Roadburn Festival @ Tilburg, Netherlands 16-17/04/26
The sacred meeting of April melted our hearts for one more year, Part A
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Introduction
The moment for our annual raid to the place where the underground of heavy sound gather had arrived. Along with marking the period of the summer festivals’ beginning, Roadburn Festival is a place that typically fills our mental batteries and reminds us that no, we are not alone out there. We are not the only weird ones who believe in equality and hope for justice amongst all, but furthermore, we are not the only odd ones or the crazy ones who firmly believe that music as well as art carry political implications. In this annual meeting of people from all over the world, who have trusted their soul upon a trustworthy place where everyone smiles, Roadburn Festival tends to give back to us exactly what we bet we would gain from our presence in the multitude of performances it has to offer us, if not more. With countless performances that we eagerly await, let us dive with excessive enthusiasm into what took place during the first two days of the festival.
Day 1
One of us was impatient, as she had already missed the supposed first appearance of Crippling Alcoholism in Europe which did not take place. The others were anxious, as the struggle with the not at all reliable German trains created enough delay to imply a possibility to miss the first set. With a little dash of good spirits however, everything went as it was wished for, and the first coffee outside the Hall Of Fame was acquired, the teddy bear - this year’s mascot of the festival - was bought, and the entrances of the Koepelhal were again in their place, after the temporary rearrangement for repairs of the previous year. Add the heat and the sunny weather, Roadburn Festival looked more beautiful than ever.
If you have encountered the music of Crippling Alcoholism, as well as the buzz that has been created around their name in recent years, you would also understand the impatience of their almost first appearance in Europe. With a first contact the previous day, on the warm up day of the festival (as Walter Hoeijmakers, the artistic director of the festival, later confessed to us, they gave them the opportunity to play also the introductory day because they saw the size of the stage they would play and got anxious), the real first European appearance of Crippling Alcoholism was now a fact.
Their psychotic gothic rock / post punk spread on the stage of Terminal like a disease. The impressive, deep voice of Tony Castrati created drops of sweat with the directness of its performance - perhaps for his sake, we must establish the term "clean brutals". The passion with which the younger members of the band gave their best self is notable, shocked by the crowd of people who knew their music in depth, got passionate, kick the air, go crazy. Only the second song of the festival, "Girl’s Night" and its Dionysian mood has taken over every cell of ours. We heard a new song. The madness of "Ottessa" carried us into dirty worlds. Crippling Alcoholism, on the sixteenth of April, were launched into the stratosphere at the best moment of their life and after all, on the remaining days they watched with similar enthusiasm as the audience the other bands, and they gave us the best opening we could ask for.
From there on, the group splits between the two sides of Spoorlan street. On the side of the Main Stage, and with the space under the stage of Next having filled satisfactorily, fortunately not suffocatingly, the trio of Iskandr took positions and the noon folk-meets-drone-meets-psych journey did not delay its beginning. The loops and the effects dominated. The wind instruments expectedly stood in front. The accordion stole the show. From the three sets of Krallice on the Main Stage, the first and commissioned one titled "Future" undoubtedly carried the most question marks. The double guitar attack instead of saying hello, only added to these. Next to the extreme instrumental chaos, the progressive (with or without quotation marks) feeling fit ideally. The songs may not have had a name, as the band revealed, but they hid enough twists and even more solos on the six-string bass to take us and lift us.
On the side of Koepelhal again, darkness tended to reign. Shearling, the later version of the enigmatic Sprain, was the first appearance inside the Engine Room and as was expected, the madness of Alex Kent and Sylvie Simmons flooded the space, with screams, compositions and improvisations that magnetized our gaze. We left early, to catch the rising Ukrainian-origin Machukha at Hall Of Fame, the most cursed stage of the festival in terms of capacity combined with the musical diamonds it hosts, and we probably did right since the space quickly filled and formed a queue outside. With their representative album being the amazing "Mochari", Machukha proved to be one of the big revelations of the festival. Their post black won over even the last skeptic among the crowd.
