How German Summer tried to kill me before Kreator could finish their set.
For nearly a year, the tickets for this legendary chaosfest sat neatly sealed on my desk—a talisman of anticipation. Announced in August 2023 (aka the summer I did not go to Wacken, please clap), Klash Of The Ruhrpott sold out within days. And for good reason: the Teutonic Four of Thrash Metal—Tankard, Destruction, Sodom, and Kreator—sharing a single stage. What was there to think about? Immediate yes.
Expectations? Immense. Reality? German summer.
Hell Is an Amphitheatre in Gelsenkirchen
Note to self: no more open-air tickets. Ever. There is a painfully specific range of acceptable weather conditions for outdoor metal, and it lives between 20–24°C, overcast, no rain. That’s it. That’s the window. Anything else is violence.
After weeks of damp misery, summer came back swinging with 33°C and zero mercy. The Amphitheater Gelsenkirchen, while a nice venue in theory, had all the shade of a toaster. The tiny hedge on the top left stand was prime real estate. We stood there like dehydrated gremlins until Tankard started, at which point I had to make a choice: be part of the gig, or stare at some dude’s sunburnt shoulders for the next hour. Spoiler: I chose sunstroke.
Tankard: Beer, Sweat, and Unexpected Joy
Tankard kicked things off at 5 PM and I was genuinely surprised—in the good way! Of the Teutonic Four, they were the one band I’d never really clicked with. None of their albums had done it for me before.
But live? Different story. The crowd loved them. Despite the heat, a circle pit exploded instantly. Moshing! Dancing! Gerre addressing the crowd like everyone was an old drinking buddy. It felt warm — emotionally, not just skin-meltingly — and a little nostalgic. By the time everyone was shouting along to "(Empty) Tankard," the vibe was strong and very, very sweaty.
Destruction, Sodom, and a Side of Armpit
After Tankard, everyone raced for drinks like it was the last call before Ragnarök. And look—on a 30+ degree day, access to water should not feel like a side quest. That said, the toilets were surprisingly clean and blissfully queue-free. So—small victories?
Next up: Destruction. Schmier & Co. were solid. Professional. Flawless, even. But also? Kinda underwhelming. Maybe the heat drained the energy. Maybe everyone was still queueing for overpriced beer. Either way, the magic just wasn’t there for me. Thrash Till Death was fun, but the crowd energy dipped. A shame.
Sodom came next, and I made the bold decision to leave the shady-ish stands and venture closer to the stage. Mistake. I lasted two songs before I was crushed into the sweaty armpit of a shirtless middle-aged thrash guy who believed he owned that square metre of earth—and also, apparently, that he could control the sound engineer with aggressive hand gestures.
I retreated. But not before noticing Frank Blackfire has really good hair. Priorities.
Back in the stands, we could barely see the stage, but Ausgebombt still hit hard. Pretty sure I saw Ricardo from The Night Eternal walk by, though it might’ve been a heat-induced hallucination. Unconfirmed.
Kreator: Confetti, Catharsis & Chaos
Finally—finally—it was time for Kreator. The black curtain dropped. The inflatable demons rose. Anticipation was palpable. By now, the sun had dipped below “threat to life” levels and people had reassembled en masse.
Kreator opened with Hate Über Alles and then—blissfully—Phobia. Comparing the four bands was inevitable. Tankard brought the heart, Destruction brought the technicals, Sodom brought the pits—but Kreator brought everything. Pyro. Confetti guns. Multiple walls of death. Frédéric Leclercq being his usual stage-god self. This was my second time seeing them, and again, they absolutely delivered. My inner vampire rose from the ashes.
And Then: The Plot Twist
We had foolishly left the raincoats at home—every damn weather app swore there’d be no rain. So naturally, the gods of irony sent a thunderstorm. The first drops were refreshing. Then came the downpour. Then came the lightning. And then: evacuation.
We bolted. Soaked to the bone, we were picked up by my husband’s aunt (yes, really), bundled into the car like soggy teenagers, and driven home to hot showers, re-heated leftovers, and a glass of wine on the porch. Honestly? Not a bad ending.
I’ll be seeing Kreator again in December with Anthrax and Testament—hopefully this time without weather-related plot twists. Fingers crossed.
PS: Hero of the Day
To the woman in the red blouse sitting in front of me during Sodom, noise-cancelling headphones on, scrolling her phone for the entire gig: I see you. I salute you.
My theories:
- Mom waiting for her son to be done in the pit
- Designated driver from hell
- Best wife in Europe
- Lost a bet in spectacular fashion
Whatever your story is—you have my respect.
