#RoskildeFestival25 – Nine Inch Nails, Night Shifts & Techno in the Millstream

Let’s open this final chapter with a few numbers: Roskilde Festival is enclosed by 44 kilometers of fencing, features 1,648 toilets, and welcomes approximately 130,000 attendees—30,000 of whom are volunteers. The average age of attendees is 24. The festival spans 8 stages and hosts 185 artist names. Around 1 million liters of beer are consumed, and approximately 2,000 tons of waste are generated—with a recycling rate of 22 percent. A number that rises year by year.

With so many participants, the logistics at play are immense. It goes without saying that beyond expert leadership and skilled planning, the festival relies heavily on volunteer forces. That roughly 30,000 people sign up each year to be part of that engine is nothing short of remarkable.

The Mary Wallopers on Avalon. Formulaic, effective, and joyously Irish music. The band voices a clear political shout-out in support of Palestine.

I’ve now done this twenty times, and I both know and feel why it all makes sense. It’s about much more than a “free” wristband, complimentary coffee, or a few food and drink vouchers. It’s about strong, grounded values like solidarity, collective effort, care for the festival and its guests—and the joy of being part of a team that collectively ensures quality, safety, and the exuberance of celebration for everyone involved.

Irish Solidarity & Meeting Anna

Friday evening, after my volunteer shift, I catch The Mary Wallopers on Avalon. It’s formulaic, effective, and jubilant Irish music with soaring fiddle lines and clattering clog rhythms. A clear political shout-out in support of Palestine comes from the band mid-set.

Awareness and the struggle for independence run deep in the Irish psyche, so the sentiment makes immediate sense. The audience is wholly on board when the band voices its support for the Palestinian people.

Jako Maron at Gloria: Sounds and rhythms from Réunion Island in the Indian Ocean, fused with techno. A truly original and captivating blend. The music gets under your skin. Warm, woody percussion, thumping techno bass—the feeling of dancing at the edge of the sea under the sun, even though, technically, we’re standing inside a barn now. Mesmerizing.

Well into the night, I sit down for a meal—West African Peanut Stew. It tastes heavenly. A slightly distressed but sweet young woman sits down beside me. She’s lost her cigarettes. She had a whole pack! I offer her one of mine and promise her it’ll be okay. We end up talking for an entire hour—about life’s struggles, dreams, love, demons, and decisions. Her name is Anna. She’s 25 and has been through a troubled chapter in her early youth and some tough environments.

Through our talk—and Anna’s own shift in perspective—her mood lifted, and she ended up dancing through the night in front of an empty Orange Stage.

She’s since cut the ties to those old paths, made some defining choices, and now she’s on a promising and far more meaningful course. She’s even landed an attractive job as a store manager, got headhunted for a new position, and is about to start a relevant education. That’s solid work, Anna! We walk together toward the Orange Stage. When she first sat down, she seemed a bit lost, her feelings raw—as they often are at festivals—and her thoughts clouded by the night.

But through our talk—and Anna’s own shift in perspective—her spirits lifted, and she ended up dancing through the night in front of a deserted Orange Stage. The next day, I wrote a poem about her, which has since become a song. We’ve kept in touch since RF too. It’s amazing how many people you meet down here—and how striking the spontaneous openness and solidarity in conversation can be. Or the impromptu tribal dancing, like with Matilde and Jonas on the opening day.

Backstage Village & VIP Realities

My third and final volunteer shift runs from 1 PM to 9 PM. I’m stationed in a VIP area, where my role includes guest service, site upkeep, equipment organization, and toilet maintenance. The latter is mostly handled by a professional external cleaning team—we support them, especially from evening into the night.

Guests in the area include artists, media folks, influencers, and B2B partners. Most are lovely, but a few come off as a bit pampered and aloof. It doesn’t take long before I peg the culprits: the influencers.

At 9 PM, Ravyn Lenae takes the stage at Avalon. She’s become a big name, so it’s perhaps surprising to see her here. Then again, her soft, jazzy, and soulful R&B perfectly fits the slow, sleepy haze of the festival’s final day. Looking around, the crowd does genuinely appear exhausted—regardless of age.

There’s something paradoxical about the last evening, though—it can also unleash massive surges of endorphins and wild energy. Likely depending on the type of concert and the character of the music. So, the whole scene could be radically different when Nine Inch Nails hit Arena in twenty minutes. And honestly? I’m pretty sure it will be.

I feel a sudden pang of loneliness, right in the middle of this vast community. I’m here alone, though I’ve spent the past eight hours with great volunteer colleagues today as well. I miss my kids. I miss my mom. I miss having someone to hug.

The bass from Ravyn is thunderous, despite the genre’s mellow vibe. I put in my earplugs. I also have to admit: the music bores me. Can’t win ’em all. This is borderline boudoir muzak. Yes, the Chicago singer can clearly hold a tune, but the songs strike me as generic and formulaic.

