Review & Photography by Manny Manson for MPM
If you were trying to get through Nottingham, on Saturday evening, you’d have wondered what the hell was happening! Gridlock was the order of the day; the air was full of tension as the traffic, slowly, inched past the Motorpoint Arena like a drunken slug. It was a cold 6th of December, the kind of night where winter presses into your bones and the city seems to huddle in on itself, the wind sneaking through the streets like a rumour. But there was a very different kind of electricity humming through the air outside the venue, once we managed to get parked up and make our way through the busy streets, full of Saturday night revelry. Here, the buzz of thousands gathering not for a concert, but more for an immersion, a living war chronicle scored by metal, orchestra, fire, and theatre. You could hear people talking excitedly about how Sabaton don’t just play shows anymore; they recreate history in arenas, turning stages into battlefields and albums into campaigns. And tonight, the Legendary European Tour was rolling into Nottingham with a full symphonic assault, opening with the mysterious, myth-shrouded ensemble billed simply as The Legendary Orchestra. The posters didn’t list musicians, only the name, but those of us who knew, knew. Those who didn’t were about to learn.
Inside, the Motorpoint pulsed with anticipation, a low murmur of voices spread across the standing floor and seated blocks like tension before the first artillery strike. Crew in black darted around the ramparts of the set, looming castle walls, castellations and crenelations, towers, and war-torn textures sculpted in brutalist detail. You could see metal plating caging the central stage, props draped under tarps, and dark shapes waiting to be ignited by the inevitable inferno. Even covered, the gauntlet gloved drum riser was unmistakable. This was old school set design, none of that L.E.D. screen malarkey here! Arena staff clustered by the doors, checking people were getting to the right sections of this large arena, an Ice Rink on any other day, once the home to the world-famous Torvill and Dean. The concourse was bathed in the glow from the drink and food vendors and the obligatory merchandise stands where punters raced to grab their shirts, flags, patches, the sort of battlefield regalia that lets everyone know exactly what part of the army they belonged to tonight.
(In the realm where heavy metal meets history, a new, audacious force was forged in 2025: The Legendary Orchestra. This is no traditional, dusty classical ensemble; it is a meticulously calculated and impactful cinematic experience designed by Sabaton’s own bassist and manager, Pär Sundström, to create a hybrid performance that blends the raw energy of a rock show with the sweeping elegance of an orchestral concert. His vision was to form an independent yet intrinsically connected “cover band” of elite musicians dedicated entirely to performing grand, symphonic versions of Sabaton’s music, a dream realised during the monumental “The Legendary Tour 2025” across Europe.
The collective itself is a dynamic entity, its ranks filled not just with a large ensemble of orchestral players and a powerful choir, but with lead instrumentalists who command the stage in their own right. The founding lineup features the compelling vocalist and conductor Noa Gruman, the virtuoso violinist Mia Asano who provides soaring lead melodies, and Patty Gurdy, whose masterful use of the hurdy-gurdy adds a unique, medieval texture to the sound. This powerful assembly, often numbering over twenty individuals, brings new life to anthems that the main Sabaton band simply cannot replicate in their usual high-octane set, crafting a goosebump-inducing experience that pushes the very boundaries of the heavy metal genre.
The connection to the main band is absolute; the orchestra’s entire raison d’être is to perform intricate, new arrangements of existing Sabaton epics. These powerful arrangements, crafted by the award-winning producer Joost van den Broek, delve deep into the band’s catalogue, breathing cinematic fire into tracks like “Ghost Division the realm where heavy metal meets history, a new, audacious force was forged in 2025: The Legendary Orchestra. This is no traditional, dusty classical ensemble; it is a meticulously calculated and impactful cinematic experience designed by Sabaton’s own bassist and manager, Pär Sundström, to create a hybrid performance that blends the raw energy of a rock show with the sweeping elegance of an orchestral concert. His vision was to form an independent yet intrinsically connected “cover band” of elite musicians dedicated entirely to performing grand, symphonic versions of Sabaton’s music, a dream realised during the monumental “The Legendary Tour 2025” across Europe.
