I don’t know what it was that Agriculture were soundchecking when I walked into John Dee from upstairs at Rockefeller, but it sure sounded a lot like CKY’s “96 Quite Bitter Beings,” which was cool because I just got that song out of my head last week for the first time since like 2003. So I was due.

Sleep did happen — the state, not the band — and I woke up two hours after my alarm to discover I hadn’t actually finished setting it. Didn’t matter; plenty of time to sit around and be anxious for the start of the day. I video called home — the house is a mess, which very much is how it goes when I’m gone — and all is well. Ate a couple bites and tried to sleep a bit more, but the three double espressos tearing ass through my bloodstream weren’t having it. Sometimes living in the moment means calling yourself dumb later.

Agriculture’s lights were going to be too much for my brain. I knew that going into the set, because soundcheck, but when it happened, it was still punishing. The overwhelm is part of it, purposeful. Part of what you sign up for. But the sandblasting and the immersion, coinciding, is why you stay. Watching them, I couldn’t get the parallel out of my head between the traditions of Norwegian black metal and their subversion in terms of weather. That is, if the ‘trvest’ of black metals was born in this place — and they have it scrawled on that basement wall for people to take pictures with, so it’s arguable — in the dark and cold of winter here, then the aural brightness of Agriculture, the natural-light-reflecting-on-water of their post-rock-style guitar floating above all the pummel and screech, feels correspondingly climate-born to Los Angeles, where the band are from. To paraphrase George Carlin, the sun probably sets 10 minutes from their rehearsal space. Of course they’d make black metal beautiful.

That’s a generalization, obviously. Broad strokes to cover lack of insight. The truth of their presentation is more emotionally complex and less niche-declarative, but transgressing just the same, though maybe black metal is used to it by now; a punching bag catchall genre to push against the borders of. The tie with Agriculture is in tonal heft and the honesty of their scathe and the atmospheres they build around it, and they’d be a sore thumb in the lineup if Desertfest was stoner-only, but neither day was. It’s all one big heavy melting pot, and genres evolve. Always cool to see it happen on the stage right in front of you, though.

But the lights got me, so I headed upstairs to the Rockefeller balcony ahead of Slift. I know. Not like Slift were going to take it easy on visuals. Still. The French heavyspace trio are riding the course of 2024’s Ilion (review here), and the fact that they’ve spent the better part of the last three years touring was not lost on their stage presence.

The story of their set was kind of that I blew it there as well. Got my photos and moved on. I was dragging, had basic human needs to attend to in food, water, bathroom, so broke out of Rockefeller a bit into the set in an effort to get my head right. I was saving the second half of Friday’s weedy muffin for later in the day, but there’s nothing like when the check-into-your-flight notification comes in while you’re trying to enjoy a busy afternoon of writing, taking photos, and general sonic obliteration.

Hippie Death Cult ruled last year at Desertfest New York (review here) and with their new live album, Live at Star Theater (review here), it felt like half the point of the damn thing was to argue in favor of showing up when the band inevitably comes through where you live — Parsippany, New Jersey, if you’re tour planning — when the opportunity presents itself. So there I was. I’d already bumped into guitarist Eddie Brnabic and drummer Harry Silvers at the hotel, and they and bassist/vocalist Lauren Phillips would soon take the stage to unroll a blanket of riffs onto the crowd, roll that same blanket back up again with the crowd in it, and then send it careening down the side of a mountain. I’m really, really looking forward to their next album.

Nothing against 2023’s Helichrysum (review here), mind you, but — and I think this is something the live LP posited as well — they sound like they’re just getting started. The lineup change that resulted in Phillips taking the lead vocal role, plus bringing Silvers in on drums, made them a different band. On the record and live, they’ve explored harsher, more direct and classic feeling ideas, but at the same time, begun to develop a character for themselves separate from what it was just a few years ago. This is a strength. Some bands would just fall apart. Hippie Death Cult have figured, are figuring out, how to make it work and progress from their new starting position.

And since much of this work has happened on tours, yes, I am very much convinced their best work is ahead of them. They can be warm and bluesy — Brnabic’s shred suits all sides — or sludge-nasty and it doesn’t matter. Songs like “Arise,” “Red Giant,” “Toxic Annihilator,” as they’re playing them now, are paving the way for a band who can crush or boogie or gallop at a measure’s whim.

Phillips let out a couple Tom Araya-esque screams while Silvers was on the double-kick, and they’re getting more comfortable bringing that kind of metal into their foundation in capital ‘h’ Heavier groove. They’re a monster band. They should get monstrous, and I think they just might continue to do that. This was their first time in Norway. Someone in the crowd shouted, “What took you so long?” Near-total reset takes some time, I guess, but it’s done Hippie Death Cult well in terms of the intensity level. They finished big and noisy — at some near-final point, I looked up and Phillips’ mic stand had disappeared — and I watched the whole set and wouldn’t have wanted it another way.

Back upstairs to Rockefeller for Finland’s Oranssi Pazuzu. True, I saw them a couple weeks ago, playing their latest album, Muuntautuja, in full, no less, but whatever. I dug it then and wanted to investigate the band further. Seeing them again felt like a half-decent way to do that. The balcony was full before the floor, which the lightshow would soon justify, but the room was full by the start of the set.

The thing was, they’re a name I’ve seen around for well over a decade, and a band I’ve listened to before and appreciated for what it was but soon enough moved on. But after that Muuntautuja set at Roadburn, they kind of took up residence in the back of my head. I was glad to recognize a few songs from one show to the next, including the opener, and while they’re not usually the kind of band I’d go all-in on, and I’m positive I don’t know enough of their music to call myself a fan, after seeing them these two times, I do feel compelled to dig further.

There’s enough going on at any given moment in their songs to trace threads of influence and constantly end up in a different place. That’s black metal, straight up, but then there comes a synthier part, or a drone stretch, or some Ministry-style keyboard thrash. Krautrock guitars might meet up with some soul-grinding ferocity, and the band seem to delight in precisely that manner of fucking with norms; picking apart ideas about style and what the rules are, cherrypicking which ones they want to uphold and which they want to break and then breaking most of them anyway. Like Agriculture, they’re in-genre outsider art, but whatever the stylistic cast, Oranssi Pazuzu refuse and refute pigeonholing.

My scheduled break was next. I went back to the room, had that half a weedy muffin — I could not tell you the last time I ate an actual muffin; nine years at least; I don’t normally do breadstuffs — drank a bunch of water and took some ibuprofen, tried and failed to check in for my flight because my town has both a different mailing address and a hyphen in it (not joking) and confirmed an earlier decision about the course of my night.

Chat Pile were sub-headlining the Rockefeller, and Whores. would be on at 22.00 in John Dee. I skipped both in favor of Villjuvet at St. Edmund’s Church right around the corner from Revolver. I had gotten to see the inside of the church earlier in the day — it was active-catholic enough to give yer boy eucharistic flashbacks — and been told a bit about the project, the visual component and the work of Ruben Willem, who in addition to operating as Villjuvet is a producer and has either mixed or mastered releases for an entire slew of bands from Lonely Kamel to Håndgemang who were in Friday’s lineup, to Gluecifer, Suncraft and Kal-El. I could go on.

I’ve seen Chat Pile, again recently. It was cool. I’ve never seen Whores., and frankly part of the reason why is the danger of liking them and then having to admit to myself I like a band with that name, but I know people who swear by them, and I actually did end up watching them for a few minutes and they were killing to a packed room. But I was told ahead of time, “Villjuvet might be just your speed,” and was happy to take the recommendation to a path less traveled before finishing the night off back at Rockefeller for Elder. Slow and weird, you say? That sure does sound like my speed.

