Posted in Whathaveyou on April 25th, 2018 by JJ Koczan
Last summer, Buenos Aires-based heavy rock trio Soldati issued the single El Nudo en la Soga (discussed here) and put out word of an intended vinyl release. It’s been some months, obviously, and I have to wonder if the newly-posted “El Latigo y las Riendas” isn’t perhaps the B-side of that same single, which presuambly would be put out through frontman Sergio Chotsourian‘s own imprint, South American Sludge Records; though at this point one never knows.
The reason I say that is because Chotsourian — who uses the abbreviated moniker Sergio Ch. for his solo and other releases and who has been talked about here enough over the years that I can’t believe I still feel compelled to explain that — recently signed Italy’s Argonauta Records to re-release the first, classic album from Los Natas, 1996’s Delmar, through that label rather than his own. I think an eye toward European distribution is the idea there, which makes sense. The one time I was fortunate enough to watch Los Natas play, it was in Europe and the crowd loved it.
But back to the matter at hand, I’m not sure where that leaves Soldatior Sergio Ch.‘s solo work — he’s got a new album coming this year as well– so we’ll just have to find out as we get closer. In the meantime, you might recall that “El Latigo y las Riendas” was posted here about a year ago as a solo track. Hardly the first time one Sergio Ch. project has bled over into another, and I doubt it will be the last.
Whatever comes next and however it arrives, enjoy the single. Recording info follows, then the stream:
Recorded and mixed by PATRICIO CLAYPOLE at ESTUDIO EL ATTIC Mastered by PATRICIO CLAYPOLE at ESTUDIO EL ATTIC Artwork by Sergio Ch. Produced by PATRICIO CLAYPOLE
Posted in Whathaveyou on April 25th, 2018 by JJ Koczan
If you’ve been keeping up with Yawning Man on the social medias at all, you’ve probably noticed they’re in the the studio working on new material. That’s only going to be good news, because new Yawning Man is inherently a positive force in the universe, and further intrigue is added by a shot of bassist Mario Lalli adding vocals to a track, something pretty rare for the band. I’ll hope to have more on that as we get closer to what may or may not be called The Revolt Against Tired Noises based on some artwork the band posted by Kelly Keith and the name shared by their upcoming European tour, which will run for a somewhat astounding seven-week stretch.
I don’t know if that’s the longest stint the band has ever undertaken, but if not, it’s gotta be pretty close to it, and if they have a new record out at some point during the tour or perhaps even before, then all the better. For a year that’s already brought some rather killer releases, the possibility of a new Yawning Man before 2018 only further complicates the prospect of a best of the year list.
Hopefully more to come soon. Here are tour dates:
Tour Announcement – Yawning Man!
Currently working on their next album, Desert-Rock legends Yawning Man will come back to Europe this summer, for a 7-week tour!! Check-out the first batch of dates below. More will follow soon.
25.07.18 | NL | Utrecht | Db’s 27.07.18 | UK | Manchester | The Rebellion 28.07.18 | UK | Bristol | The Louisiana 29.07.18 | UK | London | The Blackheart 31.07.18 | DE | Wiesbaden | Schlachthof 03.08.18 | IT | Osoppo | Pietra Sonica Festival 04.08.18 | AT | Waldhausen | Lake On Fire Festival 05.08.18 | PL | Chorzow | Red & Black 06.08.18 | PL | Warsaw | Chmury 11.08.18 | AT | Döbriach | Sauzipf Rocks Festival 13.08.18 | IT | Brescia | Festa Radio Onda D’Urto (*) 15.08.18 | IT | Ancona | Go Down Beach Fest (*) 16.08.18 | IT | Pescara | Frantic Fest (*) 17.08.18 | IT | Bari | Go Down Beach Fest (*) 18.08.18 | IT | Galatone | Sagra Del Diavolo (*) 24.08.18 | CH | Luzern | Sedel 25.08.18 | IT | Bolzano | Mountain Session 30.08.18 | GR | Thessaloniki | Street Mode Fest 02.09.18 | BU | Sofia | Mixtape 5 03.09.18 | HR | Zupanja | MKC 04.09.18 | SI | Ljubljana | Dvorana Rog 06.09.18 | FR | Clermont-Ferrand | Raymond Bar 07.09.18 | FR | Montpellier | Le Black Sheep 08.09.18 | SP | Barcelona | Rocksound 09.09.18 | SP | San Sebastian | Dabadaba 10.09.18 | SP | Gijon | Sala Memphis 11.09.18 | PO | Porto | Woodstock 69 12.09.18 | SP | Madrid | Wurlitzer Ballroom 13.09.18 | SP | Bilbao | Maritime Museum Bar
[Click play above to stream Crazy World by The Freeks in full. Album is out April 27 on Heavy Psych Sounds.]