The collective itself is a dynamic entity, its ranks filled not just with a large ensemble of orchestral players and a powerful choir, but with lead instrumentalists who command the stage in their own right. The founding lineup features the compelling vocalist and conductor Noa Gruman, the virtuoso violinist Mia Asano who provides soaring lead melodies, and Patty Gurdy, whose masterful use of the hurdy-gurdy adds a unique, medieval texture to the sound. This powerful assembly, often numbering over twenty individuals, brings new life to anthems that the main Sabaton band simply cannot replicate in their usual high-octane set, crafting a goosebump-inducing experience that pushes the very boundaries of the heavy metal genre.
The connection to the main band is absolute; the orchestra’s entire raison d’être is to perform intricate, new arrangements of existing Sabaton epics. These powerful arrangements, crafted by the award-winning producer Joost van den Broek, delve deep into the band’s catalogue, breathing cinematic fire into tracks like “Ghost Division,” “Bismarck,” and “The Unkillable Soldier.” While fans eagerly await a commercial release of these unique arrangements, currently they remain an exclusive, live-only experience for those attending “The Legendary Tour,” a perfect celebration of Sabaton’s 25th anniversary and their eleventh studio album, Legends.
In the realm where heavy metal meets history, a new, audacious force was forged in 2025: The Legendary Orchestra. This is no traditional, dusty classical ensemble; it is a meticulously calculated and impactful cinematic experience designed by Sabaton’s own bassist and manager, Pär Sundström, to create a hybrid performance that blends the raw energy of a rock show with the sweeping elegance of an orchestral concert. His vision was to form an independent yet intrinsically connected “cover band” of elite musicians dedicated entirely to performing grand, symphonic versions of Sabaton’s music, a dream realised during the monumental “The Legendary Tour 2025” across Europe.
The collective itself is a dynamic entity, its ranks filled not just with a large ensemble of orchestral players and a powerful choir, but with lead instrumentalists who command the stage in their own right. The founding lineup features the compelling vocalist and conductor Noa Gruman, the virtuoso violinist Mia Asano who provides soaring lead melodies, and Patty Gurdy, whose masterful use of the hurdy-gurdy adds a unique, medieval texture to the sound.
This powerful assembly, often numbering over twenty individuals, brings new life to anthems that the main Sabaton band simply cannot replicate in their usual high-octane set, crafting a goosebump-inducing experience that pushes the very boundaries of the heavy metal genre.
The connection to the main band is absolute; the orchestra’s entire raison d’être is to perform intricate, new arrangements of existing Sabaton epics. These powerful arrangements, crafted by the award-winning producer Joost van den Broek, delve deep into the band’s catalogue, breathing cinematic fire into tracks like “Ghost Division,” “Bismarck,” and “The Unkillable Soldier.” While fans eagerly await a commercial release of these unique arrangements, currently they remain an exclusive, live-only experience for those attending “The Legendary Tour,” a perfect celebration of Sabaton’s 25th anniversary and their eleventh studio album, Legends.
n,” “Bismarck,” and “The Unkillable Soldier.” While fans eagerly await a commercial release of these unique arrangements, currently they remain an exclusive, live-only experience for those attending “The Legendary Tour,” a perfect celebration of Sabaton’s 25th anniversary and their eleventh studio album, Legends.)