At 9PM, it was still pretty broad daylight, but the church was dark, the door ominously left open. I took a seat in the second pew — was not at all the first one there — and waited as more people came in. There was some white noise drone, but I’ll be honest and say a big part of me wanted to hear “Holy Diver,” though that went away when the actual show started.

You could follow the projections — branches and the like, nighttime ambience, loosely creepy but mostly for the soundtrack — up the white wall with the stained glass windows onto the wood ceiling as Villjuvet turned out to be very much indeed my speed. Willem played facing the projections before a sprawling pedal board, often kneeling as if to a true god being revealed. His drones came through in looped layers and hit high and low through guitar and bass amps. It was not a tune to take out earplugs, despite the lack of percussion. A couple popes later, church has really changed since I was last forced to go, probably around three decades ago. I recall a good time this January sharing religious traumas over a breakfast in Las Vegas. Life takes you weird places when… you expressly make it do that because you enjoy it.

Rockefeller was filling up quickly for Elder and I knew the second Whores. finished downstairs that crowd would flood out, which was exactly what happened. I was at the bar at John Dee at the time, chatting amiably as one does, and then it was time to head upstairs to cap the evening. A 6AM wakeup loomed large over the 11PM start-time — hazards of the trade at the end of a fest; it’s part of the thing — but with the band celebrating the anniversary of 2015’s Lore (review here), and having missed them when they came through Brooklyn with Sacri Monti, there was imperative.

I could go — and have gone! — on about Lore as both a creative statement and a breath of daring fresh air operating in an underground genre that can at times pride itself on traditionalism. I’ll gladly argue its influence is still felt and spreading, even as the band have continued to move forward. But there’s no denying it was a special moment for them, a progressive breakout in craft to which their work before had been leading. So, 10th anniversary it is. Not unreasonable.

Guitarist/vocalist Nick DiSalvo got on mic before they started and thanked the crowd, thanked the fest, said it was an honor to close it out, and explained what they were going to do, and soon enough they were off into “Compendium” and on from there. I always loved “Deadweight” but I knew I wouldn’t make it that far into the set and I didn’t. I was glad to see them though, even briefly as I felt the pull of getting back to finish work and crash out ahead of the early start. The responsible thing. The me that knows I can’t sleep on planes would thank me in the morning, but it was a hard sell to the me looking down the ramp to walk out of Rockefeller and be done with the night and Desertfest Oslo more broadly.

But I did. If I’m fortunate enough to come back next year, I’ll try not to make it so tight, but that’s kind of how it has to be for me to be here in the first place, and a couple Elder songs is better than no Elder songs, so I guess my old-ass punk-rock guilt can fuck off. Time to crawl out of my own head a little bit.

Thank you to Desertfest Oslo for having me. Thank you Ole and Preben for the invitation and thank you to everyone who has worked here to make this happen. The sound, the lights, everything has been spot on, and for this being the second year this festival has taken place, they’d be entitled to a few screwups. I saw none. I did, however, see a bunch killer bands, a bunch of old friends, and some things I wouldn’t have been able to see anywhere else. I am incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity.

It is not lost on me that in the US this weekend, today, is Mother’s Day. Thank you to The Patient Mrs. for the work she does as a mother always, and for the sheer indulgence that allows me to exist as I do both at and away from home. She is so much more than the love of my life that is humbling she would deign to be it. I know I’ve said this before, but I am the luckiest boy you know.

Thank you to my mother, Pamela Koczan. Thank you to my sister, Susan Wright. Thank you to Cate Wright and Samantha Wright.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for saying hi, for giving a shit after so many years and so many typos and run-on sentences. Dumbassed blocks of text, just endless. Thank you for being here for it in some way at some point, maybe now. The support this site gets is what sustains me doing it. One more time, thank you.

More pics after the jump. No posts tomorrow (Monday) while I get caught up writing/living. Thanks again.

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Got to the hotel and slept. Slept on the plane as much as I could, but I was pretty much collapsing by the time I made it to my room. No problem checking in, and the flight was fine; a week’s worth of anxieties dissipating like water vapor only to condense again soon. The nervous cycle. Evaporation, condensation.

I watched a bit of Graveyard’s soundcheck from the balcony of the Rockefeller, which along with John Dee, Revolver Bar and the back garden outside the latter are the locales of the four stages. They’re kind of around the block from each other, but they have it set so you can walk through, all kind of in a Desertfest nook, not entirely dissimilar from how The Black Heart and The Underworld become a pocket for the Desertfest in London. At least that seemed to be the idea to me. Oslo, of course, is its own kind of party.

Restlessness takes hold. No photo pits means get there early. You start to get the lay of the land. You meet Ole Helsted, also in SÂVER and who also is part of running Høstsabbat, in the lounge after Graveyard are done. He’s apparently been living your secret dream of being a goat farmer. You say a quick hi to Elephant Tree and get a Bear Bones tape off Pete before they clear out and DVNE soundcheck on the John Dee stage, club-size, and come to think of it the smallest stage you’ve seen them on. Cool. There’s a bit to go before that, though.

I was reading a review earlier, on the train from the airport. Mistake. The dude who wrote it was talking about how this scene is old, uncool, like a bunch of weird uncles trying to break away from their dayjobs or somesuch. Seems pretty needless to pick on grayhairs who’ve probably been going to shows for decades, or even if not, just unnecessary. The gatekeeping of the insecure. Fact is, I wouldn’t trade the community spirit of the heavy underground for all the arthouse cred in the world, and I’m somebody who very much enjoys being well thought of on the occasion I might come to anyone’s mind other than my own.

There’s a longer discussion to have there about genre, audience aging and the need for fresh generational blood, and the heavy underground for sure has its issues — diversity most glaring — but I was more interested in checking out the merch and getting a sense of the vibe taking shape here, now. It was nice out. Yeah, maybe nobody’s getting any younger. Still here though. That seems worth seeing in a more positive light, is all I’m saying. In a world actively putting itself to shit on multiple fronts, some of them existential, I’m gonna take the next two days and check in with the deep value this music and the community around it has in my life. It’s not just restorative, because the fact is I’ll go home Sunday more tired than I am now — believe it — but it’s more like an equilibrium unto itself.

I popped up the alley to see Håndgemeng at the Revolver Backyard, but no dice — ‘too many humans,’ as Buzzard might say — so I scooted back to John Dee well in time for the start of DVNE. I met the guys from King Potenaz, who seemed very nice and came here from Italy, and ran into a couple other familiar faces, but by the time DVNE actually went on, I was good and ready.

The UK-based five-piece are out celebrating their 2024 LP, Voidkind (review here), and they recently underscored the point with the follow-up Live at Biscuit Factory. I knew what was coming but that didn’t stop it from being rad, and DVNE continue to impress in bringing the fullness of their studio sound to the stage. Of course there’s more direct attack and energy as one would expect, but they still build textures well around those big, strides-the-behemoth grooves, and as hard as they hit, the melody is right there.

Extra glad to have seen their soundcheck since I didn’t get to stay all that long before I was pulled away to Revolver — a smaller, basement-type club you enter from out by the backyard stage; I tried going in the front door, and there may be a way downstairs, but I didn’t know it. I’d never seen Gjenferd before and knew I wanted to, so I made my way down and in front of the stage. It was humid and packed and there was a technical problem with the camera that I needed to work out, so I was kind of in and out of there too, and not wanting to do basically the same thing for Pallbearer, the ol’ in-out, I decided to socialize a bit and say hi to folks en route to disappointing them. A bit of stress about the camera — if it breaks for real, I’m basically stuck — but I figured out the issue and to no surprise it was human error.

