“Rock music is a horny vampire,” warns the voiceover before Creeper enter the stage, and yes, if you’re here for the “Horny Vampire Music”, as Creeper term their sound, then you’re bound to have a good time. However, with every statuesque pose from frontman Will Gould, revelations strike us. The ‘Sanguivore’ duet of albums were intended to fit together like gothic Jenga blocks, their separation only necessitated by time and recording limits. Live, the positioning of their tracks forms one hypnotic narrative of lurid gore and dark worship, and in the barely six months since ‘Sanguivore II’, they’ve already wormed their way into our bloodstream like a virus and taken root in our playlists. A flick of Gould’s wrist and we’re commanded into song for ‘Blood Magick (It’s A Ritual)’, the crisp darkness he evokes as he intones each chorus line intoxicating. Lovely post punk chimes illuminate a previously unheard growl on ‘Lovers Led Astray’ before the pounding, infernal vigour of ‘Headstones’ ignites a rabid circle pit – something this venue doesn’t see very often.

The more we hear, the quicker we’re inducted into the sweeping vision that Creeper have been building all along. It’s a journey we never knew were on, powered by whatever crystal idol Davey Havok sold his soul to in the noughties, and now we’re fully invested. The waltzing melodrama of ‘The Ballad Of Spook and Mercy’ provides a murder ballad on the largest scale, and the meaning bluesy burlesque of ‘Razorwire’ offers a compelling interlude in our tale, power and blues through Hannah Greenwood’s vocal cabaret flirtation. The theatrics of ‘The Crimson Bride’ grab you by the shoulders and shake you into belting out the unifying choruses before each pale cherry blossom note of ‘Love and Pain’ drifts down from above, the eruption of longing sending a dormant mirrorball spinning into life.

We love the drama and world-building, but we’re powered by the absolute shred Creeper can chuck out. Without the softening that studio production can offer, ‘Prey For The Night’ explodes with intense static and the play-within-a-play that is ‘Chapel Gates’ betrays a punk energy that reveals their rough grit away from the costumes and the polish that Creeper apply to their sound. ‘Parasite’ hits the metal motherlode that we were anticipating, a full anthem for the slamming crowd. Respite comes when they give us an intimate take on ‘More Than Death’, laden with wisdom and devotion from beyond the veil. It’s beautiful and wrenching in equal measure, a dramatic monologue from a rock opera waiting to be written. We take the verses and run with them, making each one our own.

A cracked grin from Gould is our reward for giving our all on ‘Further Than Forever’, the soundtrack to a rock opera waiting to be written and the perfect final act for a band who walk the tightrope above musical theatre grandiosity with their sound. Even the intro is enough to see a surfer absolutely flung across the room, seemingly weightless. The climax in the form of ‘Cry To Heaven’ is the epic payoff we knew it would be: we might be flagging by the time it appears, but the soaring chorus is enough to reignite us for one last bounce. Their secrets revealed, we feel closer to Creeper than ever before, and for a dark, splendid hour-and-a-bit, nothing else matters except their the cinematic whirlpool of the Sangui-tour and the grip it has on us.

KATE ALLVEY

That’s not to say that The Flatliners have gone soft at all. Lead single ‘Good, You?’ takes a side-swipe at enforced male stoicism and the “ever-open wound” of never being able to reveal your vulnerability, but with a dream-like, uplifting roar that dares you to have the courage to open up. The ironically titled ‘Inner Peace’ tightly winds through chiming guitar and lyrical claustrophobia, and the harsh harmonies of ‘Pulpit’ spark rough riffs and chanted challenges to the status quo.

While they might be happy with the position they’ve adopted as being beyond the storm and stress of the world, The Flatliners have not completely detached themselves. Rather, this whole album blooms with “nowstalgia,” the joy of living each moment with the joy that we reserve for some imagined glorious past. Even a powerful shredder like ‘Burn’ that maximises the amount of guitar that The Flatliners can pour into a track feels like a pause for a deep, mindful, albeit it rage-filled breath before making your next move. It’s a compelling experience to listen to an album from a band who know exactly who they are and who they want to be. 

‘Frozen World’ is an album that takes you on a trip around a single bubble in time. From the ferocious call to arms that sparks ‘Stolen Valour’ all the way to closer ‘United In Spite’, a tribute to sticking with your in-group of haters through it all, we’re being dragged on a guided tour through the moment in which The Flatliners are currently living. The sense of being involved and sucked into their vision is so strong on ‘Whyte Light’, a song whose occasional quiet guitar drops only make the massive chorus that more prominent. We’re still in that mental and sonic space of waiting for the bombs to drop as they sweep us forward to ‘Into Annihilation’, but there’s never a menace or worry. The Flatliners are here with us to hold our tattooed hands through all the chaos we observe around us.

We love to discuss a band’s growth over time and track their progress on some imaginary musical chart, but to hear a band taking an album of pause for themselves is supremely refreshing. The Flatliners are living in the now and we love that for them. If you turn up ‘And They’re Off’ and close your eyes, you’re practically on an inflatable drifting on the ocean (while, admittedly, a war rages on the beach), and that’s an incredibly admirable quality. They’re not reactionary or screaming about the wrongs and the rights of society, they’re taking a step back and inviting us to do the same. ‘Cold World’ is a welcome and scenic plateau in their sound for us to experience at our leisure, and a delight to absorb yourself into from start to finish.