Inside the arena, the lights drop with a sudden thud, and for a heartbeat the arena is silent. Then a thin, piercing violin note slices the darkness, sharp as steel and trembling with expectation. A passing spotlight snaps across the stage and lands on Mia Asano, the violinist whose presence radiates both fire and serenity. Her silhouette leans into the bow like she’s coaxing out the first spark that will ignite the entire night. Her tone is flawless, warm and severe at once, the kind of phrasing that catches you off guard because it’s not just technical mastery, it’s narrative. She shapes every bend like it contains a story. Opposite her, from the shadows, comes the low, primitive rumble of a hurdy-gurdy. Patty Gurdy emerges with that unmistakable instrument strapped across her like a relic excavated from a battlefield. Her wheels grind, drone strings buzzing with a hypnotic vitality that feels both ancient and feral. The combination of her earthy, pagan resonance with Mia’s precise, almost celestial lines forms a perfect tension, a musical tug of war bridging centuries. Then the third presence strides forward through a wash of deep blue lights: Noa Gruman, conductor, vocalist, commander. She stands tall and you see the moment when the arena recognises her not as a conductor in the classical sense but as something between field marshal and storyteller. She raises her arm and the orchestra surges behind her, strings, brass, percussion, all swelling like a legion ready to charge under his command.
Without a word, without any introduction, the orchestra erupts into “Ghost Division,” the first thunderous charge of their set, taken from Sabaton’s The Art of War, released in 2008. The song is known for its unstoppable forward momentum and blistering pace, and somehow this orchestra intensifies it further. The violins break into rapid staccato fire, cellos pounding like armoured engines. Mia steps into the spotlight again and unleashes a solo line that spirals above the battlefield, her bow careening at impossible angles as Noa hurls herself into the dual role of conductor and vocalist. Her voice, surprisingly gritty and booming, breathes new life into the lyrics, not trying to mimic Sabaton, but reinventing the narrative through symphonic power. Patty’s hurdy-gurdy loops underneath it, adding this breathing, grinding pulse that turns the song into something almost ritualistic.
The crowd feels the impact. You can see it in the way heads jolt forward, in how people cling to the barricade like they’re being battered by the sound. There’s no pyro yet, that’s Sabaton’s realm, but the lighting team compensates by flooding the stage with rapid-fire white strobes and sweeping red spotlights that mimic gunfire ricocheting across the stage. During the chorus, Noa and Mia exchange a moment where she pushes her melodic line right up to her vocal cue and she catches it, lifts it, and launches the orchestra into a double-tempo burst that draws cheers like a detonation.
Without pause, they slip into “Bismarck,” released in 2019 as a standalone single in collaboration with Wargaming and World of Warships. The arrangement here is monumental. The original song carries this cinematic, oceanic weight, but when rendered through a full orchestra, it becomes tidal. Brass swells like rolling waves, timpani cracking like naval artillery.
Patty steps forward during the brooding intro, her hurdy-gurdy casting a sea-shanty-like drone that feels eerily fitting, as though resurrecting the ghosts of the Atlantic conflict. Noa conducts with huge sweeping arcs, each movement almost violent, and the orchestra responds with chest-shaking force. Mia executes a harmonised passage with the woodwinds that sends shivers through the crowd. The crescendo is cataclysmic, blue lights flicker like deep-sea storms, the entire orchestra thunders through the chorus, and Noa’s voice rings with tragic nobility.
“Maid of Steel,” from the new album, Legends (2025), comes next and turns the arena into an uplifting surge of triumphal melody. Strings shimmer through the opening runs, the violin and hurdy-gurdy weaving together in strange, radiant harmony. Patty smiles across at Mia mid-solo, and the two swirl their lines together in a duel that somehow feels both competitive and loving, like sisters exchanging blows in the practice yard. Noa’s vocals soar with an operatic resonance, and the orchestral percussive hits land like marching boots.
They then slide directly into “Hearts of Iron,” from Heroes (2014), which might be the emotional high point of the orchestra’s set. It’s grand, heroic, melancholic, the kind of song that feels like a statue carved in sound. Mia’s violin sings mournfully in the intro, drawing out every ounce of sorrow from the melody. Noa conducts with smaller, more delicate motions now, guiding the strings through the narrative of desperation and bravery. Patty’s hurdy-gurdy adds a droning undertone that feels like the heartbeat of doomed soldiers refusing to fall. When the full orchestra explodes into the chorus, the crowd erupts with them, it’s impossible not to be moved by the sheer emotional magnitude of it all.
