The Maryland Deathfest Chronicles

By Mark Z.

Sup fukkers! I’m back, having spent the last few years getting a law degree, trying to land a job, and settling into married life. But through it all, I haven’t lost sight of what’s truly important. I still buy records. I still go to shows. I still have a burning desire to blast Impiety so fukkin loud that my skull implodes and my internal organs turn into a thick pink paste that probably looks like the stuff chicken nuggets are made from. And what better way to prove that the metalized blood still flows through my veins than by providing you with a live report of the most brutal festival this side of the Atlantic—Maryland Deathfest?

Held over Memorial Day weekend in downtown Baltimore, Maryland Deathfest is arguably the premiere underground metal festival in the United States. The four‑day event welcomes dozens of bands from all over the extreme metal spectrum and beyond, including styles like grindcore and hardcore punk. While the fest has taken place almost every year since 2003, this year’s edition was particularly special, as there was a very real possibility it was never going to happen. After the 2020 and 2021 editions were canceled due to the pandemic, the 2022 edition proved to be a logistical nightmare for festival organizers Ryan Taylor and Evan Harting, with visa issues and other challenges causing the two to announce that they needed some time off. As a result, they stated that there would be no 2023 edition and that there might never be another edition at all.

Fortunately, Ryan and Evan decided to continue the fest, leading to a 2024 edition that was absolutely stacked with great bands. Dismember, Sodom, Primordial, Aura Noir, and Archgoat were just a few of the groups I was excited to see, and even with the unfortunate cancellations of groups like My Dying Bride and Coffins, having Agalloch and Morta Skuld as replacements definitely softened the blow. With my time off from work confirmed and my metal shirts freshly laundered, I mentally prepared myself for four days of blast beats, moshing, and other heavy metal mayhem!

If only I knew what awaited me.

Thursday

As the morning light pours into my bedroom, I make a mental note to drink a Red Bull at some point today. I’ve slept like crap, probably due to a combination of being excited for the festival, having a stuffy bedroom, and being constantly awakened by a 55-pound pit bull that insisted on plopping her entire body onto my side of the bed. Fortunately, I now live only a 30-minute drive from downtown Baltimore, so I don’t have to worry about catching a flight or paying an exorbitant price for a hotel. Unfortunately, this means I’ll have to suffer through the I-95 traffic that has only gotten worse with the recent Key Bridge collapse.

After taking a strange detour to avoid an accident (and almost getting into one myself), I arrive in Baltimore. The sun is bright, small groups of people in black shirts are walking around, and the air feels electric with anticipation. While I’m a bit bummed that I’m attending by myself this year, it’s still hard not to be excited.

I get my wristband and head to Baltimore Soundstage for the festival’s first band: Depulsed. Even though the sole release of this Las Vegas brutal death metal group is a 2019 demo that contains just one song, the venue is surprisingly crowded—probably full of people who, like me, couldn’t get a ticket to last night’s Pre‑Fest and are eager to finally hear some live metal. Fortunately, this quartet don’t disappoint, as their destructive grooves and occasionally atypical riffing make for a rousing start to the festivities. It’s clear the band is having a great time, too, and there’s plenty of headbanging all around.

When Depulsed finishes, I go across the street to Rams Head Live!, the festival’s main other indoor venue. While Soundstage is a pretty traditional midsized venue, Rams Head is an open‑concept, multi‑level nightclub with a large raised stage as its focal point. Once inside, I snag a prime upper‑level spot for the evening’s next band: Fossilization. This Brazilian doom-death metal group sent some shockwaves through the underground last year with their Leprous Daylight debut, and their live performance is equally captivating. The group use lots of tight and hammering blast beats, and it seems the “doom” in their sound comes primarily from the monolithic heaviness of their guitars rather than their scattered moments of slower tempos. With an imposing stage presence and growls so deep that they shake the floor of the balcony I’m standing on, their performance is one to remember.