Return to the Terminal Stage and reunion of the group, for the impressive Pain Magazine. The collaboration of Birds In Row with the electronic duo Maelstrom & Louisahhh takes post hardcore to dramatic extensions. The lightshow and the presence of B at the exact same spot as three years ago awakens memories from the appearance of Birds In Row back then. An appearance with resounding emotional intensity. Our paths separate again soon, however. On the one hand, the Main Stage calls. When as soon as the lights go out you hear "For Those About To Rock", you know that things cannot go wrong. Even more when Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs are added in the equation. The experience that the group has gained over the years is obvious. Their energy is contagious. The material of "Death Hilarious" was delivered in all its dusty greatness. At the same time, the Engine Room hosts the Mexican crust punks Habak, and the explosive Alejandra Valdez drags us into a frantic lawlessness of true punk. The band, visibly moved by the opportunity to appear at the festival, gave their best although at points their sound betrayed them. They had not yet said their last word though…
Food in hand and a race to enter the Hall Of Fame again. There, the most underrated hardcore band of our times, Eyes, kept hardcore pure and proved that we must have our eyes on them (sorry). It was a salon fight show that woken us up for good, while the first secret show of the four-day event was announced - Curselifter and Snake Eater open the Skate Hall. We looked outside, saw the queue, then headed disappointed quickly to the opposite side of the festival. At the same time, a completely different climate prevailed a bit further. Even for the standards of the festival, the presence of Billy Woods seemed unexpected. The hip hop setting at Terminal, corresponding to that which had been set up two winters back in Exarchia, at first reading, did not inspire. The ease with which the American musician turned every mishap in his favor had a lot to say. Until the passage from "Spongebob" took us by surprise, the connection had been completed.
Ufomammut do not need proof. Their course, parallel to that of Roadburn Festival, has defined psychedelic stoner metal sonically and visually. The choice of the visual collective that its members form, Malleus, was not random after all, for the festival’s art exhibition. An experience that you had to watch from afar due to the visuals, the balcony of the mezzanine proved a winning bet. The Italian trio shook the foundations of the Main Stage, with "Stigma" dominating. We left them early due to our frequent contact with their live shows, to fit ourselves in a longed-for appearance. The Colombian master of dark industrial EBM Filmmaker took his spot at the Next stage, and the beats opened even more the black hole that Ufomammut started next door in a completely different way. We exited the stage sweaty and took a breath before the absolute awe.
In a sense, looking at the course of Cult Of Luna, many parallel lines can be drawn corresponding to that of Roadburn. From the strictly underground first steps to the growth of their names, and from the gradual transformations to the refusal to compromise, the points of intersection are there for those interested to see them. On our notebooks, having in mind the monstrous nature of their performances, both sets of the Scandinavians were marked in big letters to make sure they won’t be missed. Given the split into older and newer material, however, we would be lying if we claimed that we did not bet a little more on the second half. The opening with "Finland" demolished any previous thoughts. From the chaos of "Leave Me Here" to the fading of "Dark City, Dead Man", the invisible hand did not leave our necks for a second. And if a breath dared to escape, the shocking light show trapped it.
The attempt to get a taste of the strictly thirteen-minute set of World Peace was made, but the queue was larger than the number of people who fit inside the Hall of Fame, so the plan was abandoned. Instead, refuge was found at Terminal and the set of Maruja, in our third contact with them. We encountered many similar feelings with their appearance in Athens just one week later, however without the unexpected, so let us not be long-winded. Failure follows us also in the set of Unsane who for some undefined reason, were surprisingly assigned the small (for their crowd) Next Stage for the performance of "Occupational Hazzard". We stayed outside and with consolation two notes from the closing of Blawan, we left since the next day was predicted to be long, while forming conspiratorial plans on how not to face another entry failure in the future.
Day 2
The sunshine in Tilburg holds strong, and we put our face briefly inside the set of Yellow Eyes who provenly give wonderful sets, to park Kostas there while the rest of us gave in to a tempting breakfast with eggs and bacon. There would not be many opportunities for food today anyway. The city, on our walk to choose the right restaurant, seems to have dressed entirely in the colors of the festival - do not think these are black, because the souls of Roadburners, although metal in their core, use with courage the whole color palette. After we filled our hearts and stomachs, it was time to empty them, in an appearance that promised a lot.
The commissioned set of Teardrinker who excelled in last year’s secret show was a fact. Above, you see the trigger warning that to their credit, they posted outside the concert venue as well as on the video wall inside Terminal. Around us, familiar faces, those of Throwing Bricks and Ontaard, the protagonists of last year’s commissioned set that this year was released and we dissected it as it deserves, similarly impatient with ours. "I Hope This Hurts" Kim Hoorweg had told us would be the title of their work. To say that it just hurt us, would be a heavy understatement.
