It's been three long years (whilst it was awesome Diddy Download doesn't count) but here we are reunited on the hollow grounds of Donington Park. The first point to make is how normal it feels. There is something weird about entering those gates and automatically you know where everything is. Dogtooth is over there, second stage is over there and the bars are there, there and there. The layout of the Download festival is so ingrained in our psyche that it actually didn't feel that I left in 2019. My soul's been here all the time hanging round that space where the dog should be just waiting for my body to return.

Aside from a few issues with site access (the decision to move the transport hub all the way up to the other side of the layout means that it is now impossible to access the site by any other means than a four quid shuttle buses) and the fact they ran out all proper Beer Saturday morning, the weekend worked. There was not a bar queue to be seen (probably the reason why they ran out of pale ale) and the whole infrastructure seemed to actually flow this year. One of the main reasons for this was the weather. It didn't rain, at all. The difference between a dry and wet Download is astonishing. Throw in blazing sunshine and the ability to actually sit down on the ground and we will forgive Andy and his team any number of misdemeanours.

So onto the bands, due to a few mishaps with the above-mentioned shuttle buses (which were non-existent the first few hours of Friday) I miss my planned rendezvous with Toby Jepson and his Wayward Sons. As a long long term Little Angels fan, the idea of seeing one of my personal icons lording about on the main stage was nailed on to be one of my weekend highlights. Sadly, logistics put paid to that and all I can say is even though I wasn't there I know in my heart of hearts they will have been magnificent.

So our journey starts actually on the second stage with the quirky serial killer obsessed SKYND. Half novelty act and half bastard child spawned from an illicit liaison between Wednesday from the Addams family and a mime artist, SKYND has a simultaneously alluring and disarming aura. She has a stage presence that makes up for her Waif like appearance. Her cold hard stare commands your attention and she beckons you in into her macabre world with perverted tales of captivating wrongdoing. Central is a voice, it is enticing and intoxicating. It manages to infiltrate the top of your spine and send shivers through your body. The Gothic etherealness of this whole thing may be lost in the bright sunshine, but it is her voice that manages to ensnare the bewitched crowd.

Next stop is the Avalanche stage for As Everything Unfolds. They have taken Metal’s envelope and smashed a couple of holes in. They seem intent in tearing up the rulebook and trying to be numerous different genres simultaneously. However rather than come across as confused and inconsistent, their approach actually manages to be highly attractive and cohesive. In delivery, frontwoman Charlie Rolfe is both understated and authoritative. She has a laid back delivery style that is confident but also calm. There is no screaming at the void here, instead Charlie embodies her words and manages to provide a soothing antidote to the noise all around her. Like many of the bands I will see during the weekend on this stage, As Everything Unfolds seem to have been already taken to heart by the masses that throng at the front. It's heartening to hear and see their words screams back at them at full volume.

It's up the hill we go to the Dogtooth stage for Dead Poet Society. Hailing from Boston, they are resplendent in matching white T-shirts and jeans. Theirs is an interesting take on alternative rock; partially grunge and partially nu-blues, they win over the crowd emphatically. Over the course of their short set, they evolve from placid bystanders to by the end being a swathing mass of crushing bodies. There is something refreshingly unique about what they are doing. It feels like they have ripped their collective heart open and are using their songs to channel their inner despairs. For anybody who is about to get their heart broken this weekend, this is the perfect soundtrack.

The non-appearance of dark wave songstress A.A. Williams, means I am suddenly at an unplanned loose end. Spurred on by the thoughts that I should expand my rather insular viewpoints, I wander off to see Black Veil Brides. Having never seen them before my initial feeling is one of "well somebody wants to be Avenged Sevenfold when they grow up". It's not necessarily bad and to be honest you do find yourself punching the air along to a number of the refrains, it just feels that it lacks any level of uniqueness. The songs may have catchy choruses, but four days on from watching them I wouldn't be able to pick out any of their songs in an identity parade. It killed an hour, but it was all rather predictable.

We talk a lot about the sound being horrible, but the fact is the sound for Lacuna Coil was frankly unlistenable. The soundboard manages to take what is a great band with great tracks and covers it in unintelligible sludge. Cristina Scabbia’s vocals were so high up in the mix she could have been singing acappella, whilst in direct contradiction Andrea Ferro’s vocals were so far down the mix that he really needn't bother turning up at all. And then there's the issue of guitar, there wasn't any. In no point in their 50 minutes on stage did I hear a single ounce of Diego Cavalotti usually exquisite fretwork. It just wasn't there, it was like someone had just pressed a button that said “delete guitar”. Performance wise they tried, they really tried. There was conviction and there was an emotion that matters not one Iota when musically it was actually painful to listen to. For a band that really struggled during lockdown, this should have been a triumphant return but instead it just felt like an aural mess.