I’m not particularly interested in the brutal death metal at Soundstage tonight, so I decide to stick around Rams Head. I realize this is a good call as soon as Pittsburgh doom-death metal quartet Derkéta begin playing. Formed in 1988 and considered to be the first all-female death metal band (though today they have a male drummer), the group keep heads bobbing with assertive chugs and massive riffs that sound like Black Sabbath with a mound of graveyard dirt dropped on top. The live mix in the venue seems especially clear and powerful tonight, and apparently, I’m not the only one who notices. Between songs, frontwoman Sharon Bascovsky takes time to compliment the venue’s sound engineer before kicking back in with more hefty riffs and reverberating growls.

Deviating from the doom theme, Canadian weirdos Chthe’ilist are up next. While I wasn’t particularly excited for their Demilich‑influenced death metal, the group play like this is the only performance that has ever mattered. They sound warped, alien, and impossibly tight as if they’ve perfected a style of death metal that independently evolved in another dimension. Meanwhile, their vocalist has a wild‑eyed expression that makes him look like he’s just returned from that dimension and is attempting to describe it to the audience through a series of shrieks, croaks, and everything in between. With lots of onstage energy and an endless onslaught of strange yet catchy riffs, the band quickly inspire a wild mosh pit. If anyone knew how to pronounce the band’s name, I’m sure they’d be chanting it between songs.

Sadly, the first sign of trouble emerges during their set. About three‑fourths of the way through, I find myself within the blast radius of a miasmatic eruption of flatulence that smells like a mix of raw sewage and rotting meat. When the band finishes and the smell clears, I learn from the Maryland Deathfest Facebook group that such occurrences seem to be particularly prevalent at this year’s festival. Some theorize the new taco place is to blame. Others claim that body odor, rather than gas, may be the true cause of the smells. I realize then that I may have let one or two of my own expulsions squeak out in the heat of the moment, and I wonder how much I contributed to what others are experiencing.

But there’s no time to dwell on such matters, as Morta Skuld soon come onstage. With the unfortunate last‑minute cancellation of Coffins, this Wisconsin death metal institution stepped up to the plate as replacements. Like Chthe’ilist, Morta Skuld wasn’t a band I was particularly excited for, but my attitude quickly changes. With meaty riffs, catchy chugs, and the forceful yet intelligible vocals of frontman Dave Gregor, the band sound gigantic and utterly commanding. The crowd pulsates to the rhythms as the band tear through cuts from their 1993 debut Dying Remains and this year’s Creation Undone. Their set ends up being an utter blast and one of my overall favorites from the festival.

After Morta Skuld, I head outside to the Power Plant stage, the only outdoor venue open today. The stage is located just outside of Rams Head in the Power Plant Live! complex, which is a multi-level outdoor entertainment area consisting mostly of bars and restaurants. The Power Plant stage itself is located in the back of the complex at the end of a somewhat narrow corridor. The feature band out here tonight is German thrash legends Sodom, who are playing the entirety of their 1989 classic Agent Orange album. No one could say it’s a bad performance, but I have a tough time staying engaged being so far from the stage and constantly having to deal with people squeezing past me. After “Baptism of Fire,” I decide not to stick around for their encore and head back into Rams Head.

I snag another balcony spot for U.K. funeral doom band Esoteric, who provide a great break from the faster bands I’ve watched. While I’m not much of a doom guy, I discovered Esoteric very early in my metal journey and have always had a soft spot for them. In a live setting, the group is utterly entrancing. A trippy video backdrop plays as the band open with the cleanly picked intro of “Circle,” the first song from the group’s 2008 opus The Maniacal Vale. Once the distortion hits, the guitars envelop the room with a sense of heaviness that sounds like tectonic plates shifting. The group’s atmosphere is so dense you can taste it, and the wailing guitar leads conjure huge climaxes between the doomy trudges and anguished roars. It’s a terrific and mesmerizing performance.

