For the second time running, I’ve had the fortune of covering Copenhell, Denmark’s premier heavy metal and rock festival. Copenhell 2025 draws its identity from ‘Diana’, a clay sculpture by Danish artist Rose Eken, which reimagines the Roman goddess of the hunt, wilderness, and moonlight as the patron saint of chaos, crossroads, and primal power. The final lineup boasted over 70 bands, with artists flying in from as far as Australia, Colombia, Singapore, and the U.S. to unleash sonic mayhem on the Danish capital.
It’s difficult to describe what it feels like to watch streams of fans, clad in their battle vests, lining up to charge the venue at 10 AM on a weekday. My eyes, accustomed to watching metal gigs in the most unlikely venues in India, can barely believe what they are seeing.
“It rots the mind, wrecks the morals, and erases all traces of humanity,” is what people would say to me growing up in Mumbai, where heavy metal is still treated like a contagious disease. In Denmark, though, no one bats an eye at fans in latex, leather, or corpse paint. It’s just a Wednesday at Copenhell.
To better understand the contrasting perceptions of metalheads and their culture, I turned my lens toward first-time festivalgoers looking to embrace the chaos and debut performances at Copenhell 2025. What followed was a series of raw, honest, and unforgettable encounters.
Day 1
New blood, loud hearts, no mercy
Eager to catch as many debut acts as possible, I bypassed the towering main stages—Helviti and Hades—and made my way to the Boneyard. Tucked inside a repurposed shipping container, the festival’s smallest stage came alive as Canadian cowboys from the Bobby Tenderloin Universe kicked off the metal mayhem with their rustic, eerie covers of metal classics. It was the perfect kickoff to a high-octane day.
With Myles Kennedy’s last-minute cancellation, Copenhagen’s own Vulvatorius stepped up to open the Hades stage—and they didn’t disappoint. Under pressure, the Danish sextet delivered a blistering set, with frontwoman Ditte Krøyer igniting the crowd into a frenzy of circle pits. Copenhell 2025 had officially erupted. As the crowd surged toward the main stage for Skunk Anansie, I slipped back into the Boneyard for something grittier—Hard Lessons!
Making their Copenhell debut with their latest album This Ain’t No Game, the hardcore outfit from Aalborg delivered a set that hit like a freight train. “I just write better in English,” said frontman Tore, who happens to be a Danish teacher by day. “Hardcore isn’t just for your countrymen—it’s for everyone.” Midway through, they brought out Tomas Pérez from Syracusæ for a surprise guest spot, and the energy went nuclear.
Coming from the same city that birthed Mnemic, the band credits Denmark’s tight-knit metal scene, kept alive by buzzing Facebook groups and first-timer meetups, for the overwhelming support. “We didn’t expect this,” Tore admitted. “Most people probably heard us for the first time today—but they stayed, and they roared.”
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Grind
As the dust settled and my ears still buzzed from Hard Lessons’ sonic assault, I followed the trail of denim and leather to Gehenna, where things were about to get gloriously weird. Enter BattleSnake, a seven-piece spectacle from Down Under, dressed in flowing white satin robes and armed with riffs. No one expected them to steal the show, but by the end of their set, they had the crowd eating out of their hands.
The Danish summer heat took its toll, and soon the robes were off, the party was on. The last Aussie act to shake Copenhell was Karnivool, who made their debut last year. When I interviewed them then, they teased new music. And last week, they delivered with their latest single “Drone.”
One of Day 1’s standout acts was Singapore’s grindcore powerhouse Wormrot, making a thunderous return to Europe after 15 years. The trio were met with open arms, with fans lighting up social media to praise their set. Their latest release, TNT—a live compilation of their greatest hits—is already making waves. Never ones to play it safe, Wormrot’s bold inclusion of violin sections has earned them critical acclaim and the historic honor of being the first Southeast Asian act to perform at Glastonbury in 2017.
