[Festival] Bloodstock Open Air 2010 - Day 2: Better Late Than Never

There's a reason this is late. Count Gorlock actually died, and was happily in Heaven. However, one day he checked his emails and remembered he hadn't posted day 2, and pleaded with God to be sent back down so he could spread his words of wisdom like a smellier, less hirsute John the Baptist. He was halfway through getting sucked off by Michael Jackson when he found out btw, so I hope you're happy.

Hey it's me, the big fucking idiot. Yeah it's like 3 months since I bothered writing anything, because I'm an asshole and other things got in the way; like jobs, smothering self-absorption, and ritual onanism. In a lot of ways there really is no point in me writing this now. After all, if I had impregnated you just before I left to go review the fucking thing, you would have had a third of a baby by now and it would be the worst baby ever.

Anyway yeah. Bloodstock Day 2. Oh by the way I've lost all the photos I had taken because I upgraded to a Blackberry and all my pictorial evidence of Bloodstock has drifted like the wreckage of a dinghy after a wild, thrashing maelstrom. So instead you've got a wall of poorly written invective to get through. Unlucky hahahahaha.

Bloodstock Day 2 began in wildly prophetic form, as I woke up with my leg in a puddle. My tent, much like me during my formative years, was leaking, and had decided my foot was the perfect quarry for its damp attack. Sighing listlessly in the only way I know, I curled up like a foetus, went back to sleep and missed loads of bands, because I am a professional. Looking back, I saw I missed Leave's Eyes, who are somewhat redolent of Evanescence, albeit Evanescence when they were a younger, angrier and a bit more hardcore. I missed Andromeda too, which I'm gutted about because I've liked Kevin Sorbo for ages.

I did get up though in time to catch a little bit of Evile, and whoopty doo, shockeroo, they did absolutely nothing for me. I dunno, maybe it was a good show and maybe I was annoyed because I'd spent all night in a fucking tent soaked to the bone, but they utterly fail to blow my whistle. If I wanted to see Slayer guys, I'd go see Slayer.

So I retired to the press area and helped myself to a free energy drink, (which none of you proles are entitled to because you didn't have the gumption to start your own shitey webzine), and arranged to meet a friend for Onslaught.

Now I'm not sure. It may have been my friend's influence, but I quite enjoyed Onslaught. There's no way on God's green earth I would bother my arse tracking down their records, but they were pretty funny live, so that's ok with me. Also funny was the middle-management type behind us who displayed the most batshit retarded, middle-class display of air guitaring I had ever seen. Oh, and one of the guys I was standing with lobbed a paper cup into the crowd and it dunted an old lady on the head. It was so funny I shat.

Now because it was 3 months ago I can't remember what I did after that. I either went for a falafel wrap or used the VIP toilet. God the VIP toilets were amazing. Sorry to drone on about them but you really must know. No fumbling around in the dark for old Gorlock this year, oh no. Toilet paper was as bountiful as a crate of fucking bounty bars. It wasn't cheapo stuff either, You see kids, when you hit the heady heights of us freelance dickheads, you get used to a higher standard of living. You start buying Tesco's finest, you treat yourself to beans and sausages in a tin rather than just beans, and you buy stuff from Primark even if it isn't on sale. It's an amazing, pampered life, and since becoming a freelance dickhead I haven't been able to use any toilet paper that isn't quality. I like a bit of aloe vera on my bum now, and I will settle for nothing less.

Also, I missed Edguy.

The next band I saw was Obituary. Obituary are excellent because their singer John sounds like Bobcat Goldthwaite in Police Academy. That's literally all I can be bothered to say about them.

Right, who was next. Oh, Amorphis. My old flatmate used to have an Amorphis t-shirt. That is also literally all I can be bothered to say about them.

Devin Townsend was next, and Devin Townsend was great. That's my deep analysis there.

Nah, seriously though, he had the gods against him and he emerged untarnished, with a cheeky grin and a spring in his step. Due to some insane happenstance, none of his instruments made it to the festival, so the poor bugger undoubtedly had to go around every band and borrow their instruments instead. After a bit of a delay (where Devin farted about, did interprative dance and pulled faces) he was away! Shit, if you take out the bracketed bit, that rhymes. This is why I get the big bucks you motherfuckers!

Anyway it was pretty life affirming. I'd wanted to see the bugger for ages, as City was literally all I listened to for about 2 years, and finally getting to watch him do his thing was a dream come true.

Urgh, I actually said that. Fuck my life.

In conclusion I'm not exaggerating when I say Devin Townsend was one of the best concert experiences of my life thus far, and I'm glad to say it made the rest of the horribly damp, drizzly festival worth it.

Also, I met him afterwards and he is lovely. It was only for a second though. 

Fear Factory came on after Devin, and though they didn't make me want to float up to Heaven and play with Jesus or anything, they were still pretty good fun. Burton C Bell still sounds like Morrissey after he's found out the nut roast he bit into was a raw pig's heart in disguise, and I would have it no other way. Fear Factory you see, got quite good again recently, because Burton ditched the other two losers and got Dino back in the band, and their bombastic, occasionally camp, always entertaining industrial metal hit the spot quite nicely.

Children of Bodom were on after that, and I'd rather rip my anus hairs out with my bare hands than sit through 90 minutes of Children of Bodom. That's my way of saying I missed them.

I opted instead to go to watch the 4 DJs of the Apocalypse (hey cool name guys) and have a couple of pints before retiring to bed. What these ebullient chaps do, is basically hook a sound system up to a couple of old Kerrang! compilations, let them spin away, and then pull the most retarded shapes on stage, to the delight of the baying masses. You should go seem them, seriously. They run around in their new rocks and with their wallet chains and their spiky bleach blonde haircuts and air guitar like crazy, and oh god it was horrifying. And the little shits in the audience LOVED it. One rambunctious little cunt even started on me because I asked him (politely, I hasten to add) to temporarily displace himself so I could move past him.

I don't get it. I'm occasionally quite partial to the more dunderheaded end of the metal spectrum, but I just don't get how people can muster the enthusiasm to dance to a fucking 8-year-old Chimaira song. There I was, despicable old me, surveying the room like some lecherous, arrogant CCTV camera, watching as these young smelly people get their groove on to My Last Serenade for the 9000th time.

It reminded me of clubbing when I was at University, standing utterly bewildered whilst I watched my peers attempt to get their awful piss-addled ends away in an epilepsy-inducing cattle market. Many times, I'd think 'fuck it' and wander back to my flat to have a cup of tea and go to bed. It's nice to see some things don't change, as that is precisely what I did here.

After traversing the heaving black clad labyrinth of sweat, acne and self loathing, I stopped off at the hippy tent, as they were playing Van Morrison and shit. I like Van Morrison, and I expressed this to the Baba Yaga-esque proprietor, who saw that as a cue to put Bob fucking Marley on, and I hate Bob Marley. The only people who like Bob Marley are old people, or young people who say they like Bob Marley because it makes them look eclectic. Cunts.

That was my cue to go to bed. Also I'm going to bed now, bye bye.