Once Esoteric finishes, I trudge back over to Soundstage to catch the final band of the night: Chicago death metal legends Broken Hope. The group are already about halfway through their set by the time I arrive, and the packed venue is absolutely loving it. Crunchy riffs, punchy grooves, and violent blasts have created a human maelstrom in the center of the venue that seems to be growing stronger with each passing song. Guitarist and sole original member Jeremy Wagner thanks the crowd for their support before the band conclude their set with some especially brutal cuts from their 1991 debut Swamped in Gore. The set is so fun, that I almost want to stick around just to chat with people after it’s over. But it’s late, I’m tired, and my balls feel like they need a good wash. I drive home and go to bed.

Friday

I wake up and finally wash my balls. After once again fighting through traffic to get to Baltimore, I head to Soundstage to catch Kontusion. Though this group’s only release is a short demo, their members bring experience playing in bands from all over the Mid-Atlantic. Perhaps because of that experience, the group’s live performance is powerful and tight, with the band offering up belligerent and bludgeoning death metal that manages to be cavernous yet aggressive. For a band I had no expectations for, they definitely leave an impression.

As an added plus, they even have the courtesy of finishing a few minutes early so I don’t have to miss any of Defeated Sanity’s set. The German brutal death metal group are playing right outside of Soundstage on the Market Place stage, which has just opened today and is a new feature at the fest this year. Borrowing the idea from last year’s Hell in the Harbor festival, the Deathfest organizers opted to fence off an entire city block just outside of Soundstage and use the space to set up an outdoor stage, a merch tent, and a bunch of bars and food vendors. What’s most amusing about the setup, however, is that a narrow pedestrian walkway allows unsuspecting members of the public to still pass down the block and be subjected to whatever vile noise happens to be emanating from the Market Place stage at the time. I glance over to see families with kids walking by in bewilderment, their peaceful Friday stroll ruined by Defeated Sanity’s ear-rupturing slams and sewer monster gurgles. I chuckle to myself and proceed to bob my head to the band’s fun set of intricate riffs, stringy bass guitar, and devastating grooves.

I stick around Market Place for Aura Noir, who unfortunately start a bit later than expected. Once they get going, however, the Norwegian group’s trebly black-thrash metal quickly inspires a wild circle pit and several crowd surfers. I would have preferred it if they played a few less deep cuts (and a few more songs from Black Thrash Attack), but the group still offer plenty of good fist-raisers like “The Stalker” and “Condor.” “We’re the ugliest band in the world!” proclaims bassist and vocalist Apollyon as he looks over the crowd with his permanent sneer.

At this point, the late afternoon sun is beating down on me, and I’m sweating so much that my groin is about to become a government-designated wetland. Once Aura Noir finishes, I dip inside Soundstage to cool off and catch New Jersey death metal troupe Siege Column. Due to Aura Noir’s late start, Siege Column is already partially through their set, and I’m utterly confused by the scene I walk into. On record, Siege Column almost sound like a war metal band. Yet here, the group appear to forgo any spiked gauntlets or bullet belts and instead opt for a bright and colorful backdrop, with two of the four members wearing Ray Ban-style sunglasses. It’s odd at first, but somehow the aesthetic works. It’s like stepping into an alternate reality where war metal evolved in the early 80s and somehow became the music of choice for boardwalk arcades on the Jersey Shore. Looks aside, the group’s performance is an utter assault. The band sound like a grenade launcher being fired at the audience, with whiffs of Bolt Thrower apparent in their blaring and stompy riffing. “That was fucking awesome,” says a random guy next to me when their set is over. I’m inclined to agree.

Having cooled off enough for my groin to narrowly avoid the jurisdiction of the Clean Water Act, I take some time to get some food and browse the Maryland Deathfest Facebook group. The farting, it seems, has not subsided today, and some contend that it has actually grown worse. One person has unofficially dubbed the festival “Maryland Fartfest.” As I’m reading this, I realize that I’m halfway through eating a piece of pizza topped with mozzarella sticks and did not bring my Lactaid pills with me. Maryland Fartfest, it seems, is just getting started.

