The big review: Desertfest London 2026

A low rumble runs through Camden Town this middle weekend of May. Deeper and heavier even than the teeming trains speeding up and down the Northern Line, arriving quicker every year, it’s Desertfest time once again.

From British up-and-comers to American rock royalty it’s a non-stop feast of noise and colour as the best of the best from the worlds of stoner, doom and, er, desert rock come together to crack necks and creak foundations. And that’s not even mentioning the sea of pointy red hats for Belgian weirdos Gnome.

With beer and sweat flowing, the smell of sweet leaf wafting through the air, vibes are immaculate before you even factor in the music. You could have a good enough time sinking cans of festival brew outside Desertfest hub The Black Heart as Sabbath tunes play from the bar. But the depth and range of what’s on offer is truly special this year.

From genre progenitor John Garcia dropping by with Hermano and Maryland legends Clutch in full gear to rising post-metallers The Grey wrecking eardrums, Mumbai’s Midhaven becoming the first-ever Indian outfit to play the fest and the mighty Green Lung stepping up with a headline show for the ages, it’s an almost overwhelming hit of music.

It's a whole lotta heavy. We grabbed our rolling papers and a couple of those funny gummies for a bleary-eyed rundown of the trippiest weekender of the year...

Between rat-a-tat drums and crystalline riffs, instrumental compositions with more spring and pop than outright crunch, Bismut feel like a band apart even right at the beginning of Desertfest 2026. Celebrating both the release of excellent new album Matsutake and their tenth anniversary as a band, the Nijmegen psych crew hit like a dab of acid, tantalising with lightness-of-touch, then enveloping with deceptive complexity. And even if the bunker-like surrounds of The Underworld are too dark and claustrophobic for a composition as aptly-titled as Euphoria, the deep grooves and atmosphere of jazzy intimacy ensure that this is still an unforgettable birthday bash. (SL)

Big riffs aren’t in short supply this weekend, but Sergeant Thunderhoof manage to stand out anyway with a titanic showing in the Electric Ballroom. Mainstays of the UK stoner scene for over a decade now, it’s refreshing to see the Bath crew getting the chance to play a stage of this scale, cranking the volume and allowing vocalist Dan Flitcroft the space to properly show off his massive pipes and bristling charisma. Marrying the full-throttle foot-down attack of Clutch to the Anglicised theatricality of Green Lung, Salvation For The Soul and Avon & Avalon Part II are perfectly placed at Desertfest. Hopefully word of their exploits spreads from this big, big crowd as it’d be a rare thrill to see them commanding even bigger stages still. (SL)

Friday’s condensed format means that The Black Heart is pretty much rammed and queued one-out/one-in down the stairs for the duration, but Kushthulu actually benefit from the suffocatingly oppressive atmosphere. A pair of self-styled ‘ADHDoom sludge metallers’ from this neck of the woods, there’s not a whole lot of artisanal complexity to tellingly-titled cuts The Swamp, The Executioner and Death Of The Sun. But anything that’s lacking in nuance is more than made up in bludgeoning sonic violence, with several sweat-drenched punters looking like their sanity has been sapped by some earthquaking cosmic entity. R’lyeh heavy. (SL)

Returning to the stage for the first time in 18 years, there’s a special sense of occasion for Friday’s appearance from instrumental doom legends Capricorns. Although hardly a big name beyond this crowd, they’re right in their niche at Desertfest, with some of that scene’s big names in attendance to sing their praises as one of the most influential experimental outfits of the 2000s. Brilliantly, they live up to the billing, raiding 2005’s Ruder Forms Survive and 2008’s River, Bear Your Bones for songs that shift nimbly between jackhammer attack, stomach-lurching high drama and moments of ethereal prog. Hopefully they stick around a while to remind us what we’ve been missing… (SL)

Rays of sunlight are still spilling from the sky outside, but a strange darkness draws in for the return of Witchsorrow to Desertfest. Having announced fifth album The Devil And All His Works – their first in eight years – last week, the Hampshire doom titans absolutely level a rammo crowd in The Underworld. Marrying miserabilism and menace, the first half of their set is a doomy masterclass, inviting the audience to feast on new single Bacchus and old favourite Made Of The Void. But it’s the latter section where a dude dressed as some sort of banana/hot dog hybrid gets the pit going during the unreleased, Celtic Frost-y Hades Chains and ends up on stage before Demons Of The Mind that stands out: proof that beyond the shadow work they’re all about having an infernally good time. (SL)

