Wacken 2024 - Day 2

My first proper Wacken day starts earlier than intended—because of course it does. Around 6:30 AM, some sort of construction or cleaning vehicle rolls through the campground and starts pumping something. Loudly. Repeatedly. Sleep is no longer an option.

On the bright side: I’ve slept deeply, and my back isn’t screaming. The camp beds were a wise investment. There’s no queue at the toilets this early, and we enjoy a very civilised morning with plastic-cup coffee—because I forgot to pack mugs. Classic.

Marie and I are already crispy from Day 1 and vow to do better with sun protection. We will fail at this repeatedly.

Today’s plan: Wacken Firefighters, Girlschool, and Hellripper. We set off around 11:15 AM toward the Wackinger Stage—and immediately hit a massive queue.

There’s only one female security staffer, which means every woman is stuck on the left side, inching through at glacial speed. Add in debates over handbags and Holy Ground policies, and it feels less like a festival and more like purgatory with a wristband.

By the time we reach the Wackinger Village, the Firefighters are nearly done. Unicorns are bouncing through the crowd. So are beach balls. Someone brought bubbles. It’s all quite charming, if you ignore the blazing sun actively trying to kill us.

Then I find myself in earshot of a woman arguing with a crêpe vendor. She’s thankfully not a vegan, she announces, loudly. The vendor—bless him—tries to explain that a vegan crêpe can, in fact, taste good. She’s appalled. “It’s just flour and water then, isn’t it?” she scoffs, as if describing nuclear waste. He offers her a sample. She concedes that it’s tasty— but insists she will never eat vegan. Ever. Because morals must be defended, even against flour.

I sigh, step away from the stand, and dive back into the sun.

For the first time, I get to explore more of the Wacken grounds—including the Louder, Faster, and Harder stages. The area between those three stages is so incredibly vast, I can already feel the ominous pain in my left foot. I haven’t worn my boots since last year’s botched Wacken attempt—a decision that felt sensible at the time. Now, I’m paying for it. No support, no mercy, just heatstroke and regret.

While Marie and Jan-Hendrik head off to see Butcher Babies, I wander aimlessly, clinging to shade. On the way to the EMP lounge, I nearly trip over a massive tuba. That’s how I discover Blaas of Glory, who are mid-performance and wearing what can only be described as spandex crimes against humanity. They are also brilliant. Chaos, talent, and unhinged energy — 10/10, would almost die via tuba again.

Quick stop at the EMP Lounge for hydration and existential dread in a queue to the loo. You haven't truly experienced a metal festival until you’ve reevaluated your life while holding a bottle of overpriced water and trying not to pass out in the sun.

Back to the Louder Stage for Girlschool. They were one of the first bands I really liked when dipping my toes into metal, so I’m excited. Denise Dufort is an icon. She and Kim have been playing together for nearly 50 years, and there’s something genuinely moving about seeing them live.

Unfortunately—the set itself is a bit of a let-down. Everything sort of blends together, and I spend most of it just waiting for Race With The Devil. Still, I’m here for nostalgia and respect, not peak musical complexity.

Also, I can’t feel my toes anymore.

I limp back to the tent like a cursed NPC, hating everything slightly. I hit the showers while the campground is quiet, and then make my way—blistered but determined—to the Wasteland Stage. I arrive just in time to catch the tail end of Hitten, who are playing to a small but feral crowd. I somehow manage to snag a spot right at the front.

Hellripper. My personal Wacken highlight. No debate.

They’ve only got 45 minutes, but holy hell, they use every second. The energy is feral. Juvenile. Slightly dangerous. It’s perfect. James McBain clearly lives for this—and at the end of the set, he joins the ever-growing tsunami of crowdsurfers himself.

“I’m coming down now! You better well catch me!”

Iconic.

At one point, the crowd surfing gets properly dicey. I’m small, and handling half-limp bodies is a struggle. Security looks visibly overwhelmed, as if this entire concept is new to them. Even the press is surfing by the end.

It’s total, euphoric mayhem.

Adrenaline still pumping, we make a very spontaneous decision: To hell with my blistered feet—let’s go into the village.

We see more of the campground on our way to the village and walk past the Moshtel area, smugly positioned in a prime location. I’ve seriously considered it—but let’s be honest, the price tag is somewhere between mildly extortionate and entire family holiday in Denmark. So for now, I suffer. Romantically.

As we walk, Suzie Quattro is playing the Louder Stage. Marie and Jan-Hendrik later confirm she did really well. We pass several wonderfully weird humans. Then, as we stroll through the village—beer stalls, wurst, music on every corner—I spot it.

The house for sale.

Yes, that house. The one I’d looked at online just a week before. Still on the market. Still full of potential.

Would I buy it? Absolutely.

Do I have the money? Absolutely not.

Feel free to start a crowdfunding campaign on my behalf.

We arrive at the Wacken Landgasthof just in time to catch the last two songs of Ozzyfied—and they are shockingly good. The crowd goes wild to Paranoid, and for a brief, beer-fuelled moment, everything is perfect.

The walk back is a blur of light and field creatures.

We save a hedgehog.

Spot two hares dancing under the In Extremo light show.

Stumble across the glowing Wacken logo.

Collapse at the tent like survivors of a soft apocalypse.

We end the night with a game of Categories.

Trennungsgrund mit B: Bier.

Enough said.

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