“The Final Solution,” from Coat of Arms (2010), shifts the tone into something hushed, respectful. Noa speaks before they play, one the few times she pauses the flow of the set, offering a solemn reminder: “History demands remembrance, even when the truth is heavy.” The arrangement is sparse at first, aching with minor chords and spaced notes. Mia’s violin line quivers like it’s barely holding itself together. Noa sings with heartbreaking restraint. Patty’s hurdy-gurdy remains silent until the halfway mark, where she brings in a soft, mournful drone that deepens the sorrow. The arena is still, absolutely still, as the final note fades, a fitting salute to the Holocaust.
To lift the mood, the orchestra surges into “Sarajevo,” from The War to end all Wars (2022), acting as an instrumental overture for “Angels Calling,” originally from Attero Dominatus (2006). Noa uses the intro to build tension, commanding the orchestra like a general assembling her forces. Mia plays the melodic lead with haunting clarity while Patty joins her with harmonics that sound like ancient bells in the fog. When the song breaks into “Angels Calling,” the arena lights blaze gold, and Noa’s voice rises, full of fire again. The strings accelerate, driving the rhythm forward in chaotic beauty. “The Unkillable Soldier,” from The War to End All Wars (2022), follows, and it is an absolute riot of musicianship. Patty takes the lead here, her hurdy-gurdy transformed from atmospheric drone to front-line voice, its buzzing, rhythmic grind becoming the engine of the song. Mia’s violin dances around her with impossible flair, slicing through the sound like a blade. Noa grins at them both, stepping aside as conductor for a moment just to let them duel, letting the orchestra follow their lead like a beast unleashed.
“Resist and Bite,” from Heroes (2014), is all galloping rhythm. The orchestra hits like cavalry, strings chugging, brass fan-faring wildly. Noa sings with raw power, leaning into the fury of the chorus. Mia’s bow flicks so fast it’s practically smoking, and Patty’s hurdy-gurdy roars underneath it all like a runaway tank. Then comes “A Lifetime of War,” from Carolus Rex (2012), and the arena sways with the weight of its lament. Noa’s voice deepens, resonant and sorrowful. Mia’s playing becomes fluid and expressive, and Patty’s hurdy-gurdy hums like a dirge. The crowd sings with them, voices carried like candles in the dark.
The final push of their set lands with “Sparta” (The Last Stand, 2016), “Winged Hussars” (The Last Stand, 2016), and the explosive finale, “Swedish Pagans,” originally released as a non-album single (2010), later appearing on special editions. The trio interacts like wildfire, Noa thrusting the baton like a spear, Mia shredding impossible runs, Patty stomping across the stage with the hurdy-gurdy strapped to her like a weapon of myth. When the orchestra blasts the final chorus of “Swedish Pagans,” the arena feels like it’s about to lift off the ground. It is thunderous, ecstatic, triumphant.
The Legendary Orchestra leaves the stage to a roar, and the lights rise for a brief interval, giving the audience time to decompress after the sheer emotional magnitude of what they’ve witnessed. People spill into the concourse breathless, stunned, babbling about Mia’s solos, Patty’s stage presence, Noa’s gravity. It’s like witnessing a myth brought to life.
The stage crew now scurry about the stage clearing away the Orchestra, removing chairs, stands and stage sets, namely the huge open book that hung over head, shielding the raised drum riser, but providing a focal point for the Orchestral magic that we’d just witnessed. The drinks, Merch and toilets are now over flowing as fans hurry to get sorted ahead of the main Assault.
The lights eventually drop, again so suddenly that it felt like the arena took an almighty inhale with you, the whole of Nottingham’s Motorpoint Arena sinking into a blackout that wasn’t quiet so much as expectant, like the room itself knew the madness that was about to unfold. What followed wasn’t music, not yet, it was theatre, it was mock-history, it was Sabaton doing what only Sabaton seem capable of doing in 2025: turning a gig into a battlefield comedy show with more swagger than sense and more fire than health and safety would ever dare approve.