Despite not being on sale at any merch desk K! can find, there are hundreds of pointy red felt hats stretched onto punters’ heads in honour of Belgian mischief-makers Gnome. Somehow, it’s even funnier that their music isn’t actually that much of a piss-take. Instead, the Antwerp crew’s blend of Desertfest-friendly stoner sounds and punchier hard rock influence feels like a lesson in stripped-down ass-kicking. They're a band taking advantage of a great gimmick to elevate themselves to a position where groovy bangers like Blacksmith and Kraken Wanker (probably the title of the weekend, there) properly make their mark. Happy to be swept along, the sea of bobbing hats, and a crowdsurfer or two caught in the pointy tangle, prove that Desertfest are ready to party, Gnome matter what… (SL)

With a touch of goth and a big helping of Type O Negative guitar tone, Glasgow's Cwfen bring a slightly icy touch to the desert-y proceedings. With her elaborate black eye make-up, singer/guitarist Agnes Alder also adds a witchiness to their cauldron of gloom as she leads them through a brilliant display of otherworldly heaviness. Last year's Sorrows album was brilliant, and songs from it like Bodies and the always-staggering dark charm of Wolfsbane have become enormous live, as has closer Rite. Another spellbinding showing from one of the UK underground's most promising bands. (NR)

"You know him as the voice of stoner rock. We know him as William Shatner." As intros go, the one Hermano legend John Garcia gets from his bandmates is half odd, half completely accurate. As singer in California stoner kings Kyuss, the man is responsible for about 90 per cent of the bands playing this weekend. Unsurprisingly, there's a huge turnout to hear his mighty lungs drawling over Hermano's big, dusty riffs. Those, by the way, are absolutely killer. When they're on a slower groove they're greasy, languid things that slide along like a snake in the desert, but then the faster moments are all fuzzed-up rock'n'roll power. Atop it, John's voice remains brilliant, a gravelly howl that nobody has ever quite replicated, no matter how they try. A warning about the world being full of "fucked-up shit" is followed by the suggestion that we "get high together". Good idea. Especially with such a great soundtrack. (NR)

There are mighty 1970s vibes over at The Underworld as Hällas take the stage. Hailing from Jönköping, Sweden, wrapped in black capes with sparkly tassles and boasting some of the biggest choruses of the whole damn weekend, there are a few tongue-in-cheek ABBA comparisons murmuring from the audience. But there’s actually far more Uriah Heep, Judas Priest and Wishbone Ash going on in Face Of An Angel and Star Rider. It’s camper than a caravan convention at Butlin's, but with the Friday night bevvies in full flow, pretty much every punter shoehorned in here is revelling in it with arms around shoulders and the sing-along at maximum volume. (SL)

Isak get Saturday started with precious little fucking around. As the queue into the sardine-can-rammed Black Heart once again snakes all the way into the bar downstairs, it might look like there's actually be more people waiting to see them than actually in the room, but the groovy Glaswegian post-metallers duly knock everyone within earshot for six. Even Desertfest’s generously proportioned early slots aren’t quite lengthy enough for their widescreen vision to fully unfold, but there’s a pleasant balance between progginess and heft that means even the biggest sounds feel palatable as the day is still getting underway. (SL)

"Heavy," nods one of The Underworld's stage crew as Instar Sling get going. "I like it." Imagine three people decided that Burning Witch weren't weighty or slow enough and decided to show them how it's done, with the odd big of Reverend Bizarre-like stateliness, and you're in the right ballpark. Seeing something so void-gazing when you'd normally be eating lunch is one of the many thrills of Desertfest, and the London trio pack in enough much delicious, deafening sonic cholesterol to keep you full until sometime in October. But just saying "heavy" will do. (NR)

