1:54PM – Monday – Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam

If you look at the frontpage of this site right now, scroll all the way down to the bottom, the whole thing is Roadburn posts. A full week’s worth of posting on the fest, this one being the keystone to fill the page. I didn’t plan it that way, but damn if it isn’t satisfying to have that be how it worked out.

I’m sitting at the gate where in a few hours my flight will take off to London, then onward to Newark. If all goes to plan, I’ll get in at approximately 9:15PM Jersey time. I look forward to that. I can feel the impatience of travel and anticipation working its way into my attitude in dealing with people already. I muttered to myself when the woman at the check-in for the flight made me go to the self-check-in machine and then I had to get on the line I wanted to get on anyway because the robot couldn’t do it. I don’t remember the exact quote, but it was something like, “What the fuck? Spend hundreds of dollars to go somewhere, why should you be able to go five minutes without being made to feel like a jackass?” Perhaps a bit strong for what the situation warranted, even just under my breath to myself. I must want to go home.

More amazing than that, and the fact that I’m not the only one at the gate more than an hour early, is that I’m listening to music. I’ve got Goatsnake on my CD player – that’s right, a CD player – and it’s fair enough for people-watching, but you’d think after four days solid of nothing but music and writing, they’d be the furthest thing from what I’d want to engage in, and yet here I am. I should be at the bar.

That same insatiability – a kind of greed – is what got me to Roadburn in the first place. A gluttony for experience and the need to do that thing. I’m not Johnny Livesthelife or anything like that — I don’t climb mountains — but fuck if I’m not lucky to be where I am. I was thinking on the train ride to Schiphol about how it all ends, where all this is going, what the finale will be. I don’t think there’s a retirement plan for what I do, and since I can’t seem to do anything else, I’m curious.

I got to sleep at about six this morning and was up a bit before 10, so maybe I’ll sleep on the flight. More likely I’ll just power through it and sleep tonight. In a way, I never left the six-hours-behind time zone, at least as regards sleeping, so I don’t expect it’ll be much of an adjustment getting back to it. Strange to think that it’s only been a couple days.

But Roadburn. Roadburn was amazing yet again. One might think after doing this three times, some of the wonder would have faded, the deeper novelty of it, but it hasn’t yet. Only difference is now I know where I’m going. I still feel like I’ve made memories this weekend that I’ll take with me for as long as I can carry them. Imagine seeing Candlemass with Johan Lundquist. Or watching The Machine and being able to compare it to last year. Bearing witness to Black Pyramid‘s European invasion. Being so up front to Stone Axe that I could see the booze in Dru Brinkerhoff’s eyes – although perhaps I could have seen that from farther away as well. This is the stuff I live for. I don’t know how much of a life it is, as far as the traditional definition goes, but here I am. Somehow I can’t help but think the weirdo who just walked by also wearing a Saint Vitus shirt knows what I’m talking about.

And the word I keep going back to is one I’ve already said: “Lucky.” I’m lucky to have been in a position to come here, lucky to see the things I’ve seen, lucky to have The Patient Mrs. and our dog waiting to pick me up at the airport when I land, and if I’m really lucky, an empty seat next to me on the long flight. We’ll see how that last one plays out once I get to Heathrow, but here’s hoping.

Gratitude hoisted to Walter and Roadburn, to Pete Tsakiris, to Jack, Pete and Chris from Stubb, as well as the dudes from Evoken, StevhanTI, to everyone who’s been reading and commenting here and on the forum, and most of all, to The Patient Mrs. for booking the flight and the rest. I could go on at length about how much the support and friendship means to me, but I’d cry and you’d be bored out of your mind, so instead I’ll just say cheers and get back to homework. Cheers.

End transmission Roadburn 2011 Adventure.

1:46AM — Sunday Night/Monday Morning — Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

It’s over. I couldn’t even leave the building. I walked out of Sourvein more than three-quarters into their set, and still, it was another 15 minutes before I could actually bring myself to walk out of the 013 and head back to the hotel. I stopped along the way in Weirdo Canyon for fries, which, true to form, came buried under a heap of mayonnaise. Kind of a tradition at this point, though most of it I scooped off and sent down the sink in the bathroom here at the Mercure. Hot water on. Gross nonetheless.

Hard to know where to begin, really. When I got back to the venue, I hit up the Green Room to catch the start of The Machine, and of course it was packed. Amazing to see what a year’s done for them — although, granted, they weren’t on in the Bat Cave opposite Eyehategod like they were in 2010 — but I guess that’s part of it too. They sounded tighter, more mature, more together than they did when last I encountered them, but the material was no less vibrant and spontaneous for it. I was back and forth between them and Dead Meadow, who were on the main stage, and while they were a decent sonic complement for Sungrazer (a sort of new school European fuzz Green Room trilogy would be completed later in the evening as Samsara Blues Experiment closed out the night), they also did right in showing some of their own sonic personality, which they began to display on their recently-issued Elektrohasch debut, Drie.

