By the time Azijnpisser took the stage, the crowd was ravenous, whipped into a frenzy by Sickmark’s set. If anyone thought they’d reached the peak of chaos, they were dead wrong. Azijnpisser—“Vinegar Pisser“ for you English-speaking purists—didn’t just take the stage; they stormed it, bringing Eindhoven’s underground fury with them. The energy in the Baracke Münster was kinetic, electric, and their sound—pure, infectious hardcore punk, a gut-punch mix of ’80s U.K. HC with a gritty twist of crust´n´grind—was a sledgehammer to the senses.
The band launched with Empty, and it felt like the first drop on a rollercoaster, straight into a maelstrom of hardcore. By the second song, Rat Race, fists and bodies were already flying. The crowd tore itself open, like rabid animals lured by the scent of blood, diving headfirst into a churning mosh pit. The singer—a force of pure, untamed rage—moved like she was possessed, a blur of frenetic energy with a scream that cut through the madness like a blade.
Damage Done hit next, and by then, crowd surfers were launching off like human cannonballs, barely catching a second of air before being swallowed up by the pit. Beer bottles arced through the air in defiance of both gravity and common sense, yet somehow, no one got hurt. Azijnpisser tore through Biggest Secret, each chord crunching with venom, each beat of the drums pounding like gunfire. And then the final assault: ProLife = Spelled Hypocrite, a track that hit like an anthem, shaking the Baracke’s walls to their very core.
Every photo I managed to snap was distorted in the glory of fisheye—a warped mirror to match the pandemonium on and off stage. Too much action to keep straight, too much energy to contain 