“Hey, want to see a bird with a battle-axe?” yells one enthusiastic punter rushing into the Black Heart on Saturday afternoon. Well, how could anyone resist? Wrapped in chainmail and only remembering to grab said medieval weapon of war for Molten Slag's penultimate highlight Snake Slicer, vocalist Laura Norman is indeed a hell of a focal point, even if absurd temperatures inside threaten to drown her in sweat. But even more striking is how the Deptford crew’s brand of faintly tongue-in-cheek old school doom echoes the excellence of tonight’s headliners Green Lung. If those lads are ever looking to make best-of-London uber-bill, Slag needs to be on it. Unbelievably hot stuff. (SL)

There is something very funny about seeing London thrash reprobates Inhuman Nature in the grand surrounds of The Roundhouse. Kicking off a hand-picked bill of bands leading up to Green Lung's triumphant headline show tonight, their punky speed and gobby power are the perfect party starter this afternoon. Representing the 'It's not Sabbathy but it still kind of works here' end of the Desertfest spectrum, it's also a nicely-placed change of pace, with a circle pit booting off almost straight away and plenty of bodies going over the barrier. As will follow with the rest of the bill, there's a feeling that, somehow, it's folks you'd normally just find drinking at The Black Heart at the fest onstage. Which, actually, it is. And a banging, fast, super-fun way to start the day's festivities. (NR)

Sympathy for the devil is something of a given at a gathering like Desertfest, but what of glory for the God above? Lancaster oddballs Wytch Hazel have that angle covered, with a sanctified set that brings some serious Sunday morning vibes to Saturday afternoon. Like white-clad crusaders drawing swords in an unfamiliar land of sand, Colin Hendra and company manage to convert the thousands strong milling through the roundhouse – sporting 50/50 looks of amusement/bemusement – with the richly textured Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden and Thin Lizzy influence threaded through I Am Redeemed, Run The Race and Healing Power. Holy moly, they’re good! (SL)

Ever wondered what it would be like if Sunn O))) ever took a few steps further towards the dark side? Khost have you sorted. Saturday at Desertfest seems to be dominated by flamboyance and old-school theatricality, but those who file into The Underworld early on Saturday evening feel like they’re stepping into a nightmare. Weaving strains of industrial and black metal into their suffocating sonic shroud, the Birmingham duo feel like partially like they want to pick up the baton from midlands forefathers Godflesh, but more so like they want to drag listeners to a cold, dark hell. (SL)

Desertfest regulars, and fresh from last weekend's event in Oslo, Elephant Tree arrive to a heroes' welcome. But even so, playing in this "intimate venue" as they jokingly put it, feels like a moment for the London stoner quartet. They're more than built for it, though, with heavy, psych-y riffs that float around the hall and fill the space brilliantly. Nod along for 10 minutes, and you're firmly caught in their branches. "This is the 60th time you've seen us?" comes the response to seeing one friend in the crowd. "We're sorry!" No apology required. Today, Elephant Tree are a brilliant stampede of riffs, so loud they'll make your trunk itch. (NR)

When Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs first emerged from the depths of Newcastle upon Tyne some 14 years ago now, most onlookers would have told you the odds of them ever playing a jam packed Saturday-night London Roundhouse were only marginally better than those that hogs would fly. But here we are. Not just a hazy haven for those riding a chemical high, Desertfest is also a place where the weirdest, most unwieldy outfits can play some massive rooms if they rock hard enough, in this case like doom IDLES. And from fuzztastic renditions of The Wyrm and Mr Medicine to an earthquaking climax of Blockage and Toecurler, Pigsx7 have rarely seemed weirder or wilder than tonight. (SL)

“I can’t think of a more occult city than London,” Green Lung frontman Tom Templar told Kerrang! in the cover story just a handful of days before their landmark first festival headline. “You're never more than a few streets away from something arcane and weird.”

That certainly seems the case tonight as the darkly cabbalistic quintet get their Necropolitan era properly underway with an adopted-home-town set full of dark magic and wicked intentions. They've even risen to the occasion for this monumental headlining gig by getting their own goaty Eddie.

It's an awesome celebration. The live debut of new single Evil In This House sets off a mosh that looks like beery demons have slipped through the gates of the underworld. Maxine (Witch Queen) is the biggest sing-song of the whole festival. The Forest Church and Into The Wild bring a bit of extra leafiness into the urban setting. Then One For Sorrow proves itself every bit as sonically weighty as its themes of depression always watching over you. Hunters In The Sky, meanwhile, sees a tide of crowd-surfers toppling over the front.