A single spotlight snapped on, and out strutted Napoleon Bonaparte, or at least the actor playing him, chest puffed, hat at its most ridiculous angle, moving with the entitled gait of a man convinced the entire world already belonged to him. The crowd erupted in laughter and applause all at once. He soaked it up like it was his birthright, arms open, boasting in an over-the-top French accent about his greatness, France’s greatness, the greatness of military genius in general, and most importantly, the greatness of himself. Every time someone in the crowd heckled, which was often, because Nottingham did not hold back, he fired back with that now-infamous refrain of the tour: “Up my arse!” delivered with theatrical indignation and impeccable comedic timing.
Then the comedic tempo escalated. From the opposite side of the stage stomped Genghis Khan, full fur coat and barbaric swagger, shouting about conquest and empires and how Napoleon’s fancy uniforms wouldn’t survive five minutes on the steppe. They bickered like two drunk uncles at Christmas, throwing insults across the stage while the crowd roared with laughter. Just when the back-and-forth threatened to go nuclear, a third figure emerged, Julius Caesar himself, resplendent in gold and red, radiating the exhausted superiority of a man forced to mediate idiots. He silenced them both with one booming order that echoed through the arena. But before he could get more than a few smug lines out, Napoleon and Khan exchanged a knowing look… and promptly stabbed Caesar to death in the most gloriously melodramatic stage kill imaginable. Caesar staggered, flailed, reached for the heavens, and collapsed to massive applause.
And that was the cue.
A blast of concussion pyro erupted so violently the floor trembled, and the entire stage ignited in a wash of gold light as the castle ramparts lit up. The tank-shaped drum riser, now designed with crusader gauntlet gloves instead of the classic tracked vehicle, began to lift, slowly rising, smoke curling beneath it. The claw tightened, lifted higher, and from between its fingers spewed a jet of flame so fierce the front rows recoiled from the wave of heat. That was the signal, the mighty SABATON took to the field.
(Sabaton’s story doesn’t begin with cannons, tanks or the roar of festival crowds, it begins in the quiet cold of Falun in 1999, where two stubbornly determined musicians, Joakim Brodén and Pär Sundström, looked at the world of metal and decided it needed battlefields. Not fantasy ones. Not metaphors. The real thing, the grit, the terror, the impossible courage of human beings standing in the worst storms history ever threw at them. They formed a band that felt less like a project and more like a mission, long before anyone else understood what they were trying to build.
Those early years were a blur of basement rehearsals, demo tracking sessions that smelled of cold coffee and warm amplifier dust, and a determination that far outpaced their resources. Out of that era came Fist for Fight in 2000, a patchwork of demos and raw ambition. It wasn’t a concept album, not yet. It was a spark, the sound of a band stumbling into the identity that would eventually define them. The war themes were scattered like bullet casings after the first volley, but even then, something was taking shape.
The real ignition came with Primo Victoria in 2005, the moment Sabaton stepped out of obscurity and planted their flag. Modern warfare, D-Day, Kursk, Fall of Berlin, Vietnam, became the palette, and the band painted in broad, explosive strokes. That thick, unashamedly triumphant sound was different from everything else in metal at the time. Some critics didn’t know what to do with it; fans, however, knew immediately. They had found something worth following.
Barely a year later they doubled down with Attero Dominatus in 2006, another run through the horrors and turning points of 20th-century conflict. Berlin burned again, Hiroshima glowed, the Pacific churned under the Battle of Midway. It felt like Sabaton were marching at double-time, eyes locked forward while the rest of the scene scrambled to keep up. But just when the momentum should have carried them smoothly into the next chapter, the band hit their first real snag: label troubles. The result was Metalizer, recorded way back in 2002 but not released until 2007. It was the odd child of the catalogue, more heavy metal than historical doctrine, more fire than fact. But it kept the band moving.
