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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What day is it? What day was it? I feel like my days are almost as screwed up as my tenses in these posts, so at least I’m being accurate to an experience outside of normal spacetime. Years ago it was Planet Roadburn. I feel like nowadays it’s more its own dimension.

My day started at V39. I knew Witch Club Satan were up at Koepelhal ripping to shreds the patriarchal paradigms in and beyond black metal — and that’s an effort worth supporting — but after seeing videos, I kind of felt like it would be too much on a sensory level, so I decided to hit a panel discussion: ‘Keeping it Creative: How to foster creativity and authenticity in a content demanding world.’ Relevant to my interests, to be sure.

Today, Walter’s annual Q&A will be in the same space, and that always draws a crowd, but this did too. I sat up in the back as the room filled in, curious to hear thoughts on the new economics of attention as regards algorithmic capitulation/manipulation, and I have my own opinions on the subject as well, which is surely no surprise.

The panel had professionals from management, labels like Century Media and The Flenser and Evil Greed, the band Uniform and the solo artist Denisa, both of whom who’d be playing later. Discussions of keeping a true sense of self amid commodification, “playing with the monster” in terms of spreading content, and it was a fascinating array of perspectives. It was not only esoterics, either. They were taking about posting tshirts and such, too. Real life, and especially interesting to hear from Denisa, who noted that she grew up with social media as part of her life, native to it, and how it was always a part of her process as well as her shift from poppier fare to the less-accessible heavy sounds she makes now. Mike from Uniform, on the other hand, had the older punker’s take: “I’d rather be dead than have to play a fucking character.”

Fair. It was a good conversation, and in the Q&A when the topic turned to AI, it was takes from never-never-never to if-you-can’t-beat-em-find-your-own-way and the very real answer that human artists will keep making art regardless of what computers do. It’s a complex question, and I agree that it’s not a thing worth debating when it’s already happening. If you wanted to stop it, you’re at least a decade late. Needless to say, everything on this site, most especially my favorite Quarterly Review banner, was composed in ChatGPT. I’ve never been a real person. There is no me there.

Nonetheless, I did feel a little more human when the panel was done and the thing I most wanted to do was go back to the hotel room and brush my teeth again. Too much coffee in the 013 office while blurbing in the morning, which I’ll just call a hazard of the trade, had my mouth feeling particularly nasty, so I hoofed back over instead of taking a more direct route to see Steve Von Till on the Main Stage. The former Neurosis guitarist/vocalist has his new solo album, Alone in a World of Wounds, out next month of course on Neurot, and has brought LPs with him in addition to doing a Harvestman set Friday with songs from the three records he released last year with that project. And he and Thomas Hooper have a show at the art gallery as well. A genuine residency.

The very definition of a Roadburn veteran — the first Roadburn I ever came to was 2009, the year Neurosis curated; if I’m honest, I’m still not done grieving how that band ended — I think it might also have been Von Till’s first time solo on the Main Stage, unless he was there in my lost years, 2022-’23. I’d have to check the Archiving Heaviness wall. Or, you know, the internet.

Von Till got on mic before the set, thanked the room, the crowd, Walter and Becky, the crew, the bar staff, and so on. He introduced Dave French (now also of YOB) on drums/synth and cellist Brent Arnold, who’s done string arrangements for Von Till’s solo records since 2020’s No Wilderness Deep Enough (review here), and said they were going to get lost in their version of soul music for the next hour and anyone who wanted to do the same was welcome. Paraphrasing. With a fullness of rumble from the drone beneath him, of the cello and synth both, sitting at a grand piano or standing with a guitar, Von Till opened himself up and bled songs for that hour. Raw, contemplative and thoroughly his own sound, expanded greatly from the days when his arrangements were mostly voice and acoustic, but very much rooted in the same craft and intimacy. And making a show personal with 2,500 or however many people were in the room is a rare gift that Von Till has carved for himself out of whatever kind of rare and ancient wood it was, not cynically, but as an artist committed to their purpose.

I don’t know how long it had been since I saw him last, but there was something reassuring about it in addition to the resonance of the melancholy. After doing about a song and a half of photos — I’ve been limiting myself to roughly that per act; the house rule is three songs — I went up to the balcony to watch more before shifting my wobbly physicality to the a Next Stage for Welsh folk expansionists Tristwch Y Fenwod. Despite being in the room half an hour before they went on, I was too late to get a spot in the front, but I put myself where I could and was like two people back.

However, by the time they went on (their scheduled time, mind you; it’s not like they were late), I was done standing there. The room had filled in significantly — when I left, the line snaked past the far entrance to the Main Stage — and it was uncomfortable. Nothing anyone did, just me being out of place in my body, which at 43 feels a little extra sad, but there you go. They were super-cool, with the dulcimer, electric drums, and bass, and laptop running other noises and such, but I couldn’t take the crowd press. My head started to hurt and I left. It was still their first song.

I ended up on the line for Temple Fang’s secret show at the skate park, which had been announced through the TMSQR app. I wasn’t the first one hanging out by the entrance to the Hall of Fame, out the back door there, but I was early enough to be toward the front of the queue. That meant sitting next to the garbage can, which was less preferential as regards smell, but so it goes. The door opened at about 5:30, and by then the line was long since around the corner farther than I could see.

The weather was beautiful, which made sitting outside not so terrible — cool but sunny; perfect for a flannel and so perfect for me — but I was anxious to get in and could hear them soundchecking outside with parts of “Once” and “The River.” Those two songs would comprised the entirety of the set — that’s like 40 minutes, just so you know — and it was the second spiritual realignment Temple Fang handed my ass this weekend.

The door opened and I went and parked myself in front of the stage. Jevin de Groot came through just before they went on and thumbed third eyes on me and the four or five other people sitting on the same skate-block. Thus was I blessed. And I’m not going to say I’ll never wash my forehead again, because I will, but the urge to have it tattooed is there. It was a big one too. Way open.