But the flatulence is not here yet. I finish my food and head across the street to the Power Plant complex, where a village of merch vendors are set up and peddling shirts, banners, vinyl, leather, and everything else a metalhead could desire. I take some time to peruse the selections before heading to Angels Rock Bar, a cozy upstairs establishment in the Power Plant complex. Angels Rock Bar is very much the “bonus venue” of the festival, with the small establishment featuring mostly local metal bands. As I enter the dimly lit bar, I see it’s lined with people who are hunched over and looking like they’ve never given a fuck about anything in their entire life.

It’s a perfect setting for some brutal death metal. Entrail Asphyxiation are a young Maryland band, and I’m not just referring to their formation date. As the group are doing their sound check, I notice that none of the members appear to be older than twenty. “Alright, let’s hear the drum triggers,” says the sound engineer. “He doesn’t use triggers,” says the band’s bassist. It turns out, the drummer doesn’t use triggers because he doesn’t need them. Despite their age, Entrail Asphyxiation sound like seasoned veterans, delivering a tight as fuck performance that people go absolutely apeshit over. As the fat guitars and bass break in, the set takes on the vibe of a sweaty basement show, with the front of the crowd whipping around like they’re trapped in a blender. The vocalist offers some unusual tortured shrieks and gets a few chuckles as she introduces a Mortician cover by saying, “If you know the words sing along—because I don’t.” Their set ends up being one of the most fun performances of the night.

Coming off that high, I head back over to Market Place for Agalloch. As a band whose first three records are easily on my list of Top 25 favorite albums of all time, this Oregon atmospheric metal group are one of the bands I’m looking forward to the most. I haven’t seen them since 2012, and I’m especially excited to see them tonight given that this is their first East Coast show since reforming last year. Fortunately, they don’t disappoint. As the wailing ambiance of “Limbs” begins their set, I’m instantly transported back to being a college freshman and having lyrics from Ashes Against the Grain stuck in my head while jogging in the dense woods around campus. By the time that track’s accelerating drumbeat hits just a few minutes later, I’m broken and totally given over to whatever the band have to offer. The set ends up pulling from all eras of their discography, with many selections from Ashes Against the Grain. While John Haughm’s vocals are a little loud in the mix, I love the fact that they actually seem to play all their clean guitar parts rather than relying on samples.

As the performance continues, their elegant and ethereal sound becomes transcendent. In front of me, I see a group of people I’ve seen at festivals before, laughing and chatting with each other while the beautiful leads of “Falling Snow” play in the background. I suddenly feel stupid standing here by myself, wearing a poorly made battle vest and a Bewitcher shirt that’s too small for me. As the final guitar lines of “Bloodbirds” echo throughout downtown Baltimore, I feel like I’m trying to swallow an apple whole.

When the set ends, I blink rapidly a few times before walking back across the street to see Ahab on the Power Plant stage. The German funeral doom band’s nautical theme is present in full force with their stage backdrop, which looks like a scene from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. As they begin playing, their guitars sound crisp and immense, though the group don’t feel quite as atmospheric as I would have expected. Nonetheless, frontman Daniel Droste does an outstanding job on vocals, excelling at both his mighty growls and crooning clean singing. The band are proficient players and feel like they carry the full crushing force of the abyssal zone with them. By the time they hit that chunky break midway through “Old Thunder,” I’m thoroughly impressed.

Still, it’s getting late, I’m growing weary, and I can feel an ominous pressure building in my intestines. But the night isn’t over yet. I head back to Soundstage, where Tennessee brutal death metal troupe Brodequin are in the middle of bashing in skulls with their barrage of blast beats, slammy grooves, and militant riffing. After the group finish, there’s a short break before the recently reunited Weekend Nachos take the stage. Coming out to the Mortal Kombat theme song, people seem pumped for them, and their vocalist has huge amounts of energy as he jumps around and invites people to talk with him about the upcoming Mortal Kombat movie in between songs. I’m admittedly not super familiar with Weekend Nachos, and while I feel as though I should love any band that mixes powerviolence and sludge, I don’t find their music very interesting at all. It probably doesn’t help that I’m tired and my feet hurt. When their set ends, I go home and fall asleep immediately.

