It’s been a long 18 months, hasn’t it? Since Covid kicked us all in the face in March 2020 our lives have changed so much, possibly forever. For those of us who love our live music our hearts have been torn out as we have watched gig after gig, festival after festival fall to the dreaded “Covid Rules”. There have been glimmers of hope here and there with a smattering of socially-distanced and sanitised events and some online streams, but they have been few and far between and, while better than nothing, they haven’t really been able to replace what we have lost.

Steelhouse 2020 was to have been their 10th anniversary edition, but alas it wasn’t to be. However, we and the organisers didn’t lose hope and this year as the rules have changed we have waited, anxiously, to see if we can finally climb our beloved mountain again.

Yes, you read that right. Steelhouse, killer of clutches, takes place on top of a mountain in the Welsh valleys. Once you’re in, the site is spacious and the views are breathtaking, but many a car, caravan or motorhome has breathed its last on the steep, rocky path to get there. Stairway to Heaven or Highway To Hell? Bit of both really!

Anyhow, we the punters have watched with trepidation; As the Covid rules have changed so has the line-up, with US and European acts replaced one-by-one with UK-based ones. Would we need to test? Would our vaccinations count? Would there be masks? Would we have to sit down? Would the bar be open? So many questions that there weren’t really answers to.

Kudos to those gritty Welsh though, they knuckled down and my goodness they dragged their sold-out festival over the line. Not only that, they did it with true style. Yes there were complaints – apparently the camping field was very crowded, the bar queues on the Friday were tortuous and of course the toilets - always the toilets at a festival eh? But despite all that, Steelhouse happened. We climbed the mountain and we rocked with a few thousand of our friends, and it was glorious. Here’s how it went down.

Friday afternoon saw a mad scramble to show not just a ticket but a negative LFT on the way in (apart from some of us lucky enough to have self-contained live-in vehicles, we were allowed to pitch up on the Thursday night to help reduce the queues), but finally tents were pitched, beer was poured and we were off.

The honour of kicking the whole thing off went to young band The Howling Tides, a band who play retro-sounding rock with a modern twist to it. There was of course a countdown, and then BOOM! Catchy, riffy rock goodness that garnered a great reaction. I’m still not sure if the band were on fire or we were just so glad to have our festival back, but The Howling Tides carried it off well and earned rapturous applause from the rapidly-swelling crowd.

They were followed by Matt Mitchell and the Coldhearts, a newish project fronted by es-Furyon member Matt. They were bluesy with a 70s vibe. There were shades of Zep mixed with Deep Purple, but if you can imagine them being a bit more catchy and bouncy? Again they got a great reception.

With barely a chance to get our breath back (and no chance of a drink in those queues!) we had King Creature on stage. Now bear in mind that original headliners Anthrax had to pull out as they couldn’t travel so it would be nice to have a band in a similar vein right? Step forward King Creature. Loud, heavy, doomy but with some surprising melody they turned out to be a really pleasant surprise. The battle jacketed hordes were pleased with them, and I thought they were OK too.

I had a to make a quick trip back to my van for a sandwich and a large rum during next band RavenEye, but I could still hear them and they appeared to be a 3-piece band belting out bluesy classic rock and even from a distance and in a strengthening breeze they sounded just fine.

By now, the crowd was thoroughly warmed up, which is just as well because the next band up brought the party. The Quireboys are celebrating the 30th anniversary of the release of their first album this year, and despite the antics of frontman Spike giving the impression that they are a bunch of loveable pissheads they have somehow not just survived but thrived for all that time. On top of the mountain we got a greatest hits set that took us all the way from that first album to their most recent one and it was magnificent. Their brand of infectious, bouncy, sleazy fun rock is timeless, and the dual guitars of Guy Griffin and Paul Guerin, mixed with the honky-tonk piano provided by Keith Weir form an irresistible combination. But of course it is frontman Spike who steals the show. Spike with his bad dad jokes, his raspy vocals, his ability to remember MOST of the words but not find his harmonica – the list goes on. So as the sun goes down we dance and sing along and it’s around about this point that I realise just how much I have missed this. The music, the setting, the crowd, just all of it. The day has just turned from good to great, and somehow it seems appropriate that the reason for that is The Quireboys.

Finally, once the dust kicked up by The Quireboys has settled, we get to the final act of the night. Phil Campbell, local Valleys boyo, ex-Motörhead man and allegedly a really nice guy is here with his Bastard Sons (who are mostly his actual sons but I’m not sure about the extent of their bastardry) to close the night on even more of a high. Having recently lost their singer, there are assisted tonight by Andrew Hunt who is normally found fronting another local band Buffalo Summer. Despite occasionally appearing to glance at some crib sheets by his feet Andrew carries off the challenge in style, and his more bluesy and tuneful vocals add an extra dimension to this band that I think was slightly lacking when I have seen them before. The bulk of the set is Motörhead covers, and Phil and his Sons power through them at a rate of knots. The bulk of the crowd appear to be Motörhead fans too, so there is much singing along, arm-waving and headbanging going on all around me! I’ve never been the biggest Motörhead fan myself, but the enthusiasm all around me is uplifting, and I enjoy the experience quite a lot more than I was expecting to. I’m too old and tired to face the beer-tent after-show disco so as Phil and Co are playing a very competent version of Hawkwind’s “Silver Machine” I start to head out of the arena and back to the campsite, only to find myself halted by the final song of the set, a rousing version of the only Motörhead song I really like! Still muttering “Killed By Death” to myself I head for bed happy in the knowledge that in this little corner of the world at least, live music is back with a vengeance.