Gjenferd, however, do rock, and it was nice to confirm that for myself in-person. Their self-titled debut (review here) came out last year and in my mind they’re very much a part of the generational turnover happening in Norway right now. Slomosa are the elephant in the room there, I suppose, but there are new and new-ish bands all over this country and it seems like more all the time. I don’t know if it’s a movement, but it’s definitely a fresh perspective, and even for just a few minutes until the crowd press got to be too much, I appreciated the chance to see them for the first and hopefully not last time.

Back at John Dee, DVNE were loading out as Lowrider were setting up for their set, plenty of time. This would be my first time seeing them live since they put out both 2020’s Refractions (review here) and last year’s split LP with Elephant Tree, The Long Forever (review here), so I was excited to see what would be in the set, even though I could probably look that up on the internet by now. Still, I’d only seen the band once before, at Desertfest London 2013 (review here), and I can only speak from my own limited experience, but a Lowrider set is a thing to catch while you can because you don’t know when or if the chance will come again. For example, given my druthers, it wouldn’t have been 12 years between Lowrider sets for me.

So how were they? You’d have to tell me, because I kind of lost time there, to be honest. All of a sudden they were into “Ode to Ganymede,” and the set was like half over which I think means it wasn’t long enough. But was it really going to be? Lowrider were not at all the only reason I came to Desertfest Oslo — but for sure they’re high on the list. They did their three tracks from The Long Forever, opening with “Caldera” and pushing into “And the Horse You Rode in On,” which was a blast, and “Into the Grey” later on. That would have been the likely point of onstage collaboration if it was going to happen with Jack or Pete from Elephant Tree, who’d close the room later, but no dice.

“Lameneshma” is Lowrider’s “Gardenia” and even though they played “Caravan” that’s a hill I’m willing to die on. But how were they? Look. They’re one of the bands who made it okay for desert rock not to be from the desert — do you understand how good you have to be to do that shit? And they were like 20 at the time. That’s insane. I was looking forward to the newer material — nothing against the classic 2000 debut/then-swansong Ode to Io (reissue review here), mind you — and between “Through the Rift,” “Ode to Ganymede,” “Pipe Rider,” which could only close, and the songs from the split, they 100 percent delivered the set I was hoping for. And they did it as one of the best bands ever to do the thing.

True, there were sets going on when they finished — did I mention they were a five-piece? the organ was splendid throughout — but also true, about 10 hours before, I was stepping off an overnight flight. I needed a break and took one, if only to go back to the room, sort photos, have a bite of the peanut butter I brought (homemade, dry roasted, no salt, medium grind) and drink three bottles of water. I did that and then all of a sudden I was sitting up with the pillows behind me against the wall. Then I was kind of leaning over. Then my eyes started to close and I realized I needed to get the hell out of there because there was still more show to see. After an undeniable peak in Lowrider’s set, my night would wind through Truckfighters, Elephant Tree and Graveyard to close out. Tired I might’ve been, but I had places to be.

Swedish fuzzlords Truckfighters had a new song, but as guitarist Niklas Källgren said from the stage, it’s been around a while. I’d take a record happily and a couple more new songs to throw in the mix, but that new one was mellow early and picked up with a roller of a riff — my point is I firmly believe Truckfighters have more to say as a band and I hope at some point they say it. In the meantime, I very much appreciated the run (mostly, but entirely) through their albums to-date. Källgren and bassist/vocalist Oskar Cedermalm have a drummer with them who absolutely pounds when they need him to, but they have a varied enough catalog and they’re mature enough at this point that they come across as a more dynamic band than they used to be, while still making it the blast on stage that it’s always been.

Granted, Truckfighters have been pro-shop since before they actually were, but they’ve become among the most reliable heavy rock bands on the planet. They’re gonna show up and give people a good time. They did exactly that. It wasn’t a surprise — though I don’t think I’ve seen them play the same show twice, except maybe 15 years ago on successive nights — but it was satisfying. Reassuring, even. They’ll get to a record whenever. I’d rather have them take their time.

I heard Magmakammer were good — can’t see everything, but I’m looking forward to hearing their new single when I get a minute — and went downstairs to catch the start of Elephant Tree, sitting on the floor, forgetting to refresh my water bottle, not really caring. It’s been since before the pandemic that I saw them last, and that was long enough ago for people to have forgotten a vaccine fixed it. The London four-piece announced a few weeks ago that John Slattery, who had been playing keys and second guitar, was out of the band and had been replaced by Charlie, with no last name given. Thanks to the deep investigative reporting you’ve come to rely on The Obelisk for, you can now know it’s Charlie Davis on guitar and synth with Elephant Tree. He’s also in Beggar and Wasted Death. Don’t you feel better now?

The UK contingent in my otherwise too played material from the split, with Peder Bergstrand watching from the side of the stage, but they reveled in older songs as well. Bassist Peter Holland, who I’ve said on multiple occasions is one of the most charming human beings I’ve ever met — charm as a defining feature; we get to hang out sometimes at Freak Valley — got genuinely excited when they were about to play “Dawn” from their 2016 self-titled (review here, discussed here), and even “Wasted” from Habits (review here) had an older-school kick to it. I’ve written a bunch about Elephant Tree the last few years and guitarist/vocalist Jack Townley’s life-threatening accident a couple years ago, coming back from that, and I think part of what they’re most enjoying about being in a band right now is being able to hit it. There’s a lot of fun, some catharsis, and there’s a new dynamic taking shape with the new lineup.

Charlie was a groover on stage, and it seemed like Holland and Townley — that’s not to exclude drummer Sam Hart, but it was kind of hard to see back there where I was standing by the side of the stage out front — fed off that energy a bit, and they were clearly having fun as they let loose a bit through “Bird” from Habits and realized they were running out of time still with plenty left for “Aphotic Blues” to close. The build into the big riff finish brought Townley down from the stage and into the crowd, which lifted him up and surfed him back up to finish the set. Got up there, adjusted the monitor in his pocket, and hit it on the next measure. It was emotional to see them after so long. I hope I get to do it more often.

Graveyard were the close to my night, just as the first non-jet-engine volume push I’d heard in the afternoon had been their soundcheck. They were ripping it up, as they will, but I grabbed my photos and got out, in no small part to wipe off the beer that someone had spilled on my camera bag when I was taking pictures. Glad it’s hard plastic on the front, but the smell of the sides made me want to bury it. Plus I was more than willing to both admit and give in to exhaustion by then. Made some vague and tentative breakfast plans and hoofed it back up to the room to finish sorting the photos and try to catch whatever minimal quotient of typos I could by reading through what I’d written all day. I’ll reserve comment on how that went.

Tomorrow picks up in the afternoon with day two of Desertfest Oslo. It’s awesome here. I might need a new backpack though.

Thanks for reading. More pics after the jump.

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05.08.25 – 3:55PM – Newark Airport Terminal B security line

This is a tight trip. The plan as stated is to fly into Oslo overnight, get in at 8:40AM, hop on the train to the central station and either walk or cab it to the hotel, but at that point, it will be just a few hours before the start of Desertfest Oslo. Will I sleep? Inevitably at some point. Friday and Saturday are the fest, and then Sunday my flight leaves at 11AM, so I’m up and out. Like, might be finishing the review at the airport. It wouldn’t be the first time, but a mellow pace it is not. Rock and roll and such.