KATE ALLVEY

Title track and lead single ‘WIRED’ presents all the elements of the album’s writing and production that make it work. A jungle-esque beat drives the verses, steely, overdriven bass and cleaner guitars layering on top of each other, before the chorus kicks in, drops down, builds up and releases tension with the regularity of breath. The only moments where the instrumentation drops down are filled with distorted feedback, keeping the tension high. All of this happening alongside Andrew Fisher’s emotive and at times soaring vocals.

The urgency of the album’s opening two tracks – ‘Time Waster’ and ‘WIRED’ bubbles to the surface throughout. ‘Pick Up The Pieces’ starts with Fisher’s distorted vocals and alternates between a bouncing drum-and-bass led verse and a roaring chorus. ‘Sever’ is a stabbing number, with a more open chorus contrasting its unrelenting verses, eventually fully opening in the song’s final moments, before Fisher’s vocals crash into white noise.

When the energy is dropped, it’s for a quieter, moodier, atmosphere. There is a consistent tonal through-line which carries the album between its faster and slower paced moments – ‘Broken By Design’ and ‘Head Alight’ are certainly quieter than ‘WIRED’, but they all feel part of the same family. A large part of this is production choices, leaning into a dirtier bass and slightly subdued vocals across the album, but the songs themselves avoid sounding sluggish, instead settling into their own grooves.

Those tamer, slowcore grooves run through the album – in the case of ‘Deadweight’, literally slowing the song down for its choruses – which keeps ‘WIRED’ humming with a dancing rhythm regardless of tempo. Hooks rise and fall, vocals alternate between clean and distorted, creating an elevated sonic space which is as comfortable with harshness as it is with Basement’s catchier side. Songs like ‘The Way I Feel’ hold these two juxtaposed elements in accord with each other, allowing the vocals in the chorus to become distorted to the point of being illegible – what is left is the tune and the groove, and both wash over you with the waves of fuzz and gain.

‘WIRED’ comes to a close with ‘Summer’s End’, a distinctly nineties song. The bass is still steely, but with a touch of chorus to give it a Cure vibe, which complements the upbeat drums. Fisher floats above and below the music, his vocals swimming with a fuzzed-out lead guitar soloing its way through the second half the song. It’s a summery song, dripping with a nostalgic poppy energy, and a simple and infectious rise and fall vocal line which becomes inescapable by the song’s end.

As rebirths go, ‘WIRED’ is a worthy one. Easily more adventurous than ‘Beside Me’, with a dedication to pushing both songwriting and sonic textures, this is Basement finding what worked for them in the past and holding on to its core while jettisoning anything that would push them into self-pastiche. A band returning from a break must be able to answer the question of whether it was worth it. Basement have answered with a resounding yes.

WILL BRIGHT

‘No Place Of Warmth’’s epic opening title track is ominous. Its ’80s horror movie synths give way to a gigantic riff, bolstered by the band’s pummelling rhythm section of drummer Matt Dennard and bassist Samantha Mobley. Notable too is the surprising guest feature of My Chemical Romance’s Gerard Way, who lends some eerie shriek-filled vocals to the title track’s final minutes. A subtle addition to the track, Way offers an even greater malevolent edge as he seethes “This is not your place of warmth, you will find no peace” over the track’s brutal chugging. Here, and indeed throughout the entire album, the drums and vocals are pushed to the fore, making for a direct, dry and punchy style of death metal. Meanwhile, sparing but effective melodic flushes from guitarists Michael Munday and Chris Bonner lend a somewhat melodic feel to proceedings, as their impressive leads on ‘Eyes Of Despair’ and ‘Ethereal Dreams’ demonstrate. 

What’s apparent as the album progresses is just how huge the band sound. On the earsplitting ‘Invoke War’, the thunderous stomp of ‘Frost Forged’ and towering riffage of ‘DEATHWEAVER’, they sound positively colossal – this is death metal in all its widescreen glory, invoking the fantasy-filled, evil-tinged imagery of the band’s album covers. The bass-heavy chugging filth of ‘Dreadnought’ features the guttural tones of Sanguisugabogg’s Devin Swank. They plunge the band to ever darker depths, whilst the Carcass recalling, catchy-as-hell and gloriously titled ‘Killin’ Time (Until It’s Time To Kill)’ closes the album in neck-breaking style. The result is an album bookended by its two most immediately hook-laden tracks. 

It’s hard to avoid words like “frostbitten”,“ice-cold” and “glacial” when talking about Frozen Soul’s sound, but the band’s no-frills, stripped down and savage approach to death metal lends itself well to these descriptors. The riffs are razor sharp, the low-end is aggressively punchy and you can practically see the steam emitting from Green’s mouth as his monstrous roars echo over the barren and vast, sub-zero landscapes the band so effectively evoke. Despite being only three albums into their career, Frozen Soul are beginning to sound like genre veterans themselves, such is the strength of the band’s songwriting, self-assured identity and singular vision. With a focus on making killer, riff-filled, savage headbangers propelled by the instantly recognisable gargantuan roar of frontman Green, ‘No Place Of Warmth’ is the band’s most affecting, cohesive and monstrous release to date.