In the second cut ‘This is Love’ from The Freeks‘ fourth album, Crazy World, there is PJ Harvey‘s standout lyric, “I can’t believe that the axis turns on suffering when you taste so good.” And say whatever you want to about “Chronic Abduction” toward the record’s end or opener “American Lightning” before, to me, it’s that line in that cover summing up the central driving force of classically-derived heavy rock lust and thrust driving the Los Angeles five-piece’s second release on Heavy Psych Sounds, the eight tracks of which span a vast but still hyper-manageable 30 minutes.
That’s runtime is noteworthy because The Freeks‘ prior offering, 2016’s Shattered (review here), was 48, so the new collection is a significant drop in duration; one that brings it more in line with 2013’s sophomore LP, Full On (review here), though as seems to be the case with everything The Freeks have done going back to their 2008 Cargo Records self-titled debut, Crazy World has a mind of its own. It just so happens that that mind sounds like it’s been blown to bits on some obscure desert lysergic, and with a bit of Take it to the Stage mingled in with its Fun House and Superjudge, it offers listeners a quick but ultra-engaging sense of outward voyage, holding to an element of rawness with the vocals of Jonathan Hall (also guitar and bass) and Ruben Romano (also guitar, bass, drums and percussion). They are not, however, simply aping the tenets of classic punk or classic rock of any kind, and Crazy World sounds thoroughly modern in its presentation. But neither are they shy in showing off where their foundation comes from.
Come to think of it, “shy” isn’t a word I’d use for The Freeks on any aesthetic level. Romano and Hall are joined in the band by newcomer bassist Ray Piller, returning drummer Bob Lee, who debuted on Shattered, and keyboardist/synthesist Esteban Chavez, whose work once again proves crucial to evoking a psychedelic atmosphere across Crazy World‘s manic landscape. Not only in the two interludes “Take 9” and the noise and manipulated sample piece “Thank You, Mr. Downing” — a reference perhaps to early LSD researcher Jack Downing; the name comes up again in the finale — that leads and plays into the closing duo of “Chronic Abduction” and “Mothership to Mother Earth,” but also in the strutting Rolling Stones-style piano line of “Easy Way Out” and the low-mixed organ and swirl of “American Lightning,” which sets Crazy World‘s consuming forward momentum in motion.
There is little time wasted throughout the record, the longest song being “Mothership to Mother Earth” capping at 7:53. Nothing else hits the five-minute mark — “Hypnotize My Heart”” comes closest at 4:34 — and along with the straightforward structures in which most of the cuts operate, be it “This is Love” hammering its hook via sheer repetition or “Chronic Abduction” worming its way into the consciousness of the listener via easy nod and ambience surrounding its sleazy stonerist verses, the general tightness of the material’s construction helps maintain the momentum that “American Lightning” flashes forth. It would be a quick listen one way or another at a half-hour, but with the deft turns of style and mood between its opening salvo of “American Lightning,” “This is Love,” and “Easy Way Out,” the two, very different interludes with “Hypnotiize My Heart” sandwiched between them, and the final culminating pair, Crazy World sees The Freeks operating in top form and, at times, top pace, to keep a current of motion running through their material. Thus, it’s the kind of record that, when it’s over, you have little choice but to go back to the beginning and start again.
Perhaps one of the most fortunate aspects of Crazy World is that it lives up to that standard of warranting repeat listens. It’s not the kind of record that will take multiple visits to sink in necessarily, because that would kind of run counter to its punker side, but there’s enough depth in the mix even of the most straightforward songs — witness the midsection break in “American Lightning,” for example — that it manages to deliver something new each time out. The band employed a number of guests throughout, whether it’s Ray Hanson adding guitar scorch to that opener, Sara Loera putting backing vocals on “This is Love,” Rainer Fraenkel on bass for “Take 9” and “Mothership to Mother Earth” or Glenn Slater adding synth and keys to those same two songs as well as “Hypnotize My Heart.” That track, likely the side B opener, introduces some of the darker-toned fuzz that will reemerge following the noise wash of “Thank You, Mr. Downing” and add to the sense of relative lurch in “Chronic Abduction,” but the acoustic and swirl and dynamic jam that emerges in “Mothership to Mother Earth” is the ultimate earmark of the band’s triumph over the forces of squaredom.
Its near-eight-minutes are a thrill of minor-key ebbs and flows, classic psych and desert idolatry sharing space in, well, space. Heady vibe? You best believe it, but that’s the idea, and as big a fan as I am of opening records with their longest tracks — always a bold move; always good for bonus points in my book — the inclusion of “Mothership to Mother Earth” anywhere on Crazy World is brazen enough. And one might say the same of the record as a whole: brazen. The Freeks have never exactly been subtle, whether it was the funk-punk of their debut or the psychedelia that’s emerged in their work since, but there’s no question that Crazy World puts their delivery in a new echelon in terms of songwriting and execution. They’ve never lacked confidence, but the poise with which they hurl their rawer side forth here isn’t to be ignored, and though at times the outing may seem unhinged, one should never doubt that the controls are in the hands of masters. This band is so much better than people know. Tell two friends.
