Hellfest 2025:
It Was Loud
and Absolutely Perfect
It Was Loud
and Absolutely Perfect
I was sweating through my boots by 11:11 AM.
That’s not poetic exaggeration — that’s just what happens when you land in rural France in late June, get handed a festival wristband, and willingly walk into what can only be described as a high-decibel alternate reality with Satan as the unofficial mayor.
Welcome to Hellfest.
Nestled in the sleepy medieval town of Clisson — a place that normally smells like baguettes and history — Hellfest is what happens when 60,000 people decide that therapy is too expensive and choose guitar distortion instead. And let me tell you: it works. At least temporarily.
We at THE OTO were there on June 22, in what turned out to be one of the most emotionally violent and spiritually satisfying weekends of the year. The lineup was stacked, the wine was warm, and Linkin Park — yes, that Linkin Park — didn’t just return, they reignited something massive.
CLISSON: COME FOR THE ARCHITECTURE,
STAY FOR THE BIGGEST FESTIVAL
Let’s get one thing straight: Clisson is adorable. It’s a town made for postcards, not for pits. But every June, the streets fill with black t-shirts, facial piercings, and people who genuinely believe Slayer should be taught in schools. The juxtaposition is delicious — tiny cafés with chalkboard menus across from massive stages blasting symphonic deathcore at 120 dB.
And the French don’t bat an eye. They sip Muscadet — a crisp white wine native to nearby Nantes — water their flowers, and they nod politely as a man in full corpse paint walks by carrying a tray of raclette.
The wine is local, the cheese is strong, and the locals are surprisingly unbothered by the mass arrival of goths, punks, and metalheads from all corners of the world. France, baby. Romantic one day, apocalyptic the next.
STAY FOR THE BIGGEST FESTIVAL
Let’s get one thing straight: Clisson is adorable. It’s a town made for postcards, not for pits. But every June, the streets fill with black t-shirts, facial piercings, and people who genuinely believe Slayer should be taught in schools. The juxtaposition is delicious — tiny cafés with chalkboard menus across from massive stages blasting symphonic deathcore at 120 dB.
And the French don’t bat an eye. They sip Muscadet — a crisp white wine native to nearby Nantes — water their flowers, and they nod politely as a man in full corpse paint walks by carrying a tray of raclette.
The wine is local, the cheese is strong, and the locals are surprisingly unbothered by the mass arrival of goths, punks, and metalheads from all corners of the world. France, baby. Romantic one day, apocalyptic the next.
WHY HELLFEST FEELS LIKE GROUP THERAPY IN LEATHER
There’s something deeply cathartic about festivals — especially ones that don’t try to be "aspirational" or "clean." According to a study by Frontiers in Psychology, shared musical experiences in large groups significantly boost feelings of social connection and emotional release. In other words, moshing your soul out next to a sweaty stranger might be the closest thing to a healing ritual modern society allows.
People don’t just come to Hellfest for the music — they come to scream, cry, dance, black out, and then laugh about it. They come to let something out. And if you’ve ever heard Lorna Shore live, you know exactly what that something is. (Hint: it’s the sound of your last emotional defense collapsing.)
Everyone is searching for something — transcendence, maybe. Or just an excuse to stop pretending for 72 hours straight. The walls come down, and not just in the pit. It’s sweaty, filthy, beautiful honesty. No filters, no branding. Just music and something primal shaking loose in your chest.
THE UNSPOKEN ART OF LOSING YOUR MIND
(IN A CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENT)
We spent the day shooting content, and somewhere around the third stage I lost my mind — willingly, gloriously. But I also found something — that weird childlike joy of being part of something bigger than yourself. Not a crowd — a movement.
Hellfest is choreography without rehearsal. People throw themselves at each other like it’s a sacred sport. You can feel decades of repression leaving bodies through soundwaves and sweat glands.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s a strange kind of safety in that. When was the last time you screamed and didn’t feel bad about it?
There’s something deeply cathartic about festivals — especially ones that don’t try to be "aspirational" or "clean." According to a study by Frontiers in Psychology, shared musical experiences in large groups significantly boost feelings of social connection and emotional release. In other words, moshing your soul out next to a sweaty stranger might be the closest thing to a healing ritual modern society allows.