ADAM FIRTH

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

Opening with the spooky licks and tight grooves of all-too-short instrumental ‘Backstabber’, the album launches proper with the pulsating, twisted ‘Human Terror’. The filthiest bass tone you’ll hear this year paves way for a twirling, hypnotic nu-metalesque guitar riff before Matt King’s ferocious snarl takes centre stage. Bolstered further by a hip-hop flavoured groove courtesy of powerhouse sticksman James Beveridge, ‘Human Terror’ is disarmingly catchy, and sets the murky, unnerving tone for what lies ahead.

‘Heaven’s Gate’, finds the band in more familiar Portrayal Of Guilt territory (if there is such a thing), with a lo-fi, claustrophobic feel to the barrage of guitar and frantic blast beats. Similarly, ‘Under Siege’ is an all out assault on the senses, as caustic and raw as Portrayal Of Guilt get, with an undercurrent of industrial elements creeping in. The dirt ridden bass tone returns on the dancy ‘Ecstasy’, a creepy and unnervingly catchy little number that sounds like a death metal spin on the 90s trip-hop inspired output of Beck. 

Elsewhere, the band dial up the evil and nasty even further. ‘God Will Never Hear Me’ is one of the bleakest pieces of music the band have recorded. A waking nightmare set to music, a discordant riff rings out over a threatening pulsating bass, bringing to mind ‘The Fragile’ era Nine Inch Nails with its swirling malevolent riffs and threatening vocal passages. Similarly the threatening aura of ‘Object Of Pain’, carves a similar path that Crippling Alcoholism did last year on ‘Camgirl’, as post-punk inspired riffs, industrial noise and sinister vocals are propelled along on by an addictive laidback beat and air of unease.

King gets to flex his guitar chops and vocal prowess even further on the choppy and savage ‘Total Black’, whilst ‘Chamber of Misery Pt. IV’ finds the band embracing the hip-hop influences further with a guest spot from Slim Guerilla. Closing the record is the brutal, Primitive Man-recalling oppression of ‘The Last Judgement’; a colossal, pummelling track that ends with King’s most visceral and blood curdling scream echoing out over the album’s final moments. 

With ‘…The Beginning Of The End’, Portrayal of Guilt have created their most accessible, diverse and darkest set of songs to date. A band that have always carved their own path, by embracing more melodic, but no less dark, elements into their sound the Austin trio have managed to paint a more nuanced picture with varying shades of black. Bleak yet catchy, oppressive yet danceable, varied yet cohesive ‘…The Beginning Of The End’ is Portrayal Of Guilt’s most sophisticated and immersive album to date, and one of the most rewarding listens you’ll hear this year.

ADAM FIRTH

Speaking of things sweeping across Europe, destroying everything in their path, Knife Bride have just returned from a tour on the continent supporting Svalbard. This isn’t as simple as it sounds, they occupy a slightly strange position. They have an established social media presence, a scattering of singles, strong word-of-mouth, but not all that much music.

Until now the band has had no clear identity. There was no story. These five songs remedy that. Imagine where Architects were headed on ‘For Those Who Wish To Exist’ and continue along that path. That’s the sound, similar to newcomers Gore. It’s a holistic blend of ideas, a hybrid; indebted to metal rather than contaminated by it, setting them apart from many of their peers.

Fittingly for an EP framed around the bubonic plague the songs are frequently blistering. The guitars on ‘Alone At The Altar’ are a cocktail of thick punches and screaming harmonics designed to give you friction burns while the breathless riffing and high tempo of ‘Crucify’ will leave you scorched. The song’s sound fits very neatly with the lyric “I’m in the business of destroying everything,” especially when the slow breakdown hits with the force of a derailed freight train, crumpling the song around it. ‘Porcelain’ shares a similar slow, djent-style breakdown but is built around nasty stabby little riffs which shows off their songwriting skills in a completely different way.

Relatively speaking, the EP’s first half is heavier while the second is more expansive. The luscious opening to ‘Lillies’ evolves into shuffling electric sounds and snakelike hisses, while ‘Poisoned By God’ uses slow, watery keyboard notes to give it an expansive depth, making for a suitably epic closer.

As the kids say, vocalist Mollie Clack is “sick.” She performs with the confidence and style of a pop singer. On the opening track she works really hard to give the chorus a real catchy hook but on every song her style is as assured as it is varied. On ‘Lilies’ she takes on a theatrical edge, leaning on the word “darkness” to give it an unusual form and following the music as it descends into madness. It feels effortless and inspired. Lyrically ‘Alone At The Altar’ has slightly unfortunate subtext, as it is easy to read as being about Covid, or an STD, but it’s a great song either way. It’s a great EP.

Spread the word. Knife Bride’s new EP is like the plague; it’s vicious, life-changing and so infectious your ears might fall off.

IAN KENWORTHY