Admittedly, this is not the most third-eye-open time through which I’ve lived — in fact, it’s hands-down the stupidest year of my existence if you want to look at the full context of it — but it didn’t matter. I wrote not one word while Temple Fang played, which was a first for the weekend I realized after the fact, and did my best to put the camera down after like five minutes. For my reasoning, I’ll quote “Once”: “Once you feel the sadness/You become the sadness/Once you let it go/It finds another home/Shackles will explode.” While Temple Fang played, I let it go and found what I came here for. Open third eye or not, I was in it.

Understand this: I’m not looking to escape my life. My life is fucking incredible. To wit, I’m at my 13th Roadburn. I have everything and everyone I could ever want and the dog besides. I’m not trying to escape that. I’m trying to escape me.

For just a little while, Temple Fang gave me peace in my head, and when they were done I teared up. There’s a Midwife shirt in the merch that says on the back, “I cried at a Midwife show.” I get that. But I sat there at the skate park with my thumbprinted forehead and breathed in the basslines, felt the snare pops in my head, and I promise you that whatever portion of my remaining hearing I sacrificed taking my earplugs out (also a weekend first), it was worth it. I can’t promise you I haven’t said that before about Temple Fang either. I could go on for hours, days, but healthy emotional processing would have to wait because ØXN would soon be on the Main Stage.

They were, in fact, spread across it with a four-piece lineup with Radie Peat from Lankum, who were here last year, and Percolator, about whom I know nothing beyond the association. The electro-folk blend worked to make “Down in the Greenwood Valley” a dance number, and they opened with an synth-ambient take on “O’Death,” but while some (not all) of the material was traditional, the aesthetic was modern while still highlighting the human element through harmonized voice, keys and live drums.

I took a few pictures and ran downstairs for a quick dinner, which I guess is a thing I do now? I had breakfast this morning — scrambled eggs and cheese, a couple pieces of coldcut chicken breast, which I’m pretty sure isn’t poisonous here like it is at home — but missed lunch. So in about six minutes I did to a plate of chicken, salad and meatballs what Throwing Bricks and Ontaard did to The Engine Room on Friday afternoon as far as destroying it with max efficiency. After that, it was back upstairs to ØXN for a while, then I decided to hop over to Next Stage where Japan’s Kuunatic would soon go on. I wouldn’t get there in time to shoot it, and sure enough the room was on its way to full with about 15 minutes to go before the set, but I was more than content to hang out up in the back for a while as the Japanese folk-informed psych rockers got going.

Playing it by ear is a particular kind of Roadburn ideal. The notion that one would be so willing to take the ride as far as discovery goes and step outside their comfort zone, whatever that might be; it’s the Enlightened Roadburn. To be at peace with the clashes on the timetable and wander like a monk (or a shaman if you’re Lee) from one venue to another. To know that it’s okay if you don’t see everything because no one does, and to realize that the place you want to be is wherever you are, or if not, that you can change that. I don’t know if it’s something to aspire to since it feels like maybe aspiration is some of what you’re shucking off, but it’s a way. I’ve been trying to have less of a plan, take fewer pictures, smile more. I still run away from socializing, but I’m trying.

It was a whim that took me to ØXN and a whim that took me to Kuunatic, so no regrets. The oft-harmonized three-piece found life in bringing together heavy rock basslines and rhythmic tension with more traditional Japanese instruments in the surrounding arrangements as well as the vocals. Yes, not the first meeting of then and now, stylistically, and it wouldn’t be the last, but their melodies and punchy drums and bass were immersively full, which was already more than one might ask.

I started to get itchy and was on my way back to the Main Stage and stopped long enough to see the publicist Ilka Pardiñas, whom I’ve known for over 20 years at this point. She was standing in a group with the writer Jamie Ludwig, who is a fellow Weirdo Canyon Dispatch veteran, and former Goatsnake bassist Guy Pinhas, who I’m pretty sure still works at Southern Lord Europe, and who took time out of his day to call me a fascist for going to the social media panel this morning and using social media at all.

Save me from dudes and their opinions. Surely I had that coming, somehow? Surprisingly unhelpful to anything more than making me think someone whose work I’ve respected and written about favorably in the past is a jerk. He so clearly had been waiting all day to show off that Opinion™ of his about a thing. Yawn. Guy Pinhas thinks I’m a fascist. What an honor. I should get a tshirt made. Nice to know even Roadburn can have an oldschool bully or two hanging around. Here’s my review of when he played with Victor Griffin in 2013. Here’s my review of when he was here with Wino as part of The Obsessed in 2012.

I said, “Cool,” and walked away a short time later. Nice to see you, Ilka. It had been a while.

There was little time to be insulted by someone who doesn’t know me in the slightest but was happy to presume all kinds of bullshit about me and then namedrop Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent to complete the Gen-X-punker-with-useless-and-14-year-old-level-insight cliché, because Dutch-Turkish psych rockers Altın Gün were soon to take the Main Stage. I refused to let that downer experience get me down, and sure enough, rejuvenation was had in a succession of slick grooves and mellow Turkish-psych vibes. They were one of the first announcements for this year, and not knowing the band previously, it was a “huh, bet that’ll be cool” kind of prospect. Turned out very much that way. I guess there’s an element of trust involved with a lot of festivals, but not everybody pushes those boundaries like Roadburn, and the reward for that is the people dancing as Altın Gün played under the strobing reds and blues. Badass.

And like much of what I’d taken in throughout the day, it was a mixture of forms. Turkish and Mediterranean psych are traditions unto themselves, and for sure they were in line with that, but again, a modern take. Roadburn’s whole thing these last years has been respecting the past, moving forward. I don’t know how many times that line occurred to me across the different performances. All you have to do is stand in front of a stage to see it. I don’t want to generalize in describing Altın Gün’s sound, because I recognize they put their show together specifically for Roadburn, but even if this is only a partial representation of what they do, they obviously knew what they were doing when they picked the songs. Even on the balcony, dancing and clapping. Not everybody, but not nobody either.

