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.

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Before Show

Made it to Tilburg, which always feels good to say. The flight was a flight. In the seat next to me, an older gentleman boasting a particular odor accompanied (in the aisle seat) by either his much younger domestic partner of whatever sort or his home health aide, I’m not sure which. He was Dutch. Do they have home health aides here? Occurs to me I don’t even know how these things happen in countries where healthcare is seen as a human right.

In any case, seven bumpy hours of playing Zelda, not sleeping and having my dude’s smell imprinting itself on my olfactories and we landed. A car brought me to Tilburg. I’m at the Hotel Mercure, which continues to be nicer than anything I have any right to enjoy, and am once again sharing the room with Lee Edwards from The Sleeping Shaman, who apparently got in this afternoon and is already over at the 013, I assume being a useful and all around wonderful human being as I try to recover from the travel enough to get from ‘cave troll’ at least to ‘bridge troll’ before I hoof it down the block to the pre-show in about an hour and a half. A third espresso may or may not help, but I can only think of one sure way to find out.

The Spark is the Roadburn-branded name for the pre-show, and the lineup for the night puts Temple Fang first, followed by Rattenburcht and Thou. Unless adrenaline kicks in and I’m suddenly much closer to alive in four hours than I am now, I’ll probably abscond when the Amsterdam longform psych rockers are done. If there’s a vibe I’m ready for this evening, it’s them. Tell me it’s okay. Let me out of my brain for an hour. Let me drift for a little. And shit I hope they play new songs.

As for Rattenburcht, they struck me as more battle-vest, and Thou are always a good time on stage if you want consuming extreme sludge, as I often do, but they’re playing again this weekend and will probably do six secret shows at the skate park besides, so the opportunity will likely be there. If not, well, Roadburn has always meant hard choices. My daughter was hanging onto my luggage in the car at the airport to keep me from going away. That’s a new kind of hard choices, but pretty in-keeping with my experience of parenting up to this point in that I felt like garbage.

Maybe I’ll try to close my eyes again for an hour or so and see if that doesn’t get me right, though once the music starts it’ll all be fine. It always is. The rest is just anxiety.

—

Temple Fang

Doors at 7PM, or 19h if you want to do the 24-hour thing. In the venue — security pointedly NOT dicks about either the bag or the camera in it — and up to the balcony. Mellow prog, psych, boogie on the P.A. Roadburn DJs always on point. The Next Stage, which is kind of still the Green Room in my head, slowly filled up as the hour went on. I did some socializing earlier — enough to know I don’t have it in me — and ducked out. I had decided to leave the hotel early to find food beyond the almond butter I brought with me, but alas, I couldn’t get in the building in time and my dinner ticket went unused. So it goes.

Seeing Temple Fang was among my most urgent sets at Roadburn 2025. That is, the whole thing. This is because of their brilliant new album, Lifted From the Wind (review here), which is out next week on Stickman. I’ve seen Temple Fang before, including twice at Roadburn 2019 (review here and here), but the record is simply another level.

It’s also 71 minutes long, so no, they didn’t have time to do the whole thing in an hour-long set, but with incense burning on the stage, they came out and gradually made their way into “The River” before unfurling “Once,” “Josephine” and “Harvest Angel” from the album. That left out “The Radiant,” for which they premiered a video two weeks ago, but again, Roadburn means hard choices, and the big finish opportunity that “Harvest Angel” gave them wasn’t to be missed.

But it was the journey to get there that made it such a special set, and the power and heart poured into this material. I haven’t been so struck watching a heavy psychedelic rock band commune with the Beautiful since YOB, and if you think that’s hyperbole I’m tossing around, you haven’t heard the record. You didn’t need “The Radiant” because the shimmer was all around. At the same time, it’s incredible to think that these sprawling, massive compositions still align themselves around verses, choruses, repetition — that there’s structure to it and a plan unfolding.

That’s more evident in Lifted From the Wind than it’s yet been for Temple Fang, and whether it’s lines like, “Let it all come in,” from “The River,” or “We’ll keep believing in the beauty at last,” delivered in three-part harmony in “Josephine” from bassist Dennis Duijnhouwer, and guitarists Jevin de Groot and Ivy van der Veer, which they nailed, there, in the other emphasized lines at the ends of verses, and in the later non-lyric melody, its complex meld of rhythm and melody held together by Daan Woperweis on drums, or in “Harvest Angel,” which Duijnhouwer and de Groot incited the crowd to, “Follow the rainbow,” and didn’t the least ridiculous in the context of the song. For that accomplishment alone, it was a special set. Never mind the rest of the 60 minutes you just spent getting a spa treatment with your own soul.

I didn’t stay when they were finished. I didn’t need to. I’m going to see some amazing things at Roadburn this weekend, but on a certain level, it’s all gravy after Temple Fang. I consider myself fortunate now to have watched that band play these songs in that space. With all respect to Rattenburcht and Thou, both of whom I’ll almost certainly regret not seeing in the morning, that’s a problem for the morning.

Went back to the room, ate a protein cookie, wrote. I’m actively trying not to have a plan for the weekend. Someone told me to see pg.99, so I’ll do that. I’ll watch Kylesa. Beyond that, like last year, I’m content to let myself take the day as it comes, do a bit of wandering, and hopefully find some new sounds that way if I’m lucky and keep my mind open. Here’s hoping.

If you’re here, have a great Roadburn. It was slammed, line out the door. If you’re not and you’re keeping up, thank you all the more. “Once you feel this way, then you surrender.”

There’s a couple more Temple Fang pics after the jump if you’re interested. Thanks if so.

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

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

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

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

Thursday:

Friday:

Saturday:

Sunday:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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