Posted in Whathaveyou on April 25th, 2018 by JJ Koczan
I was pretty down the the level of variety Høstsabbat 2018 had running in its lineup before, but if you want to see a spectrum of heavy, just take a look at the last three bands added to complete the lineup. Amenra, the Belgian outfit who I think are inarguably the foremost European post-metal band at the moment, will headline. Oslo’s own heavy rockers Lonely Kamel will play, bringing classic heavy vibes and an unabashed, unashamed good time. Oh, and then there’s the two-piece Eagle Twin from Utah who blend doom and psychedelia and throatsinging and stories about mythical birds and beasts and whatnot. So, you know, a little something for everyone.
Plus Electric Moon are playing. That’s excuse enough to show up right there, frankly.
But yeah, it’s a killer way for Høstsabbat 2018 to finish unveiling its lineup, and one imagines the massive strobe setup Amenra bring to the proceedings will be the unholiest thing ever seen in the Church JAKOB, where Høstsabbat is being held.
Dig it:
Amenra: Please welcome the headliner of Høstsabbat 2018!
When we first landed Church JAKOB as this years’ venue, a couple of bands came to mind as the perfect bookings..
And it is with massive pride we are able to announce our first choice, the legends in the Belgian five piece, Amenra . What could possibly be a more fitting closure to this years event than the founders of the Church of RA-collective?
To witness Amenra from a stage is something you won’t forget. It’s cleansing, ritualistic, nihilistic, scary, painful and in the most accurate sense of the word; mindblowing. Their attention to detail in performance, riffs and visuals can hardly be described as anything but spellbinding, and to have this complete package in a church, downtown Oslo.. well what to say?
On top of this, their recent masterpiece “MASS VI”, put Amenra in a different league all together, as the Neurot Records release was hailed as one of the absolute best metal records of 2017. Also bringing them onboard two massive US-tours alongside label bosses Neurosis and Converge.
On October 6th they grace Church JAKOB with their presence. Are you in?
Lonely Kamel
Touring Europe as we speak, the re-invented five piece version of Oslo’s stoner legends Lonely Kamel will make a joyful return to Høstsabbat, as they deserve.
Their new album “Death’s-Head Hawkmoth” was released about a month ago on the stellar Stickman Records, putting the Kamel’s in the top shelf of European underground rock.
Lonely Kamel have played more or less every underground festival there is, on the European continent, from Duna Jam, to Roadburn, to Desertfest, to Up in Smoke..you name it, and they have toured massively for years, making them an easy act to love.
We’re eager to welcome these blues and boozehounds back, as should you!
Eagle Twin
We are extremely proud to present the two-headed beast that is Eagle Twin (US). Probably one of the best live acts around, and a huge favorite in our camp. Being somewhat of a benchmark for what two guys can make out of their instruments and hands, we will bow to their wall of sound.
The guys from Utah just released their new album “The Thundering Heard” to massive praise, and will set out for a short span of shows in Europe in October. After trying to have Eagle Twin over for several years, we are stoked to tell they will start their Euro run at Høstsabbat Friday October 5th.
What else to say, than the Eagle has landed.
LINE-UP Amenra Electric Moon Asteroid Toner Low Lonely Kamel Brutus Eagle Twin Elephant Tree Hällas Spurv The Moth Gatherer Domkraft DWAAL Krokofant Taiga Woods SÂVER
Framed by images of roaches, needles, faceless masks and other visually striking and abrasive imagery, the new video from Spanish noise-slinging sludge duo VOR tells a good portion of the tale. On May 19, the Madrid-based outfit will issue Depravador through a host of involved labels, including Third I Rex, Noizeland Records, Noorirax Producciones, Odio Sonoro, Sacramento Records, Base Record Production and Fuzz T-Shirts, the latter two of which I’ll confess I’m not even sure if they are record labels, but it’s yet more companies standing behind the band’s work and it goes to prove the overarching point that this is material and this is a band that a lot of people really believe in and are willing to support.
The bass/drum filth-revelry of the track “Cudgel,” which is the single for which the new video has been put together, justifies that, I think. It’s a quick blast of ’90s-style sludge intensity, reminiscent maybe of Buzzov*en or Eyehategod in some of their especially biting moments, but the rawness they conjure as only being a two-piece becomes part of the aesthetic in a fascinating way, feeding into the overarching rawness of their approach and making the whole affair even meaner than it started out. I haven’t heard the full record yet — so many cooks in the kitchen on a release, sometimes these things are hard to come by — but once again, it’s easy to understand why people would believe in what VOR are up to stylistically, taking the classic tenets of mud-in-your-eye sludge and bringing something of their own to it. One way or another, it’s noisy as all hell.