I’m not sure whether you’d call Altın Gün the headliner — kind of felt like a headlining set for whatever that’s worth — but they were neck deep in a percussion solo as the hour passed 10 and they only pushed the party from there to the extra-funky, extra-bassy finish. Chat Pile closed the Main Stage though, following up on their skate park show Friday. They just this week released a live album recorded at Roadburn 2023, and are supporting that as well as their 2024 album, Cool World (review here), which has continued to earn rare hype in the months since its release for remaking noise rock in its image and having something to say about the world around it. I’m not arguing. This was my first time seeing them. Apart from Steve Von Till, today was once again all firsts, and I didn’t even make it to pg.99.

Chat Pile’s line check had been the loudest thing I heard all day, so naturally their set followed suit. I have to wonder how they’re not called Americana, the Oklahomans sure reminded me of the country of my birth in their resonant disaffection as much as the sludgiest of their riffs, but that’s been the thing all along, right? That intangible thing that separates Chat Pile from the hordes, actively noticed by people like me only long after they’ve already taken off in the hopes of saying something new about a band everybody’s talking about. I’ll say I got more of the nü metal live than from the records, but it’s not like they were doing Korn slappa-bass — next record, maybe — just purposefully dissonant while being thick in tone. The volume level stayed high except for between songs when frontman Raygun Busch — the band is Busch, guitarist Luther Manhole, bassist Stin, and drummer Cap’n Ron — regaled the main hall with some choice ad-libbed banter before the next round of agonized harsh-throat barks and/or spoken word in the songs.

I’m still not sure I like Chat Pile, as in being a fan, but they flattened a room with like 3,000 people in it and sounded ready to take on more, so maybe they’re the band that now needs somehow. Maybe primal is the thing.

That was where I left it. Somebody clearly trying to make it outside who perhaps was not in the best capacity to judge their ability to do so had puked on the stairs, and I was glad to use the other side as I made my way down and out to wrap the night.

Today is Roadburn Sunday, the last day of what’s been an incredible and surprisingly quick time. Thank you if you’ve kept up so far. I know it’s a lot. It’s a lot when you’re here, too, but mostly a life-affirming lot. Thanks for reading. More pics after the jump.

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By virtue of the most solid eight hours of sleep I’ve had in the last six months, I was reborn. My first thought this morning when Lee’s alarm went off at nine was “now we’re talking.” Okay, Roadburn. I’m here.

That was a fortunate position to be in, because as will happen in Tilburg each Spring, today was packed. Showered, coffee, a couple crucial changes made, like my pants. Went to the 013 office with Lee for blurbing for the app and such, back to the room, ate an apple that I’d grabbed from the breakfast downstairs, got myself together and ready to jump back into it.

The sun came out as I waited on the line outside The Engine Room. I was glad to have traded purple hoodie for wizard flannel back at the room. 1PM would be an early start to the day with the Throwing Bricks and Ontaard commissioned piece ‘Something to Lose.’ I knew/know precious little about either band, but had heard exciting things, and when you’re here, the commissioned pieces are part of why. An ongoing series of maybe-once-in-a-lifetime performances and collaborations — among the ‘special sets’ that I’ve seen at Roadburns over the years, they’ve been some of the most special — and word was that the two young Utrecht bands, had gone all-in on the project. Something I’d never seen and something, two bands I’d never heard and I’d probably never be able to see otherwise. I don’t take it for granted how par-for-course that is at is at Roadburn.

Barring disaster between now and the end, Thursday will have been the hardest day for me at Roadburn 2025. Usually Friday is pretty rough because I’m through the initial adrenaline of getting here and have to sort of coast on momentum, but that sleep and some food did me good. Lesson learned? Probably not. With the busier schedule of today, though, I was happy for how it worked out.

Even more after Ontaard and Throwing Bricks went on, because the moisture level in the room shot up immediately and it was all snuggles in the tight photo pit. It was too early in the day for me to smell that bad, so I grabbed the shots I could and ended up making my way around the entire room (apologizing to everyone crunched in in the space as I passed excuse me I’m sorry excuse me I’m sorry excuse me I’m sorry I was born, etc.) to get my camera bag from the other side of the photo pit. In hindsight, this was a dumbass move, but I underestimated how many people there would be, despite having waited on line with them outside. I don’t have an excuse. Just a moron. Sorry.

I do hope somebody had the good sense to record ‘Something to Lose,’ though, because it struck me as an effort worth preserving, and it would be cool to hear the depth of the atmospherics against all that bashing away, blast and plod and nod, but if it’s a one-shot and that’s it, take it as a reminder to be present the moment as much as you can. Genre lines rendered as meaningless as they ultimately are, they were cohesive and purposeful as players came and went from the stage, vocalists trading out, spoken word over drones, all leading to a grand finale of upwards of 14 of them on the stage. Quite a thing to behold. Then you get to the music, which was likewise divergent and devastating. I watched from the back, stank but out of the way, and if you believe in Roadburn’s vision of ‘underground futurism,’ in terms of being forward thinking about things to come in heavy anything, it was right there on stage. Consuming.

There was a box of tapes for me at the backstage entrance — not at all aberrant; for years I’ve had all my mail forwarded through the 013 office (not true) — and I had walked down toward the Hall of Fame and seen no end to the line for Midwife, so I booked it up grab that box, dropped it off at the room, drank water and ate a protein cookie, washed up a bit — didn’t shower for a second time, but the thought occurred to me — and changed the now-smelly tshirt I had on for a fresh one. Wouldn’t save me the rest of the day as it was sunny and warmer than Thursday, but one does what one can. I popped in somewhat casually to check out a few minutes of De Mannen Broeders, which is Colin H. van Eeckhout from Amenra and Broeder Dieleman, both also performing solo at some point in the weekend, I believe. Well, Eeckhout definitely was, since his double-duty solo set was next after De Mannen Broeders finished, in the same room.

