rockin' in the sun at Hammerfest

The weather is kind enough to stay pretty close to perfect as Saturday brings a steaming round of hangovers for everyone at the eFests chalet and beyond, and while this doesn’t bode well for early bands on the indoor stages, it should make the Jägermeister acoustic stage a surefire hit. First though is the very metal matter of doomy Swedish gods Grand Magus over on the second stage, and though opening number 'Like The Oar Strikes The Water' is tainted by the soundman's decision to turn JB Christoffersson's guitar up as far as 2, things soon match up and the rest of their set is a ball-bustingly awesome way to blow the early afternoon cobwebs away.

It is then outside to the acoustic stage where Welsh ragga-punks Skindred produce a short-but-sweet two song set that draws in a relatively big audience and provokes some true hippy singalongs. Frontman Benji Webbe showcases his ability to charm and amuse a crowd in equal measure, though there is a definite sense of disappointment when it emerges that 'Nobody' has brought the performance to an abrupt close.

Inside, The Mirimar Disaster play to a second stage gathering that barely goes three rows back. An unfortunate side effect of the great weather, and especially sad seeing as they’re actually pretty decent on the day. Luckily for the remaining acts of the afternoon, rain eventually rears its ugly head, ensuring that the imminent feast of pagan metal madness will bring in many diners.

Tyr, and Alestorm both go down well, and though the Scottish horde are evidently a bigger attraction (eFestivals spots at least a dozen fully-dressed pirates flouncing around beforehand), their Faroese cousins still receive a great reaction and, truth be told, make more of an effort in the costume stakes. Draped in studs and leather, the folk metallers make more than a few successful toasts, and while frontman Heri Joensen takes a momentary serious turn thanks to an anti-religious tirade, things bubble along nicely and set the stage for Alestorm to begin another round of high-seas silliness. Newer songs such as 'Leviathan' are met with plenty of cutlass-waving and suggest that the highland quartet are going from strength to strength, while fan favourites like 'Wenches And Mead' go down as well as ever.

Back on the mainstage, London rock five-piece Voodoo Six soon become one of the most oddly compelling bands of the weekend. Boasting a guitarist who thinks he's Joe Satriani and a singer who doesn't seem to know what the fuck he is (coattails, high boots and a half-painted ghost face serving as a somewhat surreal choice of apparel), they initially play in front of only a few dozen people or so, but have garnered an enthusiastic rabble by the time they take their leave – even prompting a few lighters to emerge during a slower number in the process.

Skindred have no time for such softness however, instead choosing to bring the building down with one of the most energetic and well-received sets of the entire weekend. Benji Webbe refuses to allow anyone in front of him to rest, and set-closer 'Nobody' (being aired for the second time today) sees a chaotic, grooving riot kick off. The set has considerably raised the already high spirits of the Prestatyn faithful, and anticipation is high for the evening’s headliners.

Sepultura arrived as a late addition to the line-up after Welsh Top Man-metallers Bullet For My Valentine pulled out to play Sonisphere, and they make the best of their 80-minute set by pulverising what is probably the biggest crowd of the weekend with a healthy mixture of recent material and older, Cavalera-era work. It is inevitable that classics like 'Roots' bring on the biggest cheers, but frontman Derrick Green knows how to work a crowd as much as anyone, and the Seps leave NWOBHM legends Saxon with one hell of a mission in keeping the momentum of the evening going. Lucky really that Biff Byford and co are old hands at this game, as immensely epic opening number 'Battalions Of Steel' surely shows. Byford may be fast approaching 60, but the guy still knows how to deliver, and if the bombastic epicness of new cuts like 'Demon Sweeney Todd' and old fave 'And The Band Played On' are much to go on, he can go on for another 30 years without much hassle. Here's hoping.

Dream Evil are a difficult one to gauge as it's never totally clear just how seriously they take themselves. Not that it matters when you can write riffs as metal-tastic as 'The Book Of Heavy Metal' and make lyrics like "I am so fucking metal, so is my wife!" sound awe-inspiring, and the Swedes provide a ludicrously OTT 45 minutes of pure metal heaven to a ravenous ensemble. Not long after, it is the turn of fellow countrymen Wolf to bring the true heavy metal shenanigans of the festival to a close, and while Dream Evil's tounge-in-cheek approach is lacking here, it's certainly not missed, and it is refreshing to find that newer cuts 'Speed On', 'Curse You Salem', and 'Hail Caesar' sound as pulsating live as they do on CD.

Despite following much of the set-up of its mother festival in Hard Rock Hell, Hammerfest does more than enough to establish its own identity, not least thanks to the bigger emphasis on heavy metal in the line-up and the more prominent presence of Metal Hammer magazine throughout the event. Anyone who enjoys hard rock music in any format needs to get themselves to one of these shindigs, because there are few more enjoyable and, quite frankly, sillier ways to spend a weekend right now. The atmosphere remains upbeat throughout the festival, and despite the frightening amount of alcohol being consumed in all corners, there is rarely if ever any trouble from to be found. This is a festival which really does exist for the music, and with its winter cousin already showing strong ticket sales nearly eight months in advance, Prestatyn's relationship with the rock and heavy metal scenes is a long way from going sour. Both this and Hard Rock Hell are quickly becoming cultures within themselves, and with the third HRH in December promising fancy dress and a rare UK appearance from W.A.S.P. you'd have to be some kind of a spoilsport not to be tempted.

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