Live Review: Grind After Death Fest
30th May 2025
Words: Dan Barnes
Photos: Rich Price
And so, alas, the final blasting is upon us. After five years of grinding brutality – and a whole load of fun – the end is nigh. But there’s still one more show to go; twelve more chances to enjoy those rancid riffs and grinding goodness, all presented on the newly named ‘Baz’s Stage’ in honour of a GAD original and friend who sadly passed away this year. R.I.P. Baz – we’re sure you’re with us today in spirit.
The north-west has been unusually sunny and bright this past week, so much so that your humble scribe has opted to go with shorts for today, exposing one’s milky-white sparrow legs before June is even here. And it is under these exceptional conditions that opening band, OmegaThrone, get this fifth and final festival underway. Opening their set with two tracks from the January-released sophomore album, Predators Make Empires, the band waste no time in getting the extremity into action. Bad Sleep Better and Feast or Famine buzz with rhythmic dissonance, with singer JJ growling and gnashing his way through, like an Australian in a beer garden on an unseasonably hot day who is driving later. Feast or Famine even has a dalliance with Old School Death Metal. From the debut album, In Loving Memory of Humankind – released on the very day the UK lockdown was announced – comes the call to war that is Casus Belli’s snappy snarls and machine gun climax.
A hymn to the glamour of evil follows in the shape of Fear and Elegance, taken from the band’s 2023 prequel EP, There’s No Hatred as Great as a Dictator’s Love – Prelude to Empire, which is generally vicious death metal, but does have a modicum of Venom tucked into the mid-section. Damn You, Abraham takes the band into blackened death territory; Greed vs Greed has JJ in the pit, snarling directly into the audience faces, and Children of Hitler takes us to Hell and back through demonic barks and a deathly rumble. The sun is still shining over Bolton – I might be only one of three people to ever write that sentence – but Grind After Death Festival’s final blasting has started with a bang.
When power violence grinders Burnt Body refer to themselves as North West Violência they aren’t adopting some form of hyperbole, rather offering a stark warning to all in the area that the next thirty-minutes is going to get vicious. From the screaming feedback to the punishing grind, there is nothing in Burnt Body’s set that isn’t meant to scare the brown stuff out of you, in a musical sense. With only a single EP, 2025’s excellent Queimadura, to draw from, the band perform a punishing show of rampant drums, darkly twisted guitars and Michael Ribeiro’s barked vocals combine perfectly for thirty-minutes of sheer aural brutality, unrelenting and uncompromising, it’s like being drawn into a bleak misanthropic vortex where nothing and no one can escape. There’s a big breakdown and some hardcore rhythms which has a couple of two-steppers showing their chops early, but nothing can distract from the pure punch in the face that was Burnt Body’s set. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a BB long-sleeve with my name on it.
Brummie goregrinding trio, Fetus Destruction, don’t go easy on Bolton, having their debut album, Biologic Organic Brutal, locked and loaded and ready to fire, they unleash a barrage of brutality featuring a huge low end, squeals and grunts and crushing breakdowns. Yet they also have catchy moments that slam and invoke Grind After Death’s first dance-a-thon. Early blasters Telefunken Magick Fjut, Frankenfetus and Kanada are chock full of dirty riffing and stomping rhythms; there’s even a dalliance with a clean vocal for a brief time. The Alma is filling up nicely and it’s already promising to be a great day as we move into the second half of the set: Butcher’s Yard seems to suit the environs, Beast War is a precursor to what’s to come.
The set is accompanied by a constant feedback loop of buzzing noise, giving the chuggy riffs an almost mean atmosphere. The BPM remains high and there is plenty of snare abuse, yet Bolton is here to party and to send the festival off on a high, filling the pit area with moving bodies for set closers, the grinding Half Three and the speedster Kōtō Concrete Mixer.
South Wales trio, Deliberate Miscarriage, bring more of an Old School Death Metal vibe to Bolton, sounding more like they’ve travelled here from the fetid Florida swamps than the Principality. There’s a large amount of technicality on show, with Desecration and ex-Sodomized Cadaver bassist, Charlie Rogers getting in on the act and doing some tapping. The band’s sole full-length, 2021’s Mortuary Melodies, gets plenty of play, with opener Splattered Toddlers and Gutted with a Butterknife suggesting Deliberate Miscarriage might have their tongues placed squarely in their cheeks.