Before either Dieleman or van Eeckhout came out, a choir sang. I stuck around long enough to see them depart and the two principals, as well as a piano player on a baby grand, take up the vocal duties. It was moody and introverted, but still ‘folk’ in the way of folk music as human expression of humanity. Accordingly, somebody farted. All told, I was there for maybe 15 minutes, and then I realized Messa was on in a few over at the Main Stage, about to bring their new album, The Spin (review here), to life before an anxious throng of an audience.

In the interest of honesty, it was the photo pit of the weekend I was most dreading and I was right. But that’s why I’ve been carrying around the big lens this whole time. Messa came out after their intro and dove into the record with poise and flow, and as it was my first time seeing them — not the fault of any lack of touring on their part, mind you — to witness the charisma and performance first-hand, never mind the stylistic innovation of the songs themselves, they left no question as to how Metal Blade Records got on board for the release. They sounded like an idea whose time had come. It was heavy, lovely, sad and bold in kind, and though The Spin had only been out for a week, the room was ready for it.

Standing in the hallway, I ran into Lee. We had a quick debate about whether Messa were metal or not — I’m in the ‘pro’ camp — and eventually landed on a kind of goth metal. I might throw the word progressive in there, if only to account for the stupid amount of talent in the band. I went in the back downstairs for the end of Messa and had a little break before I needed to be anywhere, which I used to sit on ass and look at the rest of the day. I knew I wanted to finish out with Gnod and White Hills up the road at Koepelhal, so I decided to make my way there and settle in. I’d been back and forth already, but was in no rush. Found a sun-adjacent shady spot and parked for a few to watch the world go by.

I brought my sunglasses on this trip, but the trouble is I like them and I don’t think I’ve ever worn a pair at a festival anywhere on the planet and had that pair make it from beginning to end. To live in the now, or to squint. That was the (dumb) question.

The tradeoff for being awake was antsiness. I had a really good spot, but after about 10 minutes, I started getting itchy, got up and left. Where was I headed? To food, it turned out. I had thought I was going to go the photo pit for Envy on the 013 Main Stage, but my body took me downstairs for some chicken instead. Pounded that in all of three minutes, downed and refilled my water bottle, and by then Envy were on. The photo pit was going, but on a whim I decided to revert to my original intention, which was to see Pygmy Lush at The Engine Room, back up the block at the Koepelhal. So I got my back and forth in, but also food, which was solid strategy because I missed lunch. There was still a lot of day to go.

I didn’t know Pygmy Lush at all, either personally or musically, but the Virginian outfit are friends of a friend and I think mostly if not entirely comprised of members from pg.99, who were also on the bill, so on a day where nothing I’d thus far seen I’d ever seen before — that’s Ontaard and Throwing Bricks, De Mannen Broeders, Messa and Envy — it made sense to keep the thread going. Not even one of them I’d seen. I’m not trying to paint myself like generally I’m Mr. Watchedeverybandever, because I’m not and I haven’t, but such days for me are rarer than not at a festival.

Not lost on me that that thread occurred to me while I stopped for the first time today to really take a purposeful break, as I did sitting and waiting for Pygmy Lush l. It gave me a frame in which to place the day, and even though my one remaining must for Roadburn Friday — Gnod and White Hills — was comprised of two acts I’d seen individually, their ‘Drop Out’ collaboration would give me a chance to appreciate their work in a new way, and was something that had never happened on stage before. So, close enough for me. A whole day of musical first exposures. What a gift to get.

Pygmy Lush were not without tonal presence, but we’re coming from a mellow place in terms of spirit, and with three guitarists, two with vocals, the songs had texture and melody and were thoughtful in the delivery of both. Not uptempo, but affirming in a fragile way. They had no merch and said so, warned the crowd when there were two songs left, and were laid back on the stage, which made it all the more human as they unfurled contemplative Americana with intermittent fuller breakouts that filled the space otherwise purposely left open in the sound. A little shuffle, a little push, but I’m the era of vibes, they were one, and I was glad to have made the walk back to Koepelhal. They finished about as loud as they got and the place went off. I watched the whole set.

This morning, back at the office of the 013, we put a headline on the blurbs that went out with the day’s picks. I had a few, Lee, the esteemed José Carlos Santos, whose bibliography is intimidating but who is decidedly not a dick, Walter, and Dan Pietersen, who writes for Lee. Too many dudes by any measure, but it was sort of a last-minute thing anyway. The headline we ended up going with was, ‘The Sonic Journey Continues,’ and absolutely that’s kind of corny. We knew that when we went with it, but being here, especially the way my Friday had panned out, the cliché feels pretty well earned, and I’m not sure I would want to say it another way. Because there is a certain amount of buying in you have to do as an audience member. If you’re going to stand there cross-armed and cynical, you’ve already missed the point of coming to Roadburn. Shit yeah, be on that sonic journey. At the end of this weekend we’re all going to go back to lives, jobs, families and/or situations that involve various combinations of all of the above. This time is precious and scant. Why let yourself miss it?

Yeah, said the guy who had eight real-life hours of sleep last night. I know. But let part of my holding onto the moment be appreciating that as well as part of what’s made my experience of the day possible. Surely I wouldn’t have the energy for all this navelgazing if I was poorly rested.

In the years since Roadburn started putting bands at the Koepelhal — there is a part of me for whom it’s still a novelty, but it’s been a while by now — you’ve been able to cross from the Engine Room to The Terminal without leaving the building, and the merch was set up between. This year it’s under construction. Merch is elsewhere right down the sidewalk, and you walk outside and around the corner of the building to get to The Terminal. I have to think that makes lines easier to manage, but it can be surprising to walk out into bright daylight. I guess my inner goth was shocked after Pygmy Lush. Spoiler though: there is no inner goth.

Said the robot voice: “Thank you. It is time to take you to paradise. It is a cold, black paradise. Thank you.” This was how Zombie Zombie introduced the penultimate song they would play. They were killer. Total switch in spirit from Pygmy Lush into krautrocking weirdo psychedelic techno with live drums — sometimes two of the three members would be playing them on opposite sides of the stage, and a bit of cosmic sax early, but an unrepentant danciness at the heart of it all. You could tag them as experimental in form, since that’s almost certainly part of what they do, but their songs, though largely instrumental but for the what came through the robo-effect mic, and that was fine, because while space is dark and endless, it’s also constantly in motion in all directions at once according to the math.

