South African bands can win Wacken Metal Battle, fly to Germany, play one of the biggest stages in metal, and still land back home to the same grind. That gap between the “we made it” moment and the hard reality that follows is exactly what Sludge Underground set out to unpack in its episode “What happens after Wacken?”, hosted by Nasiphi Zwane with Emalyth organiser Sashquita Northey on the other side of the mic.
Zwane opens with the frustration most fans recognise. The journey is visible up to the German stage. After that, the story often goes quiet. “Time and time again we’ve seen South African bands win the Wacken Metal Battle, only to go to Germany, to one of the biggest stages in metal, and come back to South Africa like nothing ever happened,” he says.
Sashquita Northey, who has spent 24 years in South Africa’s underground scene, does not dress it up as a feel-good story with a neat ending. For her, the first thing that happens after Wacken is not a label deal or a booking agent sliding into your inbox. It is a comedown, then a decision. “I think bands get a big reality check about a lot of things,” she says. “Afterwards you sit down and it’s a sobering, sombre time of reflection for a band. Bands come back asking themselves a lot of questions, like: ‘Am I willing to leave my stable job, my wife, my child, and live in a car for 30 to 60 days at a time and eat truck stop food?’”
Wacken can be an incredible platform, but it does not carry anyone for free. “Am I willing to give up the privileges I have in South Africa, or am I going to go and work really hard?” she asks. Then she lands on the myth she hears most often. “No one’s going to see you play on a stage with 350 other bands at that festival and think, ‘Cool, here’s everything you need to become a rock star.’”
The outside perception is often built on assumptions. Nasiphi Zwane says he used to think the Wacken slot came with something structured that kept the momentum alive, almost like a guarantee. “Is there anything in place after the win, any kind of contract or structured follow-up that guarantees some momentum for the next year? Like getting signed, or having a label or some real backing behind you?” he asks, framing what many fans assume when they see “Wacken” attached to a band’s name.
“I think a lot of people don’t understand what Wacken is versus the Wacken Metal Battle. What Wacken does is give you that stage, and the privileges that come with that stage.”
Northey’s answer begins with a basic distinction that shapes the whole conversation. “What Wacken offers the bands is a slot at the festival, a slot on one of 350 time slots,” she says. “I think a lot of people don’t understand what Wacken is versus the Wacken Metal Battle.” She breaks down the Metal Battle as its own focused event inside the larger festival. “The Wacken Metal Battle is a two-day event on the Wednesday and Thursday during the day. It’s 30 bands, all the best bands from their countries. That’s what it is. It’s an opportunity to play a very early slot at one of the most incredible music festivals in the world.”
She is clear that the experience is huge. The infrastructure is world class. The access feels unreal if you have never been in that environment before. “What Wacken does is give you that stage, and the privileges that come with that stage,” she says. “So your VIP camping, your VIP artist access area, your dressing rooms, the best show that you are ever going to play in your life, on the best stage, with the best crew, and the whole incredible festival experience.”
There is also a practical layer people miss. The Metal Battle programme creates meeting opportunities with industry players, but it does not do the work for you. “The Metal Battle at Wacken sets up opportunities for you to make appointments with various record labels, festival booking agents, touring agents, PR, media, and producers from across the world,” she says. “You can book appointments with them on the two days of the Metal Battle, and you have your 20 minutes to pitch to whoever’s there.”
“You can be the best thrash metal band in Africa, but when you’re in the Metal Battle, you’re one of the best young, upcoming, unsigned thrash metal bands in the world.
Even there, Northey keeps returning to scale. The room is stacked. The competition is global. “There are 350 bands,” she says, “and in the Metal Battle there are 29 other bands, all the best bands from the regions they come from. You can be the best thrash metal band in Africa, but when you’re in the Metal Battle, you’re one of the ten best young, upcoming, unsigned thrash metal bands in the world.”
When Zwane asks if organisers provide “resources” and it is then up to bands to capitalise, Northey doesn’t reject the idea, but she tightens the definition. Connections exist. Support exists. A tour bus across Europe does not. “To an extent,” she says. “When you say ‘resources’, no, we’re not going to give you 200,000 Rand to hire a tour bus and go across Europe. If we had it, we would. But we do have the connections. It’s twofold, and it’s not necessarily that they’re unwilling. A lot of people are unable. You only find out two or three months before you’re going to Germany, and now you’ve got to try and book these whole tours,” she says. “Forming relationships and connections takes time.” She points to how long momentum can take, even when everyone’s pushing in the same direction: “I’ll give you an example of a Metal Battle band who are not African,” she says. “NVLO worked on their relationship with me for two and a half years before they were able to book what, for them, is an international tour. It took two and a half years, and a lot of work, a lot of relationship maintaining, and hustling.”
Then she widens it beyond admin into what touring actually costs in human terms. “It’s a lot of hard work, and a lot of patience, investment, and sacrifice,” she says, before sharing a story about a touring musician who had just become a parent. “Here he is, not being home for three months, not seeing his newborn baby, because that’s the job and that’s the hustle. And I don’t know how many of our bands realise that.”
