The weather in Münster was playing along – 7 degrees, dry, almost too pleasant for the chaos ahead. You’d think the fire barrels outside the Baracke Münster would be a refuge, but these weren’t ordinary concertgoers. This was ABMIST VOL III, and the crowd outside wasn’t just warming up by the heat, but by their own disdain for anything normal or civilized.
Inside, past the smoke and chaos, the new sound system was booming, and damn, what a sound. Jan, the Beer Metal God, was at the mixing desk, turning noise into a weapon. The music was raw, powerful – like a fist punching from inside your gut, demanding more.
Then came SICKMARK. A crew from Bielefeld whose mission seemed to be to prepare humanity for the worst. Power Violence, Hardcore, Punk – labels you might’ve heard somewhere, but live, these terms turn into something tangible, something that bites and snarls. The opener, Bounded Minds – a punch in the face, an assault on the eardrums, and after that, there was no going back.
“Fuck this Unity,” they roared, and who could argue? The lighting was so bad the singer was just a shadow haunting the Baracke, but that was fitting. This wasn’t a show for snapshots, no night for photo album memories. Sickmark was there to destroy, not to document. The setlist blazed through the room – Shit Life, Can’t Be Peaceful. Seventeen songs, each faster and harder than the last.
Besides the four core musicians, there was a fifth – a specialist in pure noise, some kind of shamanic figure, more presence than person, with a single mission to take the cacophony to the next level. A pioneer of chaos.
The Baracke, as always, was dimly lit, casting an eerie glow that barely reached the walls. The shouter moved like a phantom just in front of the stage, barely visible through the murky darkness. So forgive me for the uninspired snapshots – capturing this was like trying to pin down a ghost. But maybe that’s the point: this was an experience meant to be felt, not photographed. No lens could catch the raw energy, the jagged noise, the relentless fury of those four musicians, plus the noise specialist conjuring a pure, uncontainable chaos.
The Baracke was raging, and outside by the fire barrels, the crowd was likely already hatching plans for the next night of destruction… 😘😎🍻