Zombie Zombie weren’t quite ‘dark energy’-level powernerds, but the movement was essential just the same. The earlier dance party gave way to more of a build as they moved through their 50-minute set — loaded with temporal distortions as it was — and I went to stand next to the soundboard to take it all in, the throb of bass in wub wub wub thud thud thud, the video behind them raining code like The Matrix used to do. With a higher synth drone and low pulsing beat, a pickup on the drums and strong notion of being all-in for the far-out, and they had people dancing the entire time. It wasn’t aggressive and it wasn’t threatening unless you’re the genre status quo, but they were heavy in a different way than anything I’ve seen this weekend if not ever, and no less so for all that fun.

There was any half an hour before Human Impact went on, and I did find a way between the two rooms from the back of The Terminal. Easy enough. Sat in the photo pit for a quiet few, fell down a hole on my phone and wrote while the band did a line check. They’ve been around at least since the pandemic — I’m not a huge noise rock guy, but I don’t know if you get to be into underground heavy anything in the New York metro area (where I live) and not respect the shit out of Unsane, and Chris Spencer’s involvement in Human Impact was what first grabbed my attention about the band. I haven’t covered everything they’ve done, but with Eric Cooper from Made Out of Babies on bass, who I remember going to see play in Brooklyn the better part of 20 years ago, Cop Shoot Cop’s Jim Coleman on keyboard and Jon Syverson from Daughters on drums, I don’t think I’d be the first to call them super in the group sense, but onstage the impression was far different from the egotism that designation implies.

A bleak, not-inaccurate portrayal of now in music, Human Impact fused noise rock and industrial sounds and atmospheres, were vivid in message and heft, sometimes raging but not all the time, and when the keys and riffs diverged, they seemed to hit that much harder upon coming back together. Cooper mostly backed Spencer’s vocals, but with some input from Coleman as they pushed toward the dark noise apocalypse that was promised but never materialized in the ’90s when some of the same formula was put to much worse use by far too many bands. In Human Impact, the clash of organic and inorganic was resonant, and the aggression seethe was palpable on stage, in no small part because they threw it at you from there and it would be hard to miss. The finish — I didn’t know the title but did recognize the crush — was like grim concrete.

My night would close as planned, with Gnod and White Hills at The Terminal. At a fest this broad, you can make your own way, find your sound and your people. Ideally, anyhow. Gnod Drop Out With White Hills was the official billing, with the ‘Drop Out’ in reference to the collaborative album NYC’s preeminent psych freaks and Gnod, from Salford, UK, who surely are keeping themselves busy these days saying no to the psycho right-wing capitalist fascist industrial death machine, as they once put it. I was there for the line check and even that was hypnotic. Chat Pile were about to go on for a secret show I saw in the TMSQR app, but nah.

With Ego Sensation’s persistent tom and snare as the beating heart of the proceedings, Gnod and White Hills didn’t so much drop out as they did force one to question whether they were ever in to begin with. I did my best with the camera in the lights and fog early in the set — photographic evidence of alien life would be quite a coup for a middle-aged blogger — but whatever. I was honestly more concerned with watching them than taking pictures. Crazy, I know.

Builds of synth along with the guitars of Dave W. and Gnod’s Paddy Shine gave a sense of expanse with the bass crying the groove alongside the drums, and by the time vocals came in, it was a genuine churn, with a depth of mix that came through even by the side of the stage, let alone over in back. Entrancing heavy psych from masters of the form, in a collab that goes back at least a decade, tearing holes in the universe together on stage for the first time. Something special. I don’t know how many times I even said that today, but start to finish, that’s what it was. Careening and cascading, the joint project rode my day out on a chariot with a wizard painted on the side, and scorched the ground beneath them like rockets at takeoff. I’ve done a lot of really stupid shit in my life. I’m not a particularly good person. I’m not kind. But I had to look around me as the one where they kept going “unified…” hit its comedown and understand that whatever I’ve made worse about the planet during my time on it, I’d done something right if I was standing there.

I went back to the room to finish out the night, sort photos, etc. I had done more back and forth than I’d intended throughout the day and was exhausted with work to do, but no regrets whatsoever for how Friday panned out. Hard to believe there are two more days of Roadburn left.

Thanks for reading. More pics after the jump.

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Not too much wandering for today, but I did check out the Archiving Heaviness showcase downstairs at the 013 full of the cultural detritus of past editions. There were even a couple old Weirdo Canyon Dispatch issues in there. It’s nice to think of that as being a part of this whole thing when it was. It was a ‘zine in the truest sense of being a labor of love, and apart from the fact that it was about the fest, I think that’s what tied it most into the fold of Roadburn.

I missed the opening of the art gallery by minutes, but got to see Walter say a few words to the first-timers meeting, welcoming them to the festival and encouraging them to interact with each other, go off schedule and wander, and so on. I also signed the guestbook. The meeting was downstairs at the 013 at the bar near the Archiving Heaviness displays. Walter’s right, of course, about all of it, and it’s the most Roadburn thing ever that the guy who started the fest would take time 25-plus years later to greet the people who’ve never been here before. Roadburn is a lot. It can be overwhelming. Walter radiates a warmth and kindness few people know. When he welcomes you, you stay welcomed.

Xiu Xiu were going on up at the Koepelhal, on the The Terminal stage, but I hadn’t had endnote half a meal since Tuesday, so I grabbed a few slices of kaas and some greens for nutritional reconciliation. Lee and I had come to the office this morning to put some shortb text in the TMSQ app that has the schedule and all that info, and that went quickly enough that I’d gone back to the hotel to sit quietly for a bit, nod off, answer email, etc. I was dragging before food. Headache, a little nauseous. But the thing about Roadburn is no matter how crowded it gets, there are always pockets and places where you can be. If it feels like the whole world is in one place and the line’s out the door and it feels like too much, all you ever have to do is step back, realize that, and find a corner, or a chair, or a bench, whatever it is, and take the minute you need.

