06.20.22 – 5:33AM – Mon. – Airport Sheraton, Toronto, ON, CAN

Let me spoil the punchline early: It was all worth it.

After a relaxed breakfast of peppery eggs and cheese at the Fünf10 Hotel in Netphen, where I stayed for the festival, a few emotional-for-me-at-least goodbyes and a quick gas-up, I was on the way back to Frankfurt Airport. Driving the van was the man himself, Alexander Fuchs, who coordinates various ends of Rock Freaks Records and does the YouTube channel as well as being in charge of coordinating logistics for pickups, dropoffs, comings and goings for Freak Valley — there is no substitute for competence, and he’s got that in spades — and I was traveling with Chris, Marty and Dave from Slomatics, which was only a joy. It was a relaxed trip, dropped Severin Sandvik from Kosmodome at the train station in Siegen, then no real traffic to speak of on a sunny Sunday morning.

Got there, hopped out, went in, found Air Canada, checked in, dedided to pull the bag of vinyl out of my luggage to get it under the maximum limit where they charge you more instead of my latptop, security, stumbled around looking for and failing to find the Lego store, and so on. Went to the gate, Slomatics dudes were nearby, so sat, had a coffee and a few more laughs, and then they left and I got some writing done for today (not this; I didn’t think I was going to post again about the travel, but alas). Gate change, oh isn’t that cute, so galumphed to the new gate right next door. Listened to Barr’s Skogsbo is the Place — a longtime travel companion; someday I’ll go to Skogsbo — and waited.

The flight was Frankfurt FRA to Toronto YYZ (hey you like Rush?). Original plan was direct, same as the way from Newark EWR to Germany going over, but United canceled that flight and put me instead on one with the Toronto connection. I’d have 90 minutes at the airport in Canada, maybe long enough to buy a fridge magnet, before another two-hour trip home. I went from a window to a middle seat — which, being a gentleman of some physical proportion, is always a bummer — and couldn’t change it. But at least I’d be home when it was done.

So. They loaded us onto the airplane and we sat for 90 minutes before taking off. The pilot said there was some delay putting in fuel or some such. 90 minutes on the plane before even moving. My connection? Still had a chance, but it would be dash-through-the-airport tight, or maybe get on one of those fun-looking cart trains that always beep at you when you walk in front of them. Anyway, it was a great weekend, I’d figure it out.

I bought the in-flight internet, which was $20 for a connection not good enough to stream YouTube. The pandemic made flying worse. It’s like a covered wagon in the sky. Everybody’s mad and sad and disgruntled and uncomfortable and ripped off, breathing dirty air through their masks. Rickety-ass mode of transportation. Two drunk ladies got kicked off the plane while we were sitting. Two dudes on either side of me, my head down, that airplane film of sweat and recycled air that gets on you when you fly. Just a mess.

Let’s say it was a far cry from the vibe at Freak Valley this weekend. I was never a huge fan of commercial air travel, which is putting it mildly, and I think it’s immoral to make people pay money to see the world let alone to reap unheard of profits while doing things like charging $20 for dogshit internet, but we only get one planet, one life, and even if the revolution comes, I’m feeling these days like it’s going to be the wrong one, so okay. At least I could message The Patient Mrs. to check in, keep her apprised of my progress, complain about the delay. Generally brighten her evening as only my grumpy ass can.

Buying that internet turned out to be the right call. It allowed me to see that my second flight, which I stood a darn good chance of missing anyway, was canceled. I was back and forth sending messages to The Patient Mrs., what do I do, what happens with my luggage, all this. In between, tried and failed to sleep, played a little Final Fantasy IV on my phone, kept up with the baseball game as it just so happened the Yankees were in Toronto playing the Blue Jays. I brought five Devin Townsend records with me for the trip. Listened to all of them and that lessened the stress, but if I’d remembered the xanax in my bag, I’d have been on that for sure. Too distracted. But you pass the time.

The plane landed just as Neurosis’ “Stones From the Sky” started to blow itself to pieces. Nearly perfect. I’d go to the ticket counter with the other connecting-flight types and get it sorted. The Patient Mrs. rebooked me on a 1pM Monday trip — we’d talked about buses, trains, renting a car and just driving the seven hours, which I swear if I could do right this second I would because it would get me home faster and save me going back to the airport, different times to fly — and a hotel room at the Airport Sheraton. Not roughing it.

I don’t eat airline food. It’s shit and it smells like it. By the time we land, I’m frazzled, not knowing where to go, what’s up with my bag, how I’m getting to the hotel shuttle, which shuttle to take, which Sheraton it is because there are like 10 right by the airport, on and on and on. My mind just pummeling me. And I’m starving because the last thing I ate was a 9AM breakfast on European time, at least 12 hours earlier, maybe more? I don’t have the brain power to do that math right now. Still really exhausted.

Because I want both an in-person confirmation of my makeup flight and I want to ask about my bag, I go to the connecting flights thing. We’d sat again at the gate because apparently there was no one there to meet us. This was the most excruciating part of the trip, and I felt like I was losing my mind. One flight attendant said to sit, then another one came and said to go to the front of the plane if you were connecting, so I did that, then the other flight attendant came back and got snippy about it, I got a little snippy back, but I stopped short of telling her to fuck off, and I feel like that’s a triumph. I think you can get arrested for that kind of shit.

Anyway, eventually they opened the door, and I walked to the connecting flights desk, which I found manned solely by Young Jimmy, who it was immediately clear knew nothing about anything. There was a line. I stood on it, felt stupid, left, went to customs, miserable, wretched, awful, less fascist than in America but not by much — also got my vaccine card checked, which made me glad I had it along — went to baggage claim, stood, sat, waited to see if maybe they’d just dump my luggage there. No dice. Also no one at the little info desk there, but there was some kind of baggage claim services open, so I went to that. Dude was also angry. At everything. He said it “should” work out that I’ll get my bag in Newark today. Obviously I’m not holding my breath or I’d have passed out by now.

Followed signs to the hotel shuttles, around, downstairs, past closed exits, various whatnot. It was later by then, so most stuff was closed. On the sidewalk, I asked a driver how much to the hotel — shuttle’s supposed to be free, mind you — and he said $20. I told him no way, it was like three blocks (which is true) and he goes, “For you, just for you, $10.” I’d have paid it just to get out of there, but he didn’t take a card. In retrospect, probably because he wasn’t supposed to be taking money at all. Went and asked a cab, dude goes, “$30.” I laughed and said, “forget it” and walked away.

Wandered back and forth on the sidewalk. It would’ve been four in the morning in Germany, but I wanted to call Alex and say, “Hey man, I need a ride and no one here knows what the hell they are doing,” and in my head I could hear him go, “Shit!” then take a drag off his cigarette and say, “Well, we go,” and fix everything. He’d staff the airport and have me home in 45 minutes. I shit you not, the dude is magic. Alas.