Saturday

BRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT. The first fart of the day echoes through my bedroom, almost certainly the result of my failure to take a Lactaid during yesterday’s lunch. Fortunately, the foul smell only makes it easier to pull myself out of bed and start my drive, which isn’t nearly as bad as the past two days. Upon arrival, I head to Market Place to see the old school Spanish death metal band Avulsed. While I’m not familiar with them, their catchy tremolo runs and combative riffing make for a great start to the day, even inspiring the first wall of death I’ve seen at the fest so far.

I leave a bit early to see Impure over at Rams Head. With a backdrop featuring Jesus hanging from a noose (pulled from the artwork of their Satan’s Eclipse album), this young American project offer scalding hot and ritualistic black metal that gives off big Beherit vibes. The group prove that simple ideas and tight performances can go a long way, with the warm surging riffs and big chunky rhythms practically forcing heads to be banged. The only disappointing thing about them is that they end up being sold out of my shirt size when I try to buy one later.

After Impure, I head outside to the Power Plant stage, arriving early to get a good spot for Perdition Temple. The band is the brainchild of guitarist Gene Palubicki, who has had several cool projects over the years but is probably best known for his work in Angelcorpse. As a big fan of his, I’m looking forward to Perdition Temple’s blackened death metal assault. When they take the stage and launch into “Nemesis Obsecration,” I can’t help but bang my fist to Gene’s dexterous fretwork, scalding tremolo lines, and lightning-quick tempo shifts. Unlike previous times I’ve seen Perdition Temple, Gene and main vocalist Alex Blume (of Ares Kingdom fame) trade off on vocals this time, subjecting the audience to a dual vocal attack that only makes the pummeling blast beats and relentless riffing that much more chaotic and enjoyable. By the set’s end, I only wish the band had been given more time to play.

Once they finish, I head into Rams Head to cool off and take a breather before Norwegian thrash metal maniacs Deathhammer take the stage. Once they do, it’s only seconds into their first song before the group whip the crowd into a total fucking frenzy. The band sound frantic and unhinged, with random wild screeches and quick power chords generating one of the fastest pits I’ve seen yet. My head is banging faster and faster, and before I know it, I’m in the pit myself, running in circles and pumping my fists in the air like a madman. “This one’s for the man downstairs,” says vocalist and guitarist Sergeant Salsten, introducing the song “Satan Is Back.” That sentence turns out to be one of the only bits of banter I’m able to understand from Mr. Salsten for their entire set. I’m not sure if it’s a language barrier thing or an alcohol intoxication thing, but the man sounds like he’s slurring his words into an unintelligible mess in between songs. Fortunately, their playing is on point, and I gladly join in screaming along to “Fullmoon Sorcery” as I continue bumping into fellow moshers. Being in my mid-30s, I didn’t think anything would be able to bring me out of mosh pit retirement, but Deathhammer managed to do it.

Following their set, I join the mass migration of thrash fiends heading to Market Place to catch Canadian thrash metal institution Sacrifice. While they seem solid, I’m still catching my breath from Deathhammer. Maybe for that reason, one of my favorite songs they play is the title track from Soldiers of Misfortune, which offers a welcome respite with its cleanly picked intro and relatively slower tempos. Once they’re done, I head into Soundstage to check out the powerviolence band Lack of Interest, whose name more or less captures how I end up feeling about them. I like their energy level and the constipated lumberjack vocals, but not much else about them stands out to me.

Afterwards, I head back out to Market Place for the festival’s premiere band: Dismember. After it was announced last-minute that they were unable to play the 2022 Deathfest as planned, excitement for these Swedish death metal gods seems to be at fever pitch this year. The Market Place area is packed even though it’s begun raining and increasingly ominous clouds are looming overhead. Fortunately, the weather isn’t bad enough to cause a cancelation or delay, and the band come out with a ferocious amount of energy. Unfortunately, their live mix ends up sounding quite muddy, which could admittedly be due to where I’m standing. Nonetheless, the sound isn’t unlistenable, and the group’s songs are strong enough to shine through regardless. They do a great job picking stylistically diverse tracks from all over their catalog, from the essential “Override of the Overture” to the groovy “Skinfather” to the melodic “Tragedy of the Faithful” to the bludgeoning “Europa Burns.” The closing one-two punch of “Dreaming in Red” and “Life – Another Shape of Sorrow” hits particularly hard.

