It’s difficult to believe the final day of ATG 2026 is here already and Birmingham’s Meatdripper are not easing us in, so dirty are their down-tuned, sludgy innards and so kaleidoscopic their psych-tinged dressing.
Ensuring that we never get stuck in a generic rut, ATG offers me something utterly different next in the form of Jo Quail—cello-matriarch and friend of the festival—returning to ATG for the fourth time, today with five-piece Belgian trombone outfit The Crossbones Ensemble in tow. And, as is often the case with Jo Quail, it’s another stand-out performance. Comprised of tracks from last year’s album Notan, her set includes an exquisite version of her classic track ‘Rex’, slightly stripped back from the usual cello effects but given extra depth and heaviness by the deep Crossbones harmonies; ‘Butterfly Dance’, for the “oldest matriarch”, merging dramatic doomy brass and almost funky cello percussion; and a “largely improvised” version of ‘Godspeed’ which is clearly fun for them all. Most touching, however, is ‘First Rain’ which Quail starts to introduce but cannot finish her sentence, she’s so choked with emotion at the clearly personal content of the song.
Lowheaven, a bleak, blackened, excoriating band from Canada, are entirely different yet again but there is a moment when two guitarists rest their heads against each other like rutting deer when—like Quail’s set— the human emotion is palpable. It’s there throughout, of course, though in the intensity of the Meshuggah-like off-kilter chugs, the bouncy nu metal riffs, the angelic high vox on the choruses and the blistering, fry screams.
I’m very glad my friends persuaded me to see Gösta Berlings Saga whose estranged sound, groovy dance sections, and wide, cinematic scope provides the soundtrack to a sci-fi movie I didn’t know I needed. Clad in white space/boiler suits, this Swedish quintet explores alien planets with a swagger, a sense of humour (a prerecorded robotic glitch voice announces the song titles), and a strangely beautiful take on psychedelic post-prog.
Following this brief respite from dissonance, Belgian post-black metal band Oathbreaker perform almost all of their stunning 2016 album Rheia to a mesmerised main stage. One of the most striking aspects is when vocalist Caro, clad in a white robe with a black streaming scarf, segues perfectly from a low, clean melody, ascending gradually into a devastating fry scream that jolts the band into action, with double-kick pummeling, streamers flailing, and hair wind-milling. It’s an utterly intense and captivating set almost until the end when the album’s final tracks are cut short seemingly as the band play over their allotted stage time, with the PA cutting out and the energy fizzling out. From the audience perspective, it seems strange that such things can still happen given how strictly the times are allotted to all; but it doesn’t dim Oathbreaker’s glorious and genuinely goose-bump inducing set.
Raygun Busch, Chat Pile’simprobably pseudonym-ed frontman, isn’t shy. You might have gauged that if you’ve seen them live, watching him prowl the stage back and forth restlessly, ubiquitously barechested, and eschewing the usual awkward between-song banter in favour of a running monologue on his special interests. Starting with the dirty grind of ‘I Am Dog Now’, Raygun argues that “they should make a movie about this festival” (and they should whoever they are), dedicates the set to Otis Reading, seems chuffed (stoked?) to have seen Stonehenge down the road for the first time, and recommends the Stacks Museum “if you ever get to Memphis; just tossing it out there.” Frankly I think more bands should opt for movie reviews and travel advice interspersed with weird noise metal anthems with amazing guitar tone about working in the mall, homelessness, AI, and the inevitable decline of society under neoliberalism. Raygun’s charisma can’t undermine how brilliant the band are, bass-player clad in green checked chef’s trousers, holding down a gnarled groove while the guitarist dishes out newly forged takes on super-low nu-metal riffs. Leaning towards material from sophomore album Cool World, it’s a marvellous set indeed.
Continuing our four-day game of musical chairs, Faroese singer Eivør performs a powerful set on the main stage, showcasing a phenomenal vocal range, moving from angelic highs, growling lows, throat-singing, cold robot voices, and (I think) joik singing. Similarly, there seem to be no genres that her and her band have not woven into this set. I remember enjoying Eivør’s solo support slot with Wardruna in London a few years back, but in all honesty the set didn’t linger with me too much; today, at ATG, I’m absolutely stunned. Cutting a distinctive figure with a variously-braided hairstyle as eclectic as her music, and a wide-sleeved black dress, Eivør on her final track ‘Falling Free’ recalls Tori Amos in her prime, supported by what sounds like a formidable orchestra of synthesisers.
I feel quite overcome, if I’m honest, as I stumble across the field to my next show which is—checks notes—High on fucking Fire! Bloody hell. In case you were concerned that the grizzled guitar hero that is Matt Pike has mellowed out following his oddly lowkey departure from Sleep, fear ye not! Here he is, like Raygun Busch earlier on, belly proudly resisting puny t-shirts, Les Paul absolutely hammering out good, old-time, dirty heavy metal riffs from an Orange amp-henge, only one or two stacks smaller than his Sleep rig. This is exactly what I need by this point in the proceedings, and pretty soon we’re all deep into headbanging and beer spilling. As my friend points out, if you haven’t listened to High on Fire for a while, it’s easy to remember them as a mid-temp doom band; but, in reality, they’re more like progressive thrash: a glorious mix of bludgeoning trad metal and really quite technical intricacy. ATG smashes it again: they won’t book just any old heavy metal band as the penultimate act of the final Fernhill festival.
And here, dearest gentle reader, we approach the conclusion of the proceedings. It’s another tricky clash, as you’d hope, with hordes heading for Cult of Luna x Julie Christmas in the Big Top, and many nerds and I heading to PX3 for Master Boot Record. “It’s computer metal, nothing else,” explains guitarist and composer Vittoria. That certainly sums up their approach on record, synthesising metal and classical music from ancient computer equipment to make, say, neo-classical analog metal. While it’s all programmed on record, do not doubt that MBR shred the living shit out of these tracks live. With drum and two guitars, we get a mad dopamine shot of intricate, technical, power metal sweeping, melodic runs running each other over to be heard, and double-kick matching all. The key detail, here, is that these are also serious compositions, which would quickly become boring if there was not a sense of structure, narrative, movement. All this takes place in front of a kind of retro ritual tribute to 90s’ computer technology: blocky PC screens sit on desks like ancestor altars, while a beautiful homage to classic adventure and platform games rolls across the screen. For a band whose personality revolves around nostalgia, MBR sure have their own sound; and for a band whose music derives from desktop computers, these guys sure put on a hell of a show.
With warm childhood memories of playing Day of the Tentacle, Sam & Max, and The Secret of Monkey Island with my dad running through my mind, I wander over to catch the end of Cult of Luna x Julie Christmas playing their album Mariner and obviously I wish I could have seen the whole thing, too. Every single person in that crowded tent is locked into the stargate symphony of the album’s closer ‘Cygnus’, arms in the air, eyes closed, faces ecstatic.
I’m reminded of something Jo Quail said earlier in the day, explaining that ‘Embrace’ was written about how everyone is connected by an invisible spider’s web and together a tapestry is woven. When she says that, you feel that she really means it. So it might sound cheesy coming from me, but, at ATG, you don’t need to share her spiritual beliefs to feel—even just for a few seconds—that, right here, right now, she’s absolutely right. And you just know that this same atmosphere will arise again on fresh pastures at ATG 2027.