Coordinating with The Patient Mrs. — who, as great as Alex is, is the most capable human I’ve ever met, by a wide margin — was not a hardship, even over text and phone. We will have been together for 25 of my 40 years as of this September, and if I could live 10 times as long with her I would. She is the universe in which my life happens, do you understand? I love her with every fiber of my being and I am defined by that.

Some stoner dudes on the shuttle seem to recognize the YOB shirt or at least peg me as somewhat-less-square. We did that acknowledge-each-other’s-presence-among-normal-people thing that you do. More than a nod, not nearly a conversation. My skin melting off my bones from the experience I’d just had, my brain setting itself on fire with hunger, fatigue, worry, I wasn’t much for socializing anyhow.

By the time I got to the counter to check in — the line of people from the shuttle in front of me — I had heard the spiel enough times to tell the young woman that the wifi is Sheraton_Guest, that the restaurant closed at 11PM but the bar was open till 12, that the shuttle came at 25 and 55 past the hour and that the hold was $50 on my card for incidentals in the room. These are exploited workers. Pretty young women set up like props to give people coming in a sense of the refinement of the place. The means of production. Assets. That capitalist pig, Sir Topham Hat — yes, I gave the Slomatics guys my political take on Thomas the Tank Engine in Frankfurt; they are the best dudes, period. — would smile in his fucking tuxedo.

Like the airport, the restaurant was understaffed and not ready for the rush of people. And about to close since it was 10:35 or so after I finished checking in. I didn’t even go upstairs to put my bookbag down — remember I still didn’t have my luggage, but I had my bookbag, which is why I’m not currently crying and losing my mind wondering where my camera is — just walked in and asked for a grilled chicken caesar salad, no croutons. My standby. Waited. Waiting. Waiting on the plane. Waiting at the airport. Waiting at the other airport. Waiting now. Wait. Weight.

Voice in the back of my head: You know, there was a time when you were small in those airplane seats. Always there, that one.

I found on a bench a wrapped travel toothbrush and toothpaste — the kind someone had definitely gotten from the front counter of the hotel — and asked if they belonged to anyone. No answer, so I snatched those because all my clothes, toiletries, etc., are in my luggage, and, well, you gotta brush your teeth. Came up to the room. I tell you, I ate the living crap out of that salad. The salad didn’t stand a chance. After that, quick shower, even quicker call to say goodnight to The Patient Mrs. then basically right to bed as it was well past midnight. Bought D.C. Fontana’s Star Trek novel because I’ve never read it, and made it about three pages in before I was out. My alarm was set for 9:30 — fucking luxury — and I woke up at 4:45. Go figure. I’m not sure what time zone I’m in, but I know my brain and body are spread out across at least two right now.

The point of all this? I already told you: It was all worth it.

And whatever fresh, steaming mountain of bullshit today might bring once I go back to the airport dealing with my luggage, etc.? That will be worth it too.

Being able to go to Freak Valley Festival for the first time, to chat to Jens about the place, to meet people like Alex, Volker and so many others, to see friends of long-standing like Pete Holland, Rolf, Désirée, Falk-Hagen, Kirsten, Slomatics (I might make it a quiet mission to get them to New York one of these days), on and on, it meant so much to me. I already did the big thank-you thing yesterday, so I don’t want to repeat myself, but I’ll never forget the kindness, the warmth and welcome I was shown were genuinely touching. And even knowing now what would follow that experience, I’d still jump in in a heartbeat. Less than that even. I’m not getting any younger and we all just lost two years. It’s time for a bit of living.

Also sleep. I’m going crash back out and see if I can sleep before the 10:25AM (free) shuttle takes me to the airport. Thanks for reading if you still are. Love always.

Freak Valley Festival 2022 – Day 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Madmess

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

—

IAH

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

—

Slomatics

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

—

Psychlona

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

—

Temple Fang

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

—

The Midnight Ghost Train

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

—

Elder

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

—

High on Fire

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

—

Fu Manchu

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

—

06.19.22 – Sun. – 7:32AM – Hotel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today I go home.

More pics after the jump.

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Freak Valley Festival 2022 – Day 3

06.17.22 – Fri. – 12:51 – Picnic table, side of lawn

Would you like to squeeze the wobbocado? And no, that’s not the worst innuendo of all time. It wobbles, and it’s an avocado stress ball with a smiley face on it. I’ve just about worn it out, but I have a spare if I need it. You deal your way and I’ll deal mine.

It’s going to be hotter today than yesterday, so I’m told. So be it. The production crew is setting things up. On the stage, Revvnant are soundchecking drums, placing synth and keys centerstage as if to offer a clear signal that something different is coming. The beer truck seems to be cleaning its lines — respect — and shade is at a premium.

In the pre-fest narrative of my expectation for coming to Freak Valley for the first time, this was the day I figured on being most exhausted, and at least so far, that’s how it’s panned out. So it goes. You sit when you can sit, drink water. The eggs I think helped, and I haven’t quite given myself an ulcer yet with coffee, so clearly there’s work to be done there. But I’ve got time. Doors open in about two minutes. Again, the calm.

Like My Sleeping Karma before them — and with two shared members — The Great Escape have bowed out of their anticipated reunion set, with Glasgow Coma Scale stepping in. Bummed, since I remember playing The Great Escape on the radio in college and digging those records, but seeing another band I’ve never seen before and wouldn’t otherwise get the chance to see is not a hardship.

Someone mentioned yesterday that a few years ago it rained and was kind of a wet mess, and you can see where it would be for sure. Something has bloomed here — the same thing as at home, whatever it is — and I can’t breathe for the allergies, but that’s a small price to pay for the outdoors and the experience. I haven’t seen the campsite yet and I may or may not get up the hill to it but there are tents down by the road as well and walking past those last night in the foresty dark felt intrusive enough. You have to balance these things.

First band, 2PM and on from there. Going to be a busy one, but standing on the edge, I’m looking forward to diving in again. And I did dunk my head in the kiddie pool yesterday and will likely do so again.

Here’s the blow-by-blow of the day. Thanks if you check it out.

Revvnant

And now for something completely different. True to Elias Mays Schutzman’s roots as a drummer, there is neither guitar nor bass, but two keyboard and synth setups and drums and, during the first song, ukulele. The uptempo “The Revvnant” (posted here) had the still-assembling crowd dancing a bit and “Death Cult” worked in a bit of space rock, at least beefier the heavy roll and piano finish, and though I’ve written about the project before and about Schutzman’s other bands — Black Lung and The Flying Eyes, the latter of whom played their last show here a few years ago — I was intrigued to see how the band would take shape and how the songs would come across like. The answer is that among the 15 other bands who have played Freak Valley so far, Revvnant are on their own wavelength, and if you’re going to start someplace, that’s where you want to be. Bonus points to them for saving the real dance song until the end. The trick will be getting the right scope of production, but this stuff on record could be mind-altering. Nothing but potential.

