Festival Review: Slam Dunk Festival South - Hatfield Park - June 2022
Slam Dunk 2022: there’s nothing to say bar ‘glorious’.
The Northern lads of Caskets were first up in the newly tented Key Club stage. The five piece gave it their all in the cramped little stage, and, despite the sound from lead vocalist Matt Flood being a little muffled, their explosive start to the otherwise grey and rainy day was as good as you could hope. Blasting through tracks from their newly released album Lost Souls, the instrumentals were as crisp as the vocals were bellowing; second track Only One was particularly good, the head banging starting in abundance. But with such an incredible line-up it’s hard to limit yourself to just one band, and all too soon it was time to move on: in this case, to a few songs of Between You And Me. The Australian pop punk band, with lead singer Jake Wilson bedecked in a multi coloured coat — more Joseph and his dream coat than pop punk rising star, both perfect and way too summery for the British weather — the band were quick favourites with everyone in attendance as the crowd surfing started: one type of wave traded for another. A screamed ‘Suck My Dick’ from track Goldfish just showed how much the band were enjoying it; another few tracks from second record Armageddon, like the fantastic Butterflies, just solidified their popularity and signified a great end to another great set.
A little while later, it was time for another Australian band, this time the anthemic Yours Truly. With the sun starting to peek out over the hallowed Hatfield grounds, Mikaila and co were a welcome blast of pop positivity, with songs both new — the recently released Hallucinate, getting its live debut in the band’s last minute appearances filling in at the You Me At Six Sinners Never Sleep anniversary shows — as well as the older Circles (featuring, like it’s name sake, a massive circle pit) or Siamese Souls from their debut album Self Care. Yet all too soon, with Between You and Me looking on from side of stage and showing their country-people their support, their time on stage was coming to a close. And, after announcing a new EP coming out at the end of the month, it was time for the final two tracks: Lights On and, of course, the fantastic, anthemic High Hopes.
But, despite the sudden Yours Truly-shaped hole in the festival’s life, there was no time to dwell - it was Chunk! No, Captain Chunk! time! Tearing onto the stage like a whirlwind tears through... tissue, with a voice fluctuating between gently crooned pop punk whine and gutturally growling, with instrumentals flitting between catchy ear worms and thudding head bangers, Bertrand Poncet and his other French compatriots seemed to encapsulate exactly what Slam Dunk is about — just a lot of hectic fun. The French foursome seemed as ecstatic to be there as the crowd were to have them; songs like The Other Line and the recently released Gone Are The Good Days saw frantic pits and outstretched arms, while final song In Friends We Trust, with Poncet standing on the barrier and held aloft by the fans, felt like a community as much as it did a show.
But it was mid set that the set came into its own, with a cover of the affectionately know Shrek Song — the infamous, iconic All Star, with a nice Chunk! metal-tinged bridge. You just can’t not love All Star, and you just can’t not love Chunk! No, Captain Chunk.
Chunk! finished just in time for us to head over to see Silverstein at the Jagermeister stage. Walking on stage to the brilliant (if slightly cheesy) We Will Rock You, the Canadian rockers’ quickly flew into Bad Habits, one of the lead singles from the recent a Beautiful Place To Drown. With the crowd exponentially growing with the roars from Shane Told’s throat, everyone knew that they were in for a treat with the emo-pop-punk favourites. New single Bankrupt, complete with slow, pounding drums, came next; with the sun beading directly onto the crowd, the energy (and unfortunately the sickly sweet scent of cider and sweat) was physically palpable. And, as they briskly traversed their back catalogue — the iconic classic My Heroine straight into the poppy Afterglow, complete with sourceless bubbles and spiralling rockets flying over the crowd, and then flying into recent single Ultraviolet — fans both new and old couldn’t help but get lost in the smothering, smouldering Silverstein magic. And, after plugging the recently announced shows with Comeback Kid and Senses Fail in December, final track Smile In Your Sleep saw the thronged flocks of fans united as one, screaming along. A great set — although one strangely bereft of Silvertooth, the moniker given to the many times Beartooth and Silverstein have collaborated when on the same bill.