Everything changed in 2008 with The Art of War. This wasn’t just an album. This was the moment Sabaton became Sabaton. Taking Sun Tzu’s ancient text and threading it through real battles gave the band a conceptual spine they’d never had before. Every track was a tactic, every chorus a mantra, every battlefield chosen with precision. It was cerebral, theatrical, and heavy enough to shake the foundations of the European metal scene. People stopped calling them “that war band” and started calling them “one of the most interesting power metal acts on the planet.”
By 2010, they released Coat of Arms, a full-scale assault of WWII stories stretching from the Mediterranean to the Eastern Front. The band were no longer climbing. They were sprinting. Tour after tour, each stage bigger than the last, each crowd more familiar with the words than the one before. And then came the defining moment: Carolus Rex in 2012, a thunderous, operatic retelling of the rise and fall of the Swedish Empire. It was patriotic without being propaganda, emotional without being melodrama. It went multi-platinum in Sweden, sold massively across Europe, and became the first true epic of their career. Sabaton had built their own mythology, and it fit them perfectly.
Even after a major lineup split that same year, the band refused to stagger. Instead, they came out swinging with Heroes in 2014, turning their lens from empires to individuals. Pilecki, Audie Murphy, the Night Witches, people who faced impossible odds with no guarantee of survival. It was intimate by Sabaton standards, but no less powerful, and it solidified their new era.
Then came The Last Stand in 2016, a full tour of final defiance throughout history, Thermopylae, the Swiss Guard’s doomed defence, Rorke’s Drift. This was Sabaton at their most cinematic, every song a widescreen final chapter of some desperate resistance. It set the stage for their most ambitious project yet: an entire, double-album-sized journey through the trenches of the First World War.
The Great War in 2019 and The War to End All Wars in 2022 were more than albums, they were dossiers, curated emotional archives for one of humanity’s darkest times. Verdun’s endless grind, the Red Baron’s deadly ballet in the sky, the Christmas Truce that stopped the world for one holy, fleeting moment. They made history visceral, loud, and heartbreakingly human. Sabaton weren’t just performing anymore; they were educating, producing documentaries, building a multimedia universe around the music. The band had become a living museum with pyro.
By the time 2025 arrived, anticipation wasn’t just high, it was volcanic. Fans wondered where the band could go after the enormity of WWI. Sabaton answered with Legends, an album that didn’t look at eras or wars, but at the towering, larger-than-life figures who dominated them. Not myths, but mythic humans: leaders, warriors, rebels, tacticians, icons. Boudica riding into history on a tide of revolt. Miyamoto Musashi carving philosophy into the air with every strike. Harald Hardrada defying fate itself at Stamford Bridge. Winged Hussars storming into legend like thunder wearing feathers. With Legends, Sabaton didn’t just broaden their scope, they broke the historical timeline wide open and marched through every era with a banner held high.
From the quiet streets of Falun to global arenas roaring with the sound of a thousand voices, Sabaton’s rise has never been accidental. It has been a campaign. A relentless, meticulously crafted march through twenty-five years of metal warfare. They didn’t chase trends. They built a world. And by 2025, with Legends blazing across the battlefield, it was clear: Sabaton had not just survived the decades. They had conquered them.)
The opening riff of “Templars” (from The Last Stand, released 2016) tore out of the speakers and the arena went nuclear. Dressed as Crusaders in their Knights Templar tabards, the band and Joakim Brodén stormed forward, his sunglasses gleaming, face lit by fire, shouting to the crowd to raise their fists. Fire shot from either side of the stage, long dragon-tongue flame jets that hissed and curled across the ramparts like living serpents. The actors from the intro fled the stage dramatically as the band took over, and the castle walls strobed with white and blue light. It felt like a crusade at full charge.
