Notes from Freak Valley 2024: Day 1
Before the Show
So, hey. I’m at Freak Valley Festival. Not by much, admittedly. My general position is that until I’m standing (or preferably, casually reclining) in a place, I’m not convinced a thing that is maybe supposed to happen is going to pan out, but this trip was tenuous even by that standard. It’s Thursday. I flew out of NYC yesterday afternoon. I didn’t know for sure I’d be making the trip until Tuesday, and if I’d been able to cancel the flight and get a refund — which I couldn’t, because capitalism — I’d more likely have stayed home to be with my family as my mother recovers from having her knee replaced, also yesterday afternoon, which I was getting text updates about sitting on the plane waiting to take off. I’d have gotten them during the whole flight as well, but you had to pay for internet even just for basic phone signal — again, capitalism; the airline also randomly played commercials at one point during the flight, whether you were watching a movie or not; gross — but was able to find out after the flight landed how her evening went. I went from the hospital to the airport, stopping at home to get the dog for the car ride. My mother is fine and recovering, in case you’re curious.
The flight got in at 6AM and led to a train trip from Frankfurt to Siegen, where I’m staying, that took the better part of the next four hours. No sleep worth mentioning overnight on the plane; I was thankful to the very nice man at the information counter who printed out my route with the wheres and whens for changes — it even had the tracks; not gross — though the timing ended up being incorrect and there was an extra hour of waiting at Geißen. I was glad to have brought chargers. After taking a cab from the train station and not having cash for the driver, who of course didn’t take cards, I checked in, crashed for about two and a half hours, showered and headed out to the outdoor fest grounds in Netphen, which is the next town over. Did I mention it was raining?
All of which is to say that it has been quite a 24-hour stretch, but I know that once the music starts it will be okay. I’ll leave it there for now in advance of that.
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Full Earth
Not to say it’s a surprise that Full Earth’s songs are so recognizable from their earlier-this-year debut, Cloud Sculptors (review here), but I am willing to say that I don’t always think of an 85-minute synth-led instrumental heavy prog 2LP as a context for earworms. Nonetheless, here we are, with the Oslo-based five-piece offshoot of Kanaan (who play shortly) cementing the immediate you-are-here vibe of Freak Valley 2024, and living up to my “it’ll be okay when…” above — there’s a tattoo artist here in back; it is tempting to have that put somewhere on my person as a reminder for those days where it seems like “never” is when it’s okay — with their material, poised and purposeful live as on the record(s). I got to the grounds in time to grab coffee and almost buy two tie-dye shirts for my daughter — they’re awesome and the right size — but the line for the chipkarte (a bracelet with an RFID you put money on) was massive, so I opted to stay put for a few minutes, breathe and let some of the residual adrenaline go into the twisting movement coming from the stage. Light rain falling, mud in the photo pit, but I brought a poncho and am ready to dig in. Full Earth, to that end, were a perfect start.
Daevar
Köln’s Daevar released their second album, Amber Eyes, in March through The Lasting Dose Records, and for the life of me, I thought I reviewed it but can’t find the link. Maybe I just enjoyed listening to it instead and thought sentences about it without typing them? New realities every minute in whatever you call this universe. Either way, that Daevar record is murky-rolly-melodoom, and the trio’s ethereal thickness of tone worked well with the concurrent uptick in rainfall, pushing the line between drizzling and raining and making me glad I brought a poncho should it continue. You could argue that, despite the differences in sound between Full Earth and Daevar, the common factor is still immersion, and certainly in both there’s room for everybody, and Daevar’s nod was also enough to draw a crowd around the Rockpalast video-feed monitor backstage, centered in on riffs and density but broad in the guitar leads and bigger moments of crash. They’re an easy band to dig among the converted, it seems, though I have to imagine most humans not in this valley on the AWO grounds in Netphen would have any idea where they’re coming from. And maybe that’s part of what resonates too. Subculture speaking to itself about itself. I think that’s how you build community, right? With riffs influenced by other riffs influenced by Black Sabbath? Governments should be giving out grants for this shit. Somebody has their baby here in a carrier (with proper ear protection). The smell of mud and cigarettes and weed. Me and coffee. Plus riffs.
Kanaan
Striking how different Kanaan are in their intention than Full Earth, in which all three members of the band take part. For Kanaan, it’s the heavy jams, and where Full Earth felt plotted front to back, Kanaan are certainly tight as musicians — they’d have to be or neither band would work, let alone be good — but you can hear improvisation at root in their sound as opposed to composition. And they’re still playing songs from records — they dipped back to their first album, 2018’s Windborne, for “A. Hausenbecken” — so there’s a plot being followed, but the structure is different and the atmosphere follows on from that in a way that it might not for many acts whose players are pulling double-duty in a given festival day. I didn’t get many pictures before being unceremoniously kicked out of the photo pit for reasons that, if they were stated at all, were not in a language I speak — and that’s my problem, not the dude from security’s — but I’ve chosen to not stress about that shit. I started taking pictures at shows like 13 years ago because I felt like photos were missing from live reviews and I didn’t want to ask anyone else to do it, but I harbor no delusions of talent in that regard and I feel like all this time later doing the thing, it’s still tertiary in my mind to the experience of watching Kanaan take a bow at the end of their set. If it was something I was better at, I’d probably be more interested in it, and vice versa. I got a couple shots anyhow, and having now seen Kanaan three times and twice in the last year, I’m having a hard time coming up with anything to say about their on-stage chemistry that isn’t hyperbole. They should probably tour the States, in theory, but between visa fees and the crowd getting it, I have to wonder if it would be worth their time to do so in the first place.