Ten years since guitarist Scott Black and original bassist Andrew Cave first hit upon the idea of starting a band at Desertfest 2016. Andrew returns to the fold this evening for the climactic Let The Devil In, with current four-string wizard Joseph Ghast switching to saxophone, creating a magnificent full-circle moment. But far more than a sappy nostalgia trip, tonight feels like the opening of a door for Green Lung. This first-ever festival headliner is in the books. Many more will surely follow for a band fast becoming one of the very best in this heathen land… (SL)

“In 2019, I was in London as a penniless student and I somehow slipped past security into my very first Desertfest,” gushes Aditya Mohanan. “That day I made a pact with my friends that we would come back and play this festival one day. Today we are the first ever band from India to play here!” It’s truly heart-warming stuff from the Midhaven man, as the Mumbai collective tear apart a well packed Underworld. Beyond the inspiring origin story, though, cuts like Mahakaal and Primal Song feel right at home in the basements of Camden, whetting appetites for a bigger, badder return. (SL)

"Thank you for coming out so early, even though you're probably all hungover," smiles Talie Rose Eigeland. She's not wrong, but Teiger ("That's tiger, not teeger" she notes) is just the tonic if you're still feeling last night's cans of Desertfest Hells rattling round your head. Dreamy and psyche-y, there's shades of something Portishead-ish in their velvety vibe, and bathed in blue light, they bring moonlit dusk to Sunday lunchtime perfectly. Even if you're not in need of a gentle start to the day, Teiger are grrrreat. (NR)

Somehow the bar at The Dev still hasn’t been run dry by Sunday afternoon, but Troll Mother are an apt soundtrack as the black-clad masses do their best to suck up any last dregs. Lacking the surrealist impact of some of the really weird samples in their recorded output, the Bognor Regis duo still do their best to wreck brains with a racket that combines filthy stoner rock, even filthier punk and the sort of psychedelia that comes from dabbing unidentified bags you found lying on a toilet floor. The maddest fun you can have without hiding out under a bridge. (SL)

After a year away working on new music, Steak are making their return to the stage here and at Desertfest's sister fest in Berlin. Regulars around the London stoner scene, the absence has only charged them up, so that when they roll out their first massive riff, it feels like a dam bursting. Gliding between full-power-ahead rock action, more widescreen psych and the dreamiest grunge, they know more than one way to make their point, and on new single Cometh, the future sounds very good indeed. Well done, Steak, well done. (NR)

Another of Desertfest 2026’s power-duos, AlphaWhores deliver impressive high-fidelity compared to many of their stripped-down peers. The chemistry between instrument-swapping siblings Massiel Pinzón and Juan Carlos García de Parede sparks into a strikking brand of alt. metal quite unlike anything else on offer this weekend. Prior to today, many in this audience may only have associated Panama with heavy music via the 1985 Van Halen classic, but as they spill out of this sweaty black box, minds have been expanded, with the striking sounds of Raw Nerve, The Witches Told Me and Bloodsport guaranteed to live long in memory. (SL)

Gunmetal-shaded as their weightier sounds, cold atmospheric textures and one tastefully dyed T-shirt on today’s merch stand may be, there is more colour and subtlety here than even hardened fans may expect from The Grey. Finally beginning to break from the confines of the Brit-metal underground, slab-heavy post-metal is their calling card, but there is all the dynamism and dexterity those in the know would expect with artists who have recently collaborated with members of Will Haven, Skunk Anansie and The Almighty. Even a guitar fail can't dampen the intensity today, culminating in a genuinely emotional speech from bassist Andy Price about the importance of not building up walls to avoid feeling the sturm und drang of life. The trio delivered one of the most inexplicably underrated UK albums in recent memory with last year’s mammoth Kodok, and it is genuinely heartening to see how, in the live area, those songs refuse to be denied. (SL)

Ask any random attendee at Desertfest who the most stereotypically fitting band on the line-up is and chances are a heft proportion would single out Earthless. For years, San Diego’s reliably trippy psych/stoner legends have felt like the ultimate crossover between heavy music and mind-altering drugs, always out to help fans onto another level of consciousness, and tonight is no exception. Admittedly, fans who’ve run themselves ragged with three days’ worth of treks up and down Camden High Street and Chalk Farm Road might’ve appreciated sounds a little more high-energy than Uluru Rock, Violence Of The Red Sea from the start, but a blast of Iron Maiden’s The Ides Of March makes sure that no-one is sagging too hard come the end of their set. (SL)

