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Waking up on the fourth day of Hell, I can feel the toll the days are taking. In an effort to became somewhat human again I stepped out to my Krav Maga training for an hour and a half of punches and kicks. A bit revitalized despite my worn-out state, I gather myself and head to Refshaløen. I leave my camera at home, feeling as lively as King Théoden of Rohan aided by Gríma Wormtongue.

I’m here, but it’s all because of you. I could have stayed home reading Paul-Michel Foucault while listening to Daniela Pes, but I chose to come to do my duty.

The other parts of our Live Report:

[LINK Day 1]: The Gates of the Metal Party Opens
[LINK Day 2]: Oddities & Different Strokes
[LINK Day 3]: The Longest Metal Day in Denmark

Day 4 – Lethargy and Grand Finale

I miss the very interesting performances by Night Verses and Mimi Barks, I zombie march around the festival trying to compensate with alcohol and caffeine, stimulation and analgesia slowly kicks in.

Accept

I meet Søren of Archangel, in a nearby rehearsal space; he’s preparing for a new project. We share a beer and then head to Copenhell for Accept. On the way, he advises me on his concoction for fatigue: whiskey slush with plenty of whiskey. With nothing to lose, I dive into the whiskey slush.

Good metal; halfway through the concert and with an empty glass, I begin to sober up and realize they are indeed very good. Precision German mechanical engineering lent to extreme music.

The brain still stuck; this reviews stall with this.

Red Warszawa

I find Davide in a packed Biergarten, enjoying Happy Hour with Red Warszawa, the Danish metal scoundrels in their element amidst the foamy chaos of the brewery. Non-stop toasts and singing; anyone entering the Biergarten risks ethanol intoxication. With Red Warszawa, euphoria is inevitable.

I leave before losing control of my legs, dozing off in a temporary blackout.

Body count

I reanimate by 6:30 PM.

ICE-T & Ernie C’s Body Count is the most anticipated band of the day, and now they take the stage. ICE-T enters with a tough demeanor, “Body Count in the House,” followed immediately by a killer cover of Slayer’s “Raining Blood/Postmortem.” The mosh-pit heats up. New and old songs blend; the lesser-known “The Purge” ignites the audience—it’s already a headbanger. ICE-T’s character is the secret ingredient, 33 years per leg and a demeanor that would make even the callous Fred Durst step aside with a single glance.

He unabashedly commands the stage: “Put away your phones in the front and get in the mosh-pit; you in the back, get off your asses and come forward.”

Mike Patton had to tattoo “Dick Power” on his arm; ICE-T is the untamed expression of Dick Power. Anachronic and inappropriate, like the suburban Los Angeles of the 90s in which the band has its roots, almost too genuine.

ICE-T with the Body Count. credits: Gaia Micatovich

His voice is strained, but he doesn’t care, continuing to rap, sing, and make us mosh; when his voice becomes rough, he launches into a medley of The Exploited. Punk to the bones.

The music slows down; ICE-T takes the microphone for a talk against bullying: “I knew it!” Like Phil Anselmo with Pantera, now he opens his gentle and delicate soul! His little daughter Chanel Nicole enters the stage, a tender and adorable child: “Can’t you see he’s a softie too? Another Ivan Terrible Teddy Bear! “

ICE-T: “Talk Shit!”

Chanel Nicole: “Get Shot!” – mimicking a gun with her tiny hand –

“Talk Shit, Get Shot” is no ballad; the mosh-pit resumes, stoked by an 8-year-old girl shouting “Get Shot” while playing with the band members. The teddy bear is a Grizzly charging the pit.

There’s no pause; “Cop Killer” closes the setlist before the encore, and the charismatic frontman doesn’t even bother to leave the stage. It ends without any gimmick; we’re content as we got much more than expected.

Hats off for Ernie C that does not waste a note – a rockstar.

Body Count, Ernie C. credits: Gaia Micatovich

Tool

Tool awaits us, but many of our team prefer to end the festival with the testosterone-fueled show of Body Count. They’re not wrong; two hours of Tool after four days of metal festival is as exciting as a transoceanic flight in the middle seat of Economy Class. At their last concert, we lasted only half an hour before going home bored. To be clear, I really love Tool’s music. Their live performances are impeccably perfect and executed with immaculate purity. This concert was no exception and it was inhumanly flawless. However, personally, it’s not something I can easily enjoy in the context of an outdoor festival.

