Until the Doom Takes Us: Thoughts From and About Doomship Festival 2025
Beneath the rusted frame of Hamburg’s MS Stubnitz, Doomship Festival 2025 launched its inaugural edition. Docked like a steel carcass in the harbor, the ship transformed into a vessel of sonic weight and emotional collapse. The atmosphere was shaped as much by the music as by the ship’s very structure: steel staircases, corroded railings, low ceilings and dripping pipes, all converging to create an environment that felt as if it had witnessed more than music was ever meant to hold.
Day 1: Salt in the Hull
The first day began with Urza, who celebrated a decade of existence by opening the voyage with deliberate, unflinching doom. There was no easing in, only full immersion. Their set felt like a slow ignition, turning the rusted interior of the Stubnitz into a chamber of tension and release. Following them, Fvneral Fvkk brought both spectacle and ferocity. With theatrical robes, ritualistic pacing, and an actual cross carried on stage, they turned sacred imagery into sonic catharsis, delivering epic hymns soaked in irony and mockery.
As the night progressed, Officium Triste took the stage and delivered a performance that left a lasting impression on me more than any other that day. I’ve listened to them for years, and still, hearing their music echo through the steel interior of the Stubnitz added a new dimension to their sound. Their performance carried a remarkable duality that felt entirely natural, shifting between gentleness and harshness with a sense of control that never broke the emotional thread holding it all together. At moments, their playing was soft and reflective, almost tender, and then, without losing the flow, it would rise into something fierce and commanding. There was an element of drama in how they moved and held the stage, not in a forced or theatrical way, but more like a quiet confidence, even elegance, that gave their presence a kind of poetic weight. It was pure honesty.
The night closed with Blazing Eternity, who offered a different kind of heaviness. These Danish veterans performed with grace and warmth, delivering a reflective, melancholic yet angry and still-youthful set that allowed space for breath without diminishing the emotional depth. A very pleasant ending for a wonderful night.
Day 2: Descent Complete
The second day began with Endonomos, and for me, their set was another highlight of the weekend. I’ve loved this band for a while now, and seeing them live only deepened that connection. They moved effortlessly between soaring melody and crushing growls, not as opposites but as parts of the same voice. Their sound was rich, thoughtful, and heavy in all the right ways. It felt complete, but also too short. What they gave us was brilliant, and it left me wanting more.
Decembrance followed with a brooding, textured set that leaned into atmosphere over aggression. Their songs stretched into long forms that didn’t rush to conclusions, instead pulling us into their bleak, layered landscapes.
Afterward, Ophis reshaped the venue with their signature weight. Their sound hit with the force of a collapsing structure, slow and deliberate, yet absolutely devastating. Every riff dragged through the air like a chain, the drums rolled like an old, giant steel engine, and the vocals emerged from a place that felt deeper than the ocean itself. Positioned between two more atmospheric acts, they introduced a different kind of gravity. Their set didn’t shift the tone so much as pull everything downward, into something harsher and more elemental. It was a moment where, for me, the festival’s core musical purpose felt fully realized: dense, uncompromising doom in its most visceral form.
Helevorn went up next with a more melodic, gothic-leaning sound that brought a shift in mood. But the set was overshadowed by an unnecessary political remark that disrupted the atmosphere. As an Israeli, and as someone who values truth and moral clarity, I found it deeply unsettling. In times like these, spaces like this must remain sacred. What was said broke something fragile. And yet, that moment only reinforced how rare and essential gatherings like Doomship are: places where the weight we carry can be shared without being turned into a weapon. Distortion belongs in the music, not in the message.
And then came Ataraxie. The French masters of sprawling, sorrow-soaked doom conquered the stage and changed the pace of everything. From their first minute on stage, it felt like the atmosphere thickened. The lights dimmed in a way that seemed natural, as if the ship itself was reacting to their arrival. Their set stretched far beyond the usual boundaries of time or structure, carrying the audience into a slow collapse that felt almost ceremonial. Each passage bled into the next with unhurried weight, layering sound over silence until the venue became one continuous tension. The night was theirs, that’s for sure – and they deserved it.
The Destination: Nowhere but Down
The Stubnitz itself is a collaborator in the sound. Pipes curl along the ceilings like rusted vines. Narrow corridors twist unexpectedly. The stairs are steep and uneven. The stage is visible from above, from below, and through crooked railings and strange catwalks. Every position changes how the music hits your body. At times, it felt like we were watching some lost wartime film stripped of narrative, where only the soundtrack remained, echoing through red lights and steel.
Within that labyrinth of iron and shadow, a sense of intimacy emerged. There were no backstage walls or VIP enclosures. Musicians wandered among listeners, sharing drinks and quiet exchanges between sets. People leaned against metal beams, eyes closed, letting the reverb work through them. There was no performance of fandom, no division between performer and crowd. Only shared weight.
This was the first Doomship, and it deserves to return. What it offered was rare: a space shaped by honesty, by sound, and by the courage to dwell in what others avoid. In a world obsessed with novelty and speed, Doomship chose weight, slowness, and depth. And somewhere at the edge of the harbor, under cold skies and flickering stars, one word continued to neon-glow through the night. DOOM.
