Notes From FREAK VALLEY 2022

Notes From Freak Valley 2022 – Day 4

Freak Valley Festival 2022 – Day 4

06.18.22 – Sat. – 12:59PM – Under a shady tree sitting on a chair

Is the sprinkler on yet? Somebody is playing music somewhere, maybe over by the entrance, but I’ve got prime real estate in the shade and it’s a big day ahead.

You go into a kind of fog with this kind of thing. At least I do. I can’t memorize lineups and I’m not sure I would if I could, so in addition to finding new-to-me or just plain new bands to dig, there’s also an element of “oh shit yeah” remembering when you look at the day-by-day breakdown and the schedule of who is on stage when.

And to answer my own question, yes, the sprinkler is on.

Inevitably for the last day, my head is already thinking about tomorrow, logistics for going to the airport — I’m told I’ll share a ride to Frankfurt with Slomatics, so that’s wonderful — and the trip home to follow. Some anxiousness going back, but the thing to do is enjoy today. If there’s a mission, that’s it. Also buy merch.

But there is no letup today. It is all go, nine bands, front to back. Unmissable. I’m glad I’m not missing it.

If you’ve been keeping up with this at all, please know how much I appreciate that. I’ll have a wrap up/travel post up at some point between now and Tuesday, but for the moment, here’s notes and pics on the final day of Freak Valley Festival 2022, taken as it happened:

Madmess

Madmess should come with a prescription. I met two of the three members of the Portuguese trio last night and they seemed like really nice guys, and their music follows suit with a gentle spirit even in its most active stretches. Mellow psych, jam-based but not entirely jams. I dug last year’s Rebirth (review here) even more after I wrote about it, and they’re an excellent choice to open the day, starting out mellow enough to seem like they’re barely awake but building enough energy to make their way into an organic sounding boogie. No pretense, no bullshit attitude, just players sharing what they do with a crowd growing by the minute and they pick up the tempo heading into “Stargazer,” which as I said in my LP review, is not the Rainbow song, but an engrossing original featuring some of their intermittent vocals. Morning music is not always easy to find amongst the heavy genres, but I feel like I may have to put Madmess in the rotation after this. Funny though, you’ve been able to see the earlier bands the last couple days kind of hanging back on stage to stay out of the sun. I very much get can relate to that. Already missing that chair under the tree. Whatever.

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IAH

They’ve got the crowd sway-dancing and handbanging in equal measure. Often the same people — it’s entertaining to watch. IAH stay out all drifty and psych and then click into harder-landing chug and distortion. They’re a bit apart in sound from some of the heavy psych/prog that’s been around this weekend as a result, but that they stand out in the lineup is hardly a detriment. I was so stoked when they got announced for the bill — each of their records has been a step forward from the one before it, up to and including 2021’s Omines (review here), which I’ve kept on my phone since I got it and don’t think I’ll be removing anytime soon. I didn’t think I’d ever see this band, and they’re in Europe just for a few shows, but it’s easy to think of them as moving into a forerunner status of Argentine heavy over the next couple years. Sometimes gorgeous, sometimes crushing, they’re the stuff of life put into sound. And they saved their heaviest stuff for last. All they need to do is keep doing what they’re doing. They’ve been on the right track since their first record.

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Slomatics

Look. I fucking love this band. I’m not going to attempt to hide it or say play it like the fucking critic out here to coldly assess — incidentally, it would be physically impossible to do anything “coldly” right now — but between “And Yet it Moves” and “Tunnel Dragger” and “Canyons,” what a feast of righteousness Slomatics presented to Freak Valley. They were supposed to be here in 2019, Lufthansa lost their guitars. Last two years, obviously not. They bought their instruments a seat on the plane, so took no chances, and got here just before it was time to go on stage, but hell’s bells, even in the open air they managed to sound huge. I went out front in the sun, took off my hat and sunglasses for a bit and let roll absorb me. Nearby, someone was juggling, so to each their own, but for me there is precious little in terms of “very, very heavy” that stands up to Slomatics. I’ve made the “And Yet it Moves” joke before, but the truth is even just the movement isn’t it. The synth and the atmosphere of the two guitars, the leads coming and going, drummer Marty Harvey’s voice — which sounded the best I’ve ever heard as he held out notes before the inevitable concrete collapse followed. I needed this. This whole thing, but this specifically. An offering of slow catharsis made with devastating impact. Of a band could be this, they would never need to be anything else.

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Psychlona

Dudes got riffs. “Down in the Valley,” which guitarist/vocalist Phil Hey introduced by saying it was about this very festival, was a languid highlight, and their songs have that primal, when-stoner-rock-was-stoner-rock — so I guess the ’90s era — but even the most rocking stuff comes across thicker. They’re tight with the Psycho Las Vegas crew — their next album, from which they aired a few songs; no I don’t know the titles because I haven’t heard the record and the stage being so high makes setlist peaking impossible. So it goes. Their last album, Venus Skytrip (review here), hit a nerve, and I can’t argue with a band who knows exactly what they want to be doing and then does it. They closed with a faster song off the first record, 2018’s Mojo Rising and had a crowd who’s seen a lot of rock and roll over the last few days still on their side and rocking out. And Hey owns that stage. Not much thrashing around or whatever, but the band’s got chemistry and it’s his stage presence at the center of it. Palo Verde is the name of their new album. I don’t know when it’s out, but I know I’m going to look for it.

