Notes From Bear Stone Festival 2024 — Day 4
Posted in Features, Reviews on July 8th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Before show; by the river
Hard not to chuckle at the river-rafting group coming down the rocks and being surprised by the jolt of speed, especially when they’re laughing so hard themselves. This place. The clear water, the sound of it rolling, the rocks around, trees, vines, moss for the tardigrades, dirt, bugs, birdsong during the day, peeper-frogs trying to get laid at night; life. Some clouds today, which is perfect. The van came early — 12:15PM for a 4:15 show start — but it’s a pleasure just to be here and sit, smell the water, drink my coffee and feel a little bit of spray to take the edge off the heat. Today I remembered my hat. Stuffed it in the camera bag last night to be sure.
I got back to the room last night, charged the camera batteries, dumped the photos off the memory card, and almost finished wrapping up the writing for the review of yesterday before sleep shut me down. Some sentences require an overnight, apparently. Getting all the photos sorted was a task, but so it goes. I screwed up naming them — fucking Windows 11 is the worst; been considering wiping the machine clean and downgrading, but it would take more time than I’ve got — and WordPress got all dumb about it with
replacing band images with the wrong ones, but my hope is that at some point today or sorts itself out. It’s right in the html, so I’ve done my best. I’ll check it later when I get back to the room.
The Patient Mrs., The Pecan and Tillydog are doing well in Zagreb, as affirmed on a video call shortly before coming here. They’ve done a lot of riding the blue trams, it seems, and sightseeing around the city. I told The Pecan she would have to be my tour guide for the city since I haven’t been there yet and she got all excited. She likes me much better when I’m not there. Reasonable. I’m also markedly more fond of myself in concept than reality.
Only four bands today — Vukojarac, Misery Crown, Rens Argoa and Zolle. No jam stage, but maybe a secret set (?), which adds to the mellow afternoon. But even getting here early it was by no means empty, with campers having breakfast and/or beers and bumming around as one does. Existing, which is a worthwhile endeavor. I went a little up the river with Sander van den Driessche from Echoes and Dust, whom I’ve known for years at this point and consider a friend, and found a bench to sit on. He’s got a book, I’ve got my phone to write on, and neither of us minds the quiet. Easy win.
I may or may not get the chance to say it properly again, so thank you to Bear Stone Festival for having me, for letting me come here for these busy, incredible days, seeing and hearing things that I otherwise never would in a setting/context that is unto itself.
Specifically, thanks to Marin Lalič for making it happen. It is amazing and surely not a little bit of work to get such stunning results. To say I’ve never experienced anything like it fails to encompass how fulfilling it has been. I wouldn’t presume being invited back for 2025, but wouldn’t hesitate if that email came in. Either way, it will be fun to watch Bear Stone grow in the years to come.
As always, thank you to The Patient Mrs., who on every level is the universe in which I am a speck of dust (also gas). I am loved, supported, and cared for and about in ways I could never hope to justify.
Thank you to the press contingent with
whom I did much of the back and forth — Sander of course, James from the UK, Gabriel and Anya from Switzerland, Kate and Tom, Ewu (great to finally chat). And from the very fabric of my being, thank you to Nelly and Elias for the kindness, the conversation, the rides at the end of the night and a spiritually-refreshing generosity that went well beyond the food. I don’t know that they’ll read this, but if so, don’t be surprised when I show up at your door in Bulgaria.
Something going on the Jam Stage now — that secret set, I assume; someone from Seven That Spells? — but I’m content to let it drift over on the air. Tempting to walk over, put the batteries in the camera, do the thing, but in the free spirit of Bear Stone, I’m going to take it as it is rather than force something. My own aspirations toward the organic, manifest in laziness, trying to turn fatigue into art on some level. Some intensity to be had with industrial ticks and bass wub, but that’s cool.
I’ll need a water refill soon, which means the fleeting moment is on its way to gone, but that is okay too. There’s no shortage of spots to be in for a while, so I’m going to put my phone down for a couple minutes and stare out. Still plenty of time before the bands start, but I brought more writing to work on as well, and if I spent three hours — or two, at this point — taking pictures of plants, insects, rocks and people’s dogs, I wouldn’t be wrong. I would, however, probably be even sweatier than I already am.
—
The first notes and snare hits of line check waft from the Mill Stage as I sit again and watch the churning water just below this bench on the small cliff. It’s about 45 minutes before the day starts, and I’m up for it, despite reveling in this spot, appreciating the time, the little spinning circle of water-plants that has me wanting to dive for a korok seed, and the sound of the river.
But if the message of today is the finity of all things, I’m fortunate to be here now, while looking forward to what comes next.
What comes next, as it happens, is the show. Thanks for reading.