Newark Airport, which I’ll call that until I die because I grew up here in the ’90s, has been in the local (and national) news the last few days for things like computer systems crapping out and air traffic control shortages. One tries not to feed one’s own anxieties with such things. I’m here, I’m going. It’s not like if the airport is operating at peak efficiency I’ll enjoy the process of flying anyhow — I am wrong in proportion and economic demographic for such things — but I’d prefer not a roiling shitshow, generally. Clearly I’m living in the wrong age.

Traffic on the way here begat traffic in the security line. Compared to airports in every country I’ve been to except the UK, Americans are the worst at that. At the gate now, or close to it. Terminal B bunches gates into a cul de sac of walkways like spokes out to planes. Two hours till the flight takes off. I’m glad I bought water. I could probably find some food, but I don’t really trust any of it. And I’m not sad the coughing guy sitting next to me got up and left.

Sandwiched snugly between the flight today and the flight Sunday is Desertfest Oslo 2025. The inaugural edition was in 2024. This will be my first time here, but I’ve been to Oslo a handful of times over the years for Høstsabbat in October and enjoyed that very much. Some of the Høstsabbat team are involved in Desertfest as well, so right on. It will be a good couple of days, as the schedule shows:

I’ll spare you the I’m-in-my-40s litany of discomforts and pains and just say I’m very fortunate to be making this trip. It honestly wasn’t an invite I was expecting, and being just a couple weeks after Roadburn — there were two years there where I went from Roadburn direct to Desertfest London a couple days later; I was younger and not a parent — wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it happen. Thank you, as always, to The Patient Mrs. for my life and its many, many indulgences.

The day at home was typical for a leaving day in that I was out of my head distracted thinking about packing, that last bit of laundry I wanted to do, scholl dropoff, shopping, back to school for meds bump, finish packing, pickup, etc. I did a little writing for a couple news posts I’ll put up tomorrow, but my head was all over the place, mostly on its way to the airport. I thought about eating a gummy before I left the house to come here, but I’m glad I didn’t. Time drags enough at the gate without being stoned slow. Instead, I’m woefully lucid. Maybe I’ll sleep on the plane.

Looking forward to getting in, duh, getting settled, and putting myself in front of the stage for the start of the first band. Where my baggage will be, whether I’ve checked into the hotel room, slept or eaten, it won’t matter. I hope to have done all those things by then, but if not, this isn’t my first dance, even if it’s my first Desertfest Oslo. I’ll survive.

I’ll be writing as much as possible, as often as possible, and will be back and forth to stages to catch the start of shows and so on. If you keep up over the next couple days, thanks. Not to say the quiet part loud, but the only reason I get to do any of the travel I do is because of the support this site gets. Thank you, in other words. Thanks for reading. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that once or twice along the way.

There are people lined up to get on the plane, maybe my plane, maybe not, but I’ve got time, and maybe an empty seat next to me if no one else checks in in the next 45 minutes. Fingers crossed. Gonna try to relax for a bit, bumble around, get a bottle of water, etc. I’ll have those other posts up before the fest starts if all goes to plan, but otherwise, next you hear from me will be from Oslo. I look forward to it.

 

Twenty-two years ago last month, I sat at an aughts-era version of this same airport gate in order to fly to Austin, Texas, for my first-ever South by Southwest. I was still doing college radio. On that trip, I’d meet the guitarist and bassist I’d be in a band with from 2005-2010, and it was the trip where I met the crew of Small Stone Records, made friends I still have and, arguably, helped solidify me on the heavy path I’ve been walking since. I usually pass by it on my way to the further-ass-end of Newark Liberty Terminal C and smile a little. Today it’s where I’m supposed to be.

My flight leaves at 5:45 and it’s 3PM now. I’ll get into Amsterdam at 7AM tomorrow, make my way to the baggage claim, then on to the car meetup, catch my ride to Tilburg where a good friend I can’t wait to see has very kindly offered his couch to crash on for the morning. I am lucky to be going to Roadburn.

Sitting at the airport to write a post on the way out is something of a tradition. I remember last year I was nervous because it had been half a decade and I wasn’t sure if my friends would still be my friends. This year, the country I live in is eating itself like Saturn’s children, and I’m curious how re-entry into this ongoing shitshow will be. By curious, I mean terrified.

But that’s Next-Monday-Me’s terror. This-Tuesday-Me is stoked to be on my way. The lineup for Roadburn 2025 is of course three fests’ worth of epic. Here are the timetables:

Thursday:

Friday:

Saturday:

Sunday:

So that’s where I’ll be. It’ll be a good trip, and in the back of my head I know that as itchy as I’ve been the last three days with this looming and as itchy as I am to get on the plane and “get this show on the road,” as my dear wife might say, as soon as the music starts, it’ll all be okay. A couple days living NOT entirely in my own head will be welcome, and as much as that’s ever possible anyplace — to be fair, I have a pretty big head and there’s lots of open space in there for me to dwell (and dwell… and dwell…) — it’s possible at Roadburn.

Thinking about that trip when I was barely 21, it’s no wonder it changed my life. It was a magical world where everyone was an adult, but still drunk like sloppy teenagers. Myself included. I don’t drink anymore, and the ensuing two decades have pushed through any number of other attitude changes that I hope have made me a better human being than I was then — failure assumed — so while the gate is the same, I’m not expecting Roadburn to set me on a lifepath in 2025 or anything. I’m 43. I had a whole career there for a while. Mostly now I just take the kid to and from school.

But what I do expect Roadburn to do is reset my trajectory, make sure I’m not bumping into walls I just built in front of myself for no fucking reason whatsoever. I will be exhausted when it’s done, but I’ll have seen friends and had I’m sure more than my fill of good music and good times, and that is sustaining for me in ways I consider integral. In Austin 22 years ago, I took notes with a hotel pen by hand and struggled to read my addled handwriting after the fact. Now I’ll probably just write as I go on my phone, but the idea is the same: to try and capture some element of the experience, of my experience, and convey it in probably-typo-laden run-on sentences that no one will ever read.

I need a bottle of water for the flight. I’m in the window seat, row 41, which is nowhere special. Weather is good, and the flight should be seven and a half hours. I have a chance for an empty seat next to me and I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

If you’re going to Roadburn, please say hi if you see me in the back and forth. I’ll be there, going from the 013 to Koepelhal and back. I’m sorry I’m a big weirdo, but I do appreciate human communication, so hi.

What unfolds from here is my 13th Roadburn. I don’t have a plan, beyond seeing Kylesa and a few other musts, but tomorrow night at the 013, Temple Fang are playing the pre-show, and that’s very much a thing I want to see. The rest will work itself out.

Thanks for reading and keeping up if you do. Let’s go RB25.

The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.

Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.

Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.

The Obelisk Questionnaire: Seb Painchaud of Tumbleweed Dealer

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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?

The one constant in my musical journey is “Evolution” . I would describe what I do as musically evolving constantly. Every composition is a stepping stone towards new sounds, every song is meant to push back the limits of what our music can be.

Describe your first musical memory.

It’s not my first musical memory per se, but it’s the first one that really impacted me. I have this uncle that is only 7-8 years older than me. He had a motorcycle, listened to cool music, he was my idol when I was a preteen. He made me a mixtape that I listened to religiously and that impacted my musical tastes profoundly. He had put Yngwie Malmsteen, Uzeb, Frank Zappa, Steve Vai, Jeff Healy, it was really all over the place, and it really helped shape me as a music fan before I even picked up an instrument.

