Friday Full-Length: 35007, 35007
Posted in Bootleg Theater on March 2nd, 2018 by JJ KoczanI know it’s pronounced ‘Loose’ but somehow I just always think it’s more fun to call Dutch progressive heavy rockers 35007 by their numerical moniker. I say it, “Three-Five-Double-Oh-Seven” and it’s twice as enjoyable when I happen to be talking about their 1997 self-titled sophomore outing, which while representing very little of where the Eindhoven-based outfit’s progressive path would ultimately wind up being, nonetheless brazenly captured a truly special moment in their progression.
Change happens. Turn, turn, turn and all that. If, however, you were to listen to 35007 1994 debut, Especially for You, and their 2005 swansong, Phase V (discussed here), you’d be well excused for thinking it was the work of two different bands. That’s a cliche, to be sure, but it holds up in the case of 35007‘s 35007 (reissue review here), and doubly so because not only does progression take place with the album — as in, the band growing from one release to the next — but also within it. Starting out with relatively straightforward cuts like “Herd” and “Soul Machine” and “Short Sharp Left,” which of course had their progressive aspects deeply akin to the work of fellow Nederlanders Astrosoniq, 35007‘s self-titled — sometimes also called Into the Void We Travelled, and who could argue? — shifts with the space-chugging seven-minute “Undo” into a next stage of evolution, richly arranged and while not as psychedelic or as patient as they’d become on the subsequent Liquid LP in 2002 or Phase V after that, it was a big forward step in the weirdo quotient that would be telling of their overarching evolution even as they seemed to deconstruct it immediately by moving into the low-end driven “Big Bore,” though that song, while shorter and more intense, still turned to a section of samples before its come-unhinged second half, also marked by a multi-layer solo and an ultra-insistent, on-the-beat stoner groove. In other words, once it shows up, that weirdness shows up, it doesn’t completely go away.
Like many of their peers in the yes-this-shit-existed sphere of pre-social-media heavy, 35007 were considerably ahead of their time. Maybe a decade or so? In any case, the variety they brought to 35007, turning to the Zeppelin-under-the-sea acoustics of “Vein” after “Big Bore,” continues to speak to the adventurous spirit of their songcraft, which of course was a defining element in the arc of their tenure overall. 35007, taken front-to-back over its hour-long runtime, is a heady listen. It pivots from track to track and if one isn’t careful in hearing it, it’s almost too easy to get left behind in “Short Sharp Left” while the group — then comprised of vocalist Eeuwout Baart, guitarists Bertus Fridael and Mark Sponselee (the latter also synth), and drummer Jacco Van Rooy — moved through “Undo,” “Big Bore” and “Vein” toward the funky guitar-winding “66,” further distinguished by the bass beneath and the organ on top, the mix seeming to present itself in tiers via separation of instruments. It’s an effect strange enough that the only fair thing to call it is progressive, and again, had 35007 arrived in 2007 instead of 1997, I’d probably still say it was ahead of its time. Come to think of it, the more I listen, the less planet earth seems to be caught up to it now in general. It’s like slipstream rock.
The willfully kosmiche “Powertruth” and the patient foreshadow of “Locker 21″‘s 15-minute multi-stage unfolding would seem to be the answer to the question of into which particular void 35007 were travelling. A fun exercise in this age of digital listening? Stop “Locker 21” somewhere between 12 and 14 minutes in, go back and put on “Soul Machine.” It’s unreal how far the band brings their audience across the self-titled’s span, and while there are shared aspects of sonic progressivism between them, the album’s closer finds the band moving into a dimension of their own making, in which they’d continue to dwell during the rest of their time together. The raucous finish given in the “21” section of the track, for which the vocals rejoin the fray, caps with a wash of noise that might just be the blastoff, fading into the distance like a rocket moving beyond the range of human eyes as it heads out of the atmosphere. Rest assured, things only got stranger from there for 35007.
But again, what makes their self-titled so rare is how apparent — admittedly, in hindsight — the change in the band is throughout the album. They’d lose Baart on vocals and press forward as an instrumental unit, but even beyond that, the turns of sound they make in these nine cuts are nothing short of incredible when one considers that the album as a whole still ties together as much as they want it to. It would be five years before they’d move onto their next triumph with Liquid, but even Phase V can only really be considered the realization of what began on 35007 because it was the last record they made. Had they kept going, who knows what distances and vast reaches of sound the band might have covered in their next phase and beyond.
As always, I hope you enjoy. Cheers to Remco Zwakenberg on Thee Facebooks for the pick.
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Woke up with the alarm at 3:30AM. I’d been up four times before that. Once as a result of the baby crying, the rest just up. I haven’t been sleeping for a few weeks now. I crash out by 8:30 and am up again every 90 minutes or so. It’s been pretty brutal. This morning though, I could’ve gotten up at 2AM but decided to get back in bed and give myself the extra time even though I knew it would be limited. Yesterday I made the opposite decision. I can’t vouch for which way tomorrow will go.