My go-to word for this kind of sludge always seems to be “nasty,” and the crust that outlines “Cudgel” much the same way those needles, roaches, etc. frame the video, certainly meets that standard. Depravador, one more time, lands May 19, and it’s with the permission of Third I Rex that I have the pleasure of hosting the premiere of the clip that you’ll find below, with more background beneath, courtesy of the PR wire.
Please enjoy:
VOR, “Cudgel” official video premiere
The Spanish noisemongers VOR bring to the table one of the most corrosive releases of the year. This bass and drum duo is no joke! Coming from projects such as Lazharus, Warchetype, Moho, Cuzo, The Eyes Y and more levels of filth, these guys have got something you should really take a listen to.
Their new album “Depravador” comes after another killer release, the band’s debut album “Tu Clave Es Jonàs”, pressed early in 2017 by another bunch of labels, including some of those collaborating for this new LP. Seven tracks of trippy, abrasive, odd, heavy sludge which, funneled through a punk attitude, is able to take off your face like thick tar on naked skin.
An absolute must listen to for all of the uncompromised sludge supporters, fuzzy doom sounds lovers, punk-fueled hatred preachers, and all of those people out there who wanna listen to something new after tons of boring late releases! “Depravador” will be out on May 19th!
Recorded at La Cortina Roja in 2017. Mastered at Kadifornia Mastering in 2018. Front cover art by Calabaza Cosmica. Photo by Sergio Albert Aviles.
VOR is: Iván: bass, noise & shrieks Edu: drums & noise Anxela (Bala): guest vocals in “Dark Fraga”
For the first time in the 10 that I’ve made this trip, I was up before my alarm this morning. It was set for 7:30AM and I was out of bed by 7:05. I’d gone to sleep around three after finishing the review and unplugging my brain for the evening, decided even though it’s a 13.00 flight, I’d get up early and do the packing in the morning and crash out as soon as possible. I shudder to think what I left behind at the hotel.
One year I left my comfy pillow. I even tried to call and ask them to send it to me, was how much I loved that pillow. They pretty much told me to fuck off.
And who could argue?
Also this morning, another first, I changed at den Bosch all by myself. No asking at the information counter. Reading signs helped. Nonetheless, I felt like a pro at this whole thing.
As I was coming to the gate, I got asked the standard round of “did you have your luggage the whole time,” “did you pack it all yourself” questions and I kind of realized at that moment that no, I didn’t pack it all myself. I’m carrying a box of records home that I was given that I haven’t even had the chance to open yet. They asked me if I was selling them and I laughed. Hell no. That shit, whatever it is, is mine.
They gave me a green sticker to put on my passport, which I assume means I’ll never see my baggage again. Too bad. My Ancestors shirt and favorite pair of sweatpants were in there.
Plus, you know, a whole box of records.
Because life makes this much sense, I’m overshooting Boston to make a connecting flight in Detroit and then heading back east to Boston. Perfect, right? If you ever need a metaphor for navigating anything related to Beantown, there it is. Please use it freely.
But I’ve had a couple cups of coffee, ate an airport egg salad sandwich and and apple, and the bleeps and bloops and swirls of Dr. Space continue to ring in my head, so I must be on my way home from Roadburn, even though it will take me I can’t count how many hours to get there.
Before I get on this plane, I want to say a couple thank yous. First and foremost to The Patient Mrs., for letting me have this even though she knew it meant she’d be running point with The Pecan for five/six days solid. I do not expect to let her change a diaper for the next week.
Thanks to Walter — FOREVER — and to Esther, Becky, Lee, Gijs, Jamie, Rianne, Koos and the entire team at the 013. We did get the final issue of the ‘zine out yesterday. It was eve my photo of Zach Oakley from Joy/Volcano that got used. I was honored. That’s a first for me.
Thanks to my family, my mother and sister, for their love and support.
Thanks to Paul, Niels, Kim, Dan, Dom, José, Cheryl, Jamie, Ben and everyone on the staff of the Weirdo Canyon Dispatch. This year cut it a little close for comfort. If we’re fortunate enough to do it next year, Lee and I joked we’d start in November, and the more I think about it, that might be the way to go.
Thanks to everyone in the photo pit, Falk-Hagen, Dante, to Jon Freeman, Andreas Kohl, Jurgen, Kenny Sehgal, Dave and Robin Sweetapple, Jens Heide for that box of records, and Markus, Nicole, Dave MIBK, Dana Schecter and everyone else I saw and met along the way this year.
I’d like to send a special thanks to the coffee machine in the office of the 013, the coffee machine backstage at the 013, the coffee machine in the lobby of the Hotel Mercure and the little Nespresso in the room itself.
And as always, most of all, I’d like to thank you for reading and making this entire thing possible. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you.
This one was a trip to be sure. But I miss my baby boy and I miss my wife and my dog and I hear we’re basically having spicy curry for dinner all week, so it’s time to go home.