For me, that’s usually up on the balcony of the 013, though of course there are times where that’s packed as well. You make it work.

In the main hall, Costin Chioreanu’s animated film ‘The Hunter’ screened to open the day. Oranssi Pazuzu were soon to go on to perform last Fall’s Muuntautuja in its entirety. The one led very well into the other. I remember when Oranssi Pazuzu were here last, circa 2012 or thereabouts — Archiving Heaviness has a wall outside Koepelhal with all the years’ lineups printed on it; I should check that — they were at Het Patronaat, and it was a very big deal. Line down the block. Good to know the ensuing decade-plus hasn’t dulled the reception. I took one song’s worth of pictures in the photo pit, and made my way up to the balcony, because when engaging with intermittently furious groundbreaking cosmic experimentalist black metal, I’ll take the bird’s eye view anytime.

No doubt I was in the minority among the room for not knowing the album, but I was fine hearing a thing for the first time and appreciating the unexpected twists that have helped the band become a generational presence, like the intro to the first song sounding like Nine Inch Nails’ “Mr. Self-Destruct,” or how prone they were to locking in a bigger groove when not channeling dissonance or shred, or, more likely both. I don’t know that they’ll ever be my ‘thing’ as far as that goes, but that didn’t keep it from being awesome.

Spent a few minutes in my own head sitting upstairs on the balcony. Shit self-talk, just tearing myself down because I worry about THINGS and it’s a terrifying moment. Thinking of seeing Dool on the big stage last year, feeling that empowerment resonating, was restorative. Oranssi Pazuzu are on a different trip entirely, and I didn’t expect the same experience twice because I’ve been to Roadburn before and I know better, but there was a sense of freedom conveyed alongside so much catharsis, and I tried my best to home in on that. Also this weird thing had been happening where every time I sat in a place for more than five minutes, no matter what else was going on or its volume level related to human tolerances, I started to fall asleep. I assure you that’s not a dig on the set.

Oranssi Pazuzu finished droned out and fair enough. I thought about popping over to the Next Stage for Toby Driver’s new trio, Alora Crucible, but there was a line outside the room by the time I got there, so I broke off downstairs for a water and then was back up to the Main Stage for the coming of Kylesa. I don’t know how many times I saw them during their ‘original run’ in various lineups and constructions of the band, mostly because I was drunk and it was a long time ago (having a archive of nearly every show I’ve seen in the last 16 years has its advantages in not relying on my memory; Kylesa and my affection for their work pre-date this site), but with Phillip Cope and Laura Pleasants reigniting the band now completed by journeyman metaller Roy Mayorga (Ministry, Stone Sour, Soulfly, etc.), who hits hard enough to remind you Kylesa once had two drummers, and NY-based artist John John Jesse (Nausea) on bass, they were a must-see for me. Something of a silly feeling, being nostalgic for the aughts, but it was 20 years ago. Brains are ridiculous.

Kylesa were last at Roadburn in 2010, but I missed them because volcano. One assumes the irony of “Keep moving/Don’t look back” as a signature hook at a reunion show isn’t lost on Kylesa, but never mind that shit, here comes Mongo, and in this case, Mongo is the guitar tones of Pleasants and Cope at the forefront of this band. And hey, sometimes a path brings you somewhere you’ve been before. With punk in their metallic hearts as it always was, Kylesa renewed their individual blend of elements, influences and craft, dug into some of the rawer ends of their catalog as well as the later and proggier fare, and though it was their first Euro show in more than a decade, I don’t think it took long for them to remind the room who they were and what they were about. That space was packed and rightly so. Kylesa was always just a little different than everybody else, sound-wise. Cope and Pleasants sharing vocals was always part of it, for sure, but for me it goes to the shape of their riffing and their ability to take what seem like straightforward ideas like “here’s a fuggin’ thrash riff in your face,” and beat them into more complex shapes.

As to what their going-forward plans might be, I haven’t a clue, but there’s life in them, and where I can think of an act like Jesus and Mary Chain, who were here for a reunion last year — different band and context, but still — and it felt pretty hollow. Kylesa, on the other hand, were always about the soul and the charge put into their songs, and they remain so. And the lineup, in the parlance of 2023, is fire. But of course it is. Nodding heads front to back. A mosh opened up. Dudes were dancing on the balcony. Hail hail.

They closed with “Running Red,” which, yes. I lurched my sad physicality up to Koepelhal when they were done to catch Faetooth at The Terminal. The Los Angeles three-piece self-tag as ‘Fairy Doom,’ and I wouldn’t argue if I could. Bringing together doomed nod, sludge nod and, indeed, some more nod, their dual-vocal approach moved between harsh and cleans, and the songs didn’t want for dynamic, but the overarching impression was heavy and dug-in. I think this is their first time in Europe? I don’t know that, so don’t quote it, but yes I just checked and it’s true. Quote away, I guess. In any case, they drew a massive crowd to bask in the largesse of fuzz, and the darker shoegaze side of what they were doing was balanced by both the screams and the tonal heft. They didn’t look like a band to fuck with. Someone yelled out they were beautiful before they played and I was embarrassed to be a dude. Cringe shit.

Speaking of, walking back to the 013 after Faetooth, there was a street preacher in a tshirt with a cross on it yelling about god in Dutch. He started in on me and I let him go a few seconds before I told him I didn’t even speak his language and to fuck off. He switched to English to thank me and say god bless you, to which my shouted reply was “only if he gives me a handjob first — again, fuck you.” I could live a thousand years and there would be no time in my life for that fucking garbage. I was completely lucid. I didn’t hit him.