I’m sore all over. My body is so bloated from retaining water that even my face is swollen. This eating disorder treatment. I don’t know. I don’t feel healthy. I don’t feel “better.” It hurts to walk or sit or lie down, I’ve gotten so huge in such a short amount of time that I’m embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror — seriously, I didn’t shower this morning so I wouldn’t have to see my own body [note: I eventually showered] — and I’m just fucking miserable. I got a couple very nice notes and comments last week, and thanks for those if you were someone who sent one. Hugely appreciated. I have a really hard time believing any of this is going to get better, though and that I’m not just damaging myself in some other, substantially less satisfying manner.
Don’t get me wrong — I’ve enjoyed making my own granola and grinding my own nut butters and roasting cauliflower and I’ve had a few dinners in the past month and a half that would absolutely knock your socks off — but has it been worth it? Hell no. My nutritionist keeps talking about all this extra energy I must have now. Yeah, fucking super. Extra energy so I can not sleep. Extra energy to feel like shit with. And you want to make the case that eating is healthier than not eating? Well, no shit. But let me ask you this: if I have three well balanced meals a day and well-timed snacks in between designed in food-as-fuel manner to keep me going throughout my day rather than deny myself that and subsist on protein shakes and coffee, do I get to live forever? Can I be 102 like my grandmother was and have no idea who any of my relatives are and accuse my child of robbing me and my home health-aid worker of beating me and try to escape my own house every chance I get because I’ve got dementia and I’m confused and I think I’m being kept prisoner? Can I fling open the windows and yell “help! help!” until someone calls the cops? Is that the long satisfying life that refeeding is going to get me? Can I grow through middle age and ruin my son’s perspective on the world around him with my cynical, depressive bullshit? Can I make it so my wife feels like she has to walk on eggshells around me because she doesn’t know what’s going to set me off on a spiral of self-loathing? Can I continue to burden my family financially and emotionally? Can I continue to disappoint myself in terms of my own work writing, both in quantity and quality? Can I continue to have hundreds of creative ideas and no means, time, money or strength of will or character to bring them to fruition? Can I live just long enough to get some fucking cancer that should’ve been cured 50 fucking years ago and have that kill me? Are these the kinds of things I’m buying myself with this process? More of this? Because I’ll be honest with you: you can fucking keep all of it. I’d rather do the universe around me the favor of dying skinny than keep going through this, my failure on every level wafting from me like an aura — the very core of my being.
I’ve been fat my whole life. Fat. Not big. Not large. Fat. My whole life. Dangerously fat. The Russian endocrinologist I went to couple years back entered it into his computer as “morbidely obese” and got mad when I corrected his spelling. But that’s what I’ve been. Dangerously fat. Risk of heart attack, all kinds of cancers, diabetes — all that shit fat people get. Why can’t I live on the other end of it? Why? Why can’t I be dangerously skinny instead? I’m dehydrated? My kidney function is all screwed up? I’m at risk of “sudden death?” Well so is everybody all the time. And you know what? I’d rather be fucking dead than going the way I’m going now. I was tired and cold? So fucking what? I put on a hoodie and some warm socks and went to bed early. I slept better before. I felt better before. At least I had some fucking control. Now I eat a half-cup of almonds and I feel like I’m going to lose it. This is what I’m keeping myself alive for? More of this? More of my legs being so swollen I’ve got cankles? More doctors? More meds? More driving all over the fucking place to be told that what I’ve done to my body was wrong like I didn’t fucking deserve every second of deterioration I got? Crock of shit. Keep it. What a waste of my fucking time.
I’m in New Jersey next week from Sunday through Thursday. Going home for a few days. I’m anxious about it. I don’t want to be seen. Not by friends, family, anybody really. I feel like I could send The Patient Mrs. and the baby and everyone would get what they wanted out of the trip anyway and I could just stay home and curl up on the couch by myself and not talk to people. Not have to explain anything. Not ruin anyone’s day by just being there.
Fuck it.
Here’s the schedule for posts:
Mon.: Freedom Hawk track premiere; Eldhamn video premiere; shit ton of news.
Tue.: The Golden Grass track premiere; Argus video; another shit ton of news.
Wed.: Rongeur track premiere; MaidaVale video.
Thu.: Black Royal track premiere; Dollar Llama video.
Fri.: Hashteroid track premiere; Six Dumb Questions with Akula.
There. Let me just say I’m not fishing for comments or support or anything like that with the above. I’m not. This is my outlet. It’s all I’ve got. If I’m going to say this anywhere, this is where I need to say it and it’s the only space I have in my life where I can do that. If you think it’s bullshit, I sincerely apologize. Trust me, I thought long and hard about this before I clicked “publish.” But this is where I’m at right now and frankly it’s more important to me to express myself honestly and be true to my own headspace than it is for me to be like, “Haha riffs bro!” and pretend everything’s cool on all fronts while my skull feels like it’s going to collapse on itself. I’m doing the fucking best I can to hold it together. This is part of that. If you can’t get on board, or you don’t give a fuck, or you think it’s whiny bullshit, then congratulations on your well-adjusted disposition. I hope it continues to serve you throughout your long, deeply satisfying life. And yes, I mean that sincerely.
Alright. I gotta go empty the dishwasher. Please have a great and safe weekend. And please check out the forum and the radio stream. They both need love.