Spectral Voice and Soilent Green are both great bands, and both happen to be playing on other stages after Dismember finishes. But it’s late, I’m getting tired, and all I want is to sit down somewhere and eat a cheeseburger. I decide to do just that. Unfortunately, my cheeseburger isn’t ready until seconds before Beheaded take the stage, and I find myself rushing into Soundstage and shoveling ground beef into my mouth right as the Maltese death metal band start their first song. While their most recent record didn’t generate high marks around here, there’s something to be said for well-executed, prefix-less death metal. That’s exactly what Beheaded provide. They play tight, blasting music with plenty of potent riffs that get the crowd going nuts. I love the occasional epic edge of their riffing and how the band are both technical and brutal while still delivering pretty digestible songwriting. Maybe I’m just easy to please when it comes to death metal, but I enjoy their set a lot.

After they finish, Soundstage gets even more crowded for the night’s final band: Spanish goregrind wackos Haemorrhage. Several members dressed in medical scrubs play an instrumental opening before vocalist Lugubrious emerges, crazy-eyed and soaked in (hopefully) fake blood. From there, the venue goes berserk. Between the grimy riffs, pounding blast beats, and staccato rhythms, the band generate one of the craziest crowd responses I’ve seen so far. Glow sticks and beach balls are tossed overhead, while the mosh pit looks like a battle scene from The Lord of the Rings. Meanwhile, crowd surfers and stage divers are everywhere. Amidst it all, the songs themselves feature a surprising amount of variety, and I gleefully bang my head for almost the entirety of their 50-minute set.

As the smiling crowd shuffles out afterward, I check the Deathfest Facebook group to see the latest on the flatulence situation. Things have become dire, it seems. Reports indicate that the farts have not subsided, with some even stating that they had to leave certain venues due to the smells. Were these mere exaggerations? Or were these tales true? And what would the next day hold?

Sunday

My bedroom smells like somebody shoved a rotten egg up their ass and then shat it out in a salt marsh at low tide. I briefly thank whatever higher power may exist that my wife is on a business trip this week, as I couldn’t bear to deal with her chastising me over my gas right now. Feeling exhausted after standing for three days straight, I manage to pull myself out of bed and make the final trip into Baltimore.

It turns out to be a funny sight in the parking garage, as several groups are sitting or standing around sipping beers like a 2024 version of Heavy Metal Parking Lot. I chuckle as I head to Market Place to catch the day’s first band, Chilean thrash metal group Ripper. While the rest of the audience seems to love their extreme take on thrash metal, there’s a bit too much noodling bass guitar for me. I head to Rams Head partway through their set to catch a thrashy band that’s a little more up my alley: Daeva.

While I’ve seen Daeva at an earlier Deathfest, this is the first time I’ve seen them since they released their Through Sheer Will and Black Magic debut in 2022. Since last time, their songs and performances have only gotten better. The Philadelphia group deliver manic blackened thrash that pulls heavily from fast-as-fuck approach of Absu. Today, they have loads of energy, with vocalist Edward Gonet gesticulating wildly over the crowd while the guitars veer madly between frantic thrash riffs, swift chugs, and epic blackened moments. It’s an awesome set that inspires me to pick up a CD from their merch booth later.

After Daeva, I head back to Market Place and catch a few minutes of Artificial Brain, whose strange and warped riffing provides a nice counterpoint to the more traditional approach of most of the bands I’ve been watching. Following their set, I grab a crab cake sandwich meal and notice that the fries seem to taste like the porta potties smell. Or maybe, I’m just tasting my own dirty fingers. In any case, I’m glad I still have a few sick days left at work.

