense. This is post-punk at its most volatile; frighteningly unpredictable. Throughout a lean 45-minutes, he consumes multiple bottles of water. This presumably provides the strength required to lift his keyboard over his shoulder as he departs the stage in what looks like a bid to become something of a post-punk Rick Wakeman. Far from ostentatious, it’s a striking image and a fitting ending to Supersonic 2026; few could draw the festival to a close quite this brazenly.

As Supersonic Festival’s Artistic Director Lisa Meyer says: “We are living through dark, volatile times shaped by war, violence, and the erosion of freedoms, alongside the ongoing struggle for bodily autonomy, trans rights, and basic dignity. These realities are not separate from this space. They are part of why coming together like this really matters.” Supersonic Festival is therefore both a meditation on and an escape from a hostile planet. It remains one of the only true independent festivals. Local artists run workshops throughout the day, a local brewery keeps the bar stocked, and a core audience of independent music-lovers keep the festival alive. It is for these reasons that an overwhelming sense of possibility emanates. Supersonic is unafraid to confront difficult topics. But in doing so, one leaves with more hope than when they arrived.

BEN WILLIAMS

The one word, however, that is consistently used to describe SUNN O))) is “heavy.” Writing in the Guardian in 2019, John Doran even went so far as to call SUNN O))) “the heaviest band this century has seen so far.” It’s a moot declaration, but a compelling one nonetheless. When the agonised squeals of suffering guitars make way for the first echoic drones that feature on SUNN O)))’s new self-titled album, few listeners would debate that Doran may have a point. On that note, ‘XXANN’ is a devastating opening statement. Howling frequencies span cavernous lows and shrieking highs that are both equally ominous. It’s consistently spacious too, with O’Malley and Anderson sounding miles apart yet simultaneously telepathically connected.

This sonic openness may be a consequence of their chosen recording environment. SUNN O)))’s tenth album – their Sub Pop debut – was conceived at Bear Creek Studios in Washington, affording the pair ample hiking opportunities, among other benefits. With “no stress” and “no worry about the timeline,” according to Anderson, and surrounded by endless scenery, SUNN O))) appear to have crafted what may be their most quintessential album to date. Self-titled, therefore, with good reason, these six compositions total to an almost 80-minute onslaught of elongated compositions that morph into miniature time-warps. What results is an experience so disorienting, even the soberest of bystanders will be convinced that time is no longer linear, and that these are not drones but in fact quantum tunnels.

This will be of little surprise to longtime fans, who will be accustomed to the band’s mind-altering live performances. Usually, the duo remain cloaked during these, swamped by smoke machines and backed a Stonehenge of amplifiers. For music that features only small variations across long stretches of time, it’s an impressive presentation.

It makes sense, then, that SUNN O))) are shrewd enough to remain musically protean on record. Inflated runtimes and amorphous structures offer challenges, but they also afford SUNN O))) creative opportunities. ‘Butch’s Guns’ is interrupted with multiple false starts, akin to the sudden pauses of a faulty record player. The eventual resolution is soothing, much like the bass slides that tumble towards the concluding moments of ‘Does Anyone Hear Like Venom’. Meanwhile, ‘Mindrolling’ leans more melodically, with some semblance of a central riff creating dissonant portents throughout its 18-minute runtime. It’s also one of two compositions here to feature field recordings, alongside the sombre ‘Glory Black’ – the latter’s well-integrated piano passage offering a pleasing variation to the hour-plus entanglement of sounds that precede it.

The album’s cover art features paintings by Mark Rothko; his abstract minimalism an uncanny accompaniment to the music’s glacial pacing. The strange patternicity of Rothko’s art is present throughout ‘SUNN O)))’, as the duo transform dense meanderings into musical developments. The influence of their surroundings is notable too; the hum of SUNN O)))’s rumblings would be at peace within the depths of the woodland.

Most impressive of all, however, is SUNN O)))’s ability to create a lot from a little. O’Malley and Anderson handle all instrumentation themselves, something that they’ve never done previously. It a no doubt a consequence of their confidence, but also of their musicality, that they can achieve so much as a duo.