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Djiin

Djiin are more than just a great harp. But they also have that, so, bonus. Their second LP, Meandering Soul (review here), came out last year on Klonosphere, and they were true to its heavy bluesy foundation, and they certainly capped their set in driving fashion, but on stage they brought psychedelic expanse and classic heavy to bear as well, a cacophony emerging gradually that grew fiercer as they moved toward the finish. I knew I wanted to see them, but I didn’t know how much until they really got going, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many labels are trying to poach them as we speak, because they’re young, they dress the part, they play well, they sell it on stage well — they’re not just standing there — and they have cool, varied songs. Shit, if I had a label I’d be chasing them up too. They have a firm idea of who they are and seem right on the cusp of further realization. I had a good feeling when they started all minimal and quiet, and it was a pleasure to follow the path of that winding, dynamic build.

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Swedish Death Candy

Now that’s a name. They’re from the UK — which, for however long they end up being a band, may just always need to be said, so they might want to get used to it — and they didn’t kill anyone except maybe their own riffs, and the candy thing, nope. But you know, Swedish Death Candy’s weighty moniker is also kind of a description of their sound. Psychedelic, grunge toned, intermittently dreamy like post-rock or all out heavy, they seemed to change up their sound while creating a palpable atmosphere. Near the end, the guitarist seemed to have some trouble with his guitar and so wound up plugging into a keyboard across the stage and just mashing away madly — it was noisy and exciting — and they came back around from that to a multi-tiered heavy psychedelic build that took my head to Colour Haze, and that’s never a thing I’m going to complain about. When they wanted to they could really ride a groove, and they did but they’re clearly not interested in doing any one single thing. Their last album, Are You Nervous? (yes, perpetually; I take pills for it) came out on 2019, and I missed it, as I will, but I’ll think of their set as a learning experience.

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Glasgow Coma Scale

Yes, that will do nicely, thank you. Stepping in for The Great Escape, whose Matte Vandeven took ill, Glasgow Coma Scale came from Frankfurt — hey, me too! except presumably they live there — and made an offering of mellowed-out, warm-toned instrumental heavy psych-prog, which if that sounds like a lot, well, it is, but they make it flow easily with a range of effects and languid grooves. One of the best bass tones I’ve heard this weekend, and I’ve heard a few by now, and they were kind of in league with Toundra aesthetically, if more subdued on stage. Again, I was reminded of My Sleeping Karma, with the floaty noodling guitar and solid drums behind holding it together, but especially in light of the circumstance, the fact that they were able to fill in on such short notice. One might think they’d feel rushed playing or something like that, but not from what I can see and hear in the sundry peaks and valleys of their material. They’re well suited to this fest, the spirit of the thing and the fact that I’ve been here three days now and not run into one asshole. Of how many places on earth could you possibly say that right now?

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Daily Thompson

Dortmunder trio Daily Thompson exude an obvious love for what they do. It’s amazing how much smiling is taking place on stage. The whole time but right now as well. And all the while, they draw a line between happy grunge, heavy psych and a jammy take, with all three of them contributing vocals. Another band I never really thought I’d see, they’ve got stoners doing handstands in the crowd, and no I’m not speaking figuratively. There’s at least one O see over there. And whatever the band are doing, they make it swing, and that’s a thing to love. I’ve dug their records, last year’s God of Spinoza (review here) was a good time and then some, but of course there’s more character and depth to the sound live, though they also have a good amount of variety in the set. The sprinkler kicked on while I was taking pictures and I got surprise-sprayed, but it’s so hot in the sun I didn’t even care. Camera was fine — by which I mean it’s still broken — and beyond that, I was only glad for the wetdown. I’ve been in and out of water all day. There’s a shower in the building backstage. I put that shit as cold as it could go earlier and didn’t even take my shoes off when I got in. Zero, zero regrets. Glad to have refreshed before seeing this band for the first time, especially with that last jam.

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Green Lung

Ayo, Green Lung are the real deal. I wouldn’t lie to you. I was expecting professionalism, and that’s what was delivered. They do justice to their records — last year’s Black Harvest (review here) was one of 2021’s best LPs, no question — and then some, and with the organ, the shred solos, the push of the drums, Tom Templar’s presence as a frontman bringing an edge of metal to the proceedings, they’ve got everything working for them. Their songs are memorable, their performance suited to a stage this big, and they got on, hit it, and there was no question. They owned the moment. Rest easy, Freak Valley, you’re in good hands. “Reaper’s Scythe,” “The Ritual Tree,” “Leaders of the Blind,” “Woodland Rites” and damn near everything else they played was a highlight, and their energy was electric. Nuclear. Time to go on tour forever, gentlemen. And in the name of all that is cultish and/or unholy, put out a fucking live album. People need to know. I’ll hope to be here next time they play and they’re headlining, and in the meantime, “Graveyard Sun” is my favorite song off Black Harvest — those keys are even more Type O Negative live — and I get to say I saw it happen on stage. No bullshit: Where this band is playing is where you want to be. They ran a little long and got cut off, but still. What a show.

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Leech

Heavy, instrumental psych, but more on the post-rock side of things from Switzerland’s Leech, who’ve been at it more than two decades and who featured the first ‘xylosynth’ I’ve ever seen or heard. They also have regular synth, so they’re covered either way, and for an act I knew next to nothing about before coming here today, they were engaging while staying true to the atmosphere of the music, which of course is heavily atmospheric. If you’re wondering, the bubbles have started up again but they’re filled with smoke now, which suits where we’re at in the evening. It’s starting to cool off after being hotter than [fill in your own hyperbole for a very warm day here], and Leech are immersive in a way that live music doesn’t always get to be. And they started a couple minutes late but it didn’t matter once they got into it. It’s the right kind of thing for when you can start to see the colored lights on the trees that they have at night here, and the crowd, smoke bubbles and all, is totally along for the ride. Hell, I’ll go too and see where it ends up. Just as soon as I grab another coffee. Or maybe I’ll just stay right here. The finale was even prettier, it turned out.

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Reignwolf

The factoid that Seattle’s Reignwolf played Lollapalooza six years before releasing their debut album on 2019, and that they toured with Black Sabbath on 2014 tells me there is significant management behind them. I don’t have a clue who that might be, but kudos to them on placement. To be fair, vocalist/guitarist Jordan Cook is very obviously insanely talented. Playing as a duo, Reignwolf brought a riotous, classic shred amid heavy blues vibes with way blown out vocals. He had a kick drum at the front of the stage, jumped off our during the first song, then the drummer left the stage and Cook ended up behind the kit playing guitar and drums at the same time, singing into his pickups. Then they moved part of the drum kit to the front of the stage and continued to deliver a rock show like some idealized version of your dad used to make. “Reignwolf loves you, Germany,” said Cook before leaving the stage 20 minutes early and thereby telegraphing the encore to come. They’ll play another festival tomorrow, and another the day after that. Respect the hustle, even if it’s not really hitting home for me. I give points like mad though for a white dude playing boogie blues rock without trying to sound like he’s Chester Frickin’ Burnett. Shouldn’t be that hard, but it’s rarer than you’d think. Reignwolf made it sound easy. Pro band, pro show, even if what they were being pro at was raw in form.