Dead Meadow, on the other hand, brought out Sasquatch. Literally. There was a dude in a Sasquatch costume, and he came out during their set and stomped around the stage while they played. Clad in my Texas Bigfoot Research Conservancy t-shirt, I couldn’t have felt more appropriate. I’ve never seen Dead Meadow before, so I couldn’t say whether or not this is a regular thing, but either way, brilliant. Their music, sedate, meandering, cosmic, seemed to make a good impression on the furry beast, and everyone else there to see it (myself included), and with visual accompaniment from festival organizer Walter Hoeijmakers, who handled a video mixer of various psychedelic imagery, it was “a show” despite the lack of anyone losing their minds on stage.

Other than Sasquatch, of course. He seemed to be really enjoying Dead Meadow‘s set.

I stood and waited for Black Mountain to go on, thinking I’d catch their opening couple of songs and then head in for Black Pyramid, but before they even got on stage, I realized how dumb that was, that I’d never get a spot to watch Black Pyramid, and that Black Mountain‘s set was allotted enough time that I could see them after Black Pyramid were done anyway. So, without reason to stay in the main stage area, off I went to the Green Room, which was already mostly full — although nowhere near as full as it would be by the time they started playing — and set up shop there for the duration.

With their riffs of stone and language of doom, Black Pyramid inspire devotion. They played a couple new songs — “Stormbringer” from the 8″ vinyl of the same name — and when they were finished, the crowd wouldn’t let them go. True enough, they hadn’t yet seen their time-slot to its conclusion, but I don’t think they’d have been allowed to leave even if they’d wanted to, so they fired up the amps again and treated Roadburn to a new song from their upcoming second full-length. It was rough, but guitarist Andy Beresky was trying out some new things vocally, so it should be interesting to hear what they come up with on the next album. Everyone seems to go all-out for the fest anyway, but Black Pyramid really have become an excellent live act. I stayed for their whole set and regretted not a second of it.

And sure enough, when they were done, Black Mountain was still on the main stage. They’re one of those bands I keep hearing about, people recommending them and so forth, and good people, too, but although I have a copy of their latest CD, Wilderness Heart, I can’t say I’ve ever listened to it. I remember hearing them when they put out their first record and being unimpressed. Maybe I need to give them another shot. They were elaborate melodically, and probably not my thing on the whole, but decent enough for what they were doing. They sounded clean, which, with Sourvein following, was like wiping off the mirror before crushing up six vicodin and making an evening of it.

Don’t know when it happened, but at some point T-Roy Medlin from Sourvein adopted a kind of “Dirty South” affectation in his stage mannerisms, and that was in full force when they hit the main stage. Before they even started, he urged the crowd to “get ghetto.” I’d already by then been in and back from the Green Room to see Samsara Blues Experiment, who were killer, and had Black Mountain not just played opposite Black Pyramid, I’d have a hard time coming up with a time when two more sonically incongruous bands were on simultaneously. Samsara Blues Experiment: warm, sweetly toned, jammy, laid back. Sourvein: like being punched in the face with the broken glass of the mirror from the paragraph above. They do abrasive and it’s about all they do.

If the two bands had anything in common — and it just might be the only thing — it was energy. Samsara Blues Experiment did well in not getting too lost in their material, in keeping the audience engaged, and Sourvein, complete with Dave Sherman from Earthride on bass, were personality on parade. For not the first time in the evening, I was reminded of Eyehategod doing an Afterburner set last year, but Sourvein might be even more demented. They were ridiculous in their heaviness and completely over-the-top in their stage antics, Medlin managing at one point to call European beer weak while asking for a whiskey from the stage, which aside from not being true was not exactly going to win him friends among the Dommelsch-downing audience.

But then, if he was even slightly concerned with being accessible or friendly, he probably wouldn’t be in Sourvein. They’re good at being mean, only thicker with Sherman (now bearded) on bass, and considering the last time I saw them was playing to an empty Europa club in Brooklyn, the response they got from the main stage was enjoyable to watch. After a festival with acts as diverse as Wovenhand and Wardruna, Sourvein and Samsara Blues Experiment were as fitting a finale (who likes alliteration?) as Roadburn 2011 was going to get.

I’m not exactly ready to wrap up the festival reporting yet, and I’ll allow that maybe that’s me just not wanting it to end and/or being too exhausted tonight to finish it off once and for all, but I’ll have a post to round out this series tomorrow, so keep an eye out for that. In the meantime, thanks to everyone who’s been reading and commenting. That kind of feedback means a lot and is greatly appreciated.

More tomorrow, and more pics after the jump.

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6:25PM – Sunday – Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

Japanese bringers of death Coffins had just started up on the main stage, but I had a vision of myself a year ago gruelingly trying to wrap up the entire Afterburner in one post (I did it, sort of) and decided promptly to stop back into the hotel and get a grip on the day. It’s amazing how laid back the Afterburner is. A lot of the rush and push is gone – probably because there are only half as many active stages and almost no time conflicts between bands – and everyone seems calmer. The change is enjoyable, and it’s a really smart way to end the fest.

Now that I’ve seen it three times, I think I can safely say Roadburn is probably the best live production in the world. Certainly the best I’ve ever seen. I’ve been to festivals where the people putting it on have a clue, and I’ve been to festivals where that’s very much not the case, but here, it’s not even that Roadburn and the 013 know how to put on a show, but they know why they’re putting it on, and for whom. It’s a vibe like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and a hell of a way to spend a weekend.