Describe your best musical memory to date.

Seeing our latest album come together. It’s the album I have always wanted to make but didn’t know how to.

When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?

Honesty has always been my most treasured value. I can’t recall one specific instance that was tested, but rather I can say that growing and becoming a father has really shown me the difference between being honest and being an asshole. I’ve had to learn that you can be truthful without being hurtful, and that I can refuse to compromise myself while remaining respectful.

Where do you feel artistic progression leads?

It leads to more artistic progression. It’s really a “the journey was the destination” kind of thing. The word I use the most to discuss composing music is evolution. I could not have written this album if I didn’t write the first three. I could not have created this project without being in all the bands I was in before. So, everything you create is the result of years of evolution.

How do you define success?

If I was in it for the money, I would not make weird instrumental music, now would I? I wrote this album for myself as a listener. I wanted to make the album I was hoping to hear when I scour the net for new releases. I made something that would last up to repeat listens with deep details to discover on every new play. To me success is when someone tells me they enjoyed the album on that level. That they took the time to dissect it and discover those details. You are on Spotify, you have access to the whole world’s collective musical history, and you chose to spend time with my art out of all of that and to focus on it, to deeply appreciate it. That’s success right there!

What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?

The endtimes in which we live. As a parent, it is frightening to see the world we live in and to know that our children will never have the carefree childhood we were lucky enough to have.

Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.

A collaborative album with a talented vocalist. Something akin to our song with Ceschi on this latest record.

What do you believe is the most essential function of art?

To be created. A true artist makes art because he has to. I don’t enjoy the process, but I cannot live without it.

Say something positive about yourself.

I am twice the man I used to be. Having a family has transformed me and I wake up every day trying to make the world a better place for those around me.

Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?

The next episode of Severance. I am HOOKED on that show!!

http://www.facebook.com/TumbleweedDealer
https://www.instagram.com/tumbleweeddealer/
https://tumbleweeddealer420.bandcamp.com/

Tumbleweed Dealer, Dark Green (2025)

In my defense, there was a lot to talk about with Matte Vandeven. Between 2025 being the 20th anniversary of the booking agency he founded, Sound of Liberation, and the return to the stage of his band, My Sleeping Karma, after suffering the loss of drummer Steffen Weigand in 2023, the near-unmatched impact Vandeven has had on the European heavy underground particularly with the emergence of a heavyfest culture he’s helped foster over the last decade and a half through close involvement with events like Desertfest Berlin, Up in Smoke, Keep it Low (celebrating its 10th edition this year), Blue Moon Festival, Lazy Bones Festival, Desertfest Belgium and others, the growth in the last few years of Sound of Liberation‘s label wing, SOL Records, and generally wanting to pick his brain about bands, what he listens for in a new artist, and so on? You can see why it might be a lengthy interview.

Vandeven was kind enough to indulge this interrogation, and that is appreciated. Later this month, Sound of Liberation will begin a series of all-dayer events — there are more to come — scattered throughout this year in Germany. The first two announced were the SOL Sonic Ride in Cologne, the SOL Psych Out in Karlsruhe, and for June, already a second Sonic Ride has been announced in Wiesbaden. The lineups of course pull from Sound of Liberation‘s roster of talent: Colour Haze, 1000mods, Slomosa, Greenleaf, Valley of the Sun, King Buffalo, Brant Bjork, Gnome, Daevar, Daily Thompson, Kant, Earth Tongue and Lucid Void spread across the three-so-far lineups. Posters are included along with the Q&A that follows here.

I guess there’s a fair amount of assumption here that you know who Matte is and what he does, but for over 20 years he’s played bass in My Sleeping Karma — and was in The Great Escape before that — and headed up one of underground Europe’s broadest-reaching and most-impactful booking concerns. He is, in short, a professional, and someone who has helped shape heavy rock and the various associated microgenres as they are today. We’ve spoken before, so I wouldn’t say I was nervous to talk to him, exactly — no more so than when talking to humans at all — but this is somebody whose work and passion I deeply respect. It was great to catch up with him.

Congrats to SOL on 20 years, I can’t friggin’ wait to see My Sleeping Karma at Freak Valley this June, thanks to Matte for taking the time and thanks to you for reading. Q&A has been edited for clarity. Please enjoy:

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Happy 20th! I know, of course, the 15th anniversary celebration was a giant wreck because covid, although eventually it all worked out right. But I assume you’re hoping for a much smoother go on the SOL Sonic Rides. Tell me about 20 years of Sound of Liberation, what that means for you.

First of all, JJ, thanks for your time. It’s a pleasure to meet you here, and hopefully, soon in person. 20 years of Sound of Liberation. What can I say? Like everybody said, like, “Whoops. That was 20 years ago already?” Time’s passing by so quickly. So yeah. Hey, you named it. We wanted to celebrate the 15th. It was crashed by the covid pandemic, and we are just being thankful we have the chance to hopefully celebrate throughout the year on all our events, and see all the lovely people again which supported us over the last 20 years. At the moment, it’s just a feeling of being thankful to still do what what we are doing. And continuing hopefully, another 20 years of doing what we love.

I think it says something that the way you’re celebrating your 20th anniversary is basically by making a bunch more work for yourself. You have the Sonic Rides in March and in June. Is there more coming?

Yeah. See, here’s the thing. We’re doing quite a bunch of events throughout the years, with Keep it Low Festival, and also there’s Desertfest Berlin, and Up in Smoke in Switzerland. But, it turns out that we still have 40-50 bands on our booking roster, and we are trying to get as many as possible of them invited to events, and it turned out that the March period was fine for a few bands which are touring like Greenleaf around.

And yeah, Cologne was the easy city to reach, and we got the chance to gather the first 10 bands there, and in the summer period the King Buffalo dudes are around. Brother Brant Bjork is around, and so on. So we we added just another one in a beautiful location.

And we are not planning another three or four more, because the fall season is already busy with almost a festival every October weekend. So yeah, I think that’s fine. But let’s see how it goes. You know, we are not always planning things from a very, very long stretch. Sometimes it turns out that you have a bunch of bands around on the same weekend or the same date because of touring, and if we can create a small event out of it, why not?

I imagine over the course of 20 years you’ve seen a lot of venues come and go, a lot of bands come and go, but I imagine between SOL staff, bands and venues, you’ve built significant relationships along the way. Can you talk to me about developing those relationships and how that has let you extend your reach with Sound of Liberation?

I mean in 20 years like you said so many paths are crossing again, and when I think really back to the pioneer pioneer days, or whatever you want to call it, I have to name Colour Haze from Munich because Stefan is, in let’s say this underground music niche stoner heavy rock for so long as well with his Elektrohasch label and Colour Haze celebrating 30 years this year. I think Stefan with his label, and also starting to do first let’s say heavy rock happenings, back then.

In the year 2000, Swamp Room Mania or whatever it was called back then in Munich, there was already built a strong relationship. I was able to book then the first Colour Haze tours, and they are still on our roster now, and they are hitting the road [this] Friday on a bigger European tour.

That was 20 years ago, when we started searching for places where small German underground bands could find a spot to rock, and sometimes it was in just in side rooms of of bars, and you needed to wait until the sports event on the TV is over and you have built and even brought your own P.A. in the in the van. And then there was like eight drunken people there and listening to music they didn’t understand, so no.

That’s why I want to name color is because among many other bands. It’s a close relationship with Stefan for many years and understood how difficult it was for him also to press vinyls and release music only a bunch of people seem interested in so.