With my meal finished, I remain at Market Place for Primordial. While I haven’t listened to this Irish metal band in years, it’s only moments into their performance that I remember how captivating they can be. That’s just as true live as on record, as frontman A.A. Nemtheanga has the most commanding stage presence of any musician I’ve seen at the festival so far. Coming onstage with white face paint, a noose draped around his neck, and a resolute look on his face, he immediately draws in the audience with his forlorn singing and lyrics of historic struggles. Songs like “The Coffin Ships” hit all the harder knowing that the track is about the tragic past of his own country. The pounding drums and grandiose riffs only add to the drama, and by the time the group closes with “Empire Falls,” most of the crowd joins together in screaming the chorus. Even if their recent albums haven’t quite been met with acclaim, their live show makes clear that Primordial is a band that offers something truly special.

After Primordial, I dip back into Soundstage to check out the French goregrind band Blue Holocaust. I know nothing about this group, but catching a band that’s new to me seems more appealing than watching the other artists playing right now. As the group starts, I quickly become happy with my decision. The bespectacled vocalist betrays his slightly nerdy appearance with a monstrous gurgle that perfectly complements the band’s pummeling approach. While the music is suitably nasty and brutal, there are still plenty of tempo shifts and discernible riffs to keep the crowd hooked. Judging by the screams from the audience, the rest of the crowd seemed to enjoy their set just as much as me.

I leave Soundstage afterward and walk into what feels like an outdoor party. The Market Place area has become an ocean of people, with beach balls flying overhead and Abbath’s epic riffs blaring throughout the block. It’s a cool sight, but I choose to leave for Rams Head after a few minutes to get a good spot for Grave Miasma.

With most festival attendees apparently watching Abbath, Rams Head feels like a cool empty cavern. I snag a prime balcony spot and hang out a bit before Grave Miasma starts. Once they do, I’m thoroughly engaged. This English death metal group sound like a black force of nature that moves relentlessly forward and chokes out all sense of hope and life. The guitars are thick, and the overall sound is cavernous yet riffy. The drums are also just as tight live as they are on record, shifting deftly between blast beats and driving rhythms. After watching their set, I’m all the happier that I managed to pick up one of their shirts earlier in the day.

With no bands scheduled at Rams Head or Power Plant for over an hour after Grave Miasma finish, I once again go back across the street to the Market Place area. Once there, I head into Soundstage to watch the powerviolence duo Iron Lung. Even though they’re scheduled at the same time as Mayhem, the group seem to take it all in stride. “Thanks for coming to the fest, guys,” their drummer and vocalist says, “and sorry you had to pay such an exorbitant ticket price just to see us.”

Once they start, the performance is an utter assault. Somehow having the drummer perform vocals makes the whole thing feel more intense, and something about his battering drumming feels downright violent. The crowd eats it up. The mosh pit is vicious, and several participants began whipping each other with what look like inflatable pool toys. While I’m not a big powerviolence guy, the duo’s raw energy is infectious. Just watching them makes me feel reinvigorated.

Rather than stay to see the last few minutes of Mayhem after Iron Lung finish, I instead scurry back across the road to catch Bloodbath at the Power Plant stage. The group sound good, but I choose to only stick around for a few songs before heading into Rams Head to see Archgoat. Once inside, I take a spot on the main level, just on the outskirts of where I think the mosh pit will form. I gaze at the massive logo projected over the stage and feel like something big is about to happen.

That feeling turns out to be correct. The Finnish bestial black metal trio take their places on the stage and look utterly imposing, like they’re about to subject the audience to some sort of grand ritual. Suddenly, their ragged riffing kicks in, and I’m immediately drenched by some sort of sugary drink that’s thrown on my head from the balcony above. The crowd loses their goddamn minds. A merciless mosh pit forms right in front of me as Archgoat’s hammering blast beats and deep demonic croaks engulf the venue. I see a muscular dude level someone half his size, while other people in the pit appear to have no regard whatsoever for whether they’re running into people who aren’t trying to mosh. Meanwhile, the person behind me is jamming their arm uncomfortably into my back even though I’m standing on the edge of the pit and just trying to survive.