Without a pause to breathe, they slammed into “The Last Stand” (also The Last Stand, 2016). The pyro hit harder here, vertical blasts that punched upward in rhythm with Hannes’ drum patterns, each burst perfectly timed so the heat landed exactly on the downbeat. Joakim paced the edge of the stage like a general inspecting his troops, shouting for Nottingham to scream louder, punching his chest, pointing at sections of the floor like he was selecting targets. Then came “Hordes of Khan”, the Mongolian-themed banger from Legends (2025). The lighting switched to deep blood-red and roaring amber, the dragon’s claw rising again with the drum riser perched within it, spewing shorter, more frequent bursts of flame. Actors dressed as Mongol warriors stormed the ramparts, waving spears and pounding shields. Joakim grinned through the whole thing, shouting, “NOTTINGHAM! ARE YOU READY FOR WAR?” and the crowd responded with the kind of earth-shaking roar that tells you exactly why Sabaton book arenas rather than theatres these days. “I, Emperor” followed after a brief re appearance from a blood-soaked Julius Cesar, taken from the series of single releases leading up to the release of Legends (2025), and the Roman theme returned in spectacular fashion. Golden light flooded the stage, and two actors in Roman armour appeared at either side of the ramparts, raising oversized standards bearing Sabaton’s crest. Flames fanned out behind them in synchronized arcs. Joakim leaned into the theatricality, pointing toward the Roman figures as he sang, then whipping back to the crowd to get them chanting. The gauntlet gloved drum riser lifted, spraying a split-stream flame gout in a V-shape that crowned the stage in molten colour.
“Crossing the Rubicon”, from Legends (2025), erupted with crimson lights slicing through dense smoke, bathing the stage in a Roman-war fog. Joakim prowled like a predator, whipping the crowd into rhythmic chants while the pyro machines spat intermittent white-hot blasts that shook the rafters. The legendary orchestra leaned forward from their elevated platforms, singing harmony lines that echoed like ancient voices in the haze. Then the first true goosebump moment arrived, “Carolus Rex”, Swedish version, from the 2012 concept album of the same name about the Swedish Empire and Charles XII. The sudden switch to icy blue lighting, snow machines drifting gentle flakes across the stage, and Joakim dropping the sunglasses to sing with bare, unshielded emotion… it was stunning. Blue-and-yellow flame fountains shot upward in short, proud bursts. The Swedish lyrics rang across the arena with regal power. The orchestra on the ramparts took over the backing vocals, swelling and lifting the choruses into the rafters. Nottingham’s voices swelled with them, singing along like a single massive choir. Then the tone flipped hard into cinematic flamboyance, “The Red Baron”, from The Great War (2019). The highlighted twin guitar intro blasted, bathed in enough white light to land an A380 whilst the set was backlit in neon-red light. We didn’t have the side screens of previous venues showing the ‘Snoopy styled’, Red Barons WW1 fighter flying about, never the less Joakim got the crowd singing along to this, yet another classic fan favourite.
From there it was straight into “Stormtroopers”, from The War to End All Wars (2022). This one was all speed and white strobe dominance, the kind of lighting that turns the stage into a battlefield snapshot. Each snare hit seemed detonated small concussion blasts with in your spine. At the climax, the band abruptly stepped back and Hannes lit into a thundering drum solo, the riser lifting even higher on the dragon’s claw, rotating slightly while flame jets erupted from the talons in rapid pulses. The heat was brutal, deliciously so. The entire arena roared encouragement, and Joakim egged him on, pacing in circles around the stage, shouting, “FASTER! FASTER!” like a pirate demanding more cannon fire. The gloved riser seemed to be lowered, stabilised, and in came the mythic slow burn of “A Tiger Among Dragons”, from Legends (2025). This was the most visually gorgeous piece of the night, cool blue lights sweeping through a forest of fog, gentle pulses of white flame flickering behind the band like dragon breath in the cold. Joakim’s vocals here were rich, steady, emotional, drawing huge swells from the crowd.