Subdermal Insect Incubation is a new one, coming with hefty riffs and a chunk breakdown; grim, death barks arrive with Infested Reanimated, and The Chitinous March sees Grind After Death’s first every human centipede replace the obligatory circle pit. Charle asks “Who loves a bass solo?” and, perhaps predicably, the response it muted. But we get one anyway in the band’s tribute to running people over in your car: Intestines in the Mudguards. The set ends with the old school sounds of The Right to Die, which survives from the original demo and gives us one more Floridian hit.
Band personnel seem to be diminishing as, after two trios, we now get German duo Rosetta Twist making their UK debut. You should never judge a book by its cover, but if there’s a truism in extreme music it’s this: when the guitarist looks like he can advise you on mortgages or any other financial instrument, you’re going to die in the pit. Luckily for me, I was standing to one side, observing the casualties and recording for posterity, but it sure looked wild in there.
The smooth-jazz intro tape and samples were grossly misleading for this, their debut UK festival show, as the bass-less pair waste no time in levelling the venue with a selection of tunes from their 2022 Demo: Whipped, Full Weight Face Trampling, Pedicure by Mouth, E-Stim Ecstasy and Lesbo Neanderthalensis, as well as other, not-as-yet recorded, and some, looking at the onstage setlist, even without an official name, listed only as Song 11, or Song 16.
But, as Shakespeare wrote, what’s in a name? Especially when Rosetta Twist grind hard and slam big, unleashing some of the bounciest riffs of the day while simultaneously remaining as heavy as an already overweight elephant in an ice bun factory. You can count the number of fuck’s given by the pit on one hand and still have five fingers to spare. Polka rhythms seem to have replaced any semblance of normality and the Grind After Death punters appear to have invented their own version of crowd-surfing involving carrying folk around to room at above head-height. Rosetta Twist have just taken this Final Blasting to another level.
Out of the Midlands and with a pedigree of a Krufts champion, DeathCollector restore some form of sanity after those crazy Germans and have come to bludgeon Bolton into submission. Comprised of former members of Zealot Cult, Angelfuck, Godthrymm and current members of Severe Lacerations, they played Bloodstock’s S.O.P.H.I.E stage in 2024, introduced as the “Best thing to come out of Lockdown”. Their 2023 debut album, Death’s Toll is a love-letter to the glory days of Death Metal and still stands up today as a fresh new version of an established thing. Young drummer, Callum Warren cops a bit of good-natured ribbing from the other members of the band, but when you’re taking over from ex-Memoriam and ex-Bolt Thrower sticksman, Andrew Whale, and ridiculously young, you’re bound to get a bit of banter aimed in your direction.
The band’s title tune starts the set, old school slashing guitars prompting a one-man circle pit at the front of the stage. Singer Kieran Scott delivers his vocals with a ripping energy, calling for more contributors in the pit as Terrorizer slams brutally into the late afternoon. Mental Hedonist continues the barrage underscored by Callum’s rapid bass kicks. Tribute is paid to Baz, after whom the stage is named, leading into the band’s first new material in three years: the heavy, mid-paced grooves of Backroom Abattoir, released as a single about a year ago. Fifth member and second guitarist, Mick Carey, is absent from this show and it’s mentioned that he’s missing a cracker; Death’s Toll stomps and rages, before Kieran takes time out to thank the organisers of Grind After Death and all the folk who support the underground scene. The Razor’s Edge gets name-checked – so many thanks for that, Kieran, much appreciated – before the band call for a boogie during Rearview Guilt. Crowd participation is mandatory for the closing fury that is Internal Expansion.
East Anglican hooligans, Berenice, take a modern look at the brutality of grind, incorporating crusty powerviolence into the mix, blending various tempos with huge beatdowns and throat-ripping vocals, courtesy of singer, Jim. There are even mathy moments and some groove to spice things up, but generally, keep the energy sky-high with aggressive, paint-peeling ditties taken from their self-titled debut EP.
Ragers like Problems, Reflection and Torment all display the band’s punk credentials through dirty riffs and a snotty musical attitude, Broken and Sorrow follow a less blasting path, veering into the Doomy territory at times, yet never straying too far from the fierce grind that is the order of the day. Jim announces they have “saved the worst for last”, which is a little self-deprecating as The Gate snorts and snarls and it unloads a blitzkrieg of sound onto the end of the fierce and frenzied set.