I managed to walk into the Green Room just as the lights went down for Sungrazer. They were the only band playing this weekend whose album I brought with me to listen to on the plane, and I was really looking forward to seeing how they came across on stage. Their low-slung stoner rock was one of the highlights of the whole weekend, “Common Believer” and “Zero Zero” being particularly killer, and they announced a new album for later this year and closed with a new song that had a more expansive, psychedelic feel. I stood right up front for the whole set and could practically feel the heat coming from Rutger Smeets’ guitar amps.

The crowd was nuts for them, and though the fact that they’re Dutch natives might have something to do with that, I think more it was the riffs and the tones. There’s something about that kind of heavy psych that makes me so happy. I stood there and watched and I was glad to be there, and they were glad to be there, and everything worked out. It was a great experience, and they still have some kinks to work out performance-wise, but there’s nothing stopping them from being forerunners in the next Eurostoner generation if they want to be.

On Thursday, New York’s own Blood Farmers were on at the same time as Wovenhand, so I knew I definitely wanted to see them at the Afterburner. Doom for doomers – no other way to put it. They haven’t put out a record since their 1995 self-titled on Hellhound, but man, they didn’t miss a beat when it came to the kind of straightforward, riffy classic doom they wanted to elicit. With Coffin Joe (look it up) on the screen behind them, they doomed their way through their allotted 50 minutes and even went over time a little bit, having to end suddenly after finishing a song and saying, “Well, I guess that’s it.” They still got a good response from the main stage room.

Although Coffins were pretty heavy, I had interest in seeing Dragontears, but the Green Room was mostly full, so I stood in back for a couple minutes, then ran by the merch area and picked up the two Spindrift CDs for sale. Seemed the least I could do after missing their set for Sungrazer at the start of the day. Black Pyramid was there too with new merch, and Dave Sherman of Earthride is set to play bass later on tonight with Sourvein, so that should be a trip as well. Right now though, it’s Dutch guitar trio The Machine in the Green Room and Dead Meadow on the main stage, so it’s probably time I head back. More once I have it, and more pics after the jump.

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If it wasn’t so purposefully opposite from any mainstream ideal of beauty, you could almost call it beautiful. I’m talking about the strip of bars, restaurants and cafes around the corner from the 013 venue where the legion of black-shirt beardos and beardettes takes its respite: Weirdo Canyon.

I imagine some dangerous passage between two mountains of the old west. Weirdo Canyon‘s not a street, exactly — more of an alley — but there’s a pedestrian and bike lane down the middle and nearly all the bars/restaurants on the left side facing down have tables set up outside. So what you get is a glimpse of what society would be if the doomers took over. It’s like a trip to a dimension where someone elected Saint Vitus president.

Incidentally, vote Vitus in 2012, my fellow Americans.

There’s an element of judgment as you walk down Weirdo Canyon — the people sitting are people-watching, and if you’re one of the people they’re people-watching, then you’re people being watched — but no one actually gives a shit. This is my third year here, and I started to recognize some faces in 2010, and I recognize even more now, but I still know very few. Nonetheless, I don’t think I’ve ever felt cooler than the one or two times I walked down Weirdo Canyon and someone called my name. Last night, in a final killer moment I was too tired and bitched-out to fully appreciate, it was Chris West from Trippy Wicked who flagged me down. Dude has a habit of being awesome at just the right time.

You can eat, you can drink, you can be merry or be doomed: Weirdo Canyon pretty much has it all. Especially weirdos, if I haven’t made that clear. One of the most hilarious parts about coming to Roadburn is sitting at a table, drinking a beer and watching the periodic normals who walk or ride by on their bikes. You’ve never seen such visceral disgust from a middle-aged woman in your whole life. And it’s a blanket thing. You get drenched in it and it rules.

If it had to be one deviant subculture, doom, I’m glad it was you.

Cheers to Roadburn 2011 and all the weirdo gunslingers in the Canyon. Come Monday we’ll give the town back, but for the weekend, there’s no mistaking who’s running the show.

3:01AM — Saturday Night/Sunday Morning — Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

I wound up giving up on seeing Shrinebuilder and Ufomammut tonight in favor of Stone Axe and Swans. I don’t know if it was the right decision, and quite frankly, fuck it, I’m through making the right decisions. I’m too tired and I’m too fuck-offy to care what I should be seeing. I made tonight at Roadburn what I wanted it to be, and you can fuck right off if you think I should have been somewhere other than I was.

Pushed my way through to Ramesses in the Green Room when I got back to 013, and no regrets for that, although the space was packed. They were ballsy, they were heavy, they killed, blah blah blah. It was good, and the more I stood there the more I wanted to hear their upcoming album, the promo for which is on my desktop at the office, so I guess mission accomplished. I’m starting to run out of euphemisms for “I liked it.” So fuck it. I liked Ramesses. They were good.

