Doom and Drama in Lisbon: Thoughts from Under the Doom 2025
Lisbon in late September kept turning on itself. Sun in the morning, rain by afternoon, a clear sky at dusk, and showers again before night was done. For a first-time visitor, the shifts outside seemed bound to the performances which took place within Music Station, as if the city and the festival were moving to the same rhythm.
The line to get into the venue on the first afternoon had its own kind of theater. I stood in the sun between two Type O Negative shirts – Jesus Christ Looks Like Me ahead of me, Bloody Kisses behind. Then a car passed with George Michael blasting “Careless Whisper” from the speakers. The chorus landed across the queue like a joke Peter Steele might have made himself, absurd and affectionate at once.
Highlights came from both local and international names. Earth Drive gave the festival its initial, local spark. Their psychedelic haze and stoner drive came alive under a female voice that softened the edges with a sweet touch.
Todomal from Spain brought something heavier and more unusual. Their doom had crooked turns, thick guitars, and an atmosphere distinct enough to set them apart. They were stylish and raw at the same time, carrying themselves with a confidence that matched the grit of their sound. Video projections during live shows often distract me, but here they fit – church iconography, fragments of old biblical films, and stray imagery that sharpened rather than dulled the live impact.
Antimatter created a different intensity. Mick Moss stood steady, voice calm and clear, guitar lines stripped to essentials. The restraint drew the hall into silence, rare in a festival. The drummer was absolutely fantastic, driving the songs with precision and feel. The music itself came across as deep and thoughtful, every part of it showing how personal these pieces are for Moss, something lived and carried onto the stage rather than simply performed.
Saturnus from Denmark showed the authority of long years. This was the second time I saw them this year, and the second time I caught myself thinking woha! (and then some) at their sheer stage power and charisma. They carry the saddest tunes in the most powerful, lively way possible, with the heart of sorrow and the intensity of arena stages. In my view, that balance makes them one of the best live doom groups today.
The next evening, Why Angels Fall offered another glimpse into the Portuguese doom scene, and were met with a lot of love from the crowd. Their music carried an awesome, sadness-driven pull, heavy yet heartfelt, written straight into the atmosphere. The audience’s response made it clear how deeply their songs connected. It wasn’t the only moment, though, and this feeling of deep connection only grew stronger when next came Clouds.
Indeed, Clouds gave one of the weekend’s defining moments. How I had waited for these guys! after their last album, my expectations were high, and in Lisbon they fully delivered. Daniel Neagoe led the flute-driven ensemble through songs shaped like long arcs of grief, strings folding into distorted guitars, his voice shifting from cavernous growls to mournful cleans. The music took its time, and when it finally surged, you could feel the whole venue lean into it as if everyone had been waiting for that release. Wrapped between endless thank-you’s and touchy exchanges that felt heartfelt enough to last until next year, the set showed again why this band is one of the most interesting and best doom/death acts active today, and catching them live is a must.
Forgotten Tomb from Italy shifted the atmosphere with a black/doom assault that was sharp and urgent, guitars biting, rhythm relentless, vocals corrosive. They were wild, raw, and unforgiving – a breath of fresh air in the wider line-up, and the crowd answered with the same intensity. For me, they were the favorite act of the festival, carrying energies that had been building for almost an evening and a half before finally exploding here. Only then did I think of The Ruins of Beverast, whose cancellation from the original line-up this year left a gap. They would have been the bridge between Antimatter’s reflective sorrow and Forgotten Tomb’s aggression, and their absence lingered. Maybe next year.
The headliners on both nights stayed within their own frame: tight, controlled, maybe too much so. Swallow the Sun delivered a polished and professional set, their performance flowing with constant motion as they shifted pace and mood with ease. The show was very good, carried by tight musicianship and a clear sense of control, keeping the energy alive throughout.
My Dying Bride followed the next evening in a changed lineup. With Aaron Stainthorpe absent, Mikko Kotamäki – already fronting the previous night – took the role. He handled it with calmness, his performance consistent and composed. Still, the absence was felt. Not because something was lacking, but because the overlap created a sense of drift. Two iconic bands, fronted by the same figure on consecutive nights, brought an odd sameness to what should have been distinct.
These aren’t distant worlds, of course. They speak a similar musical language. But their histories, their tone, their lore, the way each marks its ground, remained separate. Seeing them blur, even slightly, left the air a little flat. Both sets delivered. But they felt more like routine than peak. Especially when placed alongside the smaller acts, who played with a kind of directness that kept its edge deep into the night.
Under the Doom wasn’t confined to the stage. Lisbon pressed up against it at every turn. Music Station held the sound, but the city kept leaking in, in my mind’s eye. The yellow trams, the rhythm of footsteps on stone, the slow pace of rain, everything outside seemed to move in sync with what played inside.
It was a short visit, and it left me wanting to do more, see more, explore more. Like the city, the festival also left me with the sense of wanting more – it was great, yet never quite enough. That overlap is what stays with me now, how everything folded into the same frame. Music, city, time. All of it still moving and unfinished: pointing forward, and asking for a return.
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UNDER THE DOOM 2025 | PHOTO GALLERY
