“Open up your heart and let the devil in.”
In May 2025, the Boolin Tunes team returned to Camden for Desertfest 2025. Just two weeks after the sheer destruction of Incineration Festival, Desertfest took over some of Camden’s most iconic venues, including the Underworld, Electric Ballroom, Black Heart, and the Roundhouse. This is our full report of the UK’s premier celebration of doom, stoner, and sludge metal, supported by the Desertscene. Words by Emily Cole and Nathaniel Shelley. Check out Asha Sitarz‘ galleries of the day shot for Boolin Tunes here.
While Incineration and Desertfest share a similar multi-venue setup in the heart of Camden, Desertfest stood out for its tight organisation and welcoming atmosphere. Unlike the bottlenecked queues and shoulder-to-shoulder crowds we experienced at Incineration, Desertfest offered a more breathable and digestible crowd experience. This was thanks in part to its smart use of Greenland Place – a discrete alleyway outside of the Black Heart that served as a central hub for wristband pickups, vendor stalls, and merch stands. With more open space, staggered set times, and the added benefit of not being entirely sold out, Desertfest felt less like a test of endurance and more of a classic festival experience (minus the mud!).
After picking up our passes for the weekend, we stepped “Into the Void” – beginning a three-day pilgrimage of crushing riffs, ferocious fuzz, and seemingly endless piles of band merch.
Friday
Baptising the Underworld in blasphemous filth was Wallowing. Concealed in black beekeeper masks and fitted waistcoats, the band took the stage with an immense force – kicking off the festival with a sonically devastating start. Their songs were filled with absolute auditory abrasion with complete soundboard abuse, grotesque vocals, and disgusting distortion. Their performance truly felt like “A World Weeping”, turning the Underworld into an amalgamation of “FLESH AND STEEL”.
At the crossroads of the Electric Ballroom, The Devil and the Almighty Blues summoned their infusion of hard rock and delta blues into a perfect slow-boil to open the weekend. Bathed in crimson hue and rolling mist, they emerged like spectres – none more menacing than the bassist, whose unblinking, ominous gaze settled itself over the crowd, like a “Storm Coming Down” from their podium. But it was the guitarist-tassled and spellbinding, who absorbed the souls of the audience with solos that Robert Johnson would flinch at. In the end, even this sermon had to fade – “Time Ruins Everything”, after all.
Revving their engines and bringing the Swedish-stoner sound to Desertfest were Lowrider. Delivering thick, desert-drenched riffs and geared-up grooves, they brought their signature sound to the Ballroom, drawing in a packed crowd of cult devotees. Though their live performance wasn’t as finely tuned as their studio works, the energy in the room more than made up for it – with fans eager to “Ride Shotgun” on every slick song and screaming the lyrics with unrelenting passion. With overdriven tones and full-throttle themes that matched their gritty sound, Lowrider proved they still run hot and are far from tire-some.
The unholy Ukrainian trinity, Stoned Jesus, were met with wailing anticipation as they descended upon the Electric Ballroom. Thunderous low-end and psyched-out stoner riffs, who could blame the crowd’s compelling devotion? This translated into relentless, righteous crowdsurfing and headbanging – juxtaposed with doses of bubbling bravado and heartfelt sincerity. Within this was also a speech on the ongoing horrors within Ukraine, which evoked solidarity in the audience – a beautiful, unscripted camaraderie that momentarily lifted the haze of distortion. By the end, the leadman Igor Sydorenko couldn’t help but leap into the crowd, relishing in their killer set. “I’m the mountain”? He was far more – a defiant force triumphant in this hazy storm.
Similarly to Wallowing, who kicked off this unholy Friday, Danish entity, Hexis, sealed the night in the bowels of the Underworld. With atmospheres that felt like they were forged in hell, and distortion so downtuned that it could raise the dead; Hexis truly conjured an abyssal, sonic void with their sound. This sinister style was paired with an equally sinister stage performance, with frontman, Filip Andersen, clutching the heads of those (un)fortunate enough to stand within arm’s reach – screaming directly into their souls as if delivering a personal sermon from Satan himself. This was certainly a “Memento” for those who got to witness this blasphemous mass.
Saturday
Much like the previous year, Desertfest’s lineup at the Roundhouse once again proved to be one of the most anticipated of the entire weekend. From the early afternoon until the doors finally opened, eager fans braved the scorching sun, forming long queues outside the venue – waiting well over an hour. Some attendees had even purchased day tickets specifically for this show, which was a testament to just how much this particular lineup called out to those in the Desertscene.
Once the flood gates had opened and people were spilling into the venue, it was not long before Konvent started their satanic sermon. Reigning from Denmark, the all-female four piece certainly captured the attention of the Roundhouse with their “Pipe Dreams“. Cloaked in static shadows and droning distortion, their bone-ratting doom-death sound, paired with Rikke Emilie List’s black veil and screamed sacred incantations, infected the air with brimstone. Each rotating rhythm seemed to have clawed up from the depths, conjuring demons that only their gospel could banish. It felt like more than a concert – it was a possession of the ears and crushing of the soul.
Following Konvent in the Roundhouse were Liverpudlian band, Conan. Despite being second on the line-up, Conan were certainly one of the most anticipated bands of this festival – with plenty of fans crushing towards the barriers to headbang along to their primal riffs and join the “Battle in the Swamp“. Named after the legendary sword-wielding barbarian, the band channelled a similarly brutal and unrelenting energy, evoking the crushing weight of ancient battles and doom-laden quests. Unfortunately, the in-house technician had mixed their set poorly, as their vocals were completely unbalanced – either too audible or silent. Despite this, Conan carried on with their stacked set, making sure that they really summoned the “Violence Dimension”.
