With just one stage and seven bands, there were no distractions — only a relentless onslaught of heaviness, no filler in sight. And if this was only the first year? We’re already praying to the dark lords for a year two.
The chaos kicked off with Mental Cruelty, whose opening set made it immediately clear that this festival meant business.
They arrived like sonic demolitionists, tearing through 'Obsessis A Daemonio' and cracking the crowd wide open. The early-afternoon heat didn’t stop them, it just added to the hellish atmosphere, like someone had summoned a fire demon just to melt the face paint. It smelled like sunscreen and doom. It was perfect.
Whitechapel followed, storming the stage with riffs sharp enough to slice open the sky and double kicks that made your organs shift uncomfortably. Phil Bozeman didn’t just scream, he sounded like he was performing an exorcism through a PA system. It was raw, punishing, and somehow still precise.
Currents kept the emotional brutality going, delivering melody-laced melancholy one moment and crushing breakdowns the next. The vibe was sadness turned into violence and we were all in. 'Into Despair' and 'The Death We Seek' weren’t just songs; they were full-body experiences. A sonic gut punch that left the crowd breathless but grateful.
Then came Sweden’s own Thrown, and the hometown heroes weren’t here to play nice. With 'On The Verge' and 'Guilt', they incited a level of chaos that felt almost ritualistic. Fists flew, necks snapped, and the pit turned into a battlefield. Bonus points to their vocalist, who may or may not be part-wizard. That crowd control? Chef’s kiss. They didn’t just represent Stockholm; they owned it.
Just when you thought the day couldn’t get weirder or better, out walked Poppy. Dressed like Sailor Moon but with a deathcore playlist, she delivered one of the most mind-bending sets of the festival. Genre? Unknown. Energy? Uncontainable.
'BLOODMONEY' buzzed like a circuit board mid-exorcism, while 'Concrete' somehow had goths two-stepping with deathcore dudes in mesh shirts. It was chaotic, confusing, and absolutely glorious. It made no sense and that made it perfect. A highlight, no question.
Adept followed with what could only be described as a triumphant homecoming. Though they didn’t close the night, they lit a fire in the hearts of every fan there.
From the opening chords of 'Heaven', the emotional charge in the air was undeniable. Crowd surfers soared, and grown men screamed every lyric like it was still 2009. Adept didn’t just play, they gave the festival its heart. A reminder that post-hardcore still slaps when it’s done with this much passion.
And then, the apocalypse arrived.
Lorna Shore took the stage and reality shifted. The second Will Ramos unleashed his signature scream to open 'To The Hellfire', the air felt thinner, like we were suddenly at the gates of something unholy.
Theatrical, terrifying, and technically jaw-dropping, their set was pure devastation. 'Of The Abyss' turned the entire place into a swirling mass of limbs and emotional wreckage. If the devil has a Spotify Wrapped, it definitely features this set in the top five. And honestly? We still don’t know if Will Ramos' vocals are human - science has work to do.
Broken Summer 2025 wasn’t just a festival, it was a revelation. One perfect, sweaty, scream-soaked day where every single set felt like its own defining moment. The sunburns will fade. The bruises will heal. But the memory of thousands of strangers screaming in unison as Lorna Shore scorched the night sky? That’s forever.
Nicole Palmlund
Images: Nicole Palmlund
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