Danish metalcore mavericks Siamese bring the darker, more vulnerable Dissolution era to Gladsaxe, and a room full of familiar faces moves with them every step of the way…

Words & photos by Andreea Tiltina (@a.n.d.r.e.e.a.r.t) | Oct 11, 2026

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As a live photographer, I spend most of a gig chasing light. The sudden flare of movement caught between one beat and the next. That fleeting collision of shadow, colour and sound, when something outside of you seems to illuminate something within. Because sometimes, photographing a gig is not really about finding the light on stage. It is about searching for the light that lives underneath it, the feeling that flickers between people, in a room briefly held together by the same pulse.

And then there are nights when I stop looking at the stage altogether. Somewhere between changing lenses, ducking an enthusiastic elbow and waiting for that next impossible fraction of a second, I find myself watching the room instead. The faces. The hands. The bodies moving as one and then breaking apart again. The quiet exchanges between strangers. The electricity that travels through a crowd when music gives everyone the same heartbeat.

Those are the nights I remember. Siamese at Richter on October 2nd was that kind of immersive night.

It was my first time inside Richter in Gladsaxe, and my second time photographing Siamese. The venue had barely settled before the lights came alive and the opening notes of Dark rolled in. It was an interesting choice.

As the opening track of dissolution, it made perfect sense on paper. But with only sixty minutes to take us somewhere, Dark is more of a slow ignition than an explosion. Something like Nevermore, with its sharper edge, might have thrown the room into motion more immediately.

Instead, Siamese chose to let the night unfold. And perhaps that became the defining tension of the set: how do you introduce a new era to a crowd that already knows exactly where it wants to go?

From the pit, you notice that. You don’t just see the band. You see the faces behind the barricade. The hands appearing above the crowd. The split-second exchanges between strangers. The person singing every word directly into the lens. Someone disappearing into the movement and reappearing seconds later looking like they’ve just survived something magnificent.

And Siamese are very good at giving you things to immortalise on your lens, your retina and, somewhere much deeper.

Mirza moves like he has somewhere to be at all times, the rest of the band constantly feeding that momentum, while Christian Hjort’s violin cuts through the wall of guitars with the kind of detail that makes you remember why Siamese don’t quite sound like everyone else in the scene. Honestly, Richter sounded excellent.

When live on stage, Siamese lives in the space between extremes: weighty guitars suddenly opening into enormous melodies, quieter passages giving way to something much bigger. When that balance isn’t right, it can all become one very loud photograph – everything happening at once, nothing really standing apart.

The guitars had weight without swallowing everything around them. The drums stayed sharp. The vocals were remarkably clear. Every layer had somewhere to exist, which made the whole thing feel considerably bigger than the fairly modest stage setup. From behind the camera, that clarity matters. You start “hearing the photograph” before you take it.

The setlist itself seemed to follow that same push and pull. The newer songs brought a darker, more vulnerable side of Siamese into the room, while the older material from one of my favourite Siamese albums of all times – Elements, carried the muscle of songs that have already earned their place in a live setting. And that was perhaps the one thing I kept thinking about from the pit: what could this show have become with another thirty minutes?

Would the new material have had more room to breathe? Would the old favourites have given the crowd that missing final eruption? Curiously, the pit itself never quite reached the level of chaos I expected from Siamese.

There was movement, certainly, but I found myself waiting for THE shot – the one where everything goes slightly feral and the camera almost becomes secondary to simply trying to stay upright. Still, the energy coming from the stage never really dipped.

Siamese don’t need to throw an enormous production at you when the people on stage are already generating their own weather. And when the room did erupt, it was immediate. Hands up. Bodies moving. Faces lit from below. Mirza somewhere in the middle of it all, pulling the room forward. And from six feet away, with a camera pressed against my face and Richter moving around me, there were very few quiet moments. Maybe that’s the irony of the whole night. I went in chasing the light. I left remembering the people illuminated by it….And somewhere between the two, Siamese sent Richter off the scale.