Another standout on Day 1 was Danish-Swedish progressive outfit Vola, returning to Copenhell after their 2022 debut. Performing on the Pandemonium stage, the band elevated every aspect of their show—tight musicianship, immersive soundscapes, and a light show that pulsed perfectly with their sonic textures. Earlier this year, drummer Adam Janzi also collaborated with Pune-based prog-metallers Celestial Teapot on their latest release, “Locus of Control,” adding an exciting cross-continental layer to Vola’s growing influence. The festival proved once again that its magic lies not just in the headliners, but in the unexpected moments and rising voices that shake the ground beneath them. If this was just the beginning, the days ahead promised even louder surprises.
Day 2
After a thunderous Day 1 packed with debut acts and sonic surprises, Day 2 was all about the fresh faces in the crowd. I set out to meet first-time festival goers—those diving headfirst into the chaos, camaraderie, and catharsis of Copenhell. Four years into living in Denmark, I’m still learning the rhythms of Danish life, and one of the best places to tap into the Copenhell spirit is the Facebook group Copenhell Family. It’s where fans find lost items, new friends, and share raw, real-time reactions. A simple post I made in English asking to speak with first-timers sparked more responses than I expected
First Time in Hell: What Makes Them Say Yes to Metal?
Festivals are more than just music—they’re a celebration of shared identity. In the heavy metal subculture, self-expression takes centre stage. It’s loud, raw, and unapologetic—a living metaphor where sound and style collide to reflect who you are. Heavy metal festivals are an arena for fans to congregate and escape mainstream society.
Dennis Friedrichsen, a postdoc from Aarhus University, was at his first Copenhell—but no stranger to metal. “It’s the community,” he told me. “You can share a beer with a stranger and instantly connect.” His words made me look closer. That spirit of inclusion runs deep—from sensory-friendly zones and accessible platforms to Nails and Needles, a new space where fans can get their nails painted or unwind with acupuncture.
For Kenneth Ekman, a 49-year-old senior engineer at NVIDIA Denmark, Copenhell 2025 was a first-time plunge into the chaos—and he dove straight into the deep end. Front row, face-to-face with the storm about to be unleashed by Colombian hardcore band Syracusæ, Kenneth was all smiles. “It’s been exciting, thrilling, and a lot of fun so far,” he said. He wasn’t alone—by his side was colleague and Copenhell veteran Sebastián Rodríguez, who chuckled as he recalled his own origin story: “I came once because I didn’t know where else to go… and before I knew it, it became tradition.”
Amp Down, Crowd Up!
You’ve waited over 20 years for this moment. A lifetime of riffs, rehearsals, and near-misses—all leading here. With a stroke of luck and the strength of a village behind you, you land a slot at Copenhell. Your name now shares a poster with legends like King Diamond, Dream Theater, Carcass, and Lorna Shore. You claw your way through financial strain and immigration red tape, and now, you’re in the wings. The stage lights blaze as a tide of black surges toward the barricades. Colombian flags unfurl like battle standards in the front row. You haven’t struck a single chord, but already, you feel it; this is no longer just a show. It’s a reckoning. And just as you’re about to ignite the chaos… your gear dies. Silence.
As tension crackled in the air, Tomas Pérez—vocalist and the band’s newest heartbeat—stepped into the spotlight. With the calm of a man who knew exactly what this moment meant, he raised the mic and declared, “Today, you are Latinos.” It was electric! You couldn’t have scripted it better. The crowd applauded in solidarity. And when the gear finally came to life, what followed was everything this subculture stands for: a band pouring out every ounce of soul and fury, and an audience willing them to triumph. They didn’t just play—they conquered. Together.
As the final note rang out, Sebastián stood motionless with others in the front row, eyes full. “It felt like a little piece of home paid me a visit,” he said. For Colombia’s metalheads in Denmark, it was a state of belonging. Beside him, Kenneth smiled widely “The band was incredible. You could feel the love in the crowd. This won’t be my last Copenhell.” Backstage, the band was still buzzing. “I couldn’t hear the click track for five of the seven songs,” guitarist Diego Rodríguez admitted with a grin. “But it didn’t matter—we felt the love. And we realised we’ve found a new audience for our music.”