People don’t just come to Hellfest for the music — they come to scream, cry, dance, black out, and then laugh about it. They come to let something out. And if you’ve ever heard Lorna Shore live, you know exactly what that something is. (Hint: it’s the sound of your last emotional defense collapsing.)
Everyone is searching for something — transcendence, maybe. Or just an excuse to stop pretending for 72 hours straight. The walls come down, and not just in the pit. It’s sweaty, filthy, beautiful honesty. No filters, no branding. Just music and something primal shaking loose in your chest.
THE UNSPOKEN ART OF LOSING YOUR MIND
(IN A CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENT)
We spent the day shooting content, and somewhere around the third stage I lost my mind — willingly, gloriously. But I also found something — that weird childlike joy of being part of something bigger than yourself. Not a crowd — a movement.
Hellfest is choreography without rehearsal. People throw themselves at each other like it’s a sacred sport. You can feel decades of repression leaving bodies through soundwaves and sweat glands.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s a strange kind of safety in that. When was the last time you screamed and didn’t feel bad about it?
LINKIN PARK: THE RETURN THAT DIDN’T TRY TO BE COOL —
AND THAT’S WHY IT WAS
So let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about it. Linkin Park took the stage, and I swear the ground shook. Maybe it was the subs. Maybe it was my soul, which hadn’t felt their energy in over eight years. Maybe both.
The band’s return to big European festivals is a cultural moment. In a time when everything feels fake and over-optimized, Linkin Park showing up — loud, raw, imperfect, brilliant — felt like a middle finger to whatever algorithm said rock was dead.
Also — yes, Emily was there. And no, I’m not okay. Let’s just say my nervous system
is still recovering. Totally fine. Very professional. She fit into the band so naturally it felt like she’d always been part of it — like something just clicked into place.
Don’t ask me to describe it — just know that something in me short-circuited
and hasn’t fully rebooted since.
And the whole band? They’ve evolved — and that’s the point, it’s not about recreating the past. The emotion? The weight? The fire? That’s all still there. And if you weren’t screaming your lungs out to In the End, I have questions about your inner child.
Watching the crowd that night felt like witnessing a collective exorcism. People were sobbing and laughing at the same time. You could tell they’d waited years to feel like this again. Me too.
AND THAT’S WHY IT WAS
So let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about it. Linkin Park took the stage, and I swear the ground shook. Maybe it was the subs. Maybe it was my soul, which hadn’t felt their energy in over eight years. Maybe both.
The band’s return to big European festivals is a cultural moment. In a time when everything feels fake and over-optimized, Linkin Park showing up — loud, raw, imperfect, brilliant — felt like a middle finger to whatever algorithm said rock was dead.
Also — yes, Emily was there. And no, I’m not okay. Let’s just say my nervous system
is still recovering. Totally fine. Very professional. She fit into the band so naturally it felt like she’d always been part of it — like something just clicked into place.
Don’t ask me to describe it — just know that something in me short-circuited
and hasn’t fully rebooted since.
And the whole band? They’ve evolved — and that’s the point, it’s not about recreating the past. The emotion? The weight? The fire? That’s all still there. And if you weren’t screaming your lungs out to In the End, I have questions about your inner child.
Watching the crowd that night felt like witnessing a collective exorcism. People were sobbing and laughing at the same time. You could tell they’d waited years to feel like this again. Me too.
WE INTERVIEWED LORNA SHORE. YES, REALLY.
Now, before you ask: yes, we got backstage. No, we didn’t sell our souls to do it (though we might’ve bartered part of our sanity). And yes, we sat down with Lorna Shore for an exclusive interview for The Healing Soundtrack: Unplugged Minds, our upcoming documentary on music and mental health.
We’re not dropping spoilers yet — but let’s just say it wasn’t just about breakdowns and heavy metal. It was about grief, resilience, and the weird therapy that only brutal music can provide. It was deep, human, and weirdly tender. We’ll share more soon!
This documentary connects the science of music and mental health with the raw truth from the artists themselves. Stay tuned.