Posted in Features, Reviews on April 22nd, 2018 by JJ Koczan
04.22.18 – 11:31PM CET – Sunday night – Hotel Mercure Rm. 224
I saw a lot of cool shit today. This whole long weekend. There wasn’t one day that didn’t deliver some moment that seemed to me to be something special, whether it was Earthless‘ first set, or Volcano, or The Heads, or Joy tonight jamming out with Dr. Space. This afternoon, though, I stood in the back of the V39 across the alleyway from the 013 venue and watched a Q&A with Roadburn‘s creative director, Walter Hoeijmakers, aka Walter Roadburn, aka just Walter, run by Becky Laverty, who runs the fest’s PR.
He spoke about how the festival has grown organically over the time since he started it, how it changed as his tastes changed to encompass an expanding definition of what “heavy” is and means, and even about some of what the future holds in Roadburn 2019’s lineup. He wasn’t giving away who’s curating or anything, but as one might expect, there will be more commissioned projects like Waste of Space Orchestra on Thursday and the Icelandic black metal group work Vánagandr: Sól án varma, this afternoon. Talking about how young and creative the Icelanders specifically are, he said, “They have dreams,” and you could hear in his voice the deep level of respect that notion commanded from him.
That was a beautiful moment, and like so many I’ve seen in the 10 times I’ve been fortunate enough to make this trip to Tilburg, I felt lucky to be there when it happened.
There was still a lot to see today, though, and while I did stop by uninvited to catch some of Vánagandr, my final day of Roadburn 2018 began in the Green Room with Iron Chin. For much of the day, I sought out spacier fare, reminiscent somewhat of the spirit of the old Afterburner, which has kind of been subsumed into the festival proper even though there were “only” four stages running today: the Main Stage, Het Patronaat, the Green Room, and Cul de Sac. You’ll have to take my word for it when I say it was plenty.
So I had made my way to the Green Room with all the grace of a low-self-esteamboat for Iron Chin, and my reasoning was simple: Oeds Beydals. The Death Alley guitarist was leading the charge in the new group — fronting the band, on vocals as well as guitar — and playing alongside for The Devil’s Blood bandmate Job van de Zande (now also in Dool), Ries Doms (Powervice) and Wout Kemkens (Shaking Godspeed), the idea behind the band seemed to be the Dutch heavy scene’s way of welcoming San Diego’s scene to town. The actual output was somewhere between space rock, heavy psych and jamming, with Beydals riding dynamic grooves as he sometimes does in Death Alley but bringing that side of things more into focus. Naturally, there was a song called “Iron Chin,” and just as naturally, its chorus made fitting and frequent use of the title.
I had caught a couple minutes of their soundcheck before doors opened, and knew it was going to be worth the time, but an even more pleasant surprise was when Beydals brought out guitarist Zack Oakley, drummer Thomas Dibenedetto and bassist Justin Hulson — in other words, the entire trio of Joy — to sit in on a few jams. Oakley‘s guitar fit right in the psychedelic wash, Hulson manned a Nord to bring some organ to the proceedings, and he and Dibenedetto both added percussion as well. It was a trip, and that was clearly the intention.
When I saw Beydals later, I asked him if they were going to record, and he confirmed it. That’ll be one to keep an eye out for. He’s developed a considerable stage presence since I first saw Death Alley at the Hardrock Hideout in 2014, and he wasn’t exactly lacking one to start with.
Keeping with the ethereal and/or cosmic, I clomped to Cul de Sac in order to see Belgian progressive rockers Hidden Trails. I knew the challenge in writing about them would be going a single sentence before mentioning their connection via bassist Dave Houtmeyers and drummer Tom Vanlaer to the much-missed Hypnos 69, and now that I’ve thoroughly failed at that, I feel a little bit like I can move on. Houtmeyers, Vanlaer and guitarist/vocalist Jo Neyskens released their debut, Instant Momentary Bliss (review here) in 2016, and while it’s a thrill for me pretty much anytime I can watch a band play who’ve put something out on the label Elektrohasch Schallplatten, their blend of classic proggy exploration, organic tones and melodicism made it all the more special.
The concept of the Afterburner, with fewer stages running, etc., was that it was a smaller day to kind of transition from being neck-deep in the full force of Roadburn and returning to regular day-to-day existence. As I started to think about things like flight times home and changing trains at den Bosch on the way to Schiphol — always a challenge because I never know which track the train to the airport is coming in on and have to ask at the info counter, where they basically call me a moron every single time — the soothing vibe of Hidden Trails eased my anxious brain a bit and gave me another chance to bask in the breadth and warmth that Roadburn can sometimes offer, you know, when it’s not tearing your face off.