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Red Fang

I still have Red Fang songs stuck in my head from seeing them in New York a few weeks ago (review here), but I’ve never seen them that they sounded as huge as coming from that stage, and goodness gracious it works for them. The band seemed genuinely happy to be here, and their set was a shove in the direction of awesome. I’m not sure I understand why they don’t just record all their albums on stage, since they’re no less tight than they are on record, and they absolutely crush. They’ve always been a live band, and one expects they always will be, but with, again, having recently seen them in a headlining role, they made this one feel special and I think the crowd could feel it. I could. Smiles on stage, and Aaron Beam asked if everyone was allergy after the long day in the sun. In fact, I did see one young woman being walked out through the backstage area to a waiting ambulance. And folks were swaying this way and that. Over by the merch where I stood I could see some beginning to make their way back to the campsite — fair enough; that’s a decent-sized hill — but I’m dead serious when I tell you I’ve been hearing Red Fang songs on the ol’ mental jukebox for the better part of the last month, and I guess that’s not going to stop anytime soon. I call that a win. They don’t just make heavy fun, they make it heavy. A lesson in the benefits of touring forever and a welcome finish to day — wait, what day is it? — three of Freak Valley Festival. Have I mentioned how stupid lucky I am to be here? I’ll say it again, just to be sure. I am stupid lucky to be here.

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06.18.22 – Sat. – 10:29AM – Hotel

I’m not sure how to properly express the relief I felt last night when I came into the hotel room and took off my socks. True liberation. Of toes.

Breakfast did me so much good yesterday I just now repeated the same course of eggs and cheese. Shower in a bit. I stink. Long, hot day yesterday. And the day before. That shower in the AWO International building was a godsend yesterday afternoon. Zero qualms about walking around with my head soaking wet dripping all over myself. And I’ll always remember the time I got surprise-sprayed by the sprinkler. Gave the people up front a laugh, anyhow.

Today will be hot too, I think. The sky has that summer haze that I recognize from home, settled over everything but still letting the sun through to burn your ass. Or at least your face. Buying a silly hat was the right choice. Utility. Survival. Shower. Now.

Thank you for reading. More pics after the jump.

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Freak Valley Festival 2022 – Day 2

Thu. – 12:47PM – In a tent

A lot going on as the festival and its many volunteers — designated by crew shirts from various years — get ready for the first full day. First band is on in about 70 minutes.

I crashed out hard last night after a vigorous round of nesting — pillows here, water bottle there, white noise on, window open to let cool air in, book loaded on tablet so I could look at words for about seven seconds before falling asleep, etc. — and woke up with the alarm at 10AM, which is only ironic because that’s 4AM at home and I might be up then on any given day anyhow. What jetlag?

Hydrated. Took ibuprofen, drank three cups of drip coffee and some assemblage of espressos — two doubles and then some — ate a protein bar and got my head right before coming back here. DVNE growling through soundcheck right now is hilarious. Not everyone can do that without music behind. Now singing clean in French. Chuckles from those lounging nearby.

The sun is out and there’s more of a breeze so far, though it will get warmer over the next couple hours. It doesn’t matter though. FVF provides places to be, whether it’s the seats on the side or this tent or the hammocks under the trees in back, and so on. People go, have a smoke, catch their breath, rest before the next thing. I am sitting in a chair, as opposed to a bench or on the ground. This itself feels like a novelty, and backstage has its own amenities, including bathrooms and places to fill your water bottle.

There are three more bands on the bill today than yesterday and the last of them is Pelican, which I hope will feel like a wonderful moment of arrival after the long stretch. But we’re in it now with doors open and the hangover soon to give way to new drunkenness. Folks went hard last night, and it wasn’t just Mr. Roomtwentynine. I’ll be interested to see how it goes once the music starts, which it will soon enough.

Notes on the day, taken as it happened:

DVNE

What a way to start the day. The largely uptempo UK post-metal outfit probably aren’t used to playing in sunshine, but all the better to see them obliterate. I’ve been lucky enough to catch DVNE live before, at Psycho Las Vegas a few years back (everything was a few years back), but the Etemen Ænka (review here) record that they put out between them and now brought them to a new level. They sound like a band who put work and conscious thought into the atmospheres they create — progressive in that way — and their clear desire to not do the same thing all the time, to distinguish themselves even among the crowded sphere of post-metal is something to deeply respect, all the more because they do it. And just when they seem to get all caught up in a mire of tense, complicated prog-metal noodling, that’s when they turn around and bash you over the head with a riff and if you can’t get down with that, why even have ears? Their sound goes as deep as you’re willing to follow it and on stage they back that cerebralness with due passion-derived force. Or, if you prefer the short version, this is a cool fucking band. I was surprised it wasn’t being filmed, but I guess one can’t have everything.

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Supersonic Blues

Hey, guess what? Been a few years since I last saw Netherlands classic rockers Supersonic Blues. Shocking, right? Well, earlier this year they put out their awaited debut album, It’s Heavy (review here) on Who Can You Trust? Records, and man, that record is a burner. A boogie burner, even better. Seeing and hearing them play songs from it put them high on my list of anticipated bands for Freak Valley 2022, but that they played as a two-guitar four-piece and seemed to take a special jammy pleasure in doing so made them even more enjoyable to watch. You wouldn’t call them innovative — and that’s not intended as a slight, they’re actively trying not to reinvent the wheel — but their songs and vibes are tremendous fun. One of those bands who are mellow no matter how heavy they get, and who seem to find a sweet spot between ’70s grooves and a kind of laid back melodicism. There’s a part of me that hopes they never add a keyboardist and go prog — which is what a goodly portion of the bands who influenced Supersonic Blues ended up doing — but time will tell of their ultimate direction. Right now, and for the last five or so years, they’re a blast. A party that’s been waiting for you to show up. They brought their own drums.

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Kosmodome

My first time seeing Kosmodone, whose name I’ve seen around a lot. I’ve played them on the Gimme Metal show before, but not really written about them, but they remind a bit of Hypnos 69’s warm prog, their stage arrangement such that the drummer/vocalist is off to the side rather than behind the guitars and bass, which is kind of where the keys are. They’re young, which means they can play prog without needing to stand still on stage and maybe have some Motorpsycho influence, and it’s hard to be really immersive when it’s broad daylight and still heating up, but whatever, it’s a good time. In the hills around there are hawks circling the woods, or maybe that’s the campsite, I don’t know. Either way, Kosmodome released their self-titled album last December and dedicated “The 1%” from it to all the children in the crowd, and yes, there are plenty of them and a few more clearly impending. I can’t imagine my family, my wife and son, would enjoy this — he might for a while but then would be trying to get on stage, she simply wouldn’t — but it would be an interesting experiment. Kosmodome came here from Bergen, Norway, and it occurs to me I have no clue how far away that is. Hard to get your bearings at a thing like this. But I know today’s Thursday, because that’s when Kosmodome played. They closed with “Orbit,” which also finishes the record, and I might have to buy this album now.