An abrasive noise wash after that kind of adrenaline spike turned out to be just the thing, and after breaking a kick drum pedal right off the bat, like, with the first kick, The Body and Dis Fig tapped electronic and organic malevolence. I knew it would be heavy. But feeling the bass wub in my chest was nonetheless affecting. There was a big part of me that was ready to call it a night — arguably it was still evening — but I was scared to go back to the hotel and crash too hard, lest I sleep then instead of overnight. I had screwed up Wednesday so much in how I did and didn’t sleep that I’d been feeling it all day, but the lonely conscious fragment of my mind knew the room was a trap. Brutal noise, drone, thud and melodic-vocal cutthrough it is. Roadburn means I’m lucky to be alive. I can sleep later. I hope.

I hid my face in my arms at one point to get away from the strobe. They were droning at the time and yeah, I kinda nodded off. That’s how it was today. Adrenaline and lots of coffee were a help, likewise good music, but at no point in the day did I feel like I was at my best or even functioning beyond the basics and yelling at that jeezaroo. I know that’s not rock and roll. It’s not cool. It’s not positive. It’s not hey I’m here and let’s be an influencer and here’s some content isn’t it contenty? It’s real life. If you’re going to be a lifer at this shit or anything else, including just life itself, some days are going to be easier than others. Did not the Ben Ward sayeth, “Some you win, some you lose?” Well I won today outright, even if I had to pull myself by my collar to do it.

Back at the room afterward, I put in a video call to home, got to talk to The Patient Mrs. and The Pecan, which was a treat, I’d gotten myself one more espresso from the machine in the lobby of the hotel, of which I drank about half in a single sip and poured out the rest. Yes, absolutely for all my Nespresso homies. You know who you are, you classy bastards.

Sorting photos and finishing the writing were precursors to screwing off and going to bed, so that was the order of it. Tomorrow and Saturday nights are more packed for me, so resting while I can while my body gave me fewer and fewer choices in the matter anyway made sense. In the end, I slept like a bastard for like nine hours, which I very much hope brings me closer to whatever vision of ‘caught up’ might apply.

Thanks for reading. A couple 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.

That Uniform full-album performance is going to be vicious, and that’s barely scratching the surface of the 25 new additions to the lineup for Roadburn 2025. To wit, Lane Shi is the first artist I’ve ever seen in the 15 years I’ve been covering the festival’s doings to have been announced for more than one edition of the fest. She’ll play the next three years in a row, if I read right. Cave In doing Jupiter is sure to be nostalgic, and the likes of Insect Ark, The Body, and Xiu Xiu — who I guess had a good enough time to come back — offer further assurance of a packed schedule.

It’s all over the place and I haven’t heard half these artists before. Would you really have Roadburn any other way?

From the PR wire:

Roadburn adds 25 new names to the 2025 lineup including Cave In, The Body, Dis Fig, Uniform, The Bug, Xiu Xiu and more

Having recently announced Cave In performing their seminal album Jupiter in full, as well as the festival’s first ever three-year artist in residence, Lane Shi, Roadburn has today added a further 23 names to the 2025 line up. Among those names is a commissioned project from Warrington Runcorn New Town Development Plan, a full album playthrough of American Standard by Uniform, and a collaborative set from The Body and Dis Fig.

Roadburn’s artistic director, Walter Hoeijmakers comments:

“With this announcement, the lineup for Roadburn 2025 is almost complete. Looking at it as a whole, we have achieved a genuine reflection of the current underground. We have reached the crossroads where 2024 and 2025 come together, whether it’s with album performances, released or unreleased, Roadburn luminaries or younger up-and-coming bands, we are giving a platform to a wide spectrum of artists, redefining heaviness, showcasing growth and the future of our beloved underground.”

The new names added to Roadburn 2025 are as follows:

Buffalo Nichols brings the blues from America all the way to Tilburg

Cave In will perform their iconic album Jupiter, and mark its 25th anniversary.

Dame Area’s double trouble is signaled with chaotic energy and rhythmic percussion

Dis Fig feat. Spooky J – Dis Fig will be joined by a live drummer for this stand alone performance in addition to her set with The Body

Doodseskader merge hip hop, hardcore, metal, electronics and more

Endon return to Europe for the first time in five years, on the back of their latest album, Fall of Spring.

Foudre! Blend post-punk, world music and psych- this will be their Roadburn debut

Gott were forced to cancel their Roadburn performance in 2022; now they’re back and raring to go

Greet present harmonium-heavy, pastoral folk from the North of England

Haunted Plasma play their first live set outside of Finland

Insect Ark are now a three piece when they play live, enabling them to do full justice to the nuances of their ominous sounds.

Kaukolampi fuse the headiness of kosmische with the visceral impact of techno, the intensity of metal and the churning power of dark ambient.

Lane Shi is Roadburn’s first ever Triennium Artist In Residence; she will perform at each of the next three editions of the festival.

LustSickPuppy is an unholy mashup of digital hardcore, rap, acid electronica and noise with an eye for art and a brain full of big ideas.

Maquina. is a Portuguese trio who specialise in driving beats and hypnotic Krautrock

Silver Godling hails from New Orleans, and creates beautiful songs utilising voice, piano and looping.

Supplicate is the project of Andy Gibbs from Thou; he will make his European debut at Roadburn

The Body return to Roadburn, this time on the main stage.

The Body & Dis Fig unite on the Roadburn main stage for their electrifying collaborative performance.

The Bug will draw heavily from his Machine release for this special show.

The Ex will highlight exactly why they’re so iconic after 45 years in the game

Uniform expand to a six piece for a full performance of American Standard in its entirety.

Warrington Runcorn New Town Development Plan is a commissioned artist for 2025 and will present new work titled Industrial Growth.

Xiu Xiu will make a triumphant return to Roadburn off the back of their new album

Youniss is a Belgian-based artist that blends a mix of hip hop, experimental noise and post-punk with his poetic commentary

More information on these artists can be found HERE: https://roadburn.com/line-up/

They will join a slew of previously announced artists including Chat Pile, envy, Thou, Oranssi Pazuzu, ØXN, Sumac, Altin Gun, Kylesa and many more.