Speaking of, Wiegedood were next on the Main Stage. I have no problem admitting that, at 36 years of age, after three-plus days of festival-being-at, late-night-reviewing, ‘zine-editing and the rest, my ever-expanding ass was fairly well kicked. I went up top in the Main Hall and sat for a while of Wiegedood‘s set, flashing red strobes, skin-peeling sharpness and all, and then flumped back downstairs to have a quick dinner — the return of the fish in lemon cream sauce; I’d happily eat it every night until I died from mercury poisoning, if that’s even a thing here — before Zonal and Moor Mother took to the Main Stage at 19.00.
Zonal, with Justin K. Broadrick of Godflesh and Kevin Martin aka The Bug, who was here collaborating withDylan Carlson last year (review here), claimed half the stage for a table flanked by bass stacks and left author and spoken word artist Camae Ayewa, aka Moor Mother, the other half to annihilate as she saw fit, silhouetted by lights behind and enough fog machine output that even the hallway outside the Main Stage area was enshrouded.
And annihilate she did, though her words were somewhat obscured by the wash of electronic noise surrounding. It was a performance geared for impact and it seemed to make one on parties either curious or who knew what they were getting, and as the bass beats vibrated in my chest, my mind flashed back to Walter earlier at V39 talking about pushing into new concepts of what “heavy” means. There it was, right in front of me. Impossible to see for all the smoke, but there just the same.
Word had spread of Harsh Toke playing a secret set on the skate ramp up by Hall of Fame, and I know I’ve said before that when Harsh Toke are jamming, that’s where you want to be, but I didn’t see Godspeed You! Black Emperor last night specifically knowing that I’d have the chance to catch them today, and in my mind the commitment was made. With video projection art behind them, they came out to the Main Stage gradually and arranged themselves in a semicircle under barely-there light and like the chamber music of the damned, they treated Roadburn 2018 to their massively influential and richly evocative instrumentalism, creating a space for themselves in the room much as they’ve essentially created a genre for themselves over their 20-plus-year history. I’d never seen them before and won’t claim any expertise on their back catalog, but though the audience in the back was sitting — as was a goodly portion of the band — it was clear they were also being taken somewhere else completely.
That one-two punch, of Zonal with Moor Mother and then Godspeed You! Black Emperor probably would’ve been enough to call it a day, a weekend, and a festival. That is, I couldn’t have reasonably at that point asked for more than I’d gotten out of Roadburn 2018. But the day started spaced-out, and I knew it would end the same way. Joy and Dr. Space jamming together at the Cul de Sac? Yeah, you can count me in for that.
In fact, since I looked at the final schedule and knew that I’d be in Tilburg again this year, I’ve known that Joy and Dr. Space was how I wanted to close out my Roadburn. Scott Heller — Dr. Space himself and bandleader of the Øresund Space Collective — started out the set on his own for a while, just oozing vibe on the crowd from his custom-built synth setup, arranged facing away from the audience like a secret box of magic tricks. Cosmic rabbits in lysergic hats and all that. Joy — the aforementioned Oakley, Hulson and Dibenedetto — arrived a short time later and with Oakley‘s guitar easing their way in, embarked on a longform jam that absolutely melted the room surrounding. Also helps that the Cul de Sac was wall-to-wall with bodies and about 100 degrees (or whatever that is in celsius; a million?), but yeah, one way or another, it was going to be molten.
Even without the unforeseen symmetry of opening and closing the day in the company of Joy, I was right in my pick for how to cap the night. The groove was easy, the vibe fluid and the mood in the room just about perfectly embodied the two parties themselves: “joy” and “space.” Beat as I was, I had a hard time dragging myself out of there. But I did, and after a few quick goodbyes back at the 013 itself, I doltishly florped back to the hotel past drunkards young and old, pissed and reckless, dazed and dancing and riding bicycles. It was another Sunday night in Tilburg. Tomorrow morning they’ll powerwash Weirdo Canyon again and it’ll be like none of it ever happened.
Except it did. And everyone who was here will carry it with them wherever they might be headed next. Home, far and wide, another bar, whatever. I don’t think it’s possible to be here and not be touched in some way by the spirit of it. For me, after 10 times, I can hardly begin to conceive the ways it’s helped shape who I’ve become over the last decade, how I’ve thought about music and culture and art in general, and the lessons that each year reinforces about what truly matters in creativity, which is that it keeps moving forward. Always forward. That it keeps dreaming.
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I’ll have a wrap-up post tomorrow at some point. Till then, thanks for reading and more pics after the jump.
Posted in Features, Reviews on April 21st, 2018 by JJ Koczan
04.21.18 – 11:31PM CET – Saturday night – Hotel Mercure Rm. 224
A text came in this morning from The Patient Mrs., who told me she wanted me to be kinder to myself in how I described moving through the world around me. I saw this right when I woke up this morning, so had no idea what she was talking about. It was all the “galumphing” and “lumbering” and “waddling” and whatnot I’ve been doing the last few days. I told her it’s a running gag and that in describing my every movement from place to place today, I would use the word “farting” exclusively.