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Les Big Byrd

Hell yes Swedish space rock. This was my first experience with Les Big Byrd — and they pronounced it “less” on stage rather than the French “lay” Big Byrd — but however you want to say it they brought trance groove to the hottest part of the day, riding motorik groove and a balance between songwriting and jamming with similar ease. As I’d never heard them, their synth-laced sound hit a laid back feel just right, and they also had a side-of-stage drummer, like Kosmodome, except on the other side, and he did backing vocals. They said they’ll have a new record out this Fall, and if I had any idea what month it is, I might know how far away that is from now, but at least I’ll know to keep an eye out for it. I’d dozed in the shade prior to their going on, my new hippie hat over my face, and they made easing back to full consciousness smoother than, say, Mondo Generator probably would. I chased down some coffee later in the set in the interest of remaining upright for the second half of the day’s lineup and they were done by the time I got back, but I’d watched a bit out front on the grass, people dancing on either side of me to the fluid sounds. I’ll take it.

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Mondo Generator

Would you fuck with Mondo Generator? I wouldn’t. Seems like a good way to get punched. They’re like punk rock aggro taken to its natural extreme; a legacy of dirty, fucked up, angry — and in their case, heavy — rock and roll that is dangerous and in pursuit of danger as the end. Nick Oliveri doubles in Stöner with Brant Bjork these days, but it’s been nearly a decade since last time I saw Mondo Generator (review here) and they were a four-piece then, but they worked well as a trio. The rawer the better. Mike Pygmie I saw a few weeks ago playing with John Garcia at Desertfest New York (review here), but it’s been years since I watched the malleable Mike Amster bash away at a drum kit, and that was a pleasure as well. I don’t think I’ll ever be intense enough for Mondo Generator, but I’m honestly not sure anyone is. All the more reason to put Kyuss and Queens of the Stone Age songs in the set: no one’s gonna argue with “Green Machine” and “Thirteenth Floor,” or at very least no one here. Even when they slow down though, they’re mean, and after they closed with “Tension Head” into “Allen’s Wrench” and “Millionaire,” just to make sure everybody goes home happy after getting their ass kicked., the crowd called for one more and apparently they had time, so they threw in Queens of the Stone Age’s “Six Shooter” with Oliveri putting down the bass and just singing. That was a fun 90 seconds for sure.

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The Atomic Bitchwax

Yay! If we’re being completely honest with each other, that’s about the extent of my depth of insight watching The Atomic Bitchwax right now. I’ll never claim to be impartial about this band, however many times I may be so fortunate as to see them or write about them, but they’re just one of the tightest heavy rock acts you’ll ever see. A couple weeks ago they absolutely flattened me at Saint Vitus Bar in Brooklyn (review here) and it was nothing but a joy. Similar set here, the lines about songs about Kung Fu and shouting out “Kiss the Sun” to the ladies, etc., but they tore into it and were a blowout and a blast and probably six or seven other adjectives that collectively round down to “quite exciting, indeed,” while also exuding glee at doing so, Bob Pantella, Garrett Sweeney and Chris Kosnik (who I’m starting to think of writing in for the upcoming US midterm congressional election) simply working at another level from just about everybody and giving Mondo Generator a run for their money without the same kind of aggression behind it. What a tour that would be. ‘Too Fast for Your Brain 2022.’ I know things are about to take a mellower turn, but these guys were the kick in the ass I needed heading into the rest of the night. A heartfelt fucking a, The Atomic Bitchwax. Thanks for the boost. And for “So Come On.” And that slowdown and speed up in “Shitkicker.” And the Deep Purple. Right on.

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Toundra

After 9PM just now and still very light out. I guess that’s why I was disoriented last night, because night happened at a different time. Also the no sleep. I’ll admit to being relieved watching Toundra. I was expecting a big post-Bitchwax comedown, but that’s not at all what Spanish instrumentalists Toundra delivered. I’ve heard them before, written about them before, but as dug-in as their style is in that vaguely-My-Sleeping-Karma-ish progressive-meditative-sans-vocal heavy, they were jumping around on stage while they played it. It can be done! And even the dreamier stretches were given a push that was a perfect accompaniment to the richness of their tones and the lead guitar lines floating overhead. For a crowd who’ve largely spent already the last seven-plus hours drinking, or just for me who could use another coffee (perpetually), they were outright engaging to the crowd — very definitely a show — without giving up their progressive aspects. That’s not an easy thing to pull off, and they were treated with due respect by the crowd, I’m sure some of whom saw them here when they played in 2016. As I didn’t, I’m glad I’m seeing them now. If that makes me late to the party or whatever, fine. Story of my life. And yes, they had their “Stones From the Sky” moment. Someone in the back behind the lawn, by the merch and food, was burning incense. Balloons were being batted around until meeting their inevitable end. Kids sat on parents’ shoulders. Freak Valley could give classes in how to define heavy peace. Subsection on the syllabus for this set right now. How lucky I am to be here.

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Endless Boogie

The app I use to order pizza just sent me a “hey you should order a pizza notification.” It’s like somehow it knew Endless Boogie were playing. It’s usually right anyway, and the theory applies here if not the logistics. Paul Major, center stage, guitar in hand, occasionally grumping into the microphone while grooving out — this is kind of a band you need to see live to understand. And they’re from New York. And I live in New Jersey. And I’ve seen them once before this. And it was in Europe. If you have a “go figure” file, that can go right in there. They’re hitting it though. As mellow as their records can be, and as only-on-their-own-clock as they come across, their material isn’t staid or unipolar. It’s a classic kind of dynamic and nothing fancy on paper, but if you want dig a band Endless Boogie are a band to dig, and that’s a compliment. What they’re doing on paper couldn’t be simpler — starting out and seeing where it goes — but what distinguishes them is their personality as players — and that’s not just Major either — and the conversing they do as they ooze through one movement to the next, one jam to the next. I’ll spare you wax poetics in the spirit of Manhattan concrete, but whatever they might have in common with whoever, they are their own thing. Once again, people are dancing, even bigger bubbles are being blown, and meanwhile the band is on stage ripping it up. They dedicated the entire last half-hour of their set to one song, a flowing jam with repeated cycles about smoking in the house that also magically became space rock. There really is nothing like a band who keep their word.

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Pelican

I’m going to try to assemble a few coherent thoughts, but I can’t promise anything as regards making sense. What I didn’t realize throughout today was just how much it was building toward Pelican, and just how much the veteran Chicago instrumental four-piece were positioned as a culmination. They were the point of convergence. I’m not going to list the tie to each act, because why would I?, but as well as setting the course for an innumerable amount of acts in terms of their influence, they also kick a good deal of ass. That is to say, they’re a headliner on paper as well as in reality. I lost my left earplug right before they went on — I’d left my bag on the other side of the photo pit, and getting there was a journey; just trust me — but even with two full festival days left, I’m less distraught at the ringing in my ear with them as the cause than I might be other under circumstances. It got chilly after the sun went down, but I found a spot in back to watch them for just a bit before moving elsewhere and the swirling lights, the presence of the band on stage, the volume even after I replaced that earplug — staggering. I don’t even know how many times I’ve used the word “beautiful” in the last two days at Freak Valley, and this probably won’t be the last one either, but that’s really what it was. The end of a long day, people slouching with fatigue, booze, whatever. And then Pelican comes on and it’s this massive waveform of positive energy. A celebration, maybe. I don’t know, but it felt like resonant joy pushed through all that crunching tonality, all that hugeness of nod. Heart. In a universe where authenticity is a myth, Pelican communicate something essential — not quite primal, but not far off — for those ready to accept the invitation to hear it. That’s all. No big deal.

