Death and Festing in Maryland: A Very Ghoul-y MDFtrospective (Part I)

June 15, 2026

“…a true gonzo journalist would have had to snort coke of mysterious origin with a perfect stranger.”

Prologue

If you think about it, legendary degenerate journalist Hunter S. Thompson was the first travel blogger. When looking at Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the premise of he and his trusty(?) attorney, Dr. Gonzo, covering the Mint 400 motorcycle race is little more than an excuse for our two protagonists to do a shit-ton of drugs and bitch about ’60s hippie culture. Despite my own intent to write my own travel blog of (comparatively minor) debauchery, I hope you learn more about Maryland Death Fest in this article than I did about the Mint 400. MDF, the yearly extreme metal festival held in Baltimore for Memorial Day weekend, shaped up to be the perfect avenue for my own professional archetype, the good doctorate of Gaming named Nick, and myself to celebrate life, metal, and the escape from our awful fucking day-jobs. As such, our second trip to Baltimore for this festival seemed like a great experience to document for our most beloved of flushbowls, especially since this would be an opportunity to see live bands that I may never again get the chance to see. In total, it was probably the most fun I’ve ever had getting beat up by (fellow) sweaty metal nerds and standing around on my feet until they bruise.

Day 0

Altarpiece with the Passion of Christ at The Walters Art Museum.

I flew out around 8am Wednesday, tired as fuck from waking up around four and waiting patiently for my buddy to land at BWI. One hot dog and an energy drink later, we met up and formulated a game plan for the rest of our day: drop our luggage off at the hotel, get to the dispensary, go to the Walters Art Museum, and then get to the pre-fest. With the first two stops complete, we made our way to said museum—one which we both fell in love with various exhibitions of during last years trip. This mentally stimulating stroll through the MENSA mindset was just distracting enough to make me forget I was walking through the museum with a purse full of weed and other strange contents. “I’d look like a crazy person if someone went through my bag,” I joked as an employee and another group of guests entered the elevator. “Hey, that bag is really cool,” the employee remarks, “What do you keep in it?”

Amongst the odd contents, I pulled out a copy of Nascar 1999 on PS1 (Nick had purchased it earlier from a disorganized storefront). “Stuff like this,” I said as we left on our floor, en route to the hotel.

I probably did look like a crazy person.

Upon arriving at Nevermore Hall, we prepared to see an appetizer lineup that stood toe to toe with the main courses. Due to our pre-pre-fest-festivities, we missed Organ Dealer, arriving just in time for Primitive Man. The latter were a last minute addition replacement for Sinister, who had to swap their set for a later time with a different lineup due to vocalist Aad Kloosterwaard getting sick before the concert date. Primitive Man were no slouch for a first set, starting with a huge projection of 2026’s various political and social ails before blasting into massively loud, crushing doom riffs that embodied the anger of years of violence and corruption. From there, Monstrosity brought the OSDM intensity with extreme gusto and much less real-world context. The only thing that was under the pressure of tyranny for their set was me falling onto my back and ass at least three times in the pit.

Members of Primitive Man, Napalm Death, Monstrosity, Repulsion (right to left).

After two exhilarating sets, I was hit with a massive wave of exhaustion as grindcore greats Repulsion took center stage. The perfect storm of my lack of sleep, getting thrown around by Monstrosity fans, and the time getting quite late at this point led to an inability to get much from their set, sadly, as what I could perceive sounded as good as when I saw them years prior (if not better). Even still, I weighed my options of heading back to the hotel early versus the prospect of seeing the grindcore band, Napalm fucking Death. Upon really thinking, I figured I could call upon the willpower of the metalheads before me to hold out for what was, ultimately, one of my most anticipated sets. While said willpower was only enough for me to take some pictures before falling half asleep in a bar booth, it was completely worth it to experience classic songs from Scum, From Enslavement to Obliteration, and Enemy of the Music Business in the strange, liminal space between the waking world and the lands of REM sleep.

As we vacated the premises, I couldn’t help but notice a particularly sweaty-looking gentleman nodding along to a cover of the Dead Kennedys‘ “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” while adorned with a bootleg shirt of NSBM dorks Grand Belial’s Key. Would this microcosm of idiocy speak towards a significant irony that laid dormant in any gathering of metalheads? I guess I was fated to find out during the event proper.

Pit at Repulsion.

Day 1

Much like 2025’s MDF, the first day was what Nick and I lovingly referred to as the “dumb guy day.” A not insignificant amount of the event’s various brutal death metal and slam acts were relegated to the Soundstage venue on the first day, while the rest of the festival was prepared for the higher billed bands. To my simpleton ears, this prospect was a fantastic one—a whole day almost completely dedicated to meaty riffs and excessive breakdowns? Sign me the fuck up!

Members of Cephalotripsy, Emasculator, Bongripper, and Cerebral Hemorrhage (left to right).

For whatever reason, we chose to walk from our hotel in rainy weather that only seemed to pick up as we continued our umbrella-less trek. Even for a true rain lover like myself, this was a bit much, but no amount of acid rain could kill my excitement for our first set of the day—New York’s Cerebral Hemorrhage. The performance on display, when compared to their sole record, was clearly less technical and more drunken. Great emphasis was placed on the multitudinous breakdowns in each song, whereas the vocalist was clearly feeling the variety of beers he was chugging (and dousing the crowd in). As if to answer my perception, the lead singer admitted to those of us in the front of the crowd that he “did not remember any of the lyrics.” If that’s not befitting “dumb guy day,” I don’t know what is.