While making my way through the merch area for the umpteenth time this weekend, I ran into the dudes from Stubb, who were on tour with Stone Axe until tonight. I kind of offered to put out their record if they couldn’t find a better deal, so that was something, but more importantly, after shooting the shit for a while, I did the science and decided to see Stone Axe instead of Shrinebuilder. The math was simple and went like this: I’ve seen Shrinebuilder; I haven’t seen Stone Axe. Equation over.

Stone Axe, for what it’s worth, laid rocking waste to the Bat Cave. Theirs was the first set all weekend I’d seen in there, and if it’s the only one — which, since nothing for the Afterburner is booked in there, I guess it will be — it was the right choice. They rocked. And that’s it. I felt like I knew them from listening to the records, but live, Stone Axe is a different beast entirely. Tony Reed killed it on guitar and Dru Brinkerhoff was drunk enough to swipe my beer from the front of the stage before their set even started. It was a rock and roll party, and for a couple minutes, I managed to let go of what a miserable bastard I am, how fucking stressed out I’ve been about work, about school, about this site, all that shit.

It was brief, but for just a bit of Stone Axe, I genuinely didn’t care anymore about any of it. I pulled my earplugs out and let go, and honestly, I don’t think I’ve done that since Neurosis played here in 2009. It didn’t matter that when I get back to Jersey I have a ton of shit to catch up on, or that I spent most of the day wanting to blow my brains out all over the gorgeous Tilburg sidewalk, or that hits are down this month and everyone thinks I give a shit one way or the other what gets posted on the forum when I don’t, or what kind of asshole dwells on this crap anyway when he’s supposed to be having the time of his life: I just rocked out and that was it. I had to travel over 3,600 miles to make that happen.

Like I said, the respite was short-lived, and I was soon back to my grumpy fuck-all. I walked out of Stone Axe partied out, watched them close through the door and soon and set up shop in the main stage photo pit (fucking where else?) for Swans, who proved unphotogenic and apocalyptic in equal measure. I stayed until they did “Jim” from last year’s My Father Will Guide Me up a Rope to the Sky and then split to come back to the Mercure and call it a night and revel in the foulness of mood for a bit. Oh, if only Evoken were playing now.

One more day to go. It’ll be 4AM at least by the time I finish uploading the photos for this post, so I’ll wake up when I wake up and head over to 013, probably same as today. I’m tired, I miss The Patient Mrs. and my tolerance for weirdos is at its end, but on my way out of the venue, I ran into Winter‘s drummer and he seemed like a cool cat, and I got Johan Lundquist, Robert Lowe and Leif Edling to sign my Roadburn flyer, and I told David D’Andrea I wanted to interview him for this site, so I don’t at all mark the night a loss. I also got one of the last discs of whatever it was White Hills was selling, so tongue out to anyone else who wanted it.

A photographer took my picture yesterday for the Dutch 3voor12 site, which in addition to covering the fest is doing a special pictorial on beards. I had to give my name (JJ Koczan), where I was from (New Jersey) and how long I’ve been growing my beard (a year-plus), and though she told me it would be online today, I can’t find it. Probably for the best. The first part of the series is here if you want to check it out. The rest I don’t know. Maybe I’ll show up there sooner or later and you can find out first-hand why I make it a policy never to put pictures of myself on this site.

Afterburner tomorrow. I want to see Sungrazer so bad I can taste it.

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7:26PM – Saturday – Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

Caught the beginning of Evoken doing my beloved Garden State proud with their monstrously-paced death-doom, then decided to come back to the hotel for some respite, to empty out the camera, have another Palm Dobbel and regain consciousness. I don’t think I’ll have time to organize photos and put it online now, but I’ll get it written down, anyway, and post it later.

Since this series seems to have become as much a chronicle of my fucked up sleeping patterns as of Roadburn 2011, I’ll say I was barely conscious at 3:45PM this afternoon when Candlemass took the stage for the 25th anniversary show they were supposed to put on last year. I’d woken up only 55 minutes earlier, jumped in the shower and ran out of the hotel (well, okay, I walked quickly) to get to the main stage in time.

Well worth the effort. They started out with Robert Lowe on vocals and did a couple songs before bringing out Johan Lundquist to do the 1986 classic Epicus Doomicus Metallicus in its entirety. I’ve never seen Lundquist before, either on stage or on DVD – he might be on that 20th anniversary thing they put out a couple years ago, I can’t remember off the top of my head – but he fucking killed it. He wasn’t about to hit the super-high notes in “Solitude,” but he sounded great anyway, and had a stage presence that really helped pull off the drama in the material. Leif Edling looked proud, and rightly so.

They pulled in a decent bunch of people to start, but it was a long set at about two hours (they ended early of their appointed 135 minutes) and the crowd thinned out some by the end. Nonetheless, those who stuck around definitely appreciated what they were seeing, and I was among them, having stayed for the whole set to see Robert Lowe come back out for more songs, bring out Lundquist again and the two of them front a cover of Blue Öyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” and Candlemass’ own “Darkness in Paradise” from Ancient Dreams. Lundquist and Lowe were both reading from a lyric cheat sheet, so there was a lot of dramatic pausing to look down – Ian Gillen tells a fantastic story about the tactic in an interview about his time touring with Black Sabbath for the Born Again album – but as they informed from the stage, Candlemass had never played the song live before, and it was something special just for Roadburn. The whole set pretty much felt that way.

