I am not a hugger. At best I find it intrusive and at worst it makes my skin crawl. However over the bloodstock weekend I hugged, I hugged and I hugged. I hugged people that I consider life-long friends, I hugged people I have only ever seen at a distance and I hugged complete strangers. And it wasn’t just me, everyone was hugging. It was like some well-behaved orgy, where everyone kept their clothes on. Bloodstock was emotional and a celebration, but it was also normal. By about band three it felt no different to other years at Catton Park and the idea of not being able to be near people seemed preposterous. Though the one evident difference was the length. Five days of unrepentant Metal at the start sounded like manor from heaven but by the end it felt like you were jogging through custard to get to the finishing line. In fact, I was expecting silver blankets and a medal as I exited the site, like I had finished some endurance event. However, we need to start at the beginning….

Anakim have the auspicious duty of being most people’s first band back. They are highly impressive and manage to mix coarse traded vocals with melodic and almost maiden like instrumentation. They are followed by Ward XVI who bring a hell of a lot of staging for a half an hour stage set, in fact my overarching feeling is one of wanting more, a lot more. The set itself is brim full of theatrical flourishes and massively atmospheric tracks but it is over far too soon. The way that they are received, however, makes me feel that this was simply a precursor to a headline slot next time around. I ain’t going to make friends but I don’t get Raised by Owls. For a band that are meant to be humorous, I find the squealed vocals and short songs distinctly unfunny. A packed crowd seem to enjoy them, but someone has failed to let me in on the joke. 

For a band playing together not only for the first time in four years but also for the last time ever, Beholder are surprisingly tight and surprisingly single minded. This is a final one-off hurrah and in lesser hands it could have turned into a sloppy under rehearsed mess. Instead this is a triumphant set that makes you wonder why they are calling it a day in the first place and whether there is still life in the old dog after all. Talking about resurrections, Onslaught have turned into a taut riff machine more than capable of owning the Wednesday night headline slot. Yes the only original member is Nige Rockett, but rather than go for a revolving door of hired hands, he has managed to put together a line up that not only maintains but builds upon their legacy. Tonight they are magnificent, heavy, driving and anthemic. They don’t feel like a band whose heyday was a long time ago, instead they come across as thoroughly modern and relevant. Thrash may well be once again the flavour of the month, but even so there is a real hunger and dynamism about Onslaught. Sly Keeler’s appearance feels like an exercise in baton passing; like the old guard were giving this new slick version of the band their seal of approval. They are called back for not one but two encores, both thoroughly deserved. I was expecting an exercise in nostalgia but instead I was treated to a masterclass in how you play a crowd pleasing headline set. Outstanding. And to bed….