It took the industrial gods of German rock that are Rammstein, clad and buckled in leather boots and vinyl uniforms, to rule the stage at Sydney’s Big Day Out on our very own Australia Day.

If the deafening roar of the guitars didn’t catch your attention, the sky-high eruptions from the flame-throwers strapped to the band’s faces did (the heat from those firey pillars reached us at the back of the mosh, scorching our already flushed faces). Missiles of fireworks exploded above the stage, shooting towards the sound tent and then back again in retaliation. Flake jumps on a treadmill donning a mirrored tracksuit while Till’s booming voice thunders out the all the crowd favourites; Rammstein, Links 2-3-4, Du Reicht So Gut, Ich Will, Du Hast. I haven’t seen the crowd this electric all day. They’ve packed the stadium like sardines, blood boiling with the mercury , fueled by the rumble of the drums and the deep, dark intoxication that Rammstein belts out. The band doesn’t even falter in the typical 43-degree summer heat of Australia Day; they continue to serve it up to the ten-thousand strong army marching to their beat, the brutish punch of their music forcing fans and converts alike to join in unison, a legion of voices chanting along with the band as the clouds roll over, a fitting backdrop to the maelstrom the band has wreaked on stage.
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