Staying for their whole performance meant missing Black Math Horseman for the second year in a row, which is a bummer, as I was a fan of their Scott Reeder-produced album, Wyllt, but I had appropriate enough accompaniment for my sorrows in Candlemass’ classic doom. When they were finished, I shuffled over to the Green Room – or, once again, the hallway outside of it – to see a couple minutes of White Hills’ blown-out psych. They sounded pretty good, but I have the feeling a show of theirs in New York would be intolerable for the assholes it would draw. At Roadburn, everyone’s kind of on the same team. Team Weirdo.

Once finished with that, I grabbed some food in the catering tent. It’s easy to forget you’re hungry when you’re busy, and I’d gone downstairs for the hotel breakfast at about 8AM (obviously before falling back to sleep until almost three this afternoon), so I wasn’t starving, but I figured a couple beers were in my future – and I figured right, as it turns out – so eating was the right idea. I made it quick, though, to get back to the main stage in time to catch the start of Weedeater, which I was glad to see. Guitarist Dave “Shep” Shepherd showed no signs of lingering effects from his recently broken hand in his playing, and they as usual were in top form. Drunken shenanigans abounded and good times were had. I’d already seen them this touring cycle, but they still ruled.

Thinking rightly that Evoken would be crowded in the Green Room, I headed over there early to get a decent spot and watch them get going. The drummer from Winter, who it should be noted was in his skivvies by the end of their set last night, stood fully-clothed by the side of the stage to watch them as they set up, perhaps in a showing of underappreciated-East-Coast-death-doom solidarity. Maybe he was just lost trying to find the can. I’d like to think it’s the former.

Soon it’s back over to the Green Room for Ramesses (very much looking forward to their set), then Stone Axe in the Bat Cave if I can get in there and Shrinebuilder in the main stage if there’s time, Ufomammut playing all of Eve in the Midi Theatre, and Swans back at the 013. Going to be a busy night, a lot of moving around, but I’m feeling good despite the allergies, and this being the last night of Roadburn proper, I know it’ll be worth it when I’m reliving this in my head for the rest of this year. Note: This morning, I reserved a hotel room here for 2012. No regrets.

More pics after the jump. You know the drill by now.

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It was a good one.

I thought it was strange that they played “Forever My Queen” second. They always seem to give that one away too early. “20 Buck Spin” is a great song, but kick off that last section of the show with “Forever My Queen,” then push it into “Pentagram (Sign of the Wolf)” and close with “When the Screams Come,” and man, it’s gonna take people a while to recover from that one. Anyway, Pentagram rules and this is what they played at Roadburn on April 14, 2011.

1:46AM — Friday Night/Saturday Morning — Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

I was trying to find a clever MacGuyver way to open a bottle of Palm Dobbel from the sixer that forum member StevhanTI was kind enough to bring me, but there’s no opener in the hotel room and so I have no means of doing so. I suppose I could go downstairs and work that out, and maybe I will by the time this is posted.

Tilburg is jumping tonight. Through the open window, I hear cheers, chants, periodic death growls. It’s a culture clash between the nightlife crowd and the Roadburn weirdos. I like it. I enjoy this place. Today was long, but I have no regrets for taking it on. I might even sleep tonight, if I’m lucky. It’s already later than it was when I started my post last night, but Voivod‘s set got me all full of energy — because it ruled — so I should hopefully manage to not fall asleep as I type, which would be a boon at this point.

When I got back to 013, the main stage room was already mostly full for Winter, and rightly so. The reunited New York trio were suitably momentous, and suitably loud. It was awesome. There’s something extra misanthropic about that early ’90s brand of death-doom; it was made so opposite the trend of its day, and Winter managed to carry that feel over. They didn’t have a stage show to speak of, just the three of them standing there (well, the drummer sat). Not about the show, just about the music. Just about the heaviness. And in that, they were devastating.

In a scene so varied, it’s easy to lose track of that mentality and get caught up in the fun side of a band like Ghost, who can deliver both a solid musical aesthetic and an engaging live show. But ultimately it’s the music that matters, and Winter brought that out. On that level, it was the essence of doom. It’s not about the show, it’s not about entertaining. It’s about not fitting in, and even among the weirdos, Winter were their own entity. Unmistakable.

The Green Room was accessible for Beaver, so I went in there and got a much-needed dose of rock. Between Winter and the likes of Keiji Haino and Year of No Light, the day had thus far been pretty grim. The change was welcome. There wasn’t much room to stand or get any decent pictures, but I made up for it by hitting the merch area and buying an exclusive wood-box boxed set of everything they’ve ever recorded for 50 Euro. Next up on my plan was Earth at the Midi Theatre — their set switched with Circle with Pharaoh Overlord, if you’ll recall — but I missed it and the Animosity lineup of C.O.C. in the name of getting dinner. Sorry. Man’s gotta eat.

