Wacken 2024 - Day 4

Day 4 kicks off at 7 AM with AC/DC blasting from somewhere nearby. Because why wouldn’t someone feel the need to share Highway to Hell before sunrise? It’s cold. It’s damp. I’m knackered. My feet look like something out of a post-apocalyptic footcare commercial. Slippers it is.

I manage to beat the morning rush to the showers and toilets. Which sounds like a win, but isn’t. Cleanliness is becoming a rare and mystical concept. By 8 AM, the Bavarian brass band is back. Because Wacken is, above all else, an endurance test in weird soundscapes.

We migrate into Jan-Hendrik’s tent to escape the rain and reassess our life choices.

Spirits are low. Marie, sensing danger, cracks open a Tetra Pak of white wine and salvation begins.

Breakfast consists of lentil stew, mashed potatoes, hot peppers (“Du hast bis in Jan-Hendriks Zelt gespritzt!”) and ravioli. Yes, it’s 9 AM. No, we’re not sorry.

We resume our EXIT game. They play. I mostly just sit there, blinking slowly. Logic isn’t part of my operating system anymore.

The rain stops. We shuffle toward the plaza to collect my merch. JH and Marie catch glimpses of Skiltron and Blues Pills. I head back to Residenz Evil, drawn in by the promise of a surprise MOS set.

There aren’t many people in the tent. Someone’s forgotten to turn off the TV audio. Great start.

Tobi is without Tommy this time, and instead plays with two new bandmates I don’t recognise. It’s a little chaotic, a little cursed—but they pull it off. Their professionalism and good vibes reignite my soul a little. I even manage to say hi to Tobi afterwards, which is huge for me. Social interaction? At a festival? With someone I actually like? Unheard of.

Meanwhile, Chris is living his best life with his metal chip fork. Simple pleasures. Sacred tools.

By 5:30 PM, we regroup at the Jungle stage with Iris and Jens, my fellow Wini Macken co-organisers.

MOS played our Wini Macken Fest in 2023 — of course we’re there for them again.

And they deliver.

Tobi introduces Markus and Dougie from 9mm Headshot, and Dougie is so absurdly likeable it’s almost rude. Within seconds, he’s won over the crowd.

The set is a chaotic mix of beer anthems, digestive confessions, and classics like Fear of the Dark, Warriors of the World, and Beinhart.

I am laughing. I am cheering. I feel deeply connected to this band from Ketsch — a stone’s throw from my hometown of Sinsheim.

Seriously. Go listen to them. It's beer-soaked magic.

Dinner: Langos.

Not just food — a spiritual event. Covered in garlic, devoured post-beer. No regrets. Only apologies to those within a 2-metre radius of me for the rest of the night.

We wander over to the Faster and Louder Stages, catching the end of Gene Simmons before Blind Guardian starts. I’m—completely unmoved.

The stages are too big. The infield feels like a waiting room with guitar solos.

You’re not watching a show—you’re watching a screen with other people watching the same screen.

I’ve seen Blind Guardian in a smaller venue, and it worked. Here? It’s just background noise with 60,000 people.

We drift. Again. Wandering is 90% of Wacken. The rest is standing, queuing, and wondering why your knees feel like they’re made of gravel.

We explore the Wackinger Village and the Dio Memorial.

Chris eats tacos. I hear the fire show, but I’m too short to see anything. The gasps sound promising, though.

As we make our way back through the crowd, Valhalla and Majesty wrap up Blind Guardian’s set—and still, nothing stirs.

I spot a woman from our village shop in Otter. In a sea of 85,000 people, I run into someone from a village of 2,000.

Somewhere, the gods of coincidence are having a laugh.

Korn comes on. I listen to the first two songs out of duty. Still not getting it. Not in the 2000s, not now.

So I head to the W.E.T. Stage. Annoyingly—but not surprisingly—the front row is already taken. I am in the second row for Jyrki. The audacity. I sit through nearly all of Unleash the Archers, which I hate. Sorry. No notes, just vibes. Vibes I want to leave immediately.

By the time The 69 Eyes are about to start at 11:45 PM, the last few days catch up with me all at once.

The crowd thickens. My head spins. My legs start to give in. Perfect.

Before I repeat my infamous Alcest-collapse, I haul myself to the side of the stage for some fresh air and unceremonious butt-to-ground action.

I can still see the screen. I have space. I can dance. And dancing is a must at a 69 Eyes gig.

The set is familiar and solid. Not as sexy as Hamburg last year—the lighting's harsh, the stage is too big, and Jyrki’s pencilled-over brows are a little too visible on the big screen.

But they close with Lost Boys and I’m happy. Always.

As we limp back to camp, we catch the final Wasteland Stage fire show.

Flames light up the night. Heat blasts our faces.

We don’t speak. We just walk—tired, burnt, and weirdly grateful.

Tomorrow is the last day.

We are ready.

Kind of.

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