Few bands could land in a foreign country moments before their allocated stage time, wrestle with obstinate customs and still muster the skill and professionalism Pallbearer brought to the Roundhouse. Handicapped by a rushed soundcheck and an uncooperative kick drum stand that crumpled mid-set, the Arkansas doom giants powered through with impressively stoic grace. When Brett Campbell admitted he couldn’t properly hear his vocals, a voice from the crowd called out, “You sound great!” – the epitome of having an audience on your side. Despite hurdles, they were “Dancing in Madness”, with their blend of grandeur riffs and crushing bass tones. What could’ve unravelled a lesser band instead became a testament to Pallbearer’s craftsmanship.
Amenra materialised in silence, shrouded in a thick fog that drifted from the stage into the crowd and pulled everyone into their domain. The Roundhouse transformed into their hermitage for pain and release, with each song in their set a compilation of raw emotion. Frontman, Colin H. van Eeckhout, predominantly faced away from the audience – his back a canvas of anguish with contorted gestures being the paintbrush and his visceral screams being the paint thinner. A catharsis masterclass. This was raw, uncompromising, and rigid to the eye. “A Solitary Reign” of anguish in pure form.
Sunday
Sunday marked the final chapter of this fuzz-filled festival, bringing this sonic and spiritual sabbath to a crushing close. The energy amongst the crowd was a mix of exhaustion and euphoria, as they looked ahead to the end of three lengthy days of heavy grooves, sweat-soaked pits, sickly smell of beer, and hypnotic rhythms. As the concluding clouds of dirty, desert distortion settled over Camden, festival-goers soaked up every entrancing riff, savouring each set before this annual celebration of doom descends until next year.
Kickstarting the final day within the Electric Ballroom was the am-hazingly heavy psychedelic trio, Khan. Hailing from Melbourne, these guys brought an amiable and immersive haze of riff-laden tracks that absorbed you into a fuzzy psychosis blanket, in the best way possible. These mesmeric compositions flowed effortlessly, with glistening instalments of ethereal crooning, suspended in riff-tastic reverberations. This only drew us deeper into their walls of shimmering sounds. Despite the early slot, the turnout was quite impressive, filling the triage with gratitude. Promising and personable, they welcomed the audience to say hello at their merch stand – a gesture of genuineness that transports you beyond a transformative set.
After a well-needed break and lunch in Camden Town, we returned to the Ballroom to catch Divide and Dissolve – an experimental, modern doom project that fearlessly confronts the societal struggles faced by Indigenous people within Western society. Armed with cranked amps, dimed distortion, a downtuned Telecaster, soprano sax, and a looper pedal; the duo crafted a sound that was as emotionally weighty as it was sonically devastating. Every strum of the guitar and slam of the drums built an overwhelming wall of sound. Though undeniably powerful, their set was not for everyone, as they had no lyrical content and long, droning compositions that challenged traditional song structures and demanded attentive and open-minded listening.
After witnessing the contemporaries of Divide and Dissolve, we ventured into the Black Heart to catch some of Bilecaster’s sickening set. Though not holding the typical Desertfest sound, Bilecaster have a style that is a crusty concoction of sludgy soundscapes, bit-crushed bass tones, and vomit-worthy vocals that truly defy the squeaky clean standards of mainstream music. Each track left you feeling “Trapped” in their grimy, grit filled grooves and stomach-churning screams, as their performance was the perfect mix of underground violence and pure ear-piercing putridity. It’s undeniable that the Leicester three-piece were one of our favourites from the smaller bands on the line-up.
After having to slay our time with Bilecaster early to queue for our next quest, we descended into the Underworld to behold none other than Castle Rat. Of all the bands on the Desertfest line-up, Castle Rat were arguably the most anticipated on the bill – with fans getting heated, both emotionally and literally whilst trying to get a good spot in the Underworld’s dungeon-like live room. The crowd packed in like a horde of plague-ridden peasants, eager to pay homage to the Rat Queen and her loyal band of armor-clad, civil servants. As the royal rodents took the sweat-slicked stage, the audience erupted with medieval madness. Castle Rat’s set was part metal gig, part bardic theatre – think power chords wielded like great swords, and outfits so gloriously camp they’d make a cosplayer weep. If your alignment is somewhere between 80s metalhead and dungeon-delving demon, Castle Rat are your next party of choice. Roll for initiative – and make it a nat 20.
And so, we meet the final druids of doom – Poland’s purveyors of purely prolific psychedelia: Dopelord. Taking to the Underworld, the masses flocked to the altar, ready for a harmonious descent into the “World Beneath Us”. In this furnace, packed wall-to-wall, the doom disciples delivered chugging riffs like battle axes, amping the crowd in roars of “Hail Satan”, spurring this ritual of beer-drenched devilish devotion. As the ante rose, so did the audience, with two crowd surfers crossing bodies mid-air: a symbol of cruciformed chaos. Another crowd surfer clung to the ceiling pole – a headbanging gargoyle caving into the conflagration. Somewhere in this haze of excellence, you could even spot a guitar solo effortlessly delivered with a can of Red Stripe as the pick. Doom has never been so muggy, so loud, and so alive. Dopelord’s hellish handiwork didn’t just seal the gates to this festival – they scorched their final rites into the walls. By the end, we were all consumed and “Addicted To Black Magick”.