So you go from putting Colour in the side room at the bar to, with the festivals you mentioned, having a bit of an empire going. As you said, it’s every October weekend there’s a SOL-affiliated festival.

It’s every weekend in October, because you have up and you have Up in Smoke. You have Keep it Low.

There’s Desertfest Belgium.

Lazy Bones in Hamburg. Yeah, to look it, it sounds like an empire and building up something big. But I really have to say, like, it came organically, if we wanna use that word, and it would have not been possible without a great team I have behind me, and also the partnerships we are in, because honestly, I was not running around and calling throughout Germany to see who was interested to do a stoner rock festival in their venues, it’s the venues we are working with.

Or it’s the promoters, like in Switzerland. They have been in the market for a long time, and they were interested. Once we came around with club shows, they said, “Wow, this was big fun. Can we have more of those, or is there not a chance to do a one-day event or something like this?” So it was not only pushed by Sound of Liberation, or by me saying “I have something, and let’s make something big out of it.” We started all these events super small. I think, on the first Up in Smoke Festivals, maybe 300, 400 people in that 1,000 people room.

Keep it Low was for many years in the beloved place of the Feierwerk in Munich, which is more, two rooms with 400-450 capacity. But it was growing in the last couple of years so much that we needed for production terms, also to use the bigger venue in Munich, so what I want to say is,

we started something small as a really, yeah, an event for us, without the meaning of a financial profit, or like a building up something super big. It was more like it came over the years. And all these events are now like 10 years old already. So it’s nice that people still coming and are interested in. And yeah.

For example, Lazy Bones is a nice thing, because we we started it right after the pandemic as a two-day event in the center of Hamburg in summertime. And we were thinking like, “Wow, for sure, after the pandemic everybody wants to see live concerts.” In the end we had a massive lineup really like with I don’t know, Witch and King Buffalo, and 1000mods and Colour Haze and My Sleeping Karma and and and… and I think we had one day 250, and one day 280 people only for a lineup, which would probably draw 1,000 people. The people who were there like they were saying, “We are ashamed for Hamburg, we don’t know what’s happened.” And we said, “Okay, let’s give it another try.” I mean, it’s Hamburg. It’s a great city. And a year later it was working out much better already.

In the last 20 years, internet word of mouth, and now algorithms, have changed the way people encounter new music. How has that affected what you do? So much of promotion happens online now.

Yeah, I mean, you know it, JJ, and the people listening to our words now, they know it as well how fast the wheel is turning nowadays, and I would be lying if I would say, we don’t push the social medias. Of course we need to push it, because yeah, it’s part of the business now, like on every other business as well. You need to have a social media presence to be noticed.

Maybe the good thing is, when we started there wasn’t so much chance of social media and we were used to like sending our own posters and sending our own flyers, and hanging the posters in our favorite bars and rock bars and venues, and spreading the flyers in the street. So we also understood how.

Let’s say, how is it called mouth to mouth propaganda works. And yeah. So I think that’s good and helps to still have this knowledge. And yeah, to have built up a scene already before all the say social media took it mostly over nowadays. But we are still getting normal emails.

So also, when you are standing at the merch booth and talk with fans, especially a bit older ones, they are saying, like, you know, “we don’t use the Instagram. Send us an email or a newsletter. We prefer that because we are not Instagramers, Facebookers, Tiktokers, or whatever.”

In general terms for Sound of Liberation, what are you looking for from a band? And I don’t necessarily mean something specific, sound-wise. But is there something in terms of attitude or work ethic, or even musically, that lets someone stand out?

That’s a good question. That’s the that’s the tricky one, I mean. There’s so much good music out there, for millions of fans. Only a few like getting the attention, and many more deserve the attention as well.

Sometimes it’s not only in the music. Sometimes it’s not only in the attitude of the band, it’s maybe a mix of both. But let’s take an example: Slomosa, which are pretty much kicking off worldwide in the heavy rock scene. We discovered the band on a Spotify playlist. We loved this, let’s say, ‘hit record’ debut record. And I think that’s maybe very first point, they had a strong, very first record, like, let’s say, with hits on it, or music that catches you right away where I think like, “oh, what is this band? Wow! That that song sticks in my head I have to check, is there more?” And then finding out that the band is willing to put a lot of effort in their music and also in touring. So we started to bring them on live concert, and they develop themselves from a very good live band already into a live machine like super-good, super-good live playing band. So all in all, the complete package worked pretty great — like the album was good, they were on the road when they were playing shows. It went very fast that they were able to take the next steps. Of course we could help with booking expertise and putting them maybe on the right spots on festivals or support tours.

But I just wanted to name Slomosa, because it was very quick and was a band which came out of nothing, so to say, so to sum it up, every band has the chance. There was no demo center on. There was no management which pushed, or music industry which pushed and said, “this is the next big thing.” There were some good songs on Spotify. Maybe on the right playlist. So I don’t know how that worked, and in the end it led to a very fast progression of the band.

Slomosa kind of came out of the gate ready though. With most bands, they gel over the first few records, depending on the band. Some get there, some don’t. What do you do with a band who destroys live and the record’s not there? How involved with your bands can you get? Or have you gotten?

It really depends from band to band. If we are asked for our opinion, we give the opinion, but we don’t point out and say like, “Hey, you should do this.” It’s art, and everybody has their own perspective on it. But now, in viewing it, sometimes we wish some bands would maybe ask a little bit more around what they could do better in terms of maybe songwriting or structures, getting some more advices, not from me, but maybe in general, before they put out a release to get the maximum out of it. But yeah, it really depends from band to band. I mean only a few bands in our genre are putting really all their efforts or dedicating their life just to this band, to reach the next steps very fast, to be maybe even be able to live from the music. That’s already difficult.

Let’s say we are working with a lot of semi-professional bands in our genre. The people have normal day jobs and have music as a hobby and the free time they have, they’re using it for touring or recording. And yeah. So the advice we could give is really individual to the artist, on the path they are choosing for their music. But If the right demo comes, and the right attitude is there and the band really wants it, I think, as a booking agency in our genre, of course, we are able to help and to get the band faster on some bigger stages, because that’s still the most important. The more people you can have in front of stage, and you can convince about your music, the better the chance to step up the ladder a bit a bit faster.

You mentioned King Buffalo before. That’s an established band you’re bringing in. Obviously, that’s a different process from plucking a new band starting out. What are some of the considerations there?

King Buffalo is also a good example. They are a super-hardworking band. It’s work like it’s really a machine, like so much output they had during the pandemic and after and all with great quality. And that’s what I meant before, like these are guys who, like dedicated their lives to their band and they love touring. And all the time you see the list of touring in the States over here in in Europe, you think like so wow! Are they having a home, or are they just on the road?

King Buffalo has reached let’s say, a certain level, where it’s easier for us to book, because they have proved they are super live band, and they have the great albums, and they have a good following. So they are getting the chance to go bigger and bigger in the in the venues. Now they can play some bigger club shows already in in bigger venues, which is very, very good for the time the band is around, because they are still a still a young band, and they have a lot more to come for them if they continue like that. I have no doubt on that.

Is it harder now for a US Band to go to Europe, or for a European band to go to the US?

I think it’s still more difficult for a European band to go to the US. With all the visas you need and a bit harder conditions than we have over here in Europe. I think it’s still easy to plan your European tour, and of course you need some paperwork, but not that much. And, as you know, JJ, we have a there’s a good infrastructure also out here with van rentals and backlines and the driving distances are shorter, maybe. The hospitality is a bit better. No offense.

