Live Review: Sunday at Roadburn 2025
Posted in Reviews on April 21st, 2025 by JJ Koczan
The alarm went off at nine as usual this morning, but apparently I didn’t budge. Lee woke me up an hour later, which was generous of him. The last day of the festival is always harder to be present for. In your head, you’re half on your way home, thinking about the travel, checking in for the flight, timing departure, all of this. Even before you get to blurbs at the 013 office and such, it would not be a day without looming distraction. It’s part of the thing.
But Sunday is also the annual Q&A with Walter Hoeijmakers, the creative director of the festival, hosted by Becky Laverty, who books bands and much more, down to the band writeups in the TMSQR app. Showing up is the way to go.
Discussions of money and the rising costs of production and tickets alike, the secret shows, the
construction at the Koepelhal, band clashes, the lines, commissioned projects, a Thou secret show (which has become a tradition) happening later in the day, etc. There was a little box being passed around for people to ask questions — like an awkward microphone, but it made sense as one attendee tossed it to another for the next question — and I asked them both to talk a bit about the community aspect of Roadburn and how they’ve seen it manifest this year. Kind of a softball, granted, compared to, “Why is it so expensive to be here?,” but the truth was that I think it’s important to emphasize the passion at heart behind this fest and the human element of its execution year after year, and the community of artists, fans, professionals and others is a huge part of what distinguishes Roadburn even beyond the production value on the many stages. Rest assured, when it comes to it, it’s the community that will save us.
Past experience with Insect Ark — not to mention last year’s Raw Blood (review here) made the set at Next Stage an early must-see, so I got there good and early and found a balcony spot, more or less beginning the last day of Roadburn how I did the pre-show on Wednesday. Worked out then for sure, and it was positive results — different styles, of course, but just in terms of standing in front of something cool — this time as well, so thanks balcony. Dana Schecter, whose band it is, was on bass/vocals and with Tim Wyskida (who was here in 2024 with Khanate) on drums and a lap steel/reg’lar old guitarist named Lynn Wright, I’m 
pretty sure it was the first incarnation of Insect Ark as a three-piece that I’ve seen, though presumably they’ve played with that construction before. You never know at Roadburn.
Dark and dense in tone, Insect Ark were preceding Swans founder Michael Gira on Next Stage, which must’ve been a trip since Schecter has been part of the Swans oeuvre as well. But Insect Ark’s post-doom stands on its own, and I don’t mean post- like ‘it has floaty guitar parts,’ because for the most part it doesn’t, but in the sense of a new thing extracted from an old one, which in this case is doom, sludge, art rock and a strong undercurrent of intention behind the experimentalism of their songwriting. It’s early to call Schecter a legend in the field of avant heavy, but not by much, and her command over Insect Ark’s delivery felt complete as the trio lurched through the set to the hard beat of Wyskida’s drums. It’s not my place to pitch candidates for residencies, but among artists with genuine creative reach, who not only have the back catalog behind them but the forward-thinking approach to come up with something truly special, Schecter would be a candidate in my mind for sometime in the next few years.
An encore showing of Costin Chioreanu’s short film ‘The Hunter’ played before Frente Abierto’s set. The Andalusian outfit are steeped in Spanish culture and music, with flamenco vocals over heavy riffs and dark-edged groove. I’d been given a heads up to check them out, so I did. Some of it came across as more angular, but rhythmic intricacy in something flamenco-influenced shouldn’t be a surprise, and I’m not sure what I can say about it except it was something I’d never seen before.
The Andalusian region has an incredible history of 
psychedelia and progressive music drawing on styles within the rock paradigm as well as influences from Spanish and North African culture. Think of a band like Atavismo, Viaje a 800 and any number of others. Frente Abierto’s sound was born out of this, and so it’s not at all something out of nowhere that a band would have such convergent interests, but even in that context, the flamenco vocals trading off between two singers, the ease with which they changed between electric and acoustic sounds, the synth component mixed with standup bass, it all carried a strong sense of reverence for what it was doing, was resonant for that in a way that was its own and engaged Heavy, as a musical element, in a way that was its own. Certainly in heavy music, probably also in flamenco as well, though again, the influence has been incorporated into rock music for decades where they’re from. Ask Spinda Records about it some time. I’m glad I did.
The projections behind added to the atmosphere, and at their heaviest, they were almost sludgy, even as the vocals soared. And as they would almost have to they brought both singers out for the finale, with bassist Marco Serrato (Orthodox and others) getting on mic before hand to thank the crowd and the fest for having them. This was my first exposure to the project, obviously, and realistically, I may never run into them again, but they were spellbinding right up to that last and most affecting build, and I appreciate the chance to have seen them all the more.
Couple secret shows got announced for the Skate Park with a couple young Dutch hardcore bands (and Thou), but I was set where I was at the 013, thanks. I felt like, especially this being the last day I wanted to cram as much of this place into my brain as possible. Nothing against Koepelhal, Hall of Fame, the park, any of it, but Sumac into Bo Ningen — made imperative through hard suggestion after their secret show, was how I would 
bring it all down. Early ride to the airport ahead of me, a long flight and then what I expected would be a healthy few days of having my ass kicked by The Pecan for making her feel feelings at my absence were to be had (somehow I feel compelled to add, “if I was lucky” there; parenting is weird and dumb), and even if not, I wanted to get my rest while I could.
