Tuska 2025 drew 60,000 visitors to Suvilahti, Helsinki, from June 27 to 29. Opening Friday attracted 22,000 metalheads, a record turnout for Tuska. That’s when the day’s headliner, In Flames, the Swedish melodic death metal band, ended the night with headbanger’s humdingers such as “Alias,” “I Am Above” and “Take This Life”. The festival showcased a wide range of metal music genres amid diverse summer weather, featuring sunshine, rain showers and Sunday morning uncertainty about opening due to threatening storms and strong winds. Here’s our report.
The hat’s gone. I kneel on the concrete, as if praying for salvation from the metal gods, to the thundering sounds of the innovative Japanese metalcore group JILUKA at Tuska on early Saturday evening. I see the light, or is it just the stage light? Bright, anyway … and then a hand emerges. I grab it. It’s strong; I rise like the Phoeni … or more accurately, like an old man recovering from a heat collapse with a bloody knee. As I lift my head, I see a smiling face. Boyish. Friendly. He hands over my hat. My camera hangs intact around my neck. My smartphone remains in my back pocket, despite rumored thieves roaming the pit. Screw them. There are 20,000 people here.
“Forget a few thieves when the music or a fellow metalhead hits you on the head like that … and why would you have your mobile in the back pocket anyway?” said a long-haired man who introduced himself as Dr. Funkhole. “I hope you’re okay. Can I buy you a beer?” he continued.
“No thanks. We are all professionals here.”
A note to myself: If you’re planning to join the mosh pit at Tuska Open Air Metal Festival, just do it—no second-guessing or staying on the sidelines. Go all in! The crowd can start moving at any moment, so stay attentive.
Russia’s gift to the metal world, Slaughter to Prevail, was about to take the main stage. But before that, during a break outside the gates, I encountered a protest of a few dozen people holding anti-Russian signs. It quickly became clear that these people were filled with hate, rage and despair.
They were especially angry that a group from Russia was allowed to play at Tuska while Ukrainians were under constant attack from missiles, drones and gunfire. A simple suggestion to separate world conflicts and wars from music led to a fracas. Just before it turned into a shouting match, a protester started mumbling about capitalism while pointing at my T-shirt, which featured the late Heikki Silvennoinen from the legendary Finnish TV comedy series, Kummeli.
The rage of Slaughter to Prevail was palpable among the thousands in the audience, some unsure whether it was “politically correct” to headbang with a band rooted in Russia but living in Florida, U.S. Oh, wait! I started rambling about a recent video clip from Washington, where the pit was relaxed and people jammed as if listening to “Easy” performed by Faith No More. In Tuska, the crowd went apeshit in the mosh pit!
Songs like the opener, “Bonebreaker,” shook the stage and the crowd. Vocalist Alex Terrible—known to me from media and protests, mostly negative for actions like waving the Russian flag (in these times, public affection for your home country is risky business)—rocked the stage like a tattooed, crownless Heavy Metal King!
At Tuska, he waved no flag but growled as if it were their last performance.
One minute he growled and screamed from the gut with thunder and rage; the next, he smiled and waved like a pop star trying to uplift the crowd. The players wore demonic masks but seemed to connect with the audience.
The following day, Polaris, the hard-hitting Australian metalcore group, electrified the crowd with their energy. This band was both heavy and furious. This time, I had no plans to approach or enter the moshpit. Too risky.
Vocalist Jamie Hails pierced your ears with an Ausgore style that echoed their countrymen Parkway Drive, who delivered a powerful performance at last year’s Tuska.
Songs like “Nightmare,” “The Remedy” and—perkeletto!—“Lucid” kept the crowd moshing; they would surely keep the local massage parlors in business!
After the gates closed, while I was trying to relax on a nearby park bench in the warm, calm Finnish summer weather, a man in his 60s approached me. He carefully observed me—my long hair draped over my shoulders, sweat on my forehead, cheap beer in hand.
“Here,” he said, handing me a pamphlet titled “Heaven … how do I get there?”
“Thanks,” I replied, “but I don’t think I need it.”
“We have helped dozens of young men like you,” he said.
“Do I look like I need help? I just finished listening to Lorna Shore, which at times sounded like someone trying to slay the Devil himself. I’ve been saved, purified. Heaven is here, bro.”
He stared at me with glassy eyes but said nothing. Then he moved to the next bench, where a young girl with corpse paint looked at the pamphlet’s title with trembling hands.
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