After failing to get a table at Koi Sushi across the street from the Mercure (I’m pretty sure if I’d showed up in a suit and a Eurodouche haircut, I’d have gotten seated, but I’m always sure of that), it was off to a Mexican place down Weirdo Canyon, that had a beer spiked with tequila called Desperados that I had two of before I realized why I was getting so buzzed off it. So much for knowing what you’re getting into.

The food was decent, though, and much needed. If I’m lucky, tomorrow I’ll wake up in time to get some eggs for breakfast. After the “flautas” — which was actually a burrito — I went back to the 013 main room for SunnO)))‘s set. They took their sweet time getting on stage, as you’d almost have to expect, and I waited impatiently in the photo pit, crowded in with the same pushy group of people who’ve been around all weekend. I saw members of Evoken up front in the crowd on the other side of the barrier. Looking forward to their set tomorrow. Another killer Jersey band — totally opposite end of the spectrum from The Atomic Bitchwax — representing my home state. Jersey Shore my ass.

I probably should have stayed for more of SunnO))), but I wanted to catch Hooded Menace in the Green Room, and knew that doing so meant I had to get over there early. They were already on when I rolled in, and killing it. I was glad to see they captured the tightness of their studio sound live with a formidable vitality to complement. They look like a young band on stage, and forsaking the cloaks of the main stage act on at the time, they wore hoodies to cover their heads and evoke their moniker. It was clever, and even if they did look like they belonged at a Madball show, they certainly didn’t sound it. Fucking killer death metal with doom riffs. I dug it and felt lucky to see them.

My night ended with Voivod, which was fitting. I was right up front at the Midi Theatre for the start of their set — having gotten there and been pleasantly surprised to catch the tail end of Incredible Hog‘s performance — and it was well worth the push of the crowd. Incredible Hog had hit the old-man-rock nail right on the head, and Voivod, a generation younger, injected punk rock energy into classically progressive heaviness. I’d never seen either band — never heard of Incredible Hog — so it was awesome to see both acts and close out my Friday night with such a meaningful set.

I know Voivod‘s days as a live act are numbered after the death of Denis “Piggy” D’Amour and their subsequent albums featuring the riffs he recorded prior to passing, and I appreciated having the chance to see them. Having Snake sing “Forlorn” from Phobos (on which Eric Forrest originally performed) was the icing on the cake, and the band as a whole rocked. There was no pretense about it, no bullshit, just rock and roll. It was a joy to watch.

Tomorrow begins with Candlemass performing Epicus Doomicus Metallicus in its entirety — basically a headlining set opening the day — so I’m stoked for that, but for tonight, it’s getting on 3AM and time for me to upload my pictures to go with this post and get the hell to sleep if I can. Breakfast and all the rest of it depends mostly on my getting a decent night’s sleep, so here’s hoping. My Palm Dobbel now open, Friday has a fitting (and delicious) end.

More pics after the jump. Click to enlarge any of them and/or the ones here.

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5:45PM — Friday — Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

Well, there was some sleep to be had, but not much. I got to bed at around three and gave up trying at nine this morning, after nodding off and waking up, putting on headphones to try that, pillow over the head and the rest. I’m notoriously a light sleeper anyway, and Tilburg is short neither on hustle nor bustle. I slept for about 90 minutes solid this afternoon, and that in combination with the 20 minutes here, 20 minutes there, has been enough. I’m not at just this moment, but if I wanted to, I could still be standing.

Place of Skulls started their set with my favorite song of theirs: “Silver Chord Breaks” from With Vision. That felt good to hear. In a little while, Winter will be on in the main stage area, and I want to be there for that, so I don’t know if I’ll post this now or later on in the night like yesterday, but we’ll see how it goes. After missing them in Brooklyn, it’s definitely something I want to catch this time around.

Beyond that, the night has SunnO))) and Voivod on offer, along with Earth, who switched places with Circle with Pharaoh Overlord owing reportedly to a flat tire on the way in, putting the latter on the main stage now and the former in the Midi Theatre at 8:30PM. I’d like to catch some of that.

Funny story: I was headed the photo pit to shoot Circle with Pharaoh Overlord, and security stopped me and told me I needed a photo pass. I said I didn’t think that was the case, since I had a “working” wristband (the same thing happened to me at Metalliance at Irving Plaza a couple weeks ago). Security disagreed, and I said, “Really? You’re going to make me leave and get a photo pass and come back?” and he said, “Really.”

So I went back around to where I first checked in and asked for a photo pass. Walter, who runs this show literally and figuratively, was there, but it wasn’t something I wanted to bother him with, so I asked the girl behind the counter could I please have a photo pass, and she asked me how big was my camera. I took it out, and she scrutinized its size, and said okay. I felt like I was having my junk measured. Glad to have passed muster.

I’d also like a sit-down meal, though, which is something I haven’t had in a couple days. Probably I could hit up any number of the pubs in what I’ve come to (lovingly) refer to as Weirdo Canyon — stay tuned for more on that — but time, etc. Scheduling is an issue in more ways that just trying to see bands. I haven’t talked to The Patient Mrs. since Wednesday morning Jersey time, and I miss her.