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Temple Fang

It’s hit 32 degrees, which is 90 in Fahrenheit. I actually don’t know if that’s hotter than yesterday or not. I blame Temple Fang. I mean, it’s not every band on the bill who get on stage and start conducting experiments fusing atoms. So it goes. The Amsterdam four-piece let loose on a patient cosmic flow from the moment they started, and with resonance at their core, they nonetheless conveyed a sense of motion, both in the songs and in themselves. Dennis Duijnhouwer, Jevin de Groot and Ivy van der Veer all contributed vocals, sometimes at once, and while because they work in a longer-form context, and because they’re so fucking good at what they do, one tends to focus on the instrumental side of their approach, but 2021’s Fang Temple (review here) was gorgeous and exploratory in kind and they’ve apparently put out two already-gone live cassettes to follow-up 2020’s Live at Merleyn (review here), so good on them. I hope they’re recording this, or they can get the audio from Rockpalast or whatever. It should all be preserved for posterity. They took a bow when they were done, and I think someone was yelling for “one more song,” but I guess without the 20 minutes to spare it was a no-dice.

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The Midnight Ghost Train

They raised The Midnight Ghost Train’s banner before they went on, and even that got some applause. I wonder where that’s been since the band broke up. The garage? In one of those bins from Costco? I didn’t ask and I regret it a bit. The trio, from Topeka, Kansas, are doing nine more shows after this for their European run and then supposedly that’s it, but I’ll be honest, that’s not the story they’re telling from the stage. That story is about a band who’ve barely been in a room together in four years — longer than that since the last time with this lineup and who have lost none of the fire or the propulsive vitality that defined them. They’ve got album reissues on Majestic Mountain, and maybe they take it slow, do it right, decide only to tour Europe, etc., but if they’re not leaving themselves open to the possibility of keeping this going, it’s a loss, just like it was a loss when they played their final show in 2018. This band is pure heart, pure shove, pure go. They broke out some old material, with Steve Moss telling the crowd about the riff that started the band, how glad they were to be here, and so on, in his gruff delivery with feedback surrounding. Brandon Burghart remains a beast on drums, and Mike Boyne on bass still stands up to everything Moss delivers, meeting him head-on figuratively and literally at the center of the stage. I’ve been looking forward to this since it was announced, I think maybe The Midnight Ghost Train have been missed more than they realize. They closed with “Ain’t it a Shame,” which is no less relevant now than when they were playing it 10 years ago.

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Elder

I’m a sucker, but I’m glad that as far as Elder have come sonically in the last decade, they still play “Dead Roots Stirring” live. And I love it with two guitars, too. They opened with “Compendium,” as they will, and proceeded to hand the festival its ass with their level of craft, play and style. This was my first time seeing them with drummer Georg Edert, who joined in time to make his recorded debut with the band on 2020’s Omens (review here), and while I’ll always have a soft spot for Matt Couto’s swinging style, Edert has been in the band long enough now that the dynamic isn’t even a question. They just got on and nailed it. “Compendium” into “Blind,” “Dead Roots Stirring” into “Halcyon” and all the sweep you could ask. And as it’s been some years since I last saw them and even longer since the last time in Europe, this was a thrill. They’ve had a new record done for a while, and I hope it’s proggy and unexpected and that they continue to move in whatever direction they want regardless of any expectation placed on them by the fact that they’re one of the best heavy bands in the world, because doing so is what got them there in the first place. It feels like I’ve been unconsciously saving the word “epic” for them, and I’m glad I did. I’m pretty sure new bands form every time they play. Because I’m greedy, I was hoping for a new song in the set, something from their upcoming album murmurings of which have been made pretty much since Omens, but there’s only so much time in a situation like this. Soon enough, I’m sure.

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High on Fire

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling worn out, out of words, etc., from the last few days, but the intensity of High on Fire is just too overwhelming to not let it affect you. Standing in front of the stage while they tore open the set, the festival and perhaps reality it — I’ll get back on that one — my head was immediately swimming, and when I was done taking pictures, it was all I could do to stand up straight. “Rumors of War.” The nod of “Madness of an Architect.” “Fertile Green.” “Baghdad.” “Fury Whip” gets me every time. Between songs, Matt Pike thanked the crowd profusely, noted that it was the band’s first time back in Europe since the pandemic and said “this is our love and we can’t do it without you.” That’s a far fucking cry from “thank you, Germany,” and on the right direction. I’m still a little astonished that they’re not the last band playing — they sure were a few weeks back when I saw them in NYC (review here) — but one way or the other it’s not like anyone’s going to match their level of destruction. Who the hell could? I stood up front near the end of the set, watched the finish. They were some idealized vision of High on Fire. More than 20 years after the fact, the whole band is incredible. I know Pike has been catching flack for his reading choices, but between him, Jeff Matz and Coady Willis, there’s no weak link. You could pick a player to watch the entire time and be completely bowled over, never mind the three of them together.