In the end, it wasn’t just about a flawless set or technical perfection—it was about connection.
Day 3
Day 3 was steeped in nostalgia. A decade ago, I attended my first metal festival, BIG69 in Mumbai, where U.K. legends Carcass headlined. I still remember getting my t-shirt signed by guitarist Bill Steer. Ten years on, Carcass remains as brutal as ever, and Denmark’s love for death metal and circle pits hasn’t waned. As I scanned the crowd, a familiar name caught my eye—Demonic Resurrection, emblazoned on a t-shirt spinning in the pit. The Indian death metal pioneers had opened for Delhi’s Bloodywood in Copenhagen earlier this year. But it wasn’t a one-off. Throughout the festival, Bloodywood, Kryptos, and Demonic Resurrection shirts dotted the sea of black like symbols of a growing global presence.
And when Kreator hit the main stage, there was no doubt left—they’re not just veterans; they’re masters. Decades in, their precision is surgical, their energy volcanic. Every riff, every scream, every blast beat landed with the force of a band still hungry, still furious, still at the top of their game. In a genre built on chaos, Kreator is pure discipline wrapped in fire.
As the night deepened and the distortion faded from Kreator’s final assault, a different kind of electricity took hold. Enter Dirty Honey—no pyro, no theatrics, just pure, unfiltered rock ‘n’ roll swagger. Making their Copenhell debut, the Los Angeles quartet stepped onto the side stage like it was Madison Square Garden. And for a moment, it was.
Marc LaBelle, all grit and charm, belted into the mic with the confidence of a frontman who knows the odds—and doesn’t care. “They usually put the different ones on the side stages,” he told me earlier. But tonight, they weren’t the outliers. They were the revelation.
The crowd leaned in, hooked on every riff, every groove. New songs were road-tested live, and Copenhagen responded with open arms. “We felt the love,” LaBelle said, still buzzing post-show. And it’s no wonder—their latest album was produced by none other than Nick DiDia, the sonic architect behind Mastodon, Incubus, Karnivool, The Offspring, Pearl Jam, and more. That pedigree echoed through every note.
From unsigned hustle to Minecraft movie fame, Dirty Honey is writing their own playbook—loud, loose, and unapologetically alive. And just like that, Day 3 closed with a simple reminder: that in a festival built on fury, sometimes it’s the groove that steals the night.
Day 4
And we are back to raging. Yosemite in Black, a hardcore band from the American South, took the stage with fire in their riffs and humility in their hearts. It was their first time in Europe, and they weren’t just here to play—they were here to connect.
“Being invited out to Copenhagen was such an honor,” said vocalist Luke, still soaking in the moment. “We try to go into everything with no expectations… whether it’s 10 people or 100,000, we just want to give the best show we can.” That mindset carried them through a set that felt raw, real, and deeply personal.
There were hiccups, sure. Their merch didn’t make it to the festival due to a logistical mix-up. But the warmth of the Copenhell crew made up for it. “We’re just a bunch of stupid Americans trying to navigate this,” Luke laughed. “But the staff here has been so accommodating. It’s been an absolute pleasure.”
As night fell over Copenhell for the last time, Slipknot took the Helvíti stage like a storm breaking loose. The Iowa juggernauts unleashed their signature chaos—scorching riffs, pounding drums, and a stage show that felt straight out of a Michael Shawn Crahan fever dream. But even legends have their limits. In rare moments when the band’s energy flickered, the crowd roared louder, surged harder, and jolted them right back.
But the final word belonged to Blood Incantation. Just three years ago, they were melting minds on one of the smaller stages. Now, they stood tall as the festival’s closing act—otherworldly, unrelenting, and utterly in command. Their set was a cosmic descent into the void, a swirling fusion of death metal precision and psychedelic madness. It was the kind of performance that reflected the true spirit of Copenhell, a worthy proving ground for heavy music.
Leave a Reply