Skálmöld - Live in Bremen

Oh boy. I am all over the place.

I went to see Skálmöld in Bremen last Saturday—which, on its own, would’ve been thrilling enough. But this was also my first time attending a concert in a semi-official capacity, writing for Stormbringer Magazine.

And because writing about a gig apparently wasn’t enough stress, I decided to also photograph it.

Did I know how to use a professional camera?

No.

Did I own one?

Also no.

Did I let that stop me?

Of course not.

Thanks to a wildly supportive circle of friends, I managed to borrow a proper camera with a decent lens. My brother-in-law (the very talented @stefan_sabrautzky) handed me photography books. The team at Stormbringer patiently answered my every question—no matter how stupid. I prepared. I studied.

And then, on the night?

My nerves packed their bags and left anyhow.

I’d done my homework. I’d researched the support acts—Atavistia and Seven Spires—because I wanted to know what I was walking into.

Turns out, I wasn’t walking in. I was late.

Me. The chronically early person.

The one who shows up at 6:45 for a 7pm admission.

This one time I thought, “It’s fine to be fashionably late,” and of course the first band was already playing when I arrived at 19:30.

At least the logistics worked—my name was on the list, I got in with the camera, and I handed my coat off to my ever-supportive husband. I shoved the camera into my hands and weaseled my way to the front row.

The Tower in Bremen is small and already packed. There’s no designated photographer’s pit, which was—not ideal. I’m small. I can’t shoot over heads. But people were kind—when they saw the camera, they let me pass.

And then everything went sideways.

My hands were shaking. My brain? Useless. Everything I’d read about shutter speed, ISO, aperture—gone. The fixed focal length lens wasn’t great for the tight space. The band was too close. The angles were all wrong.

I shot. I hoped. Most of the pictures? Utter garbage.

But I learned. And now, in hindsight, I know what I did wrong. I know what I’ll do differently. And most importantly—I did it. I showed up. I tried. I didn't bolt.

Spoiler: I won't be taking the camera to Cattle Decapitation two weeks later. That crowd? No pit. No mercy. No chance. I decided I’d wait for something—more civilised.

I caught the last three songs from Atavistia. Between the nerves and the lens chaos, I couldn’t fully focus, but what I did hear? Really good. Tight musicianship, atmospheric power, and a confident presence on stage.

Also: Matt Sippola? Unfairly attractive.

He had the kind of stage presence that pulls focus—especially during the clean vocals. I’d absolutely catch them again if they come to Hamburg.

After a short break, during which Chris wisely handed me a beer to calm the spiral, Seven Spires took the stage.

The lighting was a nightmare. The kind of lighting that says, “Good luck, rookie.”

I made it through two songs before I gave up and packed the camera away. The frustration was real—but once the gear was out of the way, I actually got to listen.

And again—I was impressed. I’m not usually into symphonic metal with clean female vocals, but Adrienne Cowan? Incredible range. Seamless shifts from shrieks and growls to soaring highs. She moves like the stage belongs to her.

And when Jack Kosto waved at my camera? I forgave everything.

Skálmöld hit the stage around 21:30, and once again I was reminded that front row without a barrier is not the dream it seems.

I found myself directly in front of Snæbjörn’s bass—either looking at his feet or straining my neck to glimpse his beard. So I bailed. I climbed up a step on the right side of the stage, blocking people’s views (sorry), but got a much better perspective.

Eventually, I settled on the left side of the stage—next to the bar, with a barrier to lean on and a perfect, unobstructed view. Not too close. Not too far. Just right.

I watched Baldur reach for his beer bottles—arm’s length away—and I packed the camera in for good. That moment? That’s when I finally relaxed.

Watching Skálmöld live is pure joy.

They love what they do—and it shows.

Gunnar, barefoot in a skirt, behind his keyboards, drinking red wine out of a wine glass, rocked his whole keyboard stand with enthusiasm.

Jón Geir—my favourite—was grinning the whole time. He’s the happiest drummer I’ve ever seen, and that energy is infectious. I could hardly take my eyes off him.

And when they played Kvaðning, artificial snow drifted over the crowd and I just—melted.

I stayed after the show this time. Didn’t bolt.

I was rewarded with a photo and an autograph from both Björgvin and Jón Geir—and that memory now lives pinned up next to my laptop.

Despite the nerves. Despite the failure rate. Despite every moment I felt like I was in over my head—this night changed something for me.

It made everything real.

I was in the pit.

I was press.

I was part of it.

I was terrified—and I did it anyway.

(If you want the official concert review and photo gallery, you’ll find it here.)