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Fu Manchu

Come on, man. It’s Fu Manchu! And they did “Godzilla” and everything. What more could you possibly ask? Scott Hill, striped shirt, baggy pants, clear guitar. Brad Davis, putting the “fu” in fuzz and giving a little punk rock to the backing vocals. Bob Balch, who probably shreds in his fucking sleep. Scott Reeder, who in a band whose foundation is riffs still bashes his kit heavy enough that other drummers should be blushing. Not everybody could follow Coady Willis. Not many could follow High on Fire, but Fu Manchu being such a different vibe, their being Fu Manchu, and the crowd being so on board made the shift that much smoother. They opened with “Hell on Wheels,” which was indeed a big deal, despite Hill’s professing the contrary, and I don’t think there was one person standing still in the field. I took pictures on the quick because I knew that I still had to do this and I found out that I have to leave earlier than expected tomorrow — plus travel always takes longer because the king of the road says I move too slow — but it’s Fu Manchu digging into “Reagal Beagle.” The primo-est of tone, the primo-est of groove, and a band who have been around for well longer at this point than the 30 years they’re celebrating doing the thing they’ve long since mastered but have never let get dull. If Freak Valley was looking to make it a blowout, they picked the right band to do it. What a party. There’s a reason heavy rock bands have been ripping off Fu Manchu for the better part of those last 30-plus years, and it’s because they’re one of the best to ever do the thing. Classic stoner rock. Dependable to the utmost. They sounded ready to roll all night, and if you would expect any less, you’ve probably never seen Fu Manchu. Recommend you rectify that at the next available opportunity.

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06.19.22 – Sun. – 7:32AM – Hotel

Thank you first and foremost to The Patient Mrs., through whom all things are possible. I have the not-at-all-vague feeling that when I get home The Pecan is going to rip my arm off and beat me to death with it because I left in the first place — he’s not one for expressing emotions like, “I missed you,” so the arm thing is what you get — but I’ve missed them both tremendously. All the more as there were families at the fest the whole weekend. I can’t imagine trying to wrangle him and cover the fest at the same time, but I’ll be happy to see them both.

The thanks(es) are a long list. Jens Heide, for bringing me here and making this happen. It’s been years in the making even before covid, and it’s truly something special. A festival with heart, made with love for those who will love it. I did.

Thank you to Désirée Hanssen and Rolf Gustavus for making me feel so welcome, for the rides back to the hotel and for the company and conversation. Here’s to no small talk. I almost cried last night telling them how much they made me feel at home. Thanks to Bill from Bushfire for existing. Rare dude. He wasn’t there yesterday and I shit you not the atmosphere was different without him walking around.

Thank you to Kirsten Seubert and Falk-Hagen Bernshausen for the company in the photo pit, and specifically to the former for her antihistamines, which just about saved my life on Friday as my allergies were doing to my mucus membranes what High on Fire did to riffs last night. That kind of generosity means more than I can say.

I met so many wonderful people. Thanks to Alexander Fuchs — who is THE GUY — to Ellen and Nadine backstage, to Jamey, Felli, Jules, to Volker and everyone else helping out behind the scenes for dealing with my dumbass questions and for letting me use that shower in the AWO building to cool off and being generally incredible and kind. The only person who yelled at me all weekend was one of the Rockpalast guys who thought I was stepping on his cable. I was not and told him so in no uncertain terms.

Thanks to Christian from Who Can You Trust? Records. Thanks to Geezer, Elder, The Midnight Ghost Train, Temple Fang, Slomatics, Psychlona, Bob from Fu Manchu, Duel, the guys from IAH, Madmess, Supersonic Blues, The Atomic Bitchwax, Green Lung, Purple Dawn, all the other bands and folks from bands I met and got to hang out with or say hi or chat for a little bit, whatever it was.

Thanks to everyone who came up and said hi who knew the site. Every day, people said the nicest, most validating stuff. Humbling. I know how much The Obelisk means to me, and it feels silly and awkward but I do very much appreciate knowing that I’m not the only one. Thank you. Nick and Hazel, Tim from Noorvik, Arthur Starmonger, Uwe, Tanguy, Max Rebel, Dries from Down the Hill, a ton of others. What a delight as always to see Sister Rainbow and to meet Johan, and if the UK doesn’t name Pete Holland ambassador-at-large soon, I fear for the state of global diplomacy.

No doubt I’ll add more names throughout today as I begin to process what the last 96 hours have wrought, but thank you most of all. The only reason I’m here in the first place, the only reason I can feign relevance to the minimal extent that I can, is because of you. Thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you if you’ve followed along with any of this. Thank you.

Today I go home.

More pics after the jump.