C.O.F.F.I.N.
They win the day easily in terms of distance traveled to be here. And it’s a good thing their singer was busy also playing drums, since with all the barking behind the mic it kind of felt like somebody was going to get bit. I had listened to C.O.F.F.I.N. — whose moniker stands for Children of Norway Fighting in Finland; they’re from Sydney, Australia — on the ol’ internettobox, and they were plenty punky in person as well, but perhaps tailored their set a bit to the crowd to lean into groove rather than shove, though I’ll emphasize, no lack of either. Before they went on, The Mad Hatter did a secret-ish quick set during the changeover, giving a kind of local color to the bluesy proceedings. As for C.O.F.F.I.N. themselves, they wereI neither retro nor bullshit in their interpretation of old-school rock volatility, and even the barking had charm, let alone the dry ice bubbles that were launching from out of the stage. I’ll admit to being distracted and exhausted enough to feel like I earned the headache I was fighting against, but even in such a state the brash energy wrought from the stage was palpable, whatever else might’ve been going on at the time as it started to get dark a bit after 9PM. C.O.F.F.I.N. weren’t all the way my thing, much as I have one, but I got to take pictures for a couple songs and that was a relief, and then I hung back and watched the crowd go from drunk to drunk-dancing, which I took to mean that a hell of an evening was under way. And so it was, mud-mosh and everything.
Slomosa
“Cabin Fever” and “Rice” into the much mellower verses of “Psykonaut” at the start of the set was a bold play, but Norway’s Slomosa seem to be used to that by now, and it suits them on stage. A clearly developed and worked-on stage presence and vitality, songs that don’t sacrifice hooks at the altar of their own fuzz, and professionalism beyond the fact that to-date they only have one record out — there’s a lot about Slomosa to like, even beyond the earliest-QOTSA tone of “In My Mind’s Desert” and the stonery bounce of the drums in “Battling Guns,” which is a highlight of their out-at-some-point sophomore LP, which they followed with another new song, but not before saying they planned to release the set as a live album — an advantage of having Rockpalast on hand. Another new one, “Red Thundra,” followed, and an invitation to sing along to “There is Nothing New Under the Sun” followed, which was accepted by some even in back where I was standing. Bottom line, they were locked in. A band with this much going for them, even in a largely-ignored, underground style, all they really need to do is keep going the way they are. They’re not a stylistic revolution, but over the next couple years there are going to be a lot of bands coming out of Europe working under their influence — there already are a few — and on stage they absolutely lived up to what I hoped they would be. More, they seemed like they enjoyed it, and were at home holding their energy for the duration. If they can keep this lineup together, they’re on their way to being something very special. They finished with “Horses,” which opened their 2020 self-titled debut (review here), and it was easy to think they might do so for years to come, then did an encore of “Scavengers” that felt like it had been earned.
Monolord
Masters of nod. Even if you could deny Monolord at this stage in the game, for the life of me I have no idea why you would. A decade removed from their debut LP, Empress Rising (discussed here), the Swedish trio of Thomas V. Jäger, Mika Häkki and Esben Willems are easily among the most essential heavy bands of that same decade, and the way they’ve been able to take generic notions like heavy riffs and rolling grooves with melodic vocals and own them to a point of casting a subset of modern stoner-doom in their image is all well and good, but they also still kill it live. In a move that would only ever aid in that cause, they had the esteemed Per Wiberg — who was here in 2023 with the bluesy Kamchatka as well, and has done time with the likes of Spiritual Beggars, Opeth and Candlemass; his latest solo album, The Serpent’s Here (review here), came out earlier this year — sitting in on guitar before moving to keys for the 2023 standalone single “It’s All the Same,” which was duly flattening. It’s just about never what you hear talked about when it comes to their recordings or live shows — and they’re so heavy that it’s kind of understandable — but I’ll argue there’s emotional resonance at play especially in their later work, and it’d be miraculous if calling it that didn’t undercut the work they’ve put in growing as songwriters and performers let them march and convey slog without actually being a drag to hear. All this and Per Wiberg doubling the riff of “Empress Rising,” too? It was a good night to be alive at Freak Valley Festival, and I ended it up front while the band handed out setlists and tossed drumsticks to the crowd, and zero regrets for that.
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More tomorrow, and more the day after that. Hi from Freak Valley. Pics after the jump.
Full Earth
Daevar
Kanaan
C.O.F.F.I.N.
Slomosa
Monolord
Nice review. Does it ever stop raining in Deutschland? Hope Mom is well??
She’s recovering and kicking ass at PT by all reports, thanks. Today the weather was nicer.