All ticket and accommodation options for Roadburn are now on sale. For all information including tickets, please visit www.roadburn.com

https://www.facebook.com/roadburnfestival/
http://www.instagram.com/roadburnfest
http://www.roadburn.com

Insect Ark, Raw Blood Singing (2024)

Heyo, just a word here as Roadburn does that Roadburn pre-holiday thing and announces a butt-ton of acts for next year’s festival before things get (outwardly) quieter for the next month or so. I know the narrative as regards the festival is that they’ve expanded from their beginnings, let go of the stoner rock stuff and all this, and to a certain point, that’s probably true. But among these almost-30 bands and artists, check out just how much heavy, psych, space and generally-out-there shit there is. Like, a ton.

Gnod & White Hills — who just announced a new collaborative album today — and Messa (I haven’t seen that album announcement but assume it’s coming unless I just missed it; it’s apparently called The Spin) playing full LPs, Coilguns, Smote, Thou, Zombie Zombie, Pothamus who I recently got put onto — some of it is spaced out and some of it is trippy, but if you’re looking for tonal presence, I don’t think it’s going to be in short supply.

That they also happen to be open-minded around this, such that Dødheimsgard and Chat Pile can exist on the same bill with Cinder Well, Faetooth and a Kylesa reunion, I don’t think is a weakness. At least it doesn’t seem to be looking at the new poster art, which I’ll just say flat out I prefer to 2024’s. I got to attend Roadburn earlier this year for the first time in five years, and it was magic and emotional both. I don’t know that I’ll be invited back for 2025 — because, really, why would I? — but this announcement does nothing at all to uncross my superstitious fingers.

The PR wire brought the latest:

Roadburn adds 29 new names to the 2025 lineup including envy, Oranssi Pazuzu, Thou, Gilla Band, Midwife, Steve Von Till and more

Roadburn has announced a further 29 names for the 2025 edition of the festival. Among the artists confirmed are several who will return to Roadburn – such as Thou, Messa, and Oranssi Pazuzu – and many who will be making their Roadburn debut – such as Envy, Tristwych y Fenywod, and Curses. Steve Von Till and Midwife have also been announced as artists in residence, both performing multiple times over the course of the festival. Roadburn 2025 will take place in Tilburg, The Netherlands between April 17-20.

Roadburn’s artistic director Walter Hoeijmakers comments:

“This announcement shows the broad scope of heaviness at Roadburn 2025. There are artistic, musical and emotional boundaries being pushed, and we are hosting up-and-coming acts making their festival debuts alongside longstanding luminaries. We are looking to the future, to our roots, and in all directions in the present to find those defying the perceived limits of genre in the underground. We know there are no limits.”

The new names added to Roadburn 2025 are as follows:

Bambara: brooding post-punk from New York

Big Brave performing their latest, critically acclaimed album A Chaos of Flowers

Blind Girls will make the trek from Australia to bring their frenetic screamo to Roadburn

Buñuel’s off-kilter noise rock will be presided over by enigmatic frontman Eugene S. Robinson

CHVE is the intense and intimate outlet for the solo work of Amenra’s Colin H. van Eeckhout

Coilguns will perform their new album Odd Love in its entirety.

Curses (Live) are set to deliver their neon-lit post-punk/electro hybrid

Dødheimsgard will bring their iconic combination of progressive black metal and avant-garde industrial as they perform their latest album, Black Medium Current

envy will make their long awaited Roadburn debut, performing A Dead Sinking Story in full as well as a modern era/Eunoia set

Gilla Band will revisit the Early Years with a noise-rock set that throws back to their roots

Gillian Carter hail from Orlando, Florida and will bring their distinctive brand of screamo to Tilburg in April.

Glassing head to Europe for just the second time to showcase their post-everything sound and bristling live energy.

Gnod & White Hills unite to perform their legendary Gnod Drop Out With White Hills II album

Great Falls fuse noise rock and hardcore in a discordant, emotion driven sonic purge

Messa return to Roadburn to play their upcoming new album, The Spin, in full.

Michael Gira and Kristof Hahn (SWANS) will present an intimate set of new and rarely heard compositions.

Midwife (Artist In Residence) – Madeline Johnston AKA Midwife will return to Roadburn – this time as an artist in residence – where she will perform three times, including a set with Vyva Melinkolya and a commissioned performance of her new album, No Depression In Heaven

Oranssi Pazuzu return to the festival with a very special performance of their latest release, Muuntautuja

Pothamus have just announced a brand new album, Abur, which they will perform in full at Roadburn 2025.

Pygmy Lush will play their first show in Europe at Roadburn, bringing their dark Americana to Roadburn.

Smote will expand to an eight-piece ensemble to perform their latest album, A Grand Stream

Steve Von Till (Artist In Residence) – we have invited Steve to be an artist in residence to honour his incredible musical legacy and shine a light on his future creative endeavours; he will perform two full sets and unite with artist Thomas Hooper for a collaborative audio-visual exhibition.

Thou will perform their latest album, Umbilical, in full on the main stage.

Tristwch Y Fenywod bring their folky Welsh-language incantations to Tilburg.

Violent Magic Orchestra blend black metal and electronics to dizzying effect

Vuur & Zijde feature members of Laster, Silver Knife, Terzij de Horde and more – and will make their live debut performing their album, Boezem

Vyva Melinkolya will play her first show in Europe, bringing her emotionally heavy dreamgaze to Roadburn.

Witch Club Satan rip up the rule book of black metal, embracing the feminine and the theatrical along the way.

Zombie Zombie combine groovy electronics and trippy motorik rhythms in their psychedelic sound

More information on these artists can be found HERE: https://roadburn.com/line-up/

They will join a slew of previously announced artists including Chat Pile, ØXN, Sumac, Altin Gun, and Kylesa.

All ticket and accommodation options for Roadburn are now on sale. For all information including tickets, please visit www.roadburn.com

https://www.facebook.com/roadburnfestival/
http://www.instagram.com/roadburnfest
http://www.roadburn.com

Thou, Umbilical (2024)