It was a busy day. I did a lot of farting back and forth. We did not set a new land-speed record in getting the Weirdo Canyon Dispatch to the press, but we did still manage to get it out on time like the pros that we are. It was a good thing, too, because Roadburn 2018 day three started extra early with Bell Witch at Koepelhal, and it was not to be missed. Clearly there would be no time for farting around.
The Seattle-based duo play here tomorrow as well, but today they were performing last year’s brilliant and affecting Mirror Reaper (review here) in its entirety, with six-string bassist Dylan Desmond and drummer Jesse Shreibman joined by Erik Moggridge, also known as the solo-performer Aerial Ruin, to contribute guest vocals as he does on the album, which was written in memory of former drummer Adrian Guerra, who passed away in 2016. The piece, an 80-minute single-song full-length, was to be rendered in its complete form, with all the crushing tones and searing emotional resonance brought to life.
I’ll be honest with you, it felt a little voyeuristic to watch. I’ve seen tribute sets at Roadburn before — one recalls the Selim Lemouchi tribute in 2014, and even as Bell Witch were playing today at Koepelhal, back at Het Patronaat, Stephen Brodsky and Adam McGrath of Cave In were paying homage to their late former bandmate, Caleb Scofield, who died in a car accident last month. But still. Maybe it’s just because it was so heavy coming from Bell Witch, or maybe it was the way Shreibman started out with his head down on his snare, or how he, Desmond and Moggridge all came together on vocals, but there was something so raw about the grief on display that it would’ve been next to impossible not to be affected by it. Powerful. Moving. One only hopes there some measure of catharsis derived from the process, because they managed to turn the darkest of feelings and sounds into something beautiful.
Somewhat dazed, I dragged my oafish, unworthy, hideous fucking carcass out of the Koeplhal — where in the merch area they couldn’t even find a Sacri Monti t-shirt big enough to wrap around my bloated fucking form (shit just got tragic; dial it back) — and over to the Hall of Fame where even-younger-than-I-thought-they-were-and-I-thought-they-were-pretty-young boogie rockers Supersonic Blues were getting set to go on. Hall of Fame is the smallest of Roadburn 2018’s venues, and I hadn’t been inside yet other then to pop in on Petyr playing heavy ’70s covers yesterday, so this was my first real set there. Supersonic Blues also did a set of covers at some point in the last two days, and they worked a UFO song into this set of originals as well, I suspect because they just don’t have that much original material yet. They were allotted 50 minutes, and they’ve only released one two-song single (review here), so yeah. Maybe they just ran out of songs.
As happens in some fortunate occasions with young acts who aren’t arrogant as hell, Supersonic Blues are a better band than they know. They were somewhat timid on stage, or at least subdued, but their boogie, their tones and their swing were all right on, and their material was warm and classic feeling in a way that fit with some of the San Diego Takeover groups — Petyr, Arctic, Sacri Monti, etc. — but laid back enough to still be its own vibe. I was already looking forward to their next release and am only more so after seeing them play.
My next move was something of a debate. In the Green Room, Minami Deutsch and Damo Suzuki were doing a set together, which sounds like, yes, something you want to stand in front of for as long as you can. On the Main Stage, however, Panopticon were doing a full-on full-hour, and well, I watched both Minami Deutsch and Damo Suzuki yesterday — albeit in different contexts — and I’ve never seen Panopticon, so the Minnesota-based, folk-infused American black metallers won out. Not a phrase I say often. Led by guitarist/vocalist Austin Lunn, who also owns and operates Hammerheart Brewing in Minnesota, which smells delightfully like fresh-cut and/or burning wood when you go there, Panopticon absolutely packed out the Main Hall, and with family members to the side of front of the crowd, they unleashed a torrent of USBM intensity that made no bones about its intent to scorch.
For a band who doesn’t tour nine months out of the year, their ownership of the big stage was complete and unflinching, and as they have a brand new record out in the form of The Scars of Man on the Once Nameless Wilderness I and II on Bindrune, their energy level was no less ferocious than the material itself, though there was plenty of dynamic to be had as well. I knew I wanted to be back in the Green Room for Volcano, so I hopscotched out of the Main Hall and downstairs to grab a quick bite to eat. Some vegan meatballs and seasoned mystery (actual-)meat later, I lubbered up to the front of the Green Room and there planted myself to wait for Volcano to hit it.
And I mean hit it. Led by the keys of Harsh Toke‘s Gabe Messer and the guitar of Joy‘s Zach Oakley, with Red Octopus‘ Billy Ellsworth on bass, I don’t even know who on drums, Sacri Monti and Joy drummer Thomas Dibenedetto on percussive sticks and Earthless‘ own Mario Rubalcaba sitting in on bongos and other percussion, Volcano were an Afrobeat-inspired melee of psychedelic funk, starting out their set with a song called “Naked Prey” and ending with their previously-posted single, “10,000 Screaming Souls” (discussed here), and in between, they were an absolute blast of rhythm, vibe and motion. “No Evil No Demon” invited shouting sing-alongs, and as my understanding is that their record is already done and they’re already signed to Tee Pee for the release — hardly a surprise given the personnel involved — I was thinking of their set as something of a preview of what’s to come when the album lands, but they were already crazy tight, locked in, and looking and sounding like they were having a total blast.