Today is SunnO)))‘s curated day, and though I’m still disappointed they didn’t take my suggestion and call it SunnO)))burn, it’s been pretty good. I got to see the one-man drone/noise oddity of Keiji Haino — easy to see the influence he’s had on the day’s curators as he played through three full Marshall stacks and an Ampeg bass rig — and a couple minutes of Year of No Light‘s live soundtrack to the film Yampyr, which was cool in its way. You know how sometimes when you sing along to a song you don’t know that well, the words remind you of the different parts of the song as you go? You finish the line, and so forth? They were kind of finishing the line of the silent movie. Cool to watch, and it synched up to varying degrees, but a bunch of skinny French dudes droning out has its own appeal, at least judging by the crowd it drew.

I didn’t get to see Mamiffer or Trap Them, and I tried to catch a couple minutes of Aluk Todolo, but as usual, the Green Room was impenetrable. Hopefully I’ll have better luck and/or timing when Beaver starts up at 7:15.

Interesting mix so far. Right now it’s more allergy meds for me and then back over for Winter. More to come later.

I’ve “elected” not to shoot my own video this year, both to concentrate on live photos and because the camera I have with me can’t handle the volume. As such, mi amigo the Drunken Monkey has been handling video captures, and he posted this Acid King clip late last night. Live at Roadburn 2011. Hope you enjoy:

2:00AM — Thursday night/Friday morning — Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

It’s late now. I did indeed get that much-needed cup of coffee, and it’s probably what let me make it to the end of Godflesh‘s epic set, which was a full hour and a half and featured the whole Streetcleaner album and then some — as promised. I felt in some way like I was missing out on something there, since I was never a huge Godflesh fan. I certainly appreciate Streetcleaner, but it’s not like I know the words. A lot of people did. Justin Broadrick certainly did. He sang them loudest.

It was just Broadrick and bassist GC Green on stage with a laptop handling drum sounds. Nothing strange there, that’s pretty much the heart of Godflesh anyway: the two players and the technology. They were so loud that I had to move back from the front of the main stage room where I was situated. They vibrated my earplugs in my ears. Very, very loud, if I haven’t made the point yet.

I got back to the 013 shortly before they went on and took my place amongst the hungry hordes in the photo pit. I’m not sure I like that kind of thing. People are pushy and rude and everyone seems to be trying to get in everyone else’s way. There’s a three-song limit for the photographers that was varyingly enforced throughout the day, but I only stayed for two, then went upstairs to get some other shots. I thought after a while I might pop over to the Green Room and catch The Atomic Bitchwax‘s set. They’re Jersey boys, and killer besides, so the choice made sense.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so, since the Green Room, yet again, was so packed I couldn’t get in the door. I stood in the doorway and caught the end of “So Come On” and some of the riff parade that is their new album, The Local Fuzz, but soon made my way back over to the band merch in the building next door for another look over. I didn’t buy anything (this time), but thought about it once or twice before heading back to the main stage for the feedback-saturated end of Godflesh‘s show.

I found a spot on one of the tiers in the back of the room and stood there for the duration, after previously moving around so much. Part of the appeal, I’ll admit, was that — Broadrick and Green being so loud — the floor where I was literally shook, and I thought of it as kind of being like a foot massage. It was and it wasn’t, I guess. Still a bit of fun, and as the coffee wore off and I started to fall asleep standing up, the additional entertainment went a long way.

Count Raven closed out the night in the Green Room, while Soilent Green prepared to take hold of the main stage, and I managed to catch a bit of the former before deciding to pack it in for my Thursday night. Like I said, with Roadburn, you’re just not going to see everything. Count Raven, it’s worth noting, also packed the Green Room to capacity, and people were singing along, throwing fists, generally enjoying themselves as people seem wont to do at European heavy shows. That hour of sleep had just caught up to me, and if I wouldn’t feel so terrible about making a running analogy given my slovenly ways, I’d say I “hit the wall.”

When I got my photo bag back from the coat-check, I found that I did indeed lose a lens cap for my camera (Go get ‘em, chief. Heck of a first day!). I thought about grabbing some pommes frites, thought about waiting it out to see what the annual Metal Disco party is all about, but decided to do this instead. And now, having done this, I’m going to try and get some rest and be ready to pick it up again tomorrow for SunnO)))‘s curated day. Much to do.

Ditto the last post — more pics after the jump, click to enlarge, and so forth.

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8:41PM – Thursday – Hotel Mercure, Tilburg

A little bit ago, I watched Wovenhand lay waste to both the crowd and every other band I’ve seen today. Seriously. Heaviest Roadburn set so far was Wovenhand. David Eugene Edwards put more passion into the song “Your Russia” than I’ve put into anything in my entire life. I was embarrassed to be alive watching it.

He did this kind of combination Native American war whoop and toughguy posturing thing, and at several intervals told the audience – the main room of 013 – to “bring it.” Honestly, I think most people were afraid to. The folk dude in the skinnyjeans kicked everyone’s ass. Go figure.