Up to this point, Grind After Death had been running like a well-oiled machine, everything working perfectly and, heck, even running ahead of schedule. But, alas, there’s always a gremlin or two to warn against cock-sure complacency – and the little rascals swing into action ahead of Sausage Wallet‘s debut UK show. The one-man-band that is Bradley Miller- and the only American to play Grind After Death – is clearly frustrated at the delays, but it’s all pretty laid back at the Alma Inn, and as the techies try to get things back on track, Mr Miller tells Muppet jokes, and apologises for making people wait for “the worst half hour of your day.”
Dressed in day glo colours, Bradley certainly stands out among the mass of black shirts – although I’m sporting a pink Razor’s Edge shirt – gone all corporate – so Mr Miller is not alone in his choice of shades. Finally, the gremlins are banished for the time being – more from them later – and Sausage Wallet’s unique combination of brutal death metal and goregrind – labelled Porneaux Grind – can begin.
A calypso sample seems fitting to Bradley’s bright attire and the sun blazing over Bolton, which gives way to high BPM percussion from the drum machine, and ripping riffs from the man himself. Insanity prevails across the floor, and some wag shouts “faster”, which is responded to with a Yer Mum quip. A stage diver plies his trade and is carried around the room at above head height; Jizz Junkie Jesus, Keep on Fisting in the Free World and I Can Feel Me Cumming in Your Hair Tonight – all from the band’s sole full-length album, Bad Habit - set the tone for the rest of the day. The Alma is a mass of bodies for Internally Yours with the same young lady being used as the fulcrum of the circle pit, yet never in any apparent peril from the increasingly frenzied revellers. It might have been delayed, but it was a complete blast.
I’ll be brutally honest: after Sausage Wallet’s unbridled insanity, I feared for Antwerp’s Volière, as I wasn’t sure they would be able to match the level of what had just occurred. Another act without a drummer and reliant on computerised percussion, the Belgians seemed run-of-the-mill until just before the start of the set, when they donned very rudimentary bird costumes and began to blast.
For, you see, volière is French for aviary and every one of the band’s songs has some attachment to our feathered friends. In all honesty, as far as costumes are concerned, GWAR need not be too worried, but the band’s fierce grinding is certainly enough to put the willies up you.
Singer Jesse Buytaert is in the front of the crowd before the end of the first song; bassist, Jorden Gladines – who sports a flamingo outfit and green bass strings for Heaven’s sake – joins the circle pit while also playing Phony Pony from the debut album. Chicks with Dicks, from the split with Klysma, comes with a proclamation of acceptance and solidarity; Slamingo is dedicated to the city just up the road and its predilection for the Slam Death Metal genre; and the attempted conga, featuring most of the band’s members is a raging success.
Jesse comments that he had never seen a circle pit which included someone eating a pizza before -only in Bolton – but that’s how Grind After Death rolls, with folk styling it out in whatever way they please. Spicey Slambal has techno ending, Quack Sabbath is dedicated to Ozzy and has a wall of death; Black & Pecker gets the two-steppers moving, and the finale of Seagullny Weaver is in tribute to the Alien / Ghostbuster actress. I’m sure she would be pleased to hear of such an honour, though I don’t really know what I’m basing that on.
After such frivolity only something more cerebral would suffice, so it’s lucky Romanian goregrind/ pornogrind miscreants, Porn the Gore, is on hand to bring a level of civility to the evening.
Ha! The natural third act in the sheer madness that had been the last couple of band, PxTxG look at Sausage Wallet’s gaudy colours, and Volière avian attire and say: “Hold our beer”, hitting the stage in, generally speaking, white hot-pants, white vests and red braces, along with knitted balaclavas – or is that balaclavi? Second vocalist – either Nero or Mr Erection – is wearing black and white hoops rather than the white of his band mates. At this stage I’d already bought a t-shirt and was starting to worry my money might not be used for wholesome activities.
Not only using a tune from the Weimar Republic as an intro tape but generating a circle pit for it is no mean feat; proof, should anyone need it, that this is going to be insane. Crazy dancing, band members tearing it up in the pit; a wall of death divided between people who think they’re smart verses people who think they’re not; pig squeals, all part and parcel of the PxTxG show.
