By the time Friday at Party.San Metal Open Air had descended into its final, chaotic chapters, the body was wrecked and the mind hijacked by weed and alcohol. But there was still a mass to attend, a ritual carved in fire and distortion: Rotting Christ.
From the ancient streets of Athens, Greece — born in 1987 and baptized in the blackened pits of metal history — they emerged like priests of a darker faith. A band that has outlasted trends, governments, and entire civilizations of weaker souls.
Sakis, with his guitar and venom-soaked voice, delivered the sermon. Kostas on bass rumbled like tectonic plates splitting apart. George on guitar carved riffs sharp enough to bleed the night sky, while Themis on drums hammered the earth into submission.
This wasn’t just a gig. It was a blasphemous liturgy, a violent communion between band and crowd, smoke and flesh, chaos and transcendence. Rotting Christ didn’t merely perform — they summoned something unholy from the abyss and forced everyone present to stare it in the face.
On Friday night at Party.San, faith was irrelevant. Only the noise mattered. And the noise was divine… 