It was their second show. Two. I’d sat next to Ellsworth on the bus ride from the airport to Tilburg the other day and he told me the band figured they might as well get one under their belt before playing Roadburn. Their second show. In the Green Room. And they totally killed it.
They are a band about which you will no doubt hear more in the months, maybe years, to come, and they made an excellent lead-in for the psychedelic masterclass that long-running UK cosmotrodders The Heads delivered in the same space. I’ve seen The Heads at Roadburn before — they played the Main Stage in 2015 (review here) and subsequently released it as the live album, Burning up With… (review here) — and their history with the festival and with Walter goes back much farther than that, and as he worked the live video mixing projected behind them once again in the Green Room, the swirl was unmistakable and irresistible. Before they went on, I had been reading a news story about diamonds found in a meteorite that were supposed to be leftover from a planetary collision 4.7 billion years go or something like that.
Could there possibly be a better analog to what The Heads bring to the stage? Diamonds from space? Shit, as I watched them conjure a gravity well with “Coogans Bluff” and “Widowmaker,” all I could think about was a giant rock slamming with a couple billion years’ worth of momentum into the earth and Paul Allen, Wayne Maskell, Hugo Morgan and Simon Price popping out of the thing like a presidential birthday cake and jamming a swirl hot enough to melt crucial elements into new molecules. Heavy. Psychedelic. Perfection. I don’t think there’s really any other option when The Heads play except to stand there with your mouth agape and just try to retain as much of it as humanly possible. The only challenge is not snapping back to reality when they’re done and realizing you’ve lost time, like on an old episode of X-Files.
Oh, and by the way, The Heads are really, really, really fucking good.
I did not at all envy Sacri Monti the task of following them up, but the San Diego five-piece represented the Takeover well, with a contingent of their clique on hand to watch as guitarist/vocalist Brendan Dellar, guitarist Dylan Donavon, organist Evan Wenskay, bassist Anthony Meier (also of Radio Moscow) and Dibenedettoon drums tore into songs from their 2015 self-titled debut (review here) and some new material from the follow-up that that first album is due. I’ve no idea what the state of their next record is, but what they played sounded right on and though they were less spaced-out than The Heads, one could still get a sense of the intended continuity in the Green Room as they played, which started with Petyr and Minami Deutsch with Damo Suzuki, got far out with Volcano and The Heads and came back to the boogie via Sacri Monti before Sweden’s Maggot Heart closed out the room for the night with more of a post-punk vibe.
After poking my laughably-gargantuan cranium into the Main Hall to take a peak at Godspeed You! Black Emperor, whose second set of the weekend I’ll watch tomorrow, I poor-coordinationed my way over to Het Patronaat to close out my night with a blast of Japanese sludge from Greenmachine, who were performing their 1997 debut, D.A.M.N., in its entirety. Their onslaught was immediate save for a small technical issue with one of the amps, and they delivered a pummel worthy of the underground influence they’ve had in their home country and beyond. I was digging the hell out of it, but have no problem admitting I was done before they were. When it’s time to go back to the hotel and write, there’s really nothing else to be done except that.
With the banana I’d found earlier in the day backstage still in the side pocket of my cosmic backpack, I knuckledragged back to the hotel through a Weirdo Canyon that looked like some kind of clash of civilizations, with dance clubs open and beardo metallers sitting out in cafes red-eyed and addled from a long day of whathaveyou. The anthropologist in me — and no, there isn’t an anthropologist in me — wanted to start interviewing members of different subcultures to see how they could possibly exist in the same space at the same time, but, well, there’s still Day Four of Roadburn 2018 to go tomorrow, and plenty enough already to keep me busy in the meantime.
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You know what I did tonight? I introduced myself toEster Segarra. Zero chance you remember, but a couple months back, I posted about how incredibly talented a photographer she is (and she is) and the collection she had coming out via Season of Mist and I said that in all the years I’d seen her in the photo pit at Roadburn, I’d never been brave enough to introduce myself. Well, as I was on my way from Sacri Monti to Greenmachine, she was walking the opposite direction in the front hallway of the 013 and I stopped her, shook her hand and said who I was. It might’ve been the bravest thing I’ve done this weekend up to this point, and to be frank, I don’t really see myself trying to top it tomorrow. But hey, I said hi to Ester Segarra. And she didn’t even tell me to go fuck myself. She was super-nice. Bonus.
More of my nowhere-near-as-good-as-Ester-Segarra’s photography after the jump, if you’re up for it. Thanks for reading.