Back to Dogtooth for bouncy Norwegian punks Bokassa. This is essentially happiness personified. It's like pop punk but with more street credibility. They have the songs, they have a stage presence and they have a wonderful level of self-deprecation. Just essentially a gleeful way of spending 25 minutes. Talking of gleeful it's back to the Opus stage for the feelgood moment of the evening. Airbourne are not just happy to be here, they are positively elated. After nearly two years of being locked in their own country (probably having to spend far more time than their families than they ever envisaged doing) they are back doing the thing they do best, rocking out in the sunshine. 

They are quite simply magnificent, from the moment they hit the stage this is high voltage rock n' roll at its most vociferous. They are never gonna win a prize in an originality contest but to be honest, it doesn't matter. They have taken everything that was wonderful about AC/DC and ratcheted up a few more notches until your fillings rattle. The songs are simple, heck the songs are dumb but that is not the point. For 50 minutes you forget every worry, all your aches and pains are temporarily put on hiatus. They know how to access your pleasure cells and do so with utter ease.

It's hard to top Airbourne in regards to primal rock 'n' roll, but Steve Harris and his side project British Lion are giving it a good go back in the old Dog and Tooth. The simple truth is that they would be playing to three people and a dog called Trevor if their bassist didn't happen to be a multimillionaire rock icon. You can tell the other members of British Lion know this and collectively sport the gleeful grin of somebody who has won the musical lottery. This is simple singalongable rock 'n' roll and the proof of how good the songs are is the fact that after a few minutes you forget that it is Steve Harris prancing up and down and you quite simply lean back and enjoy the show.

My lot in life on the first day seems to be running between the Dogtooth and the second stage. It's back I go across the green abyss for super sub headliner Frank Carter. Now everything that needs to be written about Frank probably has been done by now. He was the surprising victor in the battle of the headliners at last year Diddy download and he takes on the headliner mantle here with utter ease. You see our Frank has charisma to spare, he is affable, he is self-aware and he has a sort of cheeky smile that makes you wonder how the hell you're gonna smuggle him home with you tonight. He just burns off the stage, a catalyst of pure kinetic energy. I really wish I could have stayed longer but my beloved Red Fang are calling back in dogtooth.

Red Fang are in many ways are a drinking man's Mastodon. They share DNA with the Atlantan juggernaut but they avoid their more cerebral and chin stroking tendencies. Instead, this is straight down the line scuzzy rock n' roll. The tracks are dirty, the tracks are short and the tracks have more groove than you can shake a stick at. This that sort of slow burning rock designed specifically for beer drinking and head nodding. It has an organic rawness to it that screams “we need to dance, let's just drink”.

And what feels like a blink of an eye from the moment we first wandered onto site, we reach tonight's headliner. KISS don't do things by half, they are not a band you would associate with the term subtlety. Either side of the stage massive inflatable statues have appeared, life-size depictions of Mr Simmons ego. Slightly misjudged footage of them emerging from a dressing room in an arena heralds their appearance onstage (we are in a frigging field, there are no concrete corridors in a field) and then that refrain "you wanted the best, you got the best" reverberates across Donington Park. There are thousands here who have seen KISS many many times before and there are also thousands who are witnessing for them for the very first time. However both groups collectively drop their jaws in reaction to the utter spectacle of their opening. Other bands wander on stage and tune up their instruments, KISS descend from the rafters on personalised lighting pods.

KISS understand that rock n' roll is meant to be entertaining, theirs is two hours of the finest theatrical mischief that you will ever come across. They have taken the "Big Book of how to put a big show on" and an emptied its entire contents onto the stage. We get fire, we get hydraulics, we get blood and just to top it off we get more fire. It's pure Vegas transported to the East Midlands. But without the songs they would just be a (psycho) circus act. Other bands this weekend dillydallying around with new tracks or deep cuts. There's none of that malarkey for KISS, they bring the big guns and deposit them in a flurry of chorus led crescendos. Their opening salvo is ‘Detroit Rock City’ followed by Shout Out Loud’ and then topped off with ‘Deuce’. In any other bands hands that's the ruddy encore.

The big difference about tonight from previous shows I have witnessed on the farewell tour is that they are now acknowledging that this is the end. Mentions of their forthcoming retirement were conspicuous by their absence at the Manchester show, but tonight we are showered with poignant reminders from Paul that we are now indeed reaching the end. Gene and him, seemed to be physically relaxed, as if the fact that there is now a clear and definitive exit point has made them enjoy the whole act of performing much more. 

I could’ve lived without the solos, but to be honest I’m nit-picking here for the sake of nit-picking, as every second of the show is one of ecstatic joy. It is wonderfully choreographed and designed to provide ultimate value for money. After two years of nothingness the overriding desire is for maximum entertainment and that's what KISS bring. They understand that rock n' roll may not change the world but what it can do is make a field for the people very very happy and as the final notes of ‘Rock n' Roll All Nite’ fadeaway into the dusk that is exactly what they have done. After many false starts I think I have indeed finally seen my final KISS show. Paul, Gene, Tommy and Eric we salute you. And then to bed as tomorrow is indeed another day.