Tryk Enter for at søge eller X for at lukke.
On 17 July 2024, Lunden i Horsens was transformed into a sound space for two of the strongest live bands of the time. Mew and The War on Drugs met in the open, green amphitheater -- and let their melancholy sonic universes mirror each other in the summer light.
Mark Tremonti walked onstage without big arm movements, but with a Gibson over his shoulder and a clear mission: to let the music do the talking. And it did — in a concert where technical ability and sensitivity found each other in rare harmony.
Silvana Imam stepped onto the stage of Lille VEGA on April 6, 2025 with a presence that immediately filled the space. Her gaze was firm, her voice clear, and the message unequivocal. It wasn't just a concert; it was a statement.
Andreas Odbjerg's concert in the Royal Arena was a celebration — but not just of the noisy kind. With guests, twinkle in his eye and his particular blend of self-irony and pop sensibility, he hit both the floor and the heartthrob.
Post Malone entered the Royal Arena with Bud Light in hand and “I ♥ Copenhagen” t-shirt. He wanted to be both a world star and cozy, but the gig hung somewhere in between.
The Royal Arena smells of heated nachos and nostalgia. Fred Durst troops up in neon yellow t-shirt and pink shorts and looks like a dad who just discovered rave. It's both charming and a little awkward. Like the concert itself.
It's still something special when D-A-D play in the capital. But in the Forum Black Box on January 31, 2025, it didn't turn out to be the triumph many had hoped for. The band have otherwise toured solidly with their new album Speed of Darkness, and both the pyrotechnics and the crowd were ready.
There are series that try to be subtle. And then there's Outlander. There is nothing small here, and that is precisely the charm. For seven seasons Claire and Jamie have fought against history itself — against empires, disease, slavery, violence, and against the constant risk of losing each other to the insatiable flow of time. But Outlander season 7 feels like neither a repeat nor an exhaustion. It feels like a culmination. A beautiful, brutal and often overwrought symphony about love, trauma and survival in a world where nothing is given -- and everything can be taken.
When the world collapses, what are we fighting for? Is it security? Freedom? Or is it just one other person we refuse to lose? The Last of Us is not just another zombie tale. It's a drama disguised as genre, a love story disguised as survival, and perhaps most important: a portrait of humanity's price. HBO has created a series that scares us not with monsters, but with all that they cannot take away from us. Yet.
Imagine if you woke up and couldn't remember who you were — but everything around you still smelled of money. A man, a rooftop terrace, a wardrobe like a Net-a-Porter dream and a past that clings to you like a wet bedsheet. That's the premise of Surface, Apple TV+'s silky psychological thriller with Gugu Mbatha-Raw at its center and San Francisco as the backdrop. But what does a woman do when even her own memories seem staged?
The tiling had been laid for another crisp season of White Lotus — this time in Thailand's sun-kissed paradise locations. But though the cocktails are chilly and the camera sneaks elegantly around silhouettes and squabbles, it all feels a little too neat. Like watching a storm from a distance that never really breaks loose.
Someone should take Marvel HQ and throw it straight into a blender with Succession, Jackass and some edgy society satire. And vupti: Out comes The Boys -- still the most grotesque, hilarious and uncomfortably well-acted series about power, morality and men in latex who have trouble keeping their dicks in their pants.
There is something beautiful in stupidity. It just has to be the right kind. The one that doesn't try to be clever. The one that doesn't wrap itself in irony or prestige TV ambition. And that's exactly what Reacher season 3 does: It stands proudly bare-chested, screaming “U-S-A” with a blasting charge in his hand. And we clap. With one hand. The other is holding the phone.
The film opens with George (Michael Fassbender) at a nightclub. The music pulses, the lights are low and flickering, and everything feels just as opaque as it should in a film like this. He's there to meet with a source. It's one of those kind of opening scenes where you immediately sense the tone: everything has meaning and no one says what they mean.
You click on an article on how to grow tomatoes in apartment. Bum — the entire page is a banner for White Lotus. You scroll past reality videos, nail fungus and loneliness banners, and have forgotten why you clicked in the first place. You don't read -- you get upset.
It starts out as a joke. A strange woman, a free cup of tea, a slightly too long conversation. But Baby Reindeer is no joke -- it's an emotional thunderclap disguised as standup. An autobiographical, skinless and uncomfortably dense series in which Donny Dunn (played by the creator himself, Richard Gadd) doesn't just open the door to his life, but rips it off its hinges. It's Netflix when they dare -- and you watch it with your body.
You know you're on to something special when, in the middle of episode three, you're sitting Googling quantum physics at 11:41 p.m. -- not because you want to understand it all, but because you'd like to be able to nod wisely if someone brings up the series to a dinner you're not invited to.
Heartland at Noma. The title alone smells of conceptual crap and natural wine with a little too much attitude. But in the midst of the pretentious inferno -- well, perhaps precisely in spite of that -- I had the greatest musical experience of my life.
Benny Jamz in a tuxedo with a penguin tail. Not for acting, but because he meant it. And because DR's Concert Hall is the kind of space that requires you to either duck or lift. He chose the latter.
There's something about MØ that feels like home. Home in a kind of chaotic youth energy that refuses to grow up yet sounds exactly as it should in a hall above Christiania on a cold Friday night in March.
Sabrina Carpenter went from Disney star to TikTok queen — and now to an almost over-perfect pop gem in the Royal Arena. But how much glitter can an evening actually carry before yearning for a bit of bias?
Imagine you go to the movies to see Bill Murray and Pete Davidson. They're in the trailer, they're on the poster, they're on your social media. And then they're in... three scenes? Welcome to Riff Raff, a film that proves marketing departments have taken over the screenwriting.
If you've ever wondered what it would look like if a joint smoked back, and then started doubting the meaning of the film industry -- you've got The Studio. Seth Rogen stars in a series about losing his grip on what you never quite grasped.
What do Catholic guilt, dancefloor in Tivoli and Danish People's Party have in common? Morten Messerschmidt wrote Showbizz — and it's far more entertaining than it should be.
He's had the leather jacket longer than you've had backbone. Lenny Kravitz entered the Royal Arena with the guitar as an extension of his hip bone and sunglasses glued to his face. It was rock, it was retro, it was... a bit like being at a concert with a mirror image of yourself from 2002.