Suddenly, something changes within me. After four days of carelessly eating shitty food, my intestinal gas has ripened to the point where I can no longer contain it within me while in public. I feel my insides gurgle as I struggle in vain to prevent the release. Finally, I can bear it no longer. The mosh pit is twirling rapidly, and with each strike of a person against me, a gas bubble bursts from my backside and into the crowd behind me. No matter how many bubbles are expelled, it seems that more are always waiting to be dislodged the next time I’m bumped by someone. I may have let some slip in previous days, but a mass release like this is entirely unprecedented. The moment, it seems, has finally come. Maryland Fartfest is being consummated.

Unfortunately, the smell is not enough to stop the person behind me from jamming their arm into my back. I quickly come up with a plan. I notice two heavy guys collide with each other and start barreling together in my direction. Thinking fast, I take a quick step forward and immediately turn around to see them crash into the side of the pit, forming a crater in the crowd right where I stood a moment before. The arm-jabber is no more. I briefly wonder if what I did was a dick move before karma strikes in the form of a 200-pound man ramming into my left shoulder. I know at once I deserve it.

I shake it off and perk up as I hear the squealing intro of “Messiah of Pigs” start playing. For the rest of the set, my fist is in the air, pounding to the battering rhythms of tracks like “Darkness Has Returned” and “Hammer of Satan.” As the final cries of “Hail Satan!” echo throughout Rams Head, I realize just how much I’ve enjoyed the wild ride.

Then, reality sets in. It’s after midnight, and I’m tired, smelly, and sticky. When the band leave the stage, I retreat to the balcony and catch my breath for the final band of the festival: Mortuary Drape. Like Archgoat, this classic Italian black metal group have a strong ritualistic vibe, but the performance feels more occult and less violent. The entire band is clad in cloaks, and vocalist “Wilderness Perversion” performs over a makeshift altar that makes him appear like he’s delivering a bizarre sermon. The group’s chunky black metal riffs and surprisingly melodic lead guitars make for an enthralling and mystical end to four days of craziness.

When the band finishes, everyone somehow still seems to have plenty of energy as we filter out onto the Baltimore sidewalk. I walk by the Power Plant complex and see mostly empty, rain-soaked streets where the merch village once stood. It’s almost as if the entire festival was a bizarre dream. Exhausted yet thoroughly satisfied, I make my way to my car and start my final drive home.

Conclusion

I’ve attended many festivals over the years, and I can safely say that Maryland Deathfest 2024 was one of the best of them all. Almost every band I saw gave an awesome performance, the sound quality was almost always great (and in some cases, exceptional), and the sheer quality of the lineup left no shortage of great bands to see. Likewise, having all the venues within a short walk of each other was a godsend, especially for those who remember how annoying it was to walk 15 minutes to the outdoor Edison Lot stages in previous years. Most importantly, it seemed like a general air of positive energy permeated the whole experience as if everyone knew that we were all just coming here to listen to the music we love and have a great time.

The whole experience makes me so grateful that festivals like this exist, and attending this year served as a stark reminder to take advantage of seeing older bands while we can. After all, how much longer are some of these classic artists still going to be playing live? Ten more years? Fifteen? These years, I think, will be remembered as the golden age of metal—the years when many of the pioneers and classic groups are still around, playing right alongside a plethora of young hungry acts. Take advantage of this time while you can.

At least, this is what I tell myself as I click the “Check Out” button and purchase my 4-Day Pass to Maryland Deathfest 2025. It’s happening, folks—farts and all. See you fukkers there!

Author’s Note: I would like to thank Steel Druhm for allowing me to rejoin the AMG ranks after several years away, as well as the entire AMG crew for welcoming me back with open arms. This piece is dedicated to all the contributors, editors, and everyone else that makes this amazing site possible.