So, after 30 minutes, I head toward Arena. I plan to catch about a third of the Nine Inch Nails set, then dart off to see This Is Lorelei (Nate Amos) at Gaia. He’s doing something genuinely interesting, and I’ve seen Nine Inch Nails before. Yep, both acts are playing at the same time—a dilemma you constantly face at a festival of this magnitude.

Final Night: Emotions and Energy Drinks

It’s drizzling now, but the weather isn’t harsh. As often happens on the Dyrskueplads, the skies have been changeable. Wednesday brought blazing sun, 30 degrees, bare skin, sunglasses, sunscreen, and silver glitter sparkling on the girls’ cheeks. Thursday came with a dramatic temperature drop and plenty of rain—though no full-on downpours. Friday and today: overcast, with scattered showers.

I feel another wave of loneliness settle in—planted right in the middle of this massive collective. I’m here on my own, but I’ve been surrounded by good people and amazing volunteer colleagues all week, including today. Still—I miss my children. I miss my mother. I miss a partner to hold.

I’ve met many people here, including quite a few attractive women. I’ve chatted, shared life stories, flirted, made new friends, and even a few possible dating connections.

But the truth is: I feel lonely right now. A dose of premature Roskilde Blues and plain old fatigue, both of which I know well. It usually takes one or two days to fully land and reassemble myself after a Roskilde Festival. I’ve only used one of my three food vouchers and none of my ten drink tokens. I opt for a Mana energy drink at the Tuborg tent near Arena. I never drink energy drinks—like, ever—but I really need one now. And I suspect I’ll be knocking back a few more shortly.

Trent Reznor and “the Nine Inch Nails” still radiate that same cool edge I remember. It’s proto-grunge meets primal rock. Heavy, gritty guitar riffs, a deliberate BPM (much slower than punk, for example), and a sound that reminds me how much they’ve influenced bands like Alice In Chains.

“God is dead, and no one cares!” the frontman declares—one of several melodically simple but gripping refrains. Damn. I want to stay for the rest of their set. But I also want to experience Nate Amos. So off I go, full speed toward Gaia, armed with another Mana in hand.

Nine Inch Nails vs. This Is Lorelei

OK, I surrender: This Is Lorelei is officially one of the absolute highlights of this year’s Roskilde Festival. Nate Amos is the king of cool. Cooler than Beck. His words, the calm authority of his voice, the groove of his band—it’s all just sheer pleasure.

I gulp down my second Mana. It kicks in—or maybe it’s just the rush of self-gifted dopamine. A willful decision that joy, love, a sense of community, and rhythm must win on this final night.

I spot a great photo opportunity. I have to stop. Quick chat with Tilde and Amanda—they embody pure festival chill. I give them a speed-brief on my article and purpose, take a photo. They’re incredibly sweet, thank me—and I dash on toward Gaia.

OK, I surrender (again): This Is Lorelei is one of this festival’s truly standout moments. Nate Amos is the undisputed King of Cool. His vibe pulls associations—good and bad—toward Lou Reed, Beck, Damon Albarn. But Amos is just as effortlessly cool as Reed, and to me, more warm-bloodedly smooth than Beck. His lyrics, his laid-back baritone delivery, the whole band’s sway—pure magic.

There’s something playful in the performance—that’s where Albarn comes in, in my inner jukebox. But it’s vital to say: Nate Amos has his own, unmistakably unique voice. The whole expression is relaxed, warm, swinging. His vocals are full of imagery and confidence, delivered in a chilled baritone range that pulls it all together. The magic lands—so does a smile, and a soft glow that spreads through brain, heart, and body.

I’m on my fourth energy drink now. I’d been recommended Mate Mate, so I buy two—but I can’t stand the taste. Chemical pseudo-tea, ugh. Mana, though, tastes genuinely good.

Now it’s properly raining. A group of girls jog by, singing a chorus. I ask, “Which concert?” and they shout with glee: “Tyla!” She’s been recommended to me by several people. But what a letdown—bland R&B pop. An irrelevant, sugary comedown after the transcendence of This Is Lorelei.

I cash in my final food voucher for a round of fish n’ chips. It’s underwhelming. The crispy chicken burger with kimchi I had earlier, though—easily one of the best burgers I’ve ever eaten.

So with warmth in my system and a smile on my face—solitary, but grateful in the collective—I let Nate Amos be my personal finale. One of the best musical memories from Roskilde Festival 2025.

Tyla, Burgers & the Final Bow

The rain lets up, and the ground beneath us is now classic Roskilde: slightly muddy, slightly springy. I move on to catch The Raveonettes at Avalon. They’ve never truly captivated me—and still don’t. The two constantly unison voices quickly become monotonous and dull. I decide this doesn’t need to be some kind of rite of passage where I stay till the bitter end. I honestly don’t believe anything left can top Perturbator—even if Apollo once again sets the stage for the festival’s final concert.

