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I had actually told myself that I was done with games that try to kill me for fun. But then came Silksong. And suddenly I was sitting there again -- with sweaty palms, coffee on the table and a sense that the world outside could be waiting. It is a game that does not ask for your time, but requires your patience. And when you finally hit the beat, it's like remembering why you even started playing.
I don't know what's most absurd: that I've seen a K-pop anime musical twice in one week -- or that I loved it. KPop Demon Hunters is possibly the best movie I've seen in 2025, and it feels like a concession I should write under a pseudonym. I went into it with the same expectation that one has when a friend insists that you “just have to watch a YouTube video.” And I went back out with tears in my eyes and the tinnitus of trap-beats.
I would have written off the entire Alien franchise a long time ago. It's hard not to lose faith when something you love is being tampered with again and again, like an old wound that never calms. But Alien: Earth does something I didn't think possible: it makes me believe in the dark again.
I had never heard of Nordic Race before we signed up. On paper, it looked like a crossfitter's wettest dream and a family father's nightmare. I pictured pumped-up men in bare upper bodies crawling over burning cars while the crowd threw protein bars at them. Instead, it became a day of surprises — and the constant fear of having the “bracelet of shame” cut off the wrist.
Either you're there to truant. Or you're there to find work. I don't know what I was doing at TechBBQ myself, but I walked out of there with a pair of free stockings and an existential nausea I still haven't gotten over.
I remember back in the day when it was evident when bands were known on Myspace. They had a special energy that followed them onto the stage. On Wednesday night in Little Vega, I learned what happens when one has become known through YouTube.
Path of Exile 2 is back with beta 0.3.0 -- and it feels like Christmas Eve for a Casual Gamer Dad. We who grew up with gaming but now juggle diapers, coffee and baby screams are finally getting a game where the pause button is as important as the loot. The game is massive, endless -- and perfect for dads who are gaming on borrowed time.
Usually we only run around in mud if it's at a festival. But this time we are going to OCR — Obstacle Course Racing at Reffen. And no, our OCD helps us nothing here.
I had actually just ticked Unrest in the program because I remembered the video where he and Suspekt “freestyled” over their hit “Thinking of Others”. The idea was to stop by, hear a few tracks and then move on. But the sun was bright, the energy impossible to ignore — and suddenly there I was, swaying and completely engulfed.
First of all: great respect to Wonderfestiwall for international booking of that calibre. Anastasia on the poster is both big and nostalgic -- in fact, she might as well have been the headliner of Tivoli's lineup for Friday Rock. She was present, energetic and the exact opposite of a drawn-out show. With eight musicians on stage, nothing was spared.
We always start at the same place when we go to Bornholm: at Torvehallerne. Coffee, provisions and a firm editorial rule that you must never eat food on the ferry -- we don't need to explain why, but let's just say a few buffets have ruined several good excursions. From there it goes like clockwork: through the Swedish countryside to Ystad, on the ferry, and then it almost feels easier than finding a buffet at Fisketorvet.
It began with mud up to the ankles and pants that sticky like a bad decision. After the first 25 cheek kisses with people you might once have known from a previous life in a dark nightclub, I barely managed to take first sips of natural wine before the whole square began to quiver with anticipation. You have to give the audience at the festival ten stars for being open to experiencing something new -- because let's be honest, 99 percent were there to see Justice at 10:40 p.m. And as they went on, it was clear: This wasn't just another concert. It was a rave fair, disguised as a festival.
Eric Bana returns as a martyr ISB agent with liver problems and emotional baggage wrapped in down jacket and whiskey breath. Untamed looks like an Instagram filter on a family drama: visually overwhelming, but internally everyone is disintegrating. A quiet, slow crime that doesn't shout loudly — but lingers.
This is the second time in less than a month I have seen Charli XCX — last in Paris, smashed by a celestial storm, and here in Roskilde under heavy rain. It feels like God has asked us to experience her in a stormy weather -- and I'm ready to shout “AMEN.”
She's written the soundtrack to an entire generation of heartbreak -- but on the Orange Scene it sounded mostly like an exam in American pop. It was big, cute and a little too streamlined. And perhaps that's why it never really became dangerous.
We walked past Arena to reach Tyla. We so didn't. For Nine Inch Nails pulled us in like a magnetic force, and suddenly we were standing in the middle of a mechanical fair for anger, melancholy and lighting design.
It looked like something big. Something thought. Something with staircase, message and dancers and Orange Scene. But when the confetti had settled, I was left with a feeling of... wait, what exactly was it that I had just seen?
Damon Albarn has more Roskilde stamps in his passport than any other Briton alive today. Blur, Gorillaz, The Good, The Bad & The Queen - and then this one: Africa Express. As a kind of humanitarian music superpower with Albarn as UN secretary-general and squinting eyes. I still don't know exactly what I experienced -- but I'd like to vote for it.
It was like blending Italo Brothers, silly Melodi Grand Prix metal and a Rammstein-light aesthetic in a Temu blender without a lid. Everything flew around, but nothing landed. I mostly stood and thought: Who is this really for?
There weren't many people, but there were cherry trees. And then there was Beabadoobee, playing like she didn't need any more. It didn't feel like a festival -- and perhaps that's precisely what made it nice.
It is liberating to experience how the country genre is slowly being challenged and developed. The classic notion of country as the domain of white old men is being shaken, and new voices, especially young black women like Tanner Adell, bring a freshness and relevance worth following closely.
Far from draught beer and Funen folk songs, Tinderbox hides a scene that feels like a secret EDM world for the dedicated — and it does so on an international level.
She didn't come -- and we didn't see that either.
They are neither dead nor resurrected. Just persevering. 14 albums deep, still angry, still pop, still political -- and still wearing eyeliner and leather jackets, as if the world hasn't moved on. Maybe because it hasn't.
After three seasons of sweat, shouts and Michelin dreams, The Bear returns with a fourth round that tries to build on the chaos, but most of all feels like a dish with the same ingredients as before -- familiar, but now with a slightly flat flavor.