Pentagram is on stage as I type this. It was excellent to see Victor Griffin on stage with Bobby Liebling playing those songs again, and the crown was eating it up, but I wanted to get out for a bit, to take a break, to unload pictures from the camera, and because I knew that I didn’t want to handle the task of completely writing up the day when the show was done tonight. Roadburn is like a really good museum: there’s just no way you’re going to see everything the day has to offer, and I knew if I tried to capture it all in one post, I’d either be up until five in the morning (less than preferable option number one) or suck at it (less than preferable option number two). Like Amorphis says, there’s too much to see.

I have my handy pocket schedule, and according to that, the day kicked off with Alcest in the main room, and though I vaguely recall breathy French post-black metal, it seems so long ago now I can hardly stand it. Niege’s vocals were flat. There, I said it. Other than that, the band sounded really good. It was an odd sequence of first bands – Alcest in the main room, Quest for Fire in the Bat Cave, and Year of No Light in the Green Room. Both the Green Room and the Bat Cave were packed, the latter so much so that I couldn’t even get in to see Quest for Fire, which I’d been very much looking forward to.  I stood on a bench outside the door and took a couple pictures, but basically had to keep moving. There wasn’t any room to stand.

Whether or not it was the right decision, I don’t know, but I sacrificed seeing Zoroaster in order to catch Acid King and retro-spookies Ghost, and I have no problem admitting that. Acid King were ultra-heavy, as you’d have to expect, and Ghost not only pulled off every move they make on their Opus Eponymous debut, but they did it while bringing to life a killer stage show. Not easily done. If it was, more people would do it.

I was in and out of the photo pit most of the afternoon. I took shots of everything I saw, and I did some shopping over at the merch area. There’s still Godflesh, The Atomic Bitchwax and Count Raven to go tonight, and since my eyes are starting to close as I type this – I slept for an hour on the plane here and that was it – that was also a day ago – I don’t know when I’ll get to posting again, either tonight or tomorrow. I also did the “fall asleep sitting up” thing upstairs waiting for Wovenhand to go on, and I’m dreaming every time I close my eyes, so I’m gonna wrap it up for now and head back over to the 013, see if I can get some caffeine in me. It’s the responsible decision.

More pics after the jump. Click to enlarge any of the images here.

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10:54AM – Thursday – On Train Out of Schiphol Airport

Train full of weirdos headed to Eindhoven, I must be in the right place. I could walk car by car right now and tell you who’s going to transfer at Den Bosch. The doom uniform (doomiform? Nah) is easy to pick out of a crowd, especially among normal types, tourists and business commuters.

I more than a little bit want to make out with the European rail system. As the conductor punches my ticket and the Dutch highway runs parallel, I’m already glad I put up with the bullshit of last week and the start of this week to be here. My throat is raw and my sinuses are so pressurized they could cook a turkey in 22 minutes or your money back, and sleep is looking more and more like a pipedream, but damn it feels good to be here.

The aforementioned transfer, then on to Tilburg. Big Blue (pictured) is on the seat next to me because it’s too big to fit in any carriage hold on this train. If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing with oversized baggage. I’m pretty sure Abe Lincoln said that.

Stop after next: Roadburn.

11:08PM/4:08AM – Over the Atlantic – Wednesday into Thursday

I’m running on borrowed time, and by that I don’t mean the Boeing 777 in which I’m seated has depressurized and is about to crash into the ocean (the What About Bob? principal: if I say it, it won’t happen). I mean batteries. The laptop’s on battery saver, as always, and so I’m good on that front, but the CD player – fool that I am – has been blinking its warning ever since I put on Tempel, by Colour Haze, which I’m well into now. I figure any minute and it’ll just be me and the keyboard clackeys. Most everyone else is asleep, except for a woman in the next row reading. They’ve been pumping knockout gas on us for hours now, and if not for the weekend’s homework to occupy my mind and my steady vigil of keeping watch on the left-side wing of the aircraft to make sure it doesn’t come flying off – because if I stop looking, it will – I’m quite sure I’d have succumbed. Plenty to keep me busy.

But seriously, how do I not pack AA batteries in my carry-on? Oh, I’m stocked in long-since-checked Big Blue (my luggage, in case you missed it), but I’ve got a single AAA and two outlet converters on my person, one British and one European. Both are swiped from hotels last year, and neither are doing me any good at the moment. I mean, come on. I found (and chewed) year-old Rolaids in that bag, and not a single AA? Not like this is my first time making this trip.

Here are the records I’ve listened to so far:
Graveyard, Hisingen Blues
Black Sabbath, Mob Rules
Sungrazer, Sungrazer
Colour Haze, Tempel

If I make it through the latter, it’ll be a damned miracle.

Much to do when I land, and at some point, I do need to sleep. The truth is, I love traveling, and more than anything else, that’s probably what’s kept me up. I’m not so thrilled about the whole flying deathtrap thing, but if I could do one thing with the rest of my days in one of those money-and-obligation-don’t-exist scenarios, I’d just go places and sit and write and that would be my life. I mean that.

We’ve been in the air I guess about four hours now. Taxi’ed forever in Newark, of course, and finally took off a little after 7PM. When I land, it’ll be in London, then a quick flight to Amsterdam, a train to Tilburg, walk from the station, check in at the hotel, maybe crash out if I can, and check in on the work stuff I left behind in Jersey. This is going to be a much different trip this year.