Racing over to the Rock Scene tent now, it was time for KennyHoopla. Entering just as he played fan favourite hollywood sucks//, the party was already in full swing, and getting near the front was a slog through the crazily rammed still-too-small stage. Coming just before three sold-out shows at Camden Underworld, and also just before winning Best International Breakthrough Artist at the Heavy Music Awards, Kenny Hoopla made it abundantly clear why he’s such a rising star — tearing through track after track, racing across the stage, it’s hard not to just instantly get sucked in. He seemed almost lost in his own world, immersed as he was in his performance, the crowd just given tantalising glimpses in the torn vocals and skyward glances; the sudden violence both in voice and contortioning physicality just makes him stand out even more. And, as he crowdsurfs to ‘how will i rest in peace if I’m buried by a highway?//‘ while being battered by a blow up sex doll, all before doing a standing backflip at the start of Estella, it’s clear that he won’t be on this early in the day for long.
After a short (and well needed) respite for food, water, and a sit down, it was time for the unique and boundlessly fun German electro-metalcore band Electric Callboy. Having already seen a host of people walking around in neon sports wear, wigs and headbands, you could tell the band were a firm favourite before it was even time for them to come on. With the electro beat in full force and an intro praising the ‘very attractive men’ in the band, it was time: time to Pump It. Running on stage bedecked in suitably neon gym clothes, every single person was just all smiles. With drummer David Friedrich missing and an Airplane-esque puppet taking its place, every second was just manic fun. Love/Hate became just Love as the crowd screamed along to every word, and, at the first festival for the band after ‘two years of SHIT’, they left everything on the stage; nothing sums it up more than fourth song Best Day. It truly was, for them and is.
Coming straight off the back of announcing a show at the O2 Academy Brixton, the UK shores are there for the conquering for Electric Callboy, and with how loud the Jagermeister stage crowd was, step one achieved.
Next up was The Amity Affliction. Playing a set during the afternoon lull — that 5 o’clock set where you have to decide between a band or a nice sit down to recharge for the headliners — is never fun. And yet The Amity Affliction handled it perfectly. By which I mean ferociously throttling the microphone and blistering some vocal cords. Flying straight through the vitriolic Like Love and into the painfully emotional Drag The Lake, the crowd were quickly wrenched into a heavy, heady set of metalcore immersion; there was even a nice l’il bit of deathcore, in track such as Death’s Hand or the beautifully brutal all My Friends Are Dead. The crowd’s movements — the crowd singular, everyone moving as one — was almost desperate in its love for the band. The emotional All Fucked Up, complete with acoustic guitar — a surprising addition to the Jagermeister stage — saw the band at its most passionate, before having to stop the set and separate the crowd to let medics through to help someone. This mini emergency unfortunately (but understandably) cut a good chunk out of their remaining set time, so when they came back it was just a few tracks left. But what a few tracks: the acerbically, gutturally fried Coffin in particular was fantastic. With crowd surfing a-plenty and people peeking from shoulders akin to meerkats peering out of a den, the crowd knew they had to made up for lost time — and make up for it they did. A brilliant (if a little too dramatic) set.
‘Fuck with this riff’. Not the first lines from Caleb as Beartooth tore into The Lines, but it tells you all you need to know. The rowdy, hardcore rockers, ripping through song after anthemic song, are a brilliant band if you know them, and a brilliant band if you don’t. If you know them, the songs are catchy and great to shout along to. And if you don’t? Just sit back and enjoy the pounding of the drums; the blasts of fire and CO2 cannons to accompany them were just icing on the cake. And, as Caleb and co banged their heads through Devastation, Aggressive, Body Bag and Hated — all as cheery and angry as the names suggest — the crowd’s enjoyment was palpable. ‘We are here to do one thing, and one thing only. And that’s to rip your faces off with high voltage fucking rock and roll’ — pretty ambitious as a mission statement, but the ‘Best International Artist’ — another HMA accolade for the guys — made a damn good go of it.