I get it. You might get a meal or a place to stay in Europe. You probably don’t get a meal in the US. Yes.

It’s still easier for the bands from the US touring in Europe than vice versa.

No, my country totally hates culture. It’s an ironic part of our culture. To shift gears entirely, My Sleeping Karma in December came back to the stage for your first shows since Steffen passed, and I cannot imagine how emotional this was for you. This first gig in particular. Can you talk a little bit about bringing the band back and what that’s been like? You have a busy year coming up at this point, and I keep seeing more added.

My Sleeping Karma is also 20 years old, so it’s big part of our lives. Seppi, Norman, and me, who are still around and able to now continue again with My Sleeping Karma, which was a very tough and very emotional and very sensitive decision. We have been the same lineup for more than 20 years. The band is years 20 old, but we had other projects before we were playing together. And we were really questioning and doubting if if we can continue with Sleeping Karma or bring this back again with a with a live show.

It took a while, and at one point our light engineer, who was traveling with us for years, Andre came up and asked Seppi and me if it’s possible just to jam just for like the sake of a jam. And maybe he had the feeling these guys need to have guitars in the hand again, and need to just be together again, to be able to even think about continuing, because we had not met up for a year. Nobody wanted to go in in the rehearsal room. Nobody wanted to, I don’t know, even talk about the band and so we did this jam and it felt good. Maybe it just felt good to hear the sound again of our band, or feel the vibe of the of the band members like just doing their thing what we have started long time ago.

And so we left on these meetings a bit with an open end and said, “Hey, okay, if the time fits like we jam another time and a few months later there was the time again to meet up and to jam. And Andre came prepared like with five songs really he worked on. He didn’t really say anything about it and we played Sleeping Karma songs, and it sounded alright.

Over the next couple of weeks and months, it developed more and more the idea of like, “Hey! What do you think? Should we do it again? How is it feeling for you like a lot of forward and backward until we…” and I, I really have to say, the fans and friends, and also the families, were a big, big part of this, encouraging us saying, like, “Hey guys, please, life needs to go on. And you guys are there and don’t stop making music. Please go on with that band. It means a lot to us.” And we got so many messages and so much feedback and we decided to continue with Sleeping Karma.

And we really did not know until that first concert in Munich on Colour Haze’s 30th birthday, two days before our hometown show in Aschaffenburg, if it would work, how it would feel the first time on stage in front of people. And then also with bands we’ve known for a long time, it all felt super alright, I think. Very emotional concerts, but also with some magic in which I cannot describe.

Everybody who plays in bands and knows I’m not talking about the groove or the flow like it was more This grown energy, which was there again, and not just created by the moment but created from us the band members over years, and so half of our life and everything was somehow in, and it was somehow clear: We are doing the right thing. It was clear not because people gave a lot of applause or wanted encores. But it was there the full moment, the full thing, why we started the band. And yeah, I hope we have Steffen’s blessing for that to continue.

I would imagine so. I have never seen My Sleeping Karma, and I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve been a fan of your band since your first record. So 20 years.

Yeah, we never made it to the US.

No, no, it’s not on you. It’s on me. But I this year is the year I’m lined up to see the band. Freak Valley’s on the calendar. I have been looking forward to it since that announcement.

We’re looking forward to that show as well at Freak Valley Festival. It’s always also like a homecoming. Good people there and it will hopefully be a great night, another emotional one.

There will be more concerts before this. I don’t know the number, but it’s not really a lot. We are not able to go on bigger tours now, or we didn’t want them. It’s like more still, finding our place again.

One more topic jump. The label. You gotta tell me about SOL Records. I feel like, okay, SOL Records happens a few years ago. I get the email about it. My response was like, “Well, yeah, duh.”

In 2005 we started Sound of Liberation and a few months later I had also founded that record label but never had the time to take care of it. At that time I was the one man army and had too much going on with the booking agency.

But yeah SOL Records also grew organically. My beloved word, organically growing, haha. But it is really like that. And so pretty much what happened, the pandemic came — no more live music. Everything crashed down, no more touring. We were sitting on a bunch of merch like already produced for festivals, already produced for touring bands. A lot of leftover back then from years of music business. So we said, “Okay, only chance. We can still go on doing things we love. Let’s build up a webshop.” With the help of our former employee “Stef” we launched the shop and afterwards we were thinking , “Why are we not releasing at least music we like without a small without, like, you know, searching for the biggest bands right away, and starting just with people we know, and friends and underground music. Our employee, Jakob (26 years old) is taking care of the label now.

He was working in a record store, and he came to our team and he said, “Hey, I really I really love this all. I love the bands. I love the sound. If I would have the chance to work a few hours on the mail order, and maybe on the label at one day.” And so we said like, “Hey, so why not? If we have somebody who’s like really focused and dedicated on this. Who wants to do it.” More or less, it’s in Jakob’s hands.

So then one thing came to another, we had the chance to re-release Trails & Passes from Greenleaf. You know the rights were free, and they gave us the chance, and also Monkey3’s 39 Laps record. And then we did our own releases. And all of a sudden I don’t know what one and a half years we had six or seven releases. We didn’t understand how fast that goes. We were a bit lucky also with pressing plants, because, as you remember, in the pandemic it was a wreck. Six to nine months until you were able to get a pressing plant or the finished product. And we had good luck. We were able to get four releases or something right after the pandemic.

And now same here with the label. We are not pushing it hard heart and signing bands, and, you know, like releases releases releases. It’s more like, Hey, what do we have the capacity for? Which music fits us right? And yeah, then. So no big business plans behind. No, not the not going for the giant corporate. Just needed to be done.

My favorite thing about it is it’s young bands. You mentioned the reissues and stuff, too, but you’re signing new bands.

Like guys from Ruff Majik. You have heard their music, or maybe you’re familiar with the band from South Africa, loving totally what they are. Yeah, and those guys have so much energy and put so much effort in and reached out more or less for help. And we booked the tour. So we made a plan and said, like, “Hey, why aren’t we are not doing things the right way? Let’s have a release ready next time when you are touring.”

Because do you remember how often that goes like, hey, we go into album-release tour, and then all of a sudden, sorry, album is delayed for two or three months, so we are trying to avoid that a little bit with not a business plan, but with a better structure and long-term planning. And I think that also helps a lot.

I think that’s also super important for young bands to have a bit of a timeline. I know it’s super difficult to think “Oh, we are now in February, what are we doing [next] winter? But every bigger or known band already knows what they are doing [next] winter, either recording or touring. So that’s also a big part of the growing process of a band, having a good plan structure and a good timeline for themselves to understand, “these are our goals we want to reach,” and also transporting these ideas to their partners or business partners, like record labels and booking agencies in order to get the maximum out of it.

Because, how often has the promo for the record come after once the tour was done, band was back at home? “So, hey, I just discovered this band. Let’s see when they are coming on tour. Oh, shit! They were here two months ago.”

If we can help with that with our expertise, that also helps. But back to the point. Still, we love what we are doing, and we are still infected by sound. And the music is the most important. And if a demo hits us or a band hits us, and then we yeah, then it’s not easy to say, no, we want to help because we love the album so much, or like the band, so much. So. Yeah.

So we released the Ruff Majik record, and what I like about it is it was not no more the typical, let’s say, Black Sabbath stoner rock, like there was so much different kind of rock music in, and so much freshness in that record that we decided like, “Hey, we wanna we want to release that one.” Not only we want to help Johni [Holiday] because they were in the EU touring, and nobody gets rich selling vinyls or CDs.

