SMOKE RISES FROM THE HOLLER OF DOOM

There’s nothing quite as special as a music festival. Not only is it a convenient and beautifully communal way to see some of your favorite bands. It’s also economical. Why pay $100 just for a nosebleed seat to see a band like TOOL when you could drop $140 to see Maynard and Co. alongside dozens of other bands and get close enough to look ‘em right in the eyes?

As much attention gets thrown to gigantic events like Bonnaroo, music festivals are happening all the time. I’ve been to two this summer, one not even 10 minutes away from my apartment.

These festivals are different. They’re free from corporate influence and have a sense of authenticity or even intimacy about them. You’re not gonna just get to see the bands play, odds are you’re gonna share a drink or a smoke with them while you’re there.

You know how important it is to support local businesses? That same standard is even more important for your local artists. These are the up and comers, the ballsy creatives who are gonna do something different. All that to say, go to a local show or festival. Head bang, make friends, and discover some truly cool music. s

With this drawn out introduction out of the way, take a walk with me into the Holler of Doom.

There’s a special little holler deep in the ass crack of Laurel County. It’s surrounded by picturesque farmland and even a serene little church. Appalachia by way of Norman Rockwell.

A few weekends a year, it becomes something else. A stream of vehicles tear through the backroads on the way to the holler. They come bearing beer, cannabis, camping equipment, and the kind of music that shakes the earth. Smoke rises around a stage that looks like something out of a backwoods revival. There are even a few church pews strewn around the ground where onlookers can sit - not to fold their hands in prayer - but throw them up as devil horns.

Welcome to the Holler of Doom.

After stepping out of my car, I found myself deep in conversation with some of the other festival-goers. We talked about everything from festival etiquette to the Satanic Panic. As is customary at events like this one, I was offered some cannabis almost immediately by another attendee.

“I told you, man,” David Langley said with a grin. “It’s easy to get lost bullshitting here.”

Holler of Doom is a yearly metal festival and gift to the world from Langley, vocalist and bass player of Lexington, KY’s StormToker. For the seasoned metal musician and his friends, the festival is a labor of love. A showcase of talented musicians from around the region and a chance to bask in the outcast camaraderie of heavy metal.

“Holler has always been an immensely profound experience, mainly because as an organizer, I get to literally bring a lot of my favorite bands from the region,” Langley said. “Anytime you get to do something this cool, that means a lot to a lot of people because all my bands that I brought on that have come on to do this have gotten really behind it.”

Held on July 12th and 13th, this year’s festival had a crowded lineup that spanned various subgenres, some were even outside of the metal. Friday saw Period Sex, Haiku Seppuku, Kyarn, BandShee, Caravan Discordia, Wurm Sun, N.P. Presley, Appalachiatari, and Wyndrider perform.

Saturday kicked off much earlier, with SadBlackLab, John Haywood, Damage Therapy, Ponddigger, Vibrolas, StormToker, Flock of Moons, Karma Vulture, Buzzhound, Blind Scryer, Swamp Hawk, Weed Demon, Shi, and Crop take the stage.

2024 marks the fourth year that the Holler of Doom has been held. It’s only grown in reputation and size since it began. With attendees coming from as far away as California.

While metal isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when outsiders think of Kentucky, the scene has a strong presence in our commonwealth. Look close enough and you’ll find heavy music from Whitesville to Paducah.

“The beautiful thing is there’s a core of bands in this state that are flying the flag really high in this region. There was another festival we (StormToker) played in Ohio. And any time a Kentucky band hit that stage, the energy level rose,” Langley said.

As the sun began to go down on Friday night, Kyarn thundered onto the stage with the heaviest set I was fortunate to take in during my brief time at the festival. Led by windmill headbanging frontman Mike Brewer, Kyarn is ferocious. The Laurel County natives play the kind of stuff that’ll cave your fucking skull in. A hilarious contrast to the singer’s jovial nature off the stage.

The land that the Holler of Doom calls home was passed down to Brewer by his family. He began hosting his own event - Mountains of Metal - on the property back in 2018. Holler of Doom came after he befriended the guys from StormToker.

A lifelong advocate of all things eastern Kentucky, it was important to him to help foster a sense of community in the region for the people who play and listen to his favorite genre of music.

“Heavy metal is, you know, in this area, they don't know what to do with it. So I thought, well, if we have a stage where people feel welcome, maybe we can create a scene and, you know, get people to gather and it's not so sheltered,” Brewer said. “With Holler of Doom and everything, it gives people a nice, healthy outlet to where they feel free to express their art and express themselves in a manner that you can't do in normal society. You can’t go down the street singing this kind of music at the top of your lungs.”

It was hard to keep track of Langley during the time I got to spend at the festival. He seemed to bounce around from tent to tent and group to group making all of the attendees of the festival feel at home.

They were in for a long night after all, as the music rarely stopped after the schedule did.

“We’ll go on till 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning with afterhours jams sometimes,” Langley said.

As the night went on, more and more people began pouring into the holler. There was a sense of intimacy I haven’t seen at other festivals. Hugs flowed freely as people built their camps and began walking towards the stage. A lot of folks didn’t know each other, but there weren’t any strangers here.

It’s a reminder of just how important that voices like these are cranked up to 11.

Langley and Company were kind enough to offer me an invitation to camp and spend the night at the festival. A tempting offer, that I’m going to take them up on next year. Pulling my vehicle out on the road to leave the Holler of Doom, I’m reminded of a few lyrics to Sleep’s magnum opus, “Dopesmoker.”

“Drop out of life with bong in hand. Follow the smoke toward the riff-filled land,” Al Cisneros drones to the sound of Matt Pike’s unmistakable guitar playing.

Who could’ve known that the riff-filled land was in eastern Kentucky?