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06.17.22 – Fri. – 10:54AM – Hotel

Liebe freunden — as the fellow says; it’s a kind of catchphrase for the fest and an appropriate, organic one — it occurred to me last night that I hadn’t had a meal since before I flew out on Tuesday, and that that last meal was composed entirely of Swiss cheese. So yes, breakfast. Some peppery eggs, assorted slices of cheese, coffee. The Karma to Burn of meals. Keep it simple as much as possible. Hydrate. I drank about half a liter of water per band yesterday. Take Advil. Sit down. Breathe to the extent that whatever allergy it is allows. Exist.

I’ve said a fair amount about the music so far, but the atmosphere here shouldn’t be neglected either. The spirit of the place, the green trees, green grass, yes. But also the kindness of the people. I was in the photo pit last night and someone up front in the crowd tapped me on the shoulder and said he probably wouldn’t be there if not for this site. I met a married couple (who’d gotten engaged at the festival in 2017) who were lovely and whose names I remember but won’t say, because, you know.

It’s not for me to be taking pictures of the crowd, of people who aren’t performing, who are there to hang out and enjoy themselves. It seems intrusive. But understand that, being here, the kindness of everybody I’ve met has been as essential as the music, as the setting. The people, the place, the thing. It is all the nouns, spiritually restorative.

Today I will pack a hoodie for the nighttime. Forgive me for being out of practice. I was burning yesterday afternoon and ended up buying a hat as well, so yes, you learn and relearn as you go. But strangers, friends, and strangers who become friends help along the way. Maybe not with showering — that I’ll do on my own — but the rest of it. As loud and raucous and go-go-go as it can be, it’s serene too. An existential butterfly landing on your nose. Just for a moment, I know. Two more days.

Thank you for reading. More pics after the jump.

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Freak Valley Festival 2022 – Day 1

Wed. – 2:59PM – Front of house aka on the lawn

There is a wonderfulness to being in a place where you don’t speak the language. People around you conversing, sorting things out, all this and that, where stuff needs to go and so on. I’m sitting in a smoker’s tent off to the side of the grass in front of the stage, Purple Dawn or somebody doing a soundcheck. It’s probably techs for Baroness, now that I think of it. But around me, between the riffs, I can hear the conversations, laughter floating in the air, peole who haven’t seen each other in a year or two and a half years. It’s beautiful.

And the setting is beautiful. It really is a valley. The little industrial-ish-feeling area where the fest takes place is surrounded on all sides by wooded hills, some of the trees eaten by a bug that apparently likes that kind of tree — I heard about it on the way in — and the warm air, blue sky dotted with some passing clouds, and green vegetation add to the idyllic feel. I got to go back to my hotel a bit ago, find out I didn’t then did have a room — magic! — change my clothes, do a quick cold water hobo bath, eat a thankfully not melted protein bar and abandon my adiletten in favor of actual socks and shoes, such as those shoes are at this point.

Doors are open. People are taking their picture with the Welcome to Freak Valley sign — I hope to do the same; a ritual with preserving — and I think the first band is on at 5PM. That works for me. At some point I’m going to crash from the travel, adrenaline, etc., but maybe I can find some coffee around here and stave that off for a while.

Lo-Fi Merchandise is here selling stuff and I want to buy all of it just to save on shipping to the US. Ditto the hippie pants place next door. The actual band area isn’t up yet. I’ve been back and forth, in and out of shade, finding a spot to be, etc. Saw the Duel guys when I got here, and Geezer have shown up at this point as well. The lineup for today has changed with Witchcraft dropping off. K bye. Purple Dawn will open and everybody else is pushed later accordingly from where they were. I’m bummed I won’t see My Sleeping Karma like I thought I might when I got here, but I’ll be alright.

First band in about 40 minutes. I’m here. It’s real. I made it. And I have a place to crash when the night is over. Mark that a win.

Here’s notes on the day:

Purple Dawn

A significant rumble from Cologne’s Purple Dawn, who did precisely what you’re supposed to do when you’re opening a festival and you bust a bass head on the first song. They covered it with a jam. That is how to do it, and they were back up and running soon enough. Their stuff was pretty fresh in my head from writing about the Peace & Doom Session Vol. II (review here) and the highlight “Old Fashioned Black Madness” seemed to be the moment where the crowd woke up. The quiet start of “The Moon Song” after led to some post-High on Fire gallip mixed in with the nod that would seem to be the trio’s stock and trade. I got my photos and went out front to watch them on the grass. I’m also falling asleep sitting up. I need to find some coffee like now.

—

Duel

Duel play like headliners. They’re in their songs, moving, professional, playing dynamic, heavy material that has yet to really get its due. They’re a band win people over, though as they hit into “Children of the Fire” after “Strike and Disappear,” it seemed like the crowd was well enough familiar with their wares. Either way, they destroy. This is my first time seeing them with this drummer and even the Rockpalast film crew had their work cut out for them in keeping up. But the thing is, they’re not sloppy at all. Even the three-part-vocal hook of “Children of the Fire,” they absolutely nailed it every time and didn’t look back. I’m very, very curious to hear the kind of band they are like seven or eight years from now, what their next few records might bring. A 50-minute set gave them some time to dig into their songs and get a flow going, and fucking a, of course that’s what they did. This cements them as reliable in my mind. I also downed three cups of coffee between the bands and that helped too. Fears of the fucking dead. Children of the fucking fire.

—

Geezer

I’ve got sentimental attachment here, but so good to see this band own such a large stage in front of this crowd. The NY-based three-piece did well by their new album, Stoned Blues Machine (review here), with the title-track, “Cold Black Heart,” and if I’m not mistaken the rest of side A represented. They’ve been over here for a couple weeks at this point, this is near the end of their tour, and sure enough they sounded like a band who’ve been playing every night for the last 14 — whether or not they have is beside the point and you’ll pardon me if I spare myself looking up the amount of days off they have or haven’t had — but they’re an absolute joy and I know from looking around that I was by no means the only one with a big smile on my face as they hit it. The lawn was grooving on “Atomic Moronic.” Pat introduced a mini-set of songs from 2020’s Groovy (review here) — he also introduced Steve and Richie — then hit inti the title-track with a finger plucked solo. “Dig” followed and shifted into a finale of “Awake,” ending on a hopeful note every bit worthy of the occasion, and Geezer got the biggest response of the day so far.