That all said, there’s no denying that ‘SUNN O)))’ is a taxing listen. It demands attention and patience with soundscapes that are often purposefully draining, both physically and emotionally. Across six songs, SUNN O))) have crafted some of their most sensorily dizzying music to date. But these gradually mutating drones are as glorious as they are overpowering. They may even be the heaviest there’s ever been.

BEN WILLIAMS

These are sweeping generalisations, but given that Winterfylleth share their name with an old english word for October – a month typified by impending nightfall, morning frost and Halloween – this alignment with the stereotypically bleak milieu associated with black metal is an easy reach.

The Manchester band’s latest album, the ninth of their twenty year existence, is called ‘The Unyielding Season’. The titular season could be the month of their namesake, or it could be a reference to the grim epoch of existence humanity currently occupies. Either way, a cursory reading would conclude that Winterfylleth’s ‘The Unyielding Season’ is exactly what could be expected of a 21^st century black metal album.

This is not always the case, though, as is apparent from the opening song’s stoic lyrics. Vocalist Chris Naughton declares: “Give strength to all, this lonely hour” as ‘Heroes of a Hundred Fields’ begins the record by traversing six-minutes of grandeur with more than a hint of pomp. There are a few moments like this, where Winterfylleth stray just enough from their genre’s core to engage the disinterested. That said, there’s likely little about ‘The Unyielding Season’ that will entice those who are not already fans of black metal.

That’s because, much like with the eight albums that precede ‘The Unyielding Season’, Winterfylleth remain both loyal to black metal’s stylistic mainstays and consummate in the execution of their performances. The band’s two-decade career is like that of a faithful co-worker, who’s head-down professionalism earns them less overt praise than is deserved, but a quiet and widespread approval nonetheless. It all means that gaining new fans may be challenging, but the already converted will remain thoroughly engaged.

None of this, however, should detract from the creativity and borderline scholarly smartness inherent to ‘The Unyielding Season’. When Sir Philip Sidney wrote ‘The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia’ to entertain his younger sister, little did he know that his 16^th century novel would be adapted quite so coherently five centuries later into ‘Echoes In The After’, a composition Winterfylleth were inspired to write following the infamous felling of a tree at Sycamore Gap on Hadrian’s Wall.

There’s instrumental creativity here too, like when Simon Lucas’ imperious drumming hijacks ‘A Hollow Existence’ to constitute a percussive riff above the swirling ribbons of guitars, collapsing as they do upon their overlapping selves into swathes of weighty ambience.

So enveloping is Winterfylleth’s noise wall that each song’s runtime frequently exceeds six minutes, as moments pass with a near meditative sensation. The expansiveness works given the morbidity of the title track, the despondency of ‘In Ashen Wake’, and the album’s general longing for hopefulness in times of despair. These songs trash and toil through the darkness, yearning for positive resolution.

It is for this reason that ‘Unspoken Elegy’ is a welcome diversion from the more challenging subject matter. What is effectively an interlude led by guitar and cello passages that are complementary to one another, the instrumental is something that is world-weary – heavy, in a different sense of the word.

Winterfylleth need to remain fluid in their instrumental choices too, as the comparatively gentle ‘Unspoken Elegy’ – in contrast to the riff-centric ‘Towards Elysium’ – ensures the latter’s crunchy guitars excite all the more vivaciously.

Even within this more groove-driven style, however, the use of atmosphere remains Winterfylleth’s greatest strength. Many of the standout moments here are the most instrumentally hedonistic, when epic sprawls of sound splinter into a blazing forest of chilling gales.

Which leads to the elephantine riff in the room, with Winterfylleth concluding ‘The Unyielding Season’ with a cover of Paradise Lost’s ‘Enchantment’. By eschewing atmosphere for stoner riffs, the band deliver on what is largely the album’s only major misstep, creating a conclusion that is unfortunately unwieldy and strangely unkempt.

Otherwise, Winterfylleth remain ever-consistent by demonstrating a well-balanced display of devotion to black metal’s transcendent qualities, and to showing a consistent interest in novel ideas, even if that interest is from afar. ‘The Unyielding Season’ is both stylistically on-brand and built upon unnerving lyrics, grandiose builds and the smallest scintilla of optimism for these unyielding times.

BEN WILLIAMS