Dear Sir,

Please stop.
Please stop playing such shows that in their awesomeness deprives poor journalists the capacity of note scribbling, as they at all times are forced to have their hands full of ale, and their necks forcibly bent and shaken. This will not do as they later find themselves staring at a blank computer-screen and at loss for details of what has transpired, though still dully reminded by the everlasting pounding of something like a Thor’s Hammer inside their skull, and a severe strain on the splenius capitis muscle.

Were it not for the pounding yet melodic rhythm section produced by your appendages Fredrik Andersson and Ted Lundström, likewise the crushing yet captivating string-handling of appendages Olavi Mikkonen and Johan Söderberg, I feel certain that many a spinal column in the body of the crowd would not feel like so much ground dust this the next day. Hell (yes, I fear I am reduced to the use of coarse language, this is what your pagan communion, nay celebration, have done to me), even the somewhat well-mixed, yet above all crushingly heavy sound you pummelled us with was certainly not to stand for. I am sure you saw us all ‘bending in the wind’ as it were, throughout your entire time on the stage.
And a special address goes to your mighty voice, or shall we call it Johan Hegg?
Why, this thunderous piece of work, along with its powerhouse performance, was enough to make us feel like Vikings riding a longboat to the English shores to raid and pillage, drink and fornicate. This simply will not do! Long is the time since our bodies became frail and pale excuses of our mighty ancestors from a thousand or so years ago, and when called into action this way only certain pain will follow…

Truly, none present would ever think to question your better judgment in this matter, and I shall be the first to confess that I was, as we all were, ready and willing to do your bidding; screaming along to your mighty warcry and stressing my corpus to the full of its extent, bending and brawling, twisting and turning, all for your glory.
Yet now have come the time of reckoning, and what should I be left with but a body neither ready nor willing to do what I ask of it; there is simply nothing left. All was laid out on the battlefield we know as Vega. Between puddles of spilt beer and heaps of broken cups I crawled out into the soothingly crisp night-air, a strong contrast to the fiery heat you presented us with inside Valhalla’s four walls, and even here your voice still rang loud and clear in within the confines of my tattered soul proclaiming that we are all Guardians of Asgaard.

So, Mr. Amarth, or Amon if I may be so bold, please take under consideration that what you bring out in us comes with a heavy toll which we shall all have to pay; and understand that the next time you invade our shores, or possibly we come and seek you out wherever that may be, it will once more be impossible for us, your loyal followers, to hold anything back. So mighty is this is power you wield over us.

Sincerely /
Metalmoments

Setlist:

War Of The Gods
With Oden On Our Side
Destroyer Of The Universe
Masters Of War
Live For The Kill
Guardians Of Asgaard
Doom Over Dead Man
Slaves Of Fear
God, His Son And Holy Whore
Varyags Of Miklagaard
For Victory Or Death
Victorious March / Gods Of War Arise / Death In Fire
Twilight Of The Thunder God
Runes To My Memory
The Pursuit Of Vikings