It was one of those weekends that tastes like sun, smells like cold summer beer, and sounds like every decade of rock exploding in your ears. Gdańsk’s Polsat Plus Arena stood there like a giant metal mothership, and we were all its willing passengers, strapped in for the “journey through time” Rockowizna had promised. Two days. Twelve bands. No mercy for tired legs, sunburnt faces, or sore throats.
From the first guitar riff to the last scream, this festival breathed nostalgia and adrenaline. A giant living scrapbook of Polish rock history and some international guests, with new pages written by a younger generation ready to claim their place on stage. And the crowd? You’ve never seen a mix like this. Silver-haired veterans in Kult and Motorhead shirts, teenagers with eyeliner thicker than their phone cases, tattooed punks, suburban dads, women in summer dresses headbanging like it’s their job, even kids sitting on their parents’ shoulders, headphones firmly on, wide-eyed at the noise and lights. It was intergenerational chaos in the best way possible, a family reunion where nobody cares who brought what to the table, as long as it’s loud.
Day One: Cold Beer, Polish-Style Hot Sun, Loud Guitars
Friday afternoon, the Gdańsk sun was unforgiving for the locals. By the time KSU stormed the stage, the air already smelled of grilled food and spilled beer, and the polish heat was making leather jackets look like an extreme sport. But the punk legends didn’t care. They spat out songs like they were still playing to tiny smoky basements in the ‘80s, every chord tight, every lyric a punch.
Flapjack followed, cranking the bass so deep it rattled your ribcage. People were sweating in places they didn’t even know could sweat.
Then came Clawfinger, Sweden’s rapcore veterans, bringing that chunky ‘90s riff-and-rap swagger.
To follow, a London based outfit, Modestep. Dubstep / Electronic Rock band turned the arena into a rave in a metalhead’s dream.
Kult took us back to the heart of Polish rock, anthems that made the crowd sing like they were trying to reach the moon. And then Happysad closed the night, softer but still sharp.
Day Two: A War of Riffs and Memories
Saturday, you could tell the veterans in the crowd from the newcomers, veterans had the slow, deliberate walk of people who’d been on their feet for ten hours yesterday. But when Hamulec opened, everyone moved. Young, hungry, tight; these guys are proof Rockowizna isn’t just a nostalgia trip. Their riffs hit hard, their energy was fresh, and you could see teenagers in the pit enjoying like crazy their favorite band right there.
Illusion came next, all grit and power. When Tomasz “Lipa” Lipnicki stopped mid-set to bark his warning against fascists and fake patriots – “We are Poles. No one will tell me what a true Pole should look like” – the crowd roared back.
Wojtek Szumański kept things in high gear before Myslovitz arrived on stage with a revisit of their hits. The whole set was delightful, fun and very emotional at the same time. People enjoyed it and were singing along them.
Then, the moment the air shifted. Acid Drinkers. THE original lineup. First time in 26 years. Four old pirates reclaiming their ship: Titus, Popcorn, Litza, Ślimak. They came in swinging. Every riff hit like a steel boot to the chest, every chorus like a beer raised to the sky.
At one point, Robert “Litza” Friedrich stepped up to the mic, looking out over the sea of faces. “Sorry I was gone so long”, he said. “I had my kids to raise, but now I’m in pension, and we’re going to kick ass”. And they did, harder than anyone had a right to expect after all these years. When the crowd broke into “Sto lat” for Titus’s birthday, it was like a family reunion of strangers, united by riffs and sweat.
And then came the finale. Nocny Kochanek, subtlety level: zero. They arrived like a meteor strike and didn’t let up for a second. Pyrotechnics, fire cannons, blinding lights, just name it, they had everything to make that gig the highlights of the weekend. The stage was a battlefield of colors, fire and smoke, but through it all, Krzysiek Sokołowski’s voice cut sharp and clear.
They tore through “Koń na Białym Rycerzu”, “Dziewczyna z Kebabem”, “Zdrajca Metalu”, every lyric shouted back by fans who knew them like prayers. The lyrics were cheeky, the riffs classic hard rock, the showmanship off the charts. They played with that perfect mix of humor and skill, knowing exactly how to keep a crowd hanging on every note and every joke. By the end, my legs were dead, my ears ringing, my throat raw, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
The People Make the Party
What struck me most wasn’t just the music, but the atmosphere. Everywhere I went, people were smiling, laughing, sharing drinks, pulling strangers into conversations like they’d been friends for years. This wasn’t the kind of festival where you’re afraid to bump into someone in the pit. It was joyful chaos, friendly mosh pits, shared water bottles, kids on shoulders dancing to riffs older than their parents.
What’s Next?
When the last note ended and the lights dimmed, as usual people lingered, not quite ready to let go. That’s how you know a festival did its job. As for me, I walked out with ringing ears, happy face, and a full bundle of dopamine, serotonin, endorphins and oxytocin.
Next year’s edition is already set: August 7–8, 2026, same place.
Rock is still alive, it’s multi-generational, loud as hell, and still capable of giving you the best weekend of your summer.
Huge thanks to the organizers for giving us the chance to photograph these incredible bands. Thanks to the bands for their unforgettable performances, to the fans for their energy, to the staff for their hard work, and to everyone who made it all possible.