There’s an eating display to slake the twisted fetishes of the guitarist, with five audience members scoffing croissants and a toasty loaf on the stage; a call for Satan’s people and an encouragement to drink and drive, all part and parcel of the entertainment. One fella is dragged on stage and named Ed Sheeran, the pit subsumes the entire floor area with polka dancing, and any semblance of sanity has long since departed.
The set? Who knows! I jotted down Einstein was a Necrophile Animal Rapist and Satan My Vagina is Ready, with The Impaling Rites of Count Dickula’s title track ending the show. I didn’t think a set could top the madness of Grindcore Cakemakers from last year, but Porn the Gore most certainly did.
Norwegian brutal technical quintet, Celestial Scourge, have chosen the Final Blasting to make their UK debut, and when you count eight strings per guitar and five on the bass, we can be assured of a musical masterclass in ruthlessness. Sadly, those pesky gremlins are back, wreaking havoc with the electronics. Now, I saw a documentary about this kind of thing at Christmas, and it seems those little green critters don’t like the light. Was going to suggest shining a torch in there to flush the wee fellas out, but I’m sure that’s already been considered.
Eventually things get the go ahead and we’re treated to a riotous set of joyously serious death metal. Singer Eirik Waadeland barks, growls and windmills as if his life depended on it, and the length delay is suddenly worthwhile. Decapitated riffs and slamming delivery rip the Alma limb-from-limb and any thought that Sublime Cadaveric Decomposition were about to walk in as headliners and take the honours now looks to be a pipedream.
With only an EP and last year’s full-length debut to draw from, Celestial Scourge set about dismantling everything in sight. Early tunes, Dimensions Unfurled and Elliptical Orbit come with slamming beatdowns and display a certain youthful exuberance; a couple of years later and the Observers of the Inevitable full-length shows a refinement that still knows how to create carnage and mayhem.
There’s a shout out to Doc, before Eirik asks if we Brits know how to circle pit? Cheek, I say, as does Bolton, before going on to demonstrate the Art of Pitting to the Scandinavians. There’s a tongue-in-cheek jibe at bands they’d met at the airport this morning, bound for another UK festival, and who probably wished they were here. “We’re not fuckin’ done yet” confirms Eirik before set-closer Ancient Forms blends sick slams with a classic Death Metal sound. Great show, great debut, come back soon
And so, it comes to this: the end. The final blasting of The Final Blasting, and the honour of bringing the curtain down on the day, and on five years of brutality, lands at the feet of French goregrinders Sublime Cadaveric Decomposition. Themselves celebrating their thirtieth anniversary with a rare foray onto British shores, ever-present Seb reassembles his band of musical marauders for one last assault on Bolton.
Adorned in his usual long-sleeve t-shirt tied around the waste, Seb stalks the small stage like a man possessed, barking, grunting and snarling lyrics as his band unleash blast beats and grinding filth late into the darkening Saturday night.
Latest album, 2025’s The Macabre Voodoo Messiah of Masochism and Fetishism, takes the band’s lyrical interest in a more salacious direction than on Raping Angels in Hell, Inventory of Fixture or the self-titled debut, but the musical intensity has not waivered one iota. Fair dos to the band too, who’ve been staffing their own merch stall since noon and still have the energy to knock it out of the park when it comes to unbridled brutality and endless energy.
So that’s it, then: Grind After Death – The Final Blasting has blasted its last. Hopefully this is a hiatus rather than an end as GAD’s mission statement to bring bands to the stage who you might not ordinarily see on tour in the UK is highly commendable, and high-risk in the current economic climate.
Maintaining a stable bill over the past twelve months has proved impossible, with early announced special guests GuineaPig dropping out, then headliner Hideous Deficiency exiting; yet Doc managed to deliver a finale to his project that even surpassed the awesome show that was GAD in 2025.
I think – no, I know – I speak for everyone at The Razor’s Edge when I say being Grind After Death’s media partner had been a pleasure and we’ve loved every minute of it. Hopefully we’ll get to do it again sometime in the future; if not, we’ve always got the memories.
It’s been a blast!
Photo Credits: Rich Price Photography
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