The slight shift time wise from Amity’s calamity, however, meant we had to race off — Ready, Set (It Off), Go. Finally playing the UK after however many rescheduled and cancelled shows and tours (even before Covid), seeing Set It Off finally, especially with the bunny mask and jarringly colourful costumes, wasn’t one to miss. Flying straight into fan favourites Killer In The Mirror and the fantastic Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing, the band were just positivity personified.
“This is the place we all belong,” Cody Carson cheered; “Let’s start a toast with that, and then raise another one for being able to come across the pond. It’s been 1142 days since we could last play for you guys” — and, doing the math so you don’t have to, that’s about three years, a month and a week (around April 2019). But why worry about such a thing when the band are back, having announced the tour (again x 4?) in December? A theatrical, brilliant, and slightly vaudevillian set from a theatrical, brilliant, and slightly vaudevillian — what more could you want?
Quickly racing back to the Jagermeister stage, it was time for the only band in the world. That never made sense to me, until I was in their crowd for their headline set at Slam Dunk. Everyone else faded until it was just them and the passion of the crowd. I’ll admit to not even having heard of the band prior to their announcement for Slam Dunk, but seeing them, even knowing a few songs, felt almost like a religious experience. Openers ‘Drunks, Lovers, Sinners and Saints’ and Boiled Frogs were simultaneously jubilantly heavy and piously intimate; meanwhile, bass-heavy Old Crows seemed the perfect transition into the set proper, with .44 Caliber Love Letter seeing the band become a little more contemplative, a little gentler in their ways.
With bassist Chris Steele rubbing his tattooed torso, looking (in only the best possible way) a little like Matt Bellamy on crack, their set was as much an experience as it was a damn good time. And, as the keyboard broke out and the songs grew a little slower, the emotions just took centre stage; the ferocious roars of George Pettit and Wade Macneil in Rough Hands instead taking on an almost broken quality, while the haunting croons of Dallas Green gave the set that otherwordly extra layer beyond ‘heavy’.
It wasn’t long before, as with all good things, the set began to come to a close. “We’ve only got a couple more”, announced Pettit; “yeah, boo, festival sets. But if there are any songs you’re sad we didn’t play tonight we’re back in December [supported by Boston Manor] and we promise we’ll play it then”. This Could Be Anywhere In The World gave way to Young Cardinals before the final song of the show, Happiness by the Kilowatt. A slow, atmospheric, almost psychedelic instrumental intro gave way to the stupidly good finale; the crowd drenched in purple as the band’s contemplative build slowly gave way to a resounding, almost frustrated crescendo, interspersed with painfully heart wrenching moments of Prince’s When Doves Cry.
Despite what the review may have suggested, there are just no words for that set.
Finally, racing over to Rock Sound, we were just in time to see Deaf Havana play Hell before, armed with a cheeky grin, Matt and co broke into Mildred; “It feels like the end”, James cried — wrong. It felt like the start of something beautiful. With most of the stage’s alumni side stage watching — Yours Truly’ Mikaila particularly noticeable with that neon pink hair — the now two-piece delivered a masterclass of soulful, anthemic tunes. Clashing with the legendary Sum 41, each and every member of the crowd felt like a hard win victory, and this headline set was the victory lap. Recent single gave way to Worship, both from the crowd and from the band; meanwhile, the slow, atmospheric build of Caro Padre — the instrumentals getting louder and higher, anxiety-inducing squeals and pounding drums giving way to bursts of passion — sounded incredible, with a setting-sun-pink-tinged sky in the background providing the perfect backdrop.
There was even time for a few jokes: “I forgot how beautiful and inclusive it is when people come together to listen to... thoroughly average music” James announced, the self-deprecating humour and self-critical sincerity battling it out on stage as the band began to draw to a close. But first, two final tracks to round off the night.
New single walking on a wire came first; and, with the additional vocalist on keys, sounded almost choral, even slightly evangelical; juxtaposed with the poppy Sinner, James even having a little strut in his step as he owned the stage, turned out to be the perfect way to close the night.
Even with as many bands as we got to see, there were always more; more unforgettable moments, more special guests, more accidental hilarity. But every band we got to see were faultless, and the festival was as good as ever. Let’s just hope for another nine months gap — what’s wrong with an emo March?
Words by James O’Sullivan
Photography by Sam Strutt
