Forty years is a long time to keep the fire alive, especially in heavy metal, where even the most tenacious bands fade into repetition and irrelevance. For me, that fire’s always been personal. There were years when I quite literally lived between Helloween albums, measuring time not by seasons, but by the wait for another new song, another tour, another reminder that music could still feel like salvation. Through some of the best and hardest moments of my life, Helloween were the constant; the soundtrack that made sense when nothing else did.
But as the curtain dropped in Prague, staring at a wall of light, album covers come to life and pyros, I realized something: Helloween aren’t living off of their old flame. They are lighting a bigger, brighter bonfire! And somewhere in that blaze, I could feel the same spark that pulled me in all those years ago. The kid who believed that a song could make everything okay, still alive and wide-eyed behind the lens.
I’ll admit, I was skeptical at first. I’d recently written an opinion piece about Iron Maiden’s shift to digital screens, how it stripped some of the magic from their once-tangible worlds come to life. Not to mention the setlist which traded the promised deep-cuts and premieres for a Bulgarian-bootleg-best-of* repertoire of hits, hits and nothing but hits. So when in our interview Michael Kiske promised their most impressive stage production yet and songs they haven’t played for ages celebrating their anniversary, I was cautiously enthusiastic. But what I saw was something else entirely.
Let’s start with the visuals. Helloween have found a way to make the digital feel alive. Like Iron Maiden, they have opted in to replace most of the stage banners for screens, with stage-screens blending in seamlessly with the backdrop screen. But unlike Maiden, it worked much better because the stage architecture was way more sophisticated – with supportive lighting rigs, practical effects and platforms. Somehow, it felt more alive. More 3D. Then again, maybe I’m just biased.
Regardless, seeing classic covers like “Better Than Raw” or “I Want Out” come to life was breathtaking but at the same time did not take you away from being there in the moment. For a few seconds at a time, I wasn’t an adult with a to-do list waiting back home. I was that same kid who used to stare at these album cover on the wall of his bedroom.
Performance-wise, it’s still astonishing how well Deris and Kiske fit together, evident since the first few notes of the opening “March of Time”. Their chemistry feels effortless, as does the pairing of their distinct vocal colors. Keeping up with the expectation set by the new album “Giants and Monsters”, there were more duets than solo songs this time, and each carried weight. The acoustic interlude, “In the Middle of a Heartbeat” flowing into “A Tale That Wasn’t Right,” was a rare breather amid the power metal barrage and a chance to remember how much heart hides beneath all the steel tormenting.
And then there’s Markus Grosskopf, forever the unsung hero, a whirlwind of energy and humor, the action-movie-comic-relief equivalent in heavy metal. And speaking of unsung heroes, there’s Sascha Gerstner – a man who manages to cover for three different guitarists, three different styles and still leave a (massive) footprint of his own.
There’s a kind of joy that radiates from this band; the kind that makes you forget that joy ever needed rediscovering. Watching Markus goof around with Kai or seeing Kiske and Deris trade smiles mid-chorus having forgotten their lines, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve slipped out of time, back to when music could fix anything, even if only for a night.
When “King for a 1000 Years” began, I nearly dropped my camera. It was everything my younger self dreamed of back when a reunion felt like fanfic: Kiske and Deris sharing the mic, trading the lines “Time will be a turning wheel / we shove or retard / Time will be a toy / time we will enjoy” in the epic sequel to their 80’s story. And somewhere between “Hey Lord!” and “Halloween,” I caught myself smiling the way I did twenty years ago, when I first fell for this band’s blend of melody and German humor.
Needless to say, I was happy with the list. If I had one wish, it would be for a few more wishes. Some more of the Deris-era deep cuts: “Push,” “Kings Will Be Kings,” “Secret Alibi,” something from “The Dark Ride,” literally anything from “Gambling with the Devil”. But that’s nitpicking. The setlist struck a fine balance between eras, honoring both the past and the present. Then again, Helloween have always been kind to their diehard fans with at least few surprises and deep-cuts on every tour.
Prague was massive, a sea of voices, the kind of crowd that makes the huge stage itself feel comparatively small. It’s easy to see why shows in the Czech capital are always among Helloween’s biggest in Europe: devotion doesn’t even begin to cover it. Budapest, though, hit differently. That city has a strange kind of gravity for me. I saw Helloween there back in 2010, my first show abroad. I still remember the first snow sticking to my jeans as we made our way through the city park, the Romanian ladies smuggling bottles of Rakia in the train and the mystical, tastiest Döner we had after the show, that I was never able to find again. Returning this time, surrounded by familiar faces from my homeland, felt like coming full circle.
Behind the lens, I tried to keep pace, to catch the split-second before fire erupted during “We Burn”, or the showering white light behind Kiske as he belted out the vocals in “Universe”. I didn’t want perfect photos. I wanted proof. Proof that I’d stood there in that storm of light and sound, witnessing a band still burning with purpose. That the emotions are still there, even stronger than before. And maybe, that for all our chasing of meaning and milestones, sometimes the truest proof we ever get is the feeling itself: the goosebumps, the grin you can’t suppress, the sudden reminder of why you fell in love with music in the first place.
Forty years into their story, Helloween haven’t slowed down. If anything, they’ve evolved: trading youthful defiance for mastery, but keeping the same grin. And for me, having followed them for half that journey, this tour wasn’t just a celebration. It was a reminder that the magic is real, that some dreams age well, and that sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get to live them.
Because maybe that’s what all of this is about: not escaping adulthood, but remembering that somewhere beneath all the noise and weight, that kid still lives inside you. And for two nights in Prague and Budapest, I swear I could hear him singing along.
*It’s a cultural, not a racist thing. If you’d lived in the Balkans, you’d understand.
