Spooky season is back for all those who celebrate, and what better way to mark its return than with a three-day heavy music festival? Glasgow has once again opened its doors to core. Festival, the ceiling-shaking event that would flatten a lesser venue but barely makes the good people of Maryhill blink. This year, the festival has gone more esoteric than ever, fronting bands whose names are a little less murder-y and a little more avant-garde, with added cellos and some Shakespeare thrown in for good measure. Don’t worry, though—it’s still loud enough to concern any well-informed medical professional.

Sunday marked the festival’s big finale, and core. is not one to go out quietly. From the afternoon until late into the night, punks and metalheads of every genre packed into the wide spaces of Maryhill Community Centre and the iconic basement of The Hug & Pint. Sure, standing in a brightly lit hall at 2pm on a Sunday surrounded by recovering headbangers and the sound of violent bands competing with blistering rain hammering against stubborn but surprisingly sturdy windows might seem odd, but that’s the charm. This year, the festival strengthened that charm with the most unexpected MVP: a small coffee machine. As one diligent barista gracefully raged against the machine, grateful metalheads were offered everything from espressos to mochas, plus branded vegan biscuits. Could there be a more civilised way to enjoy death metal? I certainly don’t think so.

The coffee and cake only sweetened an evening of unpredictable performances. Some acts flirted with discomfort, like Mrs Frighthouse, a noise-metal duo whose hauntingly beautiful vocals created an unsettling, surreal atmosphere. Others brought pure chaos, such as No Kilter—a band whose members seemed locked in a competition to see who could be the loudest in the room. Then there were the surprises: Mexican Violencia made a storming Glasgow debut that left The Hug & Pint rightfully shaken, while the eccentric Jo Quail stunned the usually un-silenceable crowd with just an electric cello and a debatable interpretation of butterflies dancing. Rounding off the night, headliners Cave In—seasoned veterans of the scene—delivered pure nostalgic joy with a full playthrough of Jupiter to mark its 25th anniversary, delighting old fans and new alike.

As in previous years, the set-up was ambitious but rewarding. Fans—ranging from goths to punks and even the odd Oasis-shirted local—dashed between three venues, attempting (and failing) to stay dry in the Scottish autumn downpour. Each space had its quirks: Maryhill Community Centre was too bright to match the intensity of the music and a little too reminiscent of a school assembly hall; meanwhile, The Hug & Pint’s sweaty basement vibe perfectly matched the energy, but its cramped size forced many to choose between being crushed inside or missing out entirely.

The festivities were also slightly hampered by a schedule that seemed more like a suggestion than a rule, with bands starting either early or late but rarely on time. Sets lasted anywhere from ten minutes to an hour, but the easy-going crowd didn’t seem to mind—helped, no doubt, by the ready supply of alcohol.

By the end of the night, the atmosphere was electric. From surreal cello solos to Cave In’s thunderous nostalgia, the festival proved once again why it matters. Yes, it could do with a little more fine-tuning and perhaps a fresh change of space, but core. brings people together for a gloriously messy celebration of heavy music and creativity. After all, it’s not every Sunday afternoon you see a man in full leather calmly sipping a mocha and reading a book while a band screams Shakespeare alongside a dancing saxophone. That’s probably for the best—but it’s still brilliant when it happens. And long may core. Festival continue to provide a space for just that kind of wholesome absurdity.