Huge thanks to the festival press team and Lorna Shore’s management for their generous support in making this interview happen.
Now, before you ask: yes, we got backstage. No, we didn’t sell our souls to do it (though we might’ve bartered part of our sanity). And yes, we sat down with Lorna Shore for an exclusive interview for The Healing Soundtrack: Unplugged Minds, our upcoming documentary on music and mental health.
We’re not dropping spoilers yet — but let’s just say it wasn’t just about breakdowns and heavy metal. It was about grief, resilience, and the weird therapy that only brutal music can provide. It was deep, human, and weirdly tender. We’ll share more soon!
This documentary connects the science of music and mental health with the raw truth from the artists themselves. Stay tuned.
Huge thanks to the festival press team and Lorna Shore’s management for their generous support in making this interview happen.
FESTIVALS AS EMOTIONAL DETOX (WITH BEER)
Let’s be real: no yoga retreat, no wellness app, no mindfulness podcast can do for your brain what three days of collective screaming in 40°C heat can.
According to the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, music festivals can provide powerful psychological benefits — including a reduction in stress, increase in social bonding, and even a post-event glow that lasts up to two weeks.
Translation? Festivals can literally make you feel like your life matters again. Even if you’re sleeping in a tent next to a guy who hasn’t showered since Limp Bizkit was cool.
HELLFEST IS WHERE YOU FEEL THINGS YOU FORGOT
YOU COULD FEEL
I’ve covered a lot of festivals in my life. Some are sleek. Some are chaotic. Hellfest is both — but it’s also something else. It’s felt. It hits you in the gut, the skin, the throat. You leave covered in dust and meaning.
And while your body may hate you the next morning, your spirit will send you a thank-you note.
There’s a quote I once heard that says, “Art is how we decorate space; music is how we decorate time.” Hellfest doesn’t decorate — it sets fire. And from that fire, weird little pieces of you are reborn. The kind you forgot you missed.
So here’s to the sunburns, the mosh pits, and the long-overdue resurrection of one of the most important bands of our time.
And here’s to Clisson — where therapy comes with a bass drop.
P.S. Want to see what it actually looked like?
Head over to my Instagram — I post raw clips from the pit, the stage, the chaos. Screams, mosh pits, Linkin Park, tears — and so much love. The kind that shakes your chest and stays there.
_____
Disclaimer:
The Linkin Park footage featured here is amateur and not used for any commercial purposes. All other photo content on this page is also non-commercial and shared solely for editorial and illustrative purposes.
Let’s be real: no yoga retreat, no wellness app, no mindfulness podcast can do for your brain what three days of collective screaming in 40°C heat can.
According to the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, music festivals can provide powerful psychological benefits — including a reduction in stress, increase in social bonding, and even a post-event glow that lasts up to two weeks.
Translation? Festivals can literally make you feel like your life matters again. Even if you’re sleeping in a tent next to a guy who hasn’t showered since Limp Bizkit was cool.
HELLFEST IS WHERE YOU FEEL THINGS YOU FORGOT
YOU COULD FEEL
I’ve covered a lot of festivals in my life. Some are sleek. Some are chaotic. Hellfest is both — but it’s also something else. It’s felt. It hits you in the gut, the skin, the throat. You leave covered in dust and meaning.
And while your body may hate you the next morning, your spirit will send you a thank-you note.
There’s a quote I once heard that says, “Art is how we decorate space; music is how we decorate time.” Hellfest doesn’t decorate — it sets fire. And from that fire, weird little pieces of you are reborn. The kind you forgot you missed.
So here’s to the sunburns, the mosh pits, and the long-overdue resurrection of one of the most important bands of our time.
And here’s to Clisson — where therapy comes with a bass drop.
P.S. Want to see what it actually looked like?
Head over to my Instagram — I post raw clips from the pit, the stage, the chaos. Screams, mosh pits, Linkin Park, tears — and so much love. The kind that shakes your chest and stays there.
_____
Disclaimer:
The Linkin Park footage featured here is amateur and not used for any commercial purposes. All other photo content on this page is also non-commercial and shared solely for editorial and illustrative purposes.