—
Vukojarac
Even their line check was among the nastier of the tones emitted this weekend, and under an appropriately clouded sky with a suitable humidity at ground level, Vukojarac’s set proved likewise dank, if less punishing initially than expected from that short preview as the drummer and bassist (who played an electric/acoustic, presumably for resonance) shared lead vocal roles and both swapped between gutturalisms and morose, cleaner melodies. In combination with the heft of the riffing, flashes of more extreme aspects — I hope someone will correct me if I’m wrong about theirs being the first blastbeats of the weekend, if not the first double-kick — and the occasional bellow echoing out down the river, Vukojarac were still well in aggro territory, but I got more depression than anger in terms of mood. Dark, in any case, but able to roll out a stoner riff or speedier progression and transpose it to their purpose, as they did more than once while the sun dared show its face for a quick minute before again receding, only to return in force before they were done. Have I told you I’m thinking of founding a religion based on modern sun worship and astrophysics? As to what makes it a religion? Five bucks to join (digital transfer accepted, cash-in-envelope preferred). Might make patches too. Anyhow, something clicked and Vukojarac got rawer as they went on, and for sure there was burl to spare, but by then, that was adding to the character of their sound rather than defining it, and while it got mean, they kept up the roll and the now-full pavilion matched it with synchronous nod. One more on the list of bands I’d probably never be able to see if I wasn’t here.
Misery Crown
Low-slow groove saturation. I saw Misery Crown walk up when they got here just before Vukojarac got started, and one of their two guitarists had a Down shirt on, while their bassist/lead vocalist wore one for Pantera’s “Drag the Waters,” and my impression of them couldn’t helped be defined in part by that, though they were more metal altogether. Both six-stringers added backing vocals throughout (the one in the Down shirt changed to A Gram Trip; fair enough), and in keeping with Vukojarac, they switched between clean singing in a Southern, low-mouth style and growls to go with some but not all of their bigger riffs. More double-kick from the drums was a decent fit with the brood and periodic pace-upping, and as they pushed into a building chorus, they were all the more able to serve the song with the vocal dynamic. I split in the middle – empty water bottle would not do with the sun out – but made it back in time to see theirs last couple songs, and no regrets, even if it’s probably not the kind of thing I’d put on for a given afternoon reading to my daughter or playing board games. And considering what Misery Crown were going for sound-wise, they should probably take that as a compliment. That works for me. I had some reservations about themes, notions of things lost being regained, and so on, but I wouldn’t judge one way or the other without reading actual lyrics. They finished upbeat with “10 Years of Misery,” which was aiming catchier (and getting there) more than most of their material, and backed that with due punch to reinforce the point.
Rens Argoa
Dudes in the front tried to get a “hey! hey! hey!” going during one of Rens Argoa’s songs but couldn’t quite find the time signature. I was ready for a change in vibe and the trio brought that with a more technical and quirky approach to heavy instrumentalism, the return of the funk bass, and an edge of shenanigans that manifest as well in the guitarist and bassist swapping instruments after the first song. Adventurous, with some shimmer of psychedelia running throughout, but whoever was doing whatever after that charming initial misdirect in the strong section, the core was urgent heavy prog, and they were just as likely to math out as to bounce on a more straight-ahead riff. When they eventually won me over was the quieter song — I’m sorry, I don’t know where in the set it was and I can’t look it up — that built up gradually around an emotional current in the guitar. I’m a sucker, I guess. They were back to the jabs and bops on the head soon enough, no worries, but the more they played, the more depth their was to hear in their sound, and while the balance was pushed toward the dizzying, that was a wakeup people needed. I’d like to go on record and say I wasn’t the one shouting for English when the guitar player — who started on bass — was talking between songs. Speak your language, dude. Unless you’re telling me my foot is on fire — and it’s not; I just checked — it’s all good. To end, they paired a flowing heavy roll with more spacious lead guitar, and I guess I wasn’t the only one digging it, because the pavilion went off when they were done.
Zolle
Italian duo Zolle had pink balloons on their cymbal stands with hearts on them, most likely in honor of their new album, Rosa. The day had been pretty subdued up to here, but all signs pointed to a blowout to bring Bear Stone to its finish, and the anticipated high-impact fuckery was delivered. Dudes in the crowd were dancing even before the two-piece walked up through the crowd to fanfare and the ringing of churchbells. Energy-wise, they were up there with Melvins at their most coked, and arranged next to each other in the front of the stage area, with stops for beer from the stand in front of them, Zolle let the Mill Stage have it with a party rock born as much of heavy punk as sped up AC/DC’s school o’ riffing. I acknowledge those two might be the same thing when you do the math. The drummer sat on a chair instead of a stool, and that seemed like a good move given how much time he spent standing on it egging on the audience for sing-alongs to parts that very clearly were written for singalongs, which worked, and they kept it up. Not at all the same kind of unrelenting as High on Fire, but a shot of adrenaline just the same and ready and willing to be silly and fun. They finished with more sampled fanfare and were mobbed by clearly established fans and new ones alike. No argument from me. They were a total blast.
—
That was it. I took the bus (van) back to the rooms with a crew of press after saying goodnight and last thanks to Marin and his wife Ivana for having me here. It has been an incredible time, and I’m well enough asskicked, but even in such a state I had to stop and get the camera out for a picture of the sunset sky over the mist of the river. Unfathomably cool.
I don’t want to get into some trite diatribe about how lucky I am, but as I swatted the odd fly off my dome, I’ve also been scratching my head at how I got here. I spend a lot of my time sort of bringing myself down, and sometimes anyone else who happens to be in the room, including my family who I could never hope to deserve. Being able to do this, to travel and see things I’ve never seen, meet people and hear great music, makes me understand in a different way how special my life is and how fortunate I am to live it. With more gratitude to my wife for keeping me alive all these years, I’ll leave it at that.
And finally, once more, thank you for reading. None of this happens otherwise.
More pics after the jump.