—

Villagers of Ioannina City

A whole bunch of people just showed up and I can’t say I blame them. I’ve never seen Greece’s Villagers of Ioannina City, but many of Freak Valley denizens plainly have — they were here six years ago — but between the meditative heavy psych vibe and the folk touch brought by their use of tsabouna and what might just be a clarinet alongside keys and the weighted roll of their riffs. They’re pushing atmosphere to the forefront in a way that no one has yet — you could probably call it post-something-or-other if you worked hard at it — but then they break out a bluesy organ solo and you realize Age of Aquarius is a story they’re telling in chapters, and its complexity goes beyond trading between loud and quiet parts. Their songs and style are thoughtful, melodic, rich in tone and purposeful in their delivery. I don’t know how it would go over in the States — they’d have to be supporting someone on tour their first time out and a lot would depend on who — but there’s a full on audience engagement happening here, and they have the audience to show for it. And I suspect once they make up the two years of road time they lost supporting that album, that audience will only continue to grow.

—

Black Mountain

Vibe in a can. Or at least a deep-running blend of classic, psychedelic, progressive and space rocks. It’s all the same when Black Mountain take the stage. I’ll admit to being more than a little distracted during their set as one of my camera lenses broke, leaving me with the wide angle option that will probably do really well for me all day tomorrow taking pictures of the stage monitors, but one way or the other, Black Mountain’s synthy brew will lift the spirit and soothe the soul if apparently not the contact sensor on that lens. Even before I inevitably have to shell out some stupid amount of cash to have that fixed, I’m going to be bummed out if I can’t get that thing to work. Black Mountain’s mellower vibe, despite being heavy and loud and the many, many other things they are as a band, seemed to be expanding on the more immersive end of Villagers of Ioannina City’s set, but this band is their own thing. The assembled heads are ready for it. The Freaks. As for me, I’m distracted by even in such a tizzy I’ve still got room in my heart for Mellotron. Nothing else sounds like that. And I guess that’s true of Black Mountain too, but individual as they are, but their sound still has an immediate familiarity to it, whether you know the songs or they know you. Also it’s nighttime now. Apparently that happened recently.

—

Baroness

Seems to me that if I really was dead set on becoming a real Baroness fan, the thing to do would be to see them play live every couple of weeks between now and whenever I eventually get on board. They deliver live. The set was similar to when I saw them a few weeks ago at Desertfest New York (review here), but there wasn’t even a question as to whether or not they were going to nail it, because yes, they were. And so it went. It had been a long day, and it was only with the help of respected-photog Falk-Hagen Bernshausen that I managed to make that seemingly-busted lens work for long enough to shoot a couple songs of the Baroness set, but the band’s energy was infectious, their rhythm a physical urging, like they’re trying to tell you it’s time to go for a run, except I guess without the running on the audience’s part. I honestly don’t know Baroness’ songs well enough to say whether the performance was flawless, and if it was, I suppose that’s nice in the way of such things, but from my silly little spot in the grass I was just happy to appreciate the headliner headlining (again) and a performance by a band who have so clearly mastered their craft.

—

06.16.22 – Thursday – 10:56AM – Hotel

A little after I get back last night someone knocks on my door. I open it and a dude is there, absolutely smashed, wearing some death metal shirt. I don’t remember who it was now, but it was someone decent. He starts talking and even though I don’t speak German I could tell his words were slurred. I slowed him down, apologized for not speaking his beautiful language in his beautiful country, and eventually he seemed to recall that he spoke perfect English.

He needed stairs, which seemed like a terrible idea to me given his state. Dude could hardly stand. I showed him where the stairs were but then he said he wanted his room and kept walking. It was the one with the stuff on the floor outside in the hallway. Room 29. Fair enough. Turned out he’d lost his room key. He told me to find it. In his pockets. No dice, bro, sorry. He empties his own pockets and discovers various stuff but no key. He is grumbling, agitated. For one brief second, he looks like he’s about to give up. He’s speaking syllables, in and out of German and English — the human brain is amazing, even addled — and kind of says “bwuh?” and shrugs his shoulders.

I ask if he has back pockets, and a few seconds later, tucked into a respectable wad of Euros emerges his room key. His eyes light up. I open his door for him and usher him inside. His relief is palpable. I tell him to sleep and he nods. Freak Valley is small enough that I could probably run into Mr. Roomtwentynine 100 times today. I don’t think I’d recognize him if I did. Festival life.

More pics after the jump.

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06.15.22 – Wed. – 10:16AM – Frankfurt Airport

It’s not that I had necessarily forgotten for distaste for commercial air travel, but reaffirmation is, not exactly welcome, but I guess affirming. At home it’s a little after four in the morning, which means here I’m running late. Delay taking off, delay parking at the gate after landing. An announcement came over the P.A. while I was in the men’s room just now to day there would be a delay in the bags coming off. I’m here. I’m here. After two and a half years of doing not-this, somehow even the baggage claim has charm.

I’ve been to this airport before but don’t ask me what year it was. I walked past a ticketing counter where I once had to beg to be let on a plane after not making some connecting flight or other. There’s a Lego store in the airport. Somehow I expected there would be. Makes gift buying that much easier.

Between now and then is my reason for being here: Freak Valley Festival 2022.

Noon-ish – At festival site

Alex is the driver who picks me up at the airport. There’s water in the van and I’m carpooling with none other than Bill Bowman of Bushfire, about whom I’ve written for at least three last decade — intermittently, obviously — and who is kind enough to grab coffee for the trip from Frankfurt to Siegen. The topics range from guns in the US to religion to aliens to silly conspiracies — Bill also saw the flat earth documentary on Netflix — and since he was born in Reading, Pennsylvania, I noted a telltale “…things like this” where other regions might place “that.” Tones of him.

Jens Heide is by the backstage entrance where the van is parked and where my luggage stays. It’s gonna be hot enough to melt protein bars in there but I’m not about to raise a fuss over fake chocolate. I hug Jens, find out that My Sleeping Karma aren’t playing as had been announced as a replacement for Witchcraft, and get a quick look at the festival grounds. It is small enough to be intimate, with shade in corners where one might retreat from the sun, and a big, high stage that really, really makes me wish I’d bought that 70-200mm camera lens I’d had my eye on. Alas, some weeks you just don’t have that spare two grand on the credit card.

The grounds belong to AWO International, and the building is a facility for adults with disabilities; it seems like a weekday program, in the US it might be like an adult daycare kind of thing? I’m not really sure, but given the context of where I am, I’m just going to assume that the services provided are manifold and not nearly as expensive as at home. Other people do shit better sometimes. Often.

I get interviewed by a guy named Marcus as “the expert in the scene” which is very silly, but fine. I’m no good on camera, never have been, but hopefully Marcus got something he could use. I think he knew the score pretty early on with my awkward ass grin and stammering about how happy I am to be here. They can’t all be gold, but I also meet Ellen, who along with Nadine is in charge of the backstage area and she’s as kind as she is pregnant, which is plenty. She says she’s due in September and tells me if I need a room to write or whatever — can you fucking imagine? I made myself laugh just now thinking about going up to her and asking for a private spot at a festival with 3,000 people attending. But she’s very nice and I get my wristband that when the fest is over I’ll add to the little collection on my backpack and that’ll be that. I need to get a photo pass still, but somehow given my experience thus far and how hospitable everyone has been I don’t think it will be a problem.