Aware of the challenge and motivated to endure Maynard Keenan until the last note, I devised an extreme resilience plan inspired by the events of the previous days. Lara supports me and witnesses my endeavor.

We take off with “Jambi”; the early flight hours go well with beer and peanuts. By the middle of “Fear Inoculum,” fatigue sets in. The plan for resilient endurance kicks in with phases.

Tool, let’s the challenge begin. credits: copenhell.dk

Phase 1: Controlled lethargy.

I close my eyes and vibe with the soundwaves, the wind on my skin, focusing on tactile and auditory sensations. I try to dissociate and become one with the audience and nature. It works for 30 minutes. Then I snap out of it, gripped by boredom. Half-success.

Phase 2: The Quirk.

I try to trick my body into releasing much-needed dopamine, jumping around with 2-tone ska-punk style steps. I only manage to look like an idiot; dopamine doesn’t arrive. A ridiculous failure.

Phase 3: Seeking maternal comfort in human warmth.

I seek skin-to-skin warmth with the surrounding audience; I get disapproving looks. An untimely failure.

Phase 4: Lethargy with sensory deprivation.

I embrace ataraxia and yearn for nirvana. Among the crowd, I collapse conscious-sleeping in a fetal position on the wet cement. But on this flight, I’m squeezed between a snoring man and an inconsolable child. I’m continually awakened by people asking if I’m okay. Total failure. Nirvana is not a privilege to be expected at a Tool concert.

Phase 5: Alien Pornography.

Lara sees my suffering and comes to my aid: “Look at those visual effects; they look like an alien vulva! And now a xenomorph penis!” Of course! How did I not think of it?! I pull out the notes taken at Peech. Like a bored teenager in class, I stay awake with the dirtiest fantasies, channeling my thoughts towards tentacle alien kinks. I review the repertoire; it works, but on a RyanAir flight, jarring sound announcements intrude my flow. Tool’s music isn’t supportive. Yet, I resist for twenty minutes, potential success.

Survival Kit – thanks to Peech for the inspiration.

Phase 6: Leather Fetishism

I play my last card by combining the most successful strategies.

I close my eyes, connect with the cool evening breeze, and intensify the experience with alien kink. I turn the leather jacket into my sensory fetish. Smooth, recently greased and fragrant skin, passing through the cold metal of zipper studs and brief incursions on raw skin. Finally, the flow returns, and the Zen gives the necessary dopamine dose. Alienated from the crowd, I immerse myself in the groove, and time begins to flow quickly. The consolation of leather works, the adrenaline is stable, I am watchful and ethereal.

Survival Kit – the dresscode turned out to be essential.

Cruising with myself lustfully and sensorial, I reach the notes of “Ænima” and “Stinkfist”, the light at the end of the tunnel; I open my eyes revitalized and enjoy the last two tracks with the well-earned headbanging.

It’s over; I’ve won; I’ve made it to the end of the Tool concert, and even enjoyed it.

Sort Sol

We’re at the closing group of Copenhell 2024, the legendary Danish band Sort Sol. Formed in 1977 as SODS, they were pioneers of Danish punk and later a key band in the development of post-punk currents in the 1980s.

My local punk mentor Lasse said, “I’d give an arm to be at that concert, and you mustn’t miss it.” Sort Sol (black sun) is a Danish expression indicating a flock of birds that darken the sun; it’s deep night, their slow and thoughtful rock-blues notes sound dark. A dark and profound concert in the style of Johnny Cash; the track “Copenhagen” momentarily turns Refshaløen into a Danish Wild West, desperate and tough.

There’s time for their old-school post-punk too, but my conclusion of this experimental Copenhell 2024 is a blues that completes the variety of sounds and styles of this festival.

HMW Special: our festival recap in 13 minutes

We’ve brought you the music of Copenhell 2024, but a festival is also about being together with friends. This final reel is our dedication to the runaways of HMW at Copenhell.

Gaia’s Photo Gallery

We dedicate Gaia Micatovich‘s photo gallery to the Copenhell 2024 family, because it is you who made the festival awesome!

Acknoklegments

A special thanks to our guests:

Andreas (Plagumeace)

Ditte (Vulvatorius)

Sofia (Ethereal Kingdoms)

Kristian (Idaslet)

Søren (Archangel)

RedLily

We acknowledge to the staff & friends of HMW runaways:

Davide, Gaia, Stefano, ZèTò, Elisa, Paola

Thank our Direttore Poco Mafioso and Copenhell for allowing the festival coverage, and Ivan & Cody for the help with the text development and translation