“We try really hard. We have a team of three or four people who try to get sponsorship and apply to embassies and foundations for funding. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”
If the first misconception is that Wacken equals a career guarantee, the second is that winning equals full funding. Northey kills that assumption immediately. “Nothing is guaranteed. Absolutely nothing is guaranteed,” she says. She explains how the South African team tries to raise money and how unpredictable that process is. “We try really hard. We have a team of three or four people who try to get sponsorship and apply to embassies and foundations for funding. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”
She backs it up with examples from recent years. “For Halvar last year, we were able to pay for their flights, accommodation and visas, and we helped them with all the camping gear they needed,” she says. “But in 2023, we barely covered three plane tickets. Never mind the accommodation and the camping gear.” She’s blunt about why the organisers never promise a fixed percentage up front, because the costs and income change every year. “The part where someone asks what’s guaranteed, what’s conditional, and how much travel and accommodation we cover for the winner… that’s the thing: we don’t guarantee any of it.” She says it depends on basics like band size and how well the final sells. “Are you a three-piece band or a six-piece band? Because that’s the difference between 50,000 Rand and 100,000 Rand. Are we going to sell 800 tickets to the final? Because if we are, then we can cover 50%, but we don’t know how many people are going to come to the final. Nothing is guaranteed. We will give you what we make, whatever the profit is.” Sometimes that profit is small, sometimes it’s substantial. “It could be anywhere between 30,000 Rand, like it was for Middle Grounds in 2023, or it could be 150,000 Rand… It just depends on how well the battle is supported, how much money we have to fork out, and how much we’re able to raise from crowdfunding.”
“No one is buying a ticket to Wacken to go see a Metal Battle band, so the opportunity, the experience, the value of being at that festival, that is your prize.”
She also frames the bigger context that fans do not always want to hear. The Metal Battle is not what makes Wacken profitable, and Metal Battle bands are not the reason people buy festival tickets. “No one is buying a ticket to Wacken to go see a Metal Battle band,” she says. “So the opportunity, the experience, the value of being at that festival, that is your prize. That is being at Wacken. So I don’t think it’s fair for you to expect Wacken to be paying you.”
The episode also deals with the long-running mistrust that follows any competitive scene. Northey argues that transparency exists and organisers avoid public score-dumps because it drags artists through the mud. “The judges all fill it in on a Google Form,” she says. “So you can see it, and you can see who voted where. You can ask me for that info.” She adds, “We don’t really want to make a post and splash it everywhere, because it still involves artists’ feelings. But if you want that, you can have that.”
On finances, she offers the same openness and gives a number that explains why the budget conversation is never simple. “If you want to know, you can send me a message and I’ll show you,” she says. “We just finalised the budget for what 2026 will cost us. The whole thing, through to Wacken, is going to cost around 750,000 Rand, and we don’t make a quarter of that off ticket sales.”
When someone asks if clearer guidelines should be published, her response is almost weary, because she insists the documents already exist and the problem is people ignoring them. “Every single band that submitted was sent a copy of the band guide, which breaks down everything,” she says. “And you’d be surprised how many just do not read it.”
“You have to maintain relationships. You have to invest in your band. You have to invest time, emotions, and finances.”
By the final stretch, the conversation turns from complaints to responsibility, and Northey’s advice is not glamorous. It is practical, expensive, and rooted in follow-through. “Yeah, invest in yourselves, be humble, and build on the relationships,” she says. “You have to maintain relationships. You have to invest in your band. You have to invest time, emotions, and finances.”
She is also specific about how bands can make themselves stick in a sea of logos. “If you’re going to Wacken, please spend 5,000 Rand printing proper promotional materials,” she says. “Not a flyer someone’s going to throw on the ground.” And when she is asked what bands should expect from Wacken, she gives them the right kind of hope, then draws a hard boundary around fantasy. “Expect to have the most incredible experience of your life with your band, to learn a lot, to be exposed to something you’ve never seen before,” she says. “Don’t expect to come home and be Corey Taylor and Slipknot.”
Nasiphi Zwane closes the episode by returning to why he did it in the first place. The scene has enough drama. People want information they can point to the next time the same arguments flare up. “People just want information,” he says, framing the interview as a resource that can live alongside the documents linked in the video description.
Sashquita Northey ends in the same spirit. If the distrust is built on missing context, she is willing to fill it in, even when people do not like the answer. “If you have questions, if you want transparency, please feel free to holler”, she says. “I’m always ready to explain why and how we do things the way we do. You might not always agree with my approach, but I’m damn sure we have a good reason for what we do.”
As for what comes next, Wacken Metal Battle is already moving toward its next cycle. The 2026 finals are currently advertised for 6 June 2026 at Sognage in Johannesburg, under the Emalyth banner, with heats scheduled across venues and cities in the lead-up.