So, with warmth still flowing through my body and a smile on my face—solitary, but thankful within the larger whole—I let Nate Amos be my personal closing note, one of the most memorable musical moments of Roskilde Festival 2025, my 22nd RF. I leave the grounds and head toward my car.

Departure & Running on Empty

Others are leaving too—thousands of them—and I find myself in one of the most intense traffic situations I’ve ever experienced. It takes me 50 minutes to get from Bakkesvinget to the highway. That’s a stretch of just about two kilometers.

This costs time, and fuel. I know both my own and my car’s tanks are nearly empty. But I’ve done the math—I should be able to reach the estate and refuel at the nearest station Sunday morning before heading back toward Copenhagen.

But that’s not how things unfold. Precisely 2.2 km from the estate, on a small hill along Tølløsevej, the car coughs a couple of times—then dies. Shit. The hill turns out to be a stroke of luck, allowing me to gently roll the car backward in neutral and steer it safely into the roadside verge. It’s pitch-black around me, and my tired brain doesn’t even think of calling roadside assistance.

That comes the following morning, when I phone Falck and get refueled from one of their emergency jerrycans.

Sonnerupgaard Estate: Peace After the Noise

Sonnerupgaard Gods hosts weddings every weekend, all year round—often both Fridays and Saturdays. The concept? The wedding couple rents the venue and handles the rest themselves: food, music, everything. Many of the guests stay overnight and enjoy brunch together the next morning.

In these commercialized times, it’s impressive. But from what I gather—and have had confirmed—Sonnerupgaard Gods runs primarily on good old-fashioned word of mouth. Only a modest budget is spent on Adwords and SEO. That’s it.

There’s a special energy and aura at Sonnerupgaard. The staff are genuinely kind and welcoming. They’re truly lovely people who, despite being busy, almost always make time for a friendly chat.

Since I was last here in the summer of 2023, they’ve continued to improve the place—for both the environment and the guests. There’s now a spa area, solar panels on the hay barn, and even a self-service bar in the old Horse Stable. The estate covers 320 hectares in total—160 hectares of farmland, the rest being forest, meadows, gravel paths, and the grounds for the buildings.

The main house and three large wings (former stables) form a horseshoe layout, along with several annexes and a large barn filled with farming equipment. The buildings date back to the 1800s. There’s stunning oak wood throughout, and the rooms retain a classy, old-fashioned style. The faucets and bathroom fittings may not be state-of-the-art, but they work flawlessly—and I personally love that blend of function and vintage aesthetics.

Thursday morning, I have a spontaneous chat in the garden with Pia, the estate’s multi-tasking woman-of-all-trades. She’s a self-taught gardener and autodidact in a wide range of crafts. We talk about the estate—and about life. Unplanned, warm, and real. For well over twenty minutes.

Tadre Mølle: Waterwheel Epiphany

Just as it’s hard—tinged with melancholy—to say goodbye to the festival, it’s equally difficult to part ways with Sonnerupgaard Gods and its magnificent surrounding nature. So, despite my fatigue, I make a stop in Elverdamsdalen—yes, the place names out here are storybook stuff—to revisit Denmark’s oldest still-functioning mill: Tadre Mølle. The mill dates all the way back to the 1300s and has, over time, been owned by everyone from the Bishop of Roskilde Cathedral (who needed a bit of extra income) to Sonnerupgaard itself.

I’m lucky enough to be given a private tour by the miller himself. It’s utterly captivating to hear the mill’s unique history and to take in the sight and sound of its inner workings—the wheel and the grinding stones.

Are there parallels between Tadre Mølle and Roskilde Festival? Absolutely. Both are powered and kept alive by passionate volunteers. And both operate under dual control: they can be slowed down or revved up at will—guided by water, sky, or sound.

At one point, Ole pulls a long chain connected to a sluice further up the stream. Water surges down a straight aqueduct and hits the massive overshot wheel. As the sluice opens, the water flows in at four times the usual rate, and the huge wheel inside instantly shifts from calm, steady motion to a crescendo—a truly impressive upbeat.

Final Thoughts: Volunteers and Vitality

So—what’s the connective tissue between Tadre Mølle and Roskilde Festival? Both rely on the drive and passion of tireless volunteers. Both can modulate their rhythm—slowing to a trickle or exploding into full force—whether it’s water, weather, or music that sets the pace. And both are subject to the whims of nature, even while being skillfully managed by human hands.

For me, Roskilde Festival 2025 will be remembered in my personal archive for several things: the blistering heat of Wednesday, the cool nights that followed, the extraordinary camaraderie and dedication of our volunteer crew in Backstage Village, and—last but definitely not least—Tadre Mølle.

Musically, a few acts stand tall like monuments: Annika (yes, really!), Stormzy, Beabadoobee, Amenra, Jako Maron, Nine Inch Nails—and the unexpectedly perfect finale: Nate Amos. King of Cool.

Thank you, RF25.

Catch up on [Episode 1] and [Episode 2] for the full festival journey.