And I guess the touring helps them a lot, you know, being around a lot seeing other bands sharing the stages. Playing a lot live is the most important. I know it’s a difficult thing, “How do we get on the stage?” It’s always the same thing. Do you have a good demo? But you have no chance to play live. Difficult. It stays difficult, but there’s a big chance out now with the social media and the web like to gain new fans, friends, clients, however, you want to call it like it was never, maybe never so hard, but also never so easy to be recognized like this.

My Sleeping Karma, “Ephedra” live at Colour Haze’s 30th Anniversary, Dec. 28, 2024

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Hi guys,

First of all, wow, it was great to see you this weekend. Both getting the chance to say a quick hello can getting to watch you play six or seven years after the last time that happened were standouts in a weekend full of thrills. I’m pretty sure Karl said the name of the band onstage at some point during the set, and I wanted to talk with you guys about that for a minute.

It’s not my interest here to tell anyone how to live their life, or to tell a band they’re ‘wrong’ about a thing. It’s art. That kind of ‘wrong’ doesn’t exist. You guys have been around well over 15 years, have been through shortening your moniker from Jeremy Irons and the Ratgang Malibus (which you were still called last time I saw you) and JIRM, and you’re well aware of who you are as artists and performers. That was clear from the stage, certainly clear on The Tunnel, the Well and Holy Bedlam, and has been a typifying factor of your artistic growth all along..

After the name change, when the leap was made from Spirit Knife (11 years ago now) to Surge Ex Monumentis, it seemed like you really were beginning to explore a new path. The band became more progressive, more melodically centered, and more intricate in terms of style. As a listener outside the band, it was almost like becoming JIRM set you free from genre in a way that Jeremy Irons and the Ratgang Malibus maybe couldn’t or weren’t ready to be.

You should know that when I wrote that last sentence above just now and I said the name of the band, I said the word “germ.” Karl had it as J-I-R-M the other day, and that’s what I wanted to reach out about.

I don’t want to be telling anybody what to do, but I do feel kind of surprisingly strong about this, that JIRM should be the word and not the acronym.

Why?

A few reasons. First and foremost, it fits better. As JIRM, you guys are a heavy progressive, forward-thinking and forward-songwriting unit. Your songs are expansive and atmospheric, but you’re still able on stage to back, pull out an old song and riff away when you want. It’s a beautiful thing.

Calling yourselves J-I-R-M acknowledges where you’ve come from, sure, but I’d be to bet that the majority of your listenership already knows you were Jeremy Irons and the Ratgang Malibus, and for those who don’t, well, it might be a cool thing to found out that this band you just heard called JIRM who’ve been around for a while used to be called something else and that their name, which, again, you pronounce like “germ,” actually stands or used to stand for this long band name, kind of absurd but still cool. It makes the old name lore, and part of the journey, which of course it is.

JIRM, as name-not-acronym, is less alienating to new fans in this way. You’re not immediately telling people there’s something they don’t know, which can be off-putting, and in evoking a germ, a thing that spreads disease, one is reminded yuck-factor classic prog and krautrock, records with gross covers and so forth.

Tying yourselves to this opens up a world of potential exploration, and you’re already there, so it’s wonderful, but JIRM instead of J-I-R-M keeps the focus on who you are now, where you’re going. It sounds weird. It’s short. It’s spelled funny. It’s counterintuitive to the fluidity of your music in a way that ties right in with decades of underground progressive heavy rock, and it’s memorable and no one else has it. To let that go seems like missing an opportunity to express part of who you are with your identity in a way that as J-I-R-M you simply can’t do.

Plus, JIRM rolls off the tongue in a way an acronym never can. There’s something to be said for efficiency.

Please know that I’m not being a smartass or trying to take the piss. I’m not, and I hope that with 16 years of doing this site behind me, you’ll trust me when I say that. I write to you as someone who genuinely enjoys and has enjoyed your music, and someone who apparently cares enough about the course of your ongoing progression to do something like this.

I hope you’ll consider the above, and if not, it’s cool, I get it. Do your thing. Thanks either way for the time and attention.

Much love,
JJ

For some reason, I don’t usually put music with an obituary or a remembrance for someone who’s passed away. In this case, that’s extra ridiculous. So much of what you ever knew about Jason — and it was only Jason; his last name was Limpantsis, but you never saw it printed on their records, promo materials or anything else, and if you asked, they’d give you the runaround; he was just Jason — was his voice. When I read last night that he’d died, this song immediately started to play in my head:

A tear, listening to the arrival of that culmination. That scream, gutted out and no put-on from the throat. His whole body is in it. “From Below” closes Solace’s 2010 third album, A.D. (review here), and is both the most elaborate/grandiose and the most heartwrenchingly raw vocal arrangement I ever heard Jason record. There are six or more layers blasting at you full intensity and it still carries even more weight in the emotional expression than in the impact of the song itself — this was a person with an exceedingly rare gift, a sweet heart and a deep shadow.

I don’t remember when I met Jason for the first time — Brighton Bar? some show? — but the last time I saw him socially (I would see him on stage again) was at Solace guitarist Tommy Southard’s wedding in Oct. 2011. Dave Sherman (R.I.P. 2022) was there too. Solace played as I recall and we were all as drunken gods. The revelry. It was Asbury Lanes, so also, bowling. Anyhow, I’d been writing about the band at that point for the better part of a decade and had done shows opening for them in the band I was in, and at one point in the evening, a markedly intoxicated Jason came up to wherever I was sitting, kind of cornered me, and let me have it.

Dude went on. Mostly about the writing. How much he appreciated what I’d said about him, especially about A.D., for which I retain the softest of soft spots, and that he’d been affected by the work I’d done related to Solace. It was a humbling experience. I won’t go too much into it, but in the social pecking order, nobody’s holding up music journo-types as paragons. Nobody remembers who wrote the review that inspired them to hear an album. They remember the album, and reasonably so. Same with me. So you get somewhat used to people talking smack about lazy reviewers or people getting things wrong, being on a low rung of the social pecking order, whatever. This was the opposite of that, and though liquid courage was an element in making it happen in the first place — because even semi-sober Jason would’ve been far too reserved for that kind of thing — he wasn’t any sloppier than all of us at the time, and it was his quiet sincerity that hit me hardest.

Somehow the same is true of “From Below.”

But with no reason to beyond the fact that he could, Jason took time to be kind. He was famously inconsistent, and I’d imagine at times infuriating to be in a band with. Stories abound of his unreliability, and by all accounts much of the reason Solace took eight years to make A.D. after their debut, 1999’s Further (discussed here), and their 2002 follow-up, 13 (discussed here), was attributable to his taking so long to finish the vocals. I’m not saying this to air dirty laundry at all; it was part of who he was. But when he got on stage and opened his mouth, you stopped and you listened. He had the look, charisma, the voice — of all the frontmen I shared a stage with, I envied his voice most — and the depth of soul behind it.

I know he struggled. As forceful as he could be singing, he was wounded, somehow. Like he felt smaller in himself than he was. We hadn’t spoken since that night when Tommy married Jenn, and he wasn’t the type to keep in touch after his time with the band was done. The last words he said to me were kind. I think he was often alone, I’m sad he’s gone, and I’ll treasure his work all the more for the rest of my days for having known him for the time I did. Rest in peace.

—

Thank you for reading. This is going to be it to close out the week, i.e. no Friday Full-Length. Follow one of the links above and listen to Solace instead. That’s always why I put them there, but more so in this case. Either way, have a great and safe weekend. Tell someone you love them.