Maybe guy is the wrong choice of words, as next up were all-female brutal death metal destroyers in Emasculator. They ripped through a set of strong material with more finesse than was required, comparatively, which helped them stand out. The reverb-heavy sound profile from the Soundstage’s walls brought an even further level of heft when compared to their recorded material, putting emphasis on the band’s tight sound and attention-grabbing stageshow. At the tail-end of their set, we had to book it across the street to Power Plant Live!, as we had bongs to rip.

One of the later additions to the ever-changing rogue’s gallery of bands was what I’d consider one of the greats of stoner doom, Bongripper. My two-person party had edibles to swallow and the crowd was passing joints like they were Hantavirus specimens on a cruise liner. One mystery joint hit allowed the Bongripper mindset to begin taking hold. When they got on stage, they only had time to play two songs, “Worship” and “Nothing,” but I suppose that’s the outcome when your songs are as long as theirs. No matter how sadly brief, it was incredibly gratifying and immersive, especially considering how elusive the group is. The entire time I felt locked into the hellish realm depicted on the cover of Satan Worshipping Doom and I couldn’t be happier. Yet, suddenly, the abrupt end of the set left me back on planet Earth, ready to stumble my way to the next stop in a green-tinted stupor.

Stage setup for Putridity.

It was time for Cephalotripsy back at the Soundstage , which we were still aptly stoned for. Maybe one of the best examples of embracing stupidity in slam death, Ceph’s first album is just about all slams, leading to a fantastic live set of breakdown-after-breakdown. By this point, the crowd was about as rowdy as possible and the band thrived on that energy. I even took it upon myself to crowdsurf, which resulted in me landing on stage on my head and doing a reverse somersault with my pants almost falling down. I guess that’s just the energy of Cephalotripsy, as there were plenty of hooligans content to show their asses, probably in a less literal way. Putridity, too, had the crowd of the Soundstage going crazy and were plenty nasty and intense. Both sets were clear highlights of the day and blew me away. Just as the dumb guy blood was fully coursing through my not-guy veins, that was the end of our chosen sets for the day.

Yet, between those two sets, the doctor and I found ourselves in an interesting conversation with a kind stranger who offered us cocaine to stay up and see Bongzilla. As interesting as this proposition this was, it hardly seemed worth the stress of doing hard drugs from a stranger in an unfamiliar place. Sure, when in Rome, you should do as the Romans do, but you and I both know why my ass lives elsewhere; a true gonzo journalist would have had to snort coke of mysterious origin with a perfect stranger. I’m even more glad we passed on railing lines off of a toilet seat, as my later evening was spent searching for my wallet during an unimpressive Torsofuck set (which I was not intending on attending). Luckily, I was able to find it and we were able to get back to the hotel. In celebration, we bought Cutwaters and listened to the new Bladee album—a ritual to prepare us for what was yet to come.

Pit at Cephalotripsy.

Day 2

Members of Rottrevore, Rotting Christ, To Violently Vomit (left to right).

This day was one with less bands and more wasting-money-on-stupid-music-discs. Don’t get me wrong, I have no regrets in terms of my purchases from Day 2, I’m just sure my wallet did not appreciate being drained in such a way. By the time we finished stimulating the economy of ramshackle merchandise tents in the rain and bringing our records back to the hotel, we had sadly missed God Dethroned. As such, our first set of the night was Rotting Christ performing material from Thy Mighty Contract. Hearing songs from that, Non Serviam, and the first EP was an awesome experience and the band did not disappoint in terms of sound. Yet, a short phrase ripped me out of the moment:

“Y’all mind if we play some of our new stuff?”

We didn’t have much time to be disappointed, as we had to get to To Violently Vomit, a Disgorge legacy lineup performing all of She Lay Gutted. This set was crazy exhilarating, but I was proverbially weighted down by shit constantly falling out of my previously-mentioned purse. Even in a pouty disposition, I had to appreciate what was effectively a continuation of yesterday’s dumb guy universe. She Lay Gutted is about as scientifically concentrated as a slam death album can get, meaning that this set was a near distillation of the brutal bullshit that we enjoyed so much the day previous.

Following up Disgorge was Rottrevore, whose 1993 record Iniquitous goes crazy hard for a semi-obscure old school death metal album more about the political implications of taxation than any kind of violence and gore. The band played half Iniquitous material and new material for an upcoming album. I was pleasantly surprised by these new tracks and, frankly, I couldn’t be more relieved that a song titled “Life Cancelling Nightmare” was an instrumental cut (I was having flashbacks to Cadaver‘s Age of the Offended bullshit). And, as much as I enjoyed the three sets, I felt slightly let down by this second day. My favorite set was the fucking Libertarian death metal band whose best song is titled “Jesters of the Recession,” for fuck’s sake! At least, that’s how I felt until Oranssi Pazuzu.

Oranssi Pazuzu.

My writing on the blog has made it exceptionally clear: Oranssi Pazuzu are maybe the most innovative and unique metal band we have right now and their live show did not disappoint. Held late as fuck (and delayed at that), my associate and I had more funny candies as Rottrevore came to a close in preparation for a religious experience, not unlike when we saw funeral doom icons Skepticism under similar conditions last year. As it got later, a sea of weary metalheads crowded into Nevermore Hall, soon to be hypnotized by the immersive wall of sound that wafted thick through the air. In my review of their last album, I noted that the music of Pazuzu manifested itself in a matter beyond sound; that effect came through ten-fold live. Band members were switching instruments, bouncing between massive sounding guitars and deep layers of synth tones, and/or throwing their all into their role. Everything came together into a beautiful display of mind-melting blackened-space-jam-drone-metal. After the set concluded, Nick and I looked on in awe—this was one of the best shows either of us had seen. Period.

Thanks, Oranssi Pazuzu, for making Day 2 for me.