About two and a half hours of sleep on the plane. I watched the Matrix reboot, enjoyed the self-awareness, was surprised at the level of violence. I guess I don’t watch much gritty tv anymore, and when someone gets disintegrated on Star Trek it’s a big deal. This shit had guns blazing like an infinite ammo cheat code. I know the original did as well, it’s just been a while. Between that and the elbow of the sleeping dude sitting next to me digging into my side for a substantial portion of the voyage, it was the proverbial long, strange trip.

He was headed to Tel Aviv. I was headed here. Nice to fly over German forests and hills though and then come be among them. I’ve not seen the camping area yet, and I may or may not get there today, but it’s clear that part of the vibe that will shortly ensue here is drawn from the natural beauty that surrounds.

I am fortunate to be here, and humbled by how welcome I have been made to feel so far. To wit, Jens just brought me the photo pass. God damn I’m lucky.

Today’s episode of The Obelisk Show on Gimme Metal is a tribute to and a look at the lineup for this year’s Freak Valley Festival, taking place next week in Siegen, Germany. Freak Valley has been hosting bands for over a decade and I’m proud to say that this will be my first year attending after many, many more wanting to do so, doing writing for the festival, etc.

Should probably point out even if I d don’t necessarily need to that this isn’t the full lineup of the festival, just as much as I could effectively pack into two hours while also managing to play a 20-minute Endless Boogie track. Could I have hunted out shorter cuts and maybe been able to fit another band or two? Probably, but it doesn’t feel like The Obelisk Show in my brain if it doesn’t end with a jam, so it is what it needs to be.

I should be in the chat this time if you want to say hi. I was doing live factoids about the bands for a while because the Gimme Bot doesn’t always know this stuff if it’s new, or weird, or not at all metal, and so on, but it just kind of got sad after a while so I stopped. Lesson learned.

Thanks if you listen, thanks if you’re reading. Thanks in general.

The Obelisk Show airs 5PM Eastern today on the Gimme app or at: http://gimmemetal.com.

Full playlist:

The Obelisk Show – 06.10.22

Psychlona	Blast Off	Venus Skytrip
Fu Manchu	Strange Plan	Fu30 Pt. 2
Duel	Wave of Your Hand	In Carne Persona
Green Lung	Leaders of the Blind	Black Harvest
VT1
Red Fang	Wires	Murder the Mountains
The Midnight Ghost Train	Foxhole	Buffalo
Villagers of Ioannina City	Part V	Age of Aquarius
Pelican	Arteries of Blacktop	Nighttime Stories
Djiin	Warmth of Death	Meandering Soul
Toundra	Danubio	II
Geezer	Atomic Moronic	Stoned Blues Machine
Slomatics	Cosmic Guilt	Canyons
IAH	Naga	Omines
Kosmodome	Hypersonic	Kosmodome
Madmess	Rebirth	Rebirth
VT2
Endless Boogie	Jim Tully	Admonitions

The Obelisk Show on Gimme Metal airs every Friday 5PM Eastern, with replays Sunday at 7PM Eastern. Next new episode is June 25 (subject to change). Thanks for listening if you do.

Gimme Metal website

The Obelisk on Facebook

My flight is booked and I’m beyond excited to say that after years of longing to do so even before the covid-19 pandemic, I’ll be attending Freak Valley Festival for the first time in June. I’m not sure yet where I’m staying or how I’m getting to the actual event from the airport, let alone back afterward, but you know, a flight isn’t nothing and I’m honored to have that like I’m honored to see a logo for The Obelisk on the poster. I wrote the announcement below — composed it in the back end of this very post, as it happens — and I’ll drop a hint and say that I know who the special guest is if you can make a fantastic getaway to get to see them. Actually that’s way too vague a hint. Sorry, I can’t think of anything else. If you have your head keyed into early aughts Nasoni Records releases, maybe you’ll come up with it. If not, sorry.

In any case, to say I’m looking forward to this — seeing Geezer and The Atomic Bitchwax on foreign soil, seeing friends in and out of bands, seeing IAH and Temple Fang and Villagers of Ioannina City and Duel and Supersonic Blues and The Midnight Ghost Train‘s reunion and Planet of Zeus and Pelican — well, hot shit, to say I’m looking forward to it borders on laughable. In my head, I’m already there.

Here’s that announcement:

Freaks!

Spring has come to Freak Valley, and somehow the universal image of the season meaning new life manifests for us in an especially killer lot of band announcements. Hey, we don’t judge. Don’t you either.

Did we mention BAND ANNOUNCEMENTS?

Good. Here they are:

THE ATOMIC BITCHWAX

More than 20 years on from their legendary debut album, The Atomic Bitchwax are the train of riffs that wouldn’t stop anyway if it could. They are nothing less than stoner rock royalty and we’re thrilled to welcome them to our lineup. Top frickin’ shelf rock and roll.

ENDLESS BOOGIE

The New York City jammers are nothing if not aptly named. If you’re not familiar, check out last year’s ‘Admonitions’ LP and we know you’ll find it stunningly easy to get on board. When these guys play they’re in their own world. We look forward to getting a glimpse of that.

DVNE

We’re just going to assume that, yes, you heard ‘Etemen Ænka’ when DVNE released it and so you don’t need us to tell you how excited we are to welcome these progressive metallers to the Freak Valley stage. Duh, right? We thought so. Years from now you’ll brag about seeing this band.

TYLER BRYANT AND THE SHAKEDOWN

Tyler Bryant and the Shakedown’s 2020 album, ‘Pressure,’ was a high point of a shit year, and we knew immediately we had to have this Nashville-born blues rocking outfit to our stage. They’ve toured with the likes of Guns ‘n’ Roses and AC/DC, and their swagger is backed up by chops. You will not regret being here for this one.

MADMESS

Hell yes. That fuzz. That drift. That vibe. For a good time, call Madmess’ 2021 LP, ‘Rebirth.’ These Portuguese heavy psychedelic expansionists cast a warmth that’s cosmic and earthy in kind. Their jams are memorable and organic, and they deliver with an energy that’s raw power. Oh it’s gonna be so good. You don’t even know.

DJIIN

That’s not a typo. These French heavy proggers put out their ‘Meandering Soul’ album last year, and we’re still tripping on it. Ambitious landscapes of sound and scope meld fluidly with thoughtful songcraft and gorgeous vocal melodicism. They’re retro enough to be from the future, so it must be the sound of right now. We stoked to meet it in-person.

SPECIAL GUEST!!

Luckily we will also be able to sell some returned full festival tickets soon.

Also Wednesday Tickets for those who already own 3 Day tickets are still available.

Please buy them now!

Rock on – your Rock Freaks

Freak Valley Festival // No Fillers – Just Killers

Freak Valley Festival.

June 15-18 2022

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The Atomic Bitchwax, Scorpio (2019)