At one point during Forlorn's set, one of the few things you can name out onstage through the fog is the silhouette of singer Megan Jenkins' pointy crown. It's quite something among The Dev's brightly-lit bar, big windows and TV screens of cat memes. But then, it's not hard to get sucked into the Brit horror metallers' world. True, at first their witchy vibes might bring to mind something more Green Lung than their sharp, metallic noise, but their power is just as magical. Funeral Pyre and The Weight Of It All are all confidence and aggression, with Megan hanging from the stage pillar as she screams. Absolutely nothing to be forlorn about here. (NR)

When The Sword announced they’d be splitting up after the best part of two decades in late 2022, few would’ve imagined they’d be back, sub-headlining Desertfest London within three-and-a-half-years. Having somewhat speed-run the ubiquitous ‘one-off’ reunion shows and a 15th anniversary run for classic album Warp Riders, though, they arrive as the second last band at The Roundhouse this weekend with surprisingly little fanfare for night seven (after Desertfests Oslo and Berlin) of a 2026 European tour. Fans who missed out on the Warp Riders celebration might be irked that we only get a couple of tracks from that landmark, but everyone else is swept away between the sunbeaten rumble of Empty Temples and the icy snarl of Winter’s Wolves. Bloody good. (SL)

As the weekend nears its end and you're looking for a kick up the arse to shock you back into life for the final miles, Zig Zags appear and deliver a dose of punked-up rock 'n' roll adrenaline. With an apparent allergy to fucking around and an addiction to tearing through songs as if they're losing money the longer they go on, the California trio call to mind Zeke, Turbonegro or The Dukes Of Nothing, speeding through The Fog and Deadbeat At Dawn with a thrilling violence. Borrowing a lighter from the audience by way of introduction to the raucous Give Me Back My Lighter shows their funny side, while calling a song Punk Fucking Metal is as blunt as their riffs. A very welcome kick in the teeth when you need shaking awake. (NR)

As ever, The Black Heart requires patience if you want to get in the room for Alunah. As ever this weekend, the Midlands groove machine are well worth it. They sound absolutely enormous today, with Matt Noble's guitar ending up particularly thick and beefy in the mix. New-ish singer Daisy Savage, meanwhile, occasionally sounds like her vocals are coming from space. Having been around for two decades and with a long list of musicians passing through their astral doors, it's great to see them currently entering a new phase where they're on such top form. (NR)

Living up to their say-it-twice-to-reenforce-the-point name, French sludge diabolists Cult Of Occult are absolutely hellish. Swimming in red light and fog, it's not so much about the songs they play as the evil vibe they boil up. Their slow riffs crash along like skeletons tearing themselves from their graves, topped with truly horrible screams from excellently-monikered singer Jean Claude Van Doom (a better pun than bassist Gary McDoom, certainly). For all their intentionally repellent qualities, you can't help but get seduced and sucked in by it all, though, and soon you find yourself firmly under the control of the cult. Rarely has total damnation felt so appealing. (NR)

There is absolutely no such thing as a bad Clutch show. A non-negotiable constant on the Maryland icons’ journey from spit-and-sawdust back-bars to headlining hangars like this is that they’ve always just dialled in and done their groovy, faintly-unhinged thing. Indeed, that’s what happens tonight. There are hits aplenty, with X-Ray Visions, The Mob Goes Wild, The Regulator and Electric Worry arriving at thoughtfully-spaced intervals across the main set. There’s even a live debut for Jam Room rework Drifter Returns. Unfortunately, after Green Lung’s landmark showing yesterday, it feels a tad run-of-the-mill. Said mill grinds only absolutely gargantuan tunes, of course, wringing resiny treacle from Slaughter Beach and crunching intoxicating star dust from Earth Rocker, but such is the burden of being one of the world’s most consistently great rock bands. Regardless, though, the defiantly bluesy D.C. Sound Attack! and an oxygen-sucking Spacegrass send everyone happy into the balmy May evening, sufficiently topped-up until Desertfest rolls around again. (SL)

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