Then the show shifted into the final war march, the section where the Legendary Orchestra became fully integrated into Sabaton’s world. Their silhouettes, draped in ghostly backlight, added a symphonic gravity that made the next run of songs hit like a hammer.
“Christmas Truce”, from The War to End All Wars (2022), arrived with snowfall swirling across the stage, golden floodlights washing the ramparts. Joakim’s voice softened, and the orchestra sang behind him like a solemn celestial choir. No actors here, just mood, memory, and the ache of history. It was beautiful, haunting, and strangely peaceful amid the firestorm of the rest of the night. But “Soldier of Heaven”, also The War to End All Wars (2022), brought the theatrics back in terrifying fashion. Then came the most savage performance of the night, “The Attack of the Dead Men”, from The Great War (2019). The undead soldiers returned, staggering around the arena, coughing green smoke. Joakim strapped in his gas mask as he stumbled ahead of the band as they walked around the arena, moving slowly, searchingly, while undead soldiers followed behind him in twitchy, broken movements. Blue-white frost lighting smothered the stage. Cold jets burst across the front like icy geysers. The entire stage erupted in green smoke. The concussion blasts felt like mortar fire. The orchestra on the ramparts leaned forward, fists raised, driving out the backing vocals like war cries.
From there the band tore into “Night Witches”, the opening track from Heroes (2014), turning the arena into a purple-lit aerial battleground. Flame jets fired diagonally, forming V-shaped burning wings behind the band. The speed, the ferocity, the crowd screaming every line, it was pure adrenaline. Then came the eternal anthem, “Primo Victoria”, from Primo Victoria (2005). Nottingham exploded. Every person in the building jumped. The dragon’s claw blasted twin fire pillars straight upward. Joakim barely needed to sing; the crowd did it for him, louder than the PA at times. Blue and yellow lights swept across the arena like charging cavalry. “Steel Commanders,” the 2021 single, roared in next. This was a single that featured the Cellist Tina Guo. It was considered as part of the overall release strategy for the War to End All Wars era. Joakim prowled like a man possessed, demanding more volume from every corner of the room.
“The Art of War,” from The Art of War (2008), was delivered with regal precision. Red lights carved geometric patterns into the smoke as though mapping ancient battle strategies across the air itself. The orchestra hammered the choral parts with fierce conviction, and Joakim moved through the song like a narrator guiding the fate of armies. The penultimate blast was “To Hell and Back”, from Heroes (2014). Gold pyro rained from the ceiling, flame cannons roared in tall rhythmic bursts, and Joakim had the entire arena chanting in a thunderous loop. The crowd energy reached its peak, a sea of fists and flags and sweat-soaked joy. And finally, they closed with “Masters of the World”, originally released on Metalizer (2019). Every effect was unleashed: spiralling flame wheels, the dragon’s claw firing rapid pulses from each talon, gold confetti erupting over the standing floor, and the orchestra singing full-force behind the band. Joakim held the microphone out, letting the crowd finish the final chorus with him, Nottingham roaring like an army claiming victory.
When the last flames died, the ticker tape and the lights settled into soft white, Sabaton stood at the front of the stage, exhausted and triumphant. The legendary orchestra bowed behind them, still glowing with adrenaline. The crowd’s roar rose again, louder, deeper, as if the entire arena had transformed into one heaving organism of gratitude and joy. Walking out afterward, you could feel the heat of the fire still humming in your skin, hear the echo of Sabaton’s war chants reverberating through your bones, and see the snowflakes from Christmas Truce still drifting in your mind’s eye. Nights like that don’t fade quickly. They burn. They scorch. They stay.
And Sabaton, on this December night in Nottingham, delivered a spectacular war-torn, cinematic fire-lit epic that felt like being thrown headfirst into the pages of history and emerging victorious, if a little hot and sweaty. Horrible Histories! Eat your heart out!