Not the most rock and roll of attitudes, but unless you’re either 20, on cocaine, or both, you have to eventually find a way to do this that’s sustainable, and I did a lot of back and forth over Thursday, Friday and Saturday, so with fewer stages going, I was happy to take a mellower route to close out my Roadburn 2025.
Another quick dinner downstairs — I ate at least one meal and snack every day at Roadburn, which felt both strange and healthy as a practice — and I could hear Michael Gira on the Next Stage though three door as I walked back to the big room for Sumac, with whom I’ve never quite fully been able to get on board in terms of my own listening habits, but have seen here before and enjoyed and who were doing their 2024 album, The Healer, in its entirety. The three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Aaron Turner, bassist Brian Cook and drummer Nick Yacyshyn — of Isis, Russian Circles and Baptists, respectively (also a ton of others between them) — have done enough as Sumac at this point that their pedigree is secondary, Nd as they went through album/set, they were the heaviest thing I’d heard since Ontaard and Throwing Bricks, a heft they seemed to bring down on you while they played. I could feel the floor vibrating, as well as the plugs in my ears.
They’re a known commodity at Roadburn, so the room was packed out. I’d been given a bunch of drink 
tokens on Wednesday, and since I don’t drink and was set for water, I handed a bunch out to people as I went up to the balcony to watch the rest of Sumac after taking pictures, and mostly that was well if confusedly received. Sumac, meanwhile, were hypnotizing with feedback and noise before launching into a monster of a chug march, Yacyshyn punctuating with a brutal thud while Turner death-rasped and the flashing lights went off. Those weren’t especially fast — none of it was, some solo shred notwithstanding — but hit me kind of abrasive anyway, so I kind of just put my head down and let it wash over, which is just what it did.
An hour between Sumac and Bo Ningen gave me a bit of downtime to sit, watch people come and go, listen to tunes on the P.A. and text my wife for the 500th time before the Japanese psych troupe hit stage. There’s always the urge to do as much as you can, a kind of oh-no-Roadburn’s-ending panic, but I’ll tell you honestly I was knackered, as your friend and mine Shaman Lee likes to say. Total nonsequitor, but here’s a fun moment in the life of two blog types sharing a room: while discussion about the Oxford comma earlier. Like a real conversation about it. He said he used it but didn’t always feel like he should, and I said that was the answer; that sometimes it worked in a sentence and sometimes it didn’t and a rule either way didn’t make sense. That was where we left it. I love grammar chat.
And I love it here. I have been so incredibly, stupidly lucky over the last decade and a half to have 
Roadburn as a part of my life. This festival wins awards. They get government grants. Roadburn does not now nor has it ever needed me for anything, least of all these reviews. But to have been back this weekend was so special, seeing my friends and remembering that I’m even a teeny-tiny part of the community I’d asked Walter and Becky about in their Q&A. It is humbling to call Walter a friend because of the respect I have for what he has done and does, but I will tell you honestly that while I’ve had life-changing experiences by the dozen at Roadburns since 2009 when I first came over, that friendship means more to me than every one of them put together. You can tell him I said that. I should, but he gets embarrassed by that kind of thing.
People started coming in about 20 minutes before Bo Ningen. My head was three-quarters out the door and back at the room sorting photos by the time they went on, but there was no mistaking the blowout upon its arrival. The set was comprised of 2012’s Line the Wall, which I didn’t know before they went on and now have a record to buy, so thanks, if not from my wallet. But some cosmic push, heavy space rock, psych twists and a few points of full on wash — plus riffs — was a very welcome but of madness. I resolved to hold out as long as I could, and they made that easier to be sure. Bassy groove and likewise thick fuzz, echo reachout and an energy behind it that put the Main Stage in its place. I have to think (hope?) that if I’d been at Roadburn 2022, I might have caught them then, but if I’m late to the party — and Line the Wall was their second album and it came out 13 years ago, it’s definitely arguable I am — so be it. Not like the songs got stale in the meantime.
I stayed put as long as I could but still beat the rain getting back to the hotel room. Tried to check in for my flight, couldn’t, but did find out I’m on a different flight to New York than I thought and instead of Newark, which is like 25 minutes from my house, I’m going through LaGuardia, which very much is not. That and being in a middle seat in a row of three for a seven-and-a-half-hour flight would not give me much to look forward to about leaving in the morning, beyond getting home at the end of a day that was harder than I thought it was going to be.
Thanks for reading. Thank you to Roadburn, Walter, Becky, Jaimy, Miranda, Koos, and the entire crew who make the festival happen. Thank you to The Patient Mrs., The Pecan, and my mother and sister. Thanks to Lee for putting up with me while sharing the room. Sorry for the 6AM alarm.
Taking today off writing for travel, so I’ll be back at it properly with posts on Wednesday.
More pics after the jump.