Carefully crafted visuals present statistics of abuse based on gender, its identity and sexual orientation. Testimonies from events that shocked, such as those of the life of Gisele Pelicot, the Epstein case, and many more, make us cry bitterly. Not tears in the eyes, proper sobbing. Kim dressed in her white nightgown, screams truths in our faces. She grabs the cello. Below silence prevails. "No One Is Free, Until We Are All Free". The non-binary choir, the melodic post metal passages, the razor sharp lyrics, the recorded parts, the change of outfit with era appropriate underwear, and how much Kim felt every word and every note, all these experiences sent us to hell unexpectedly in the early afternoon and we’re thankful they did.
For some of us it took a while to recover. Others had stamina to attend All Men Unto Me, and to be flooded by the mystagogy of the Next Stage. When the rest of us finally recovered, the Engine Room was waiting. Faithful to his vision, Thom Wasluck went up alone on the stage of the Engine Room and pulled the space into his empotional depth within minutes. The multi-layered sound of Planning For Burial was presented through loops and pedals, keeping the backing tracks to an absolute minimum. The alternations from deep to torn vocals did not fail. Back at the Main Stage however, the collaboration of Wiegedood & Blindman from the moment of its announcement seemed like a version of "we like to take listeners out of their comfort zone" that Belgians had expressed to us some years back. The avant-garde setup was restrained. The full ambient approach for forty minutes tested many limits. The electric passage partly set things right. The continuation with wind instruments came as a reversal. A difficult level of experience for the timing of four in the afternoon.
With such a rich concert schedule, today’s panels went somewhat unnoticed, however we made up for it in the following days. We tried Milkweed, but we only saw them outside the door of Hall Of Fame. Unfortunately that is, because the experience inside seemed otherworldly attractive. Where we would not compromise, was the regular appearance of Kowloon Walled City at Terminal, since yesterday they also made a secret passageway in Hall Of Fame. The landmark band for underground sludge is again fully active, and their greatness on stage convinces even the last one. Jaws and bass dropped to the abyss. Then, a deep breath was taken, and a race with the clock just before the end of Kowloon’s set to reach the Main stage started.
Roadburn watered and raised them, from seeds to buds, and from buds to some huge fruits of the variety of those that enter and win competitions for the largest items of their category. We’re talking of course about Agriculture, who this year would present to us in full the shocking "The Spiritual Sound", in perhaps the biggest concert of their career so far. A few words we exchanged last night with Leah, quickly led to the conclusion that humility comes with greatness. An edge to edge full Main stage, perfect sound, and the four Agriculture giving their soul until collapse, were the ingredients of the successful recipe. Proud amongst them, stand the Palestine flag, the trans flag and an anti-Ice flag. The lights submit to their rhythms without a second word. The vocals of Dan and Leah shave the atmosphere. When the riff of "Bodhidharma" hits, not a single head stays still. Agriculture are the black metal of the new era. Grounded, great players, all placed in a parallel dimension while they play, they defeated every opinion that does not accept their absolute dominance in modern extreme metal.
And as we moved with hearts in pieces for the first set of Heaven In Her Arms, we see the announcement for the secret show of Habak at the Skate Hall. Immediate turn, since with the former we had another appointment tomorrow, for another taste of Mexican lustful punk since we probably would not have many chances to meet them live soon. A wise decision, since the Skate Hall suited them even more, and the sound this time fully justified them. At Terminal, the atmosphere had changed a lot. Shoegaze does not need poses or fanfares, everyone knows that. Slow Crush on the big stage of Koepelhal gave one more proof, in case it was needed. The material of "Aurora" shone bright. The lights remained almost strictly in purple and pink shades. The sound of the snare behind the wall of noise was awesome. Opposite, having stolen impressions one day before, Krallice returned to the scene of the crime on the Main Stage for their second round. The switch from the future to the past was enough to justify the change of moods. The darkness here was clearly thicker. One blast beat after another, was thrown to us without mercy.
On the other side, Scattered Purgatory were hitting hard inside the Hall Of Fame, and while we were relaxing to their rhythms, the sudden announcement for the secret show of Bad Breeding right next door leads to abandoning the Hall Of Fame and quickly running to the Skate Hall from the intermediate little door. We were pretty thankful for this, as we managed to miss them in the two previous regular shows. Horns a la Rita Mosss for us Greeks who understand what that means, punk and moshing in the skate ramps, pure experience of purification after the heavy emotional load of the day. For some, this experience would cost the entry to the criminally underrated in space set of Backengrillen. Some others however got in and saw god with their own eyes. The anticipation for the appearance of Backengrillen was great, as was the queue that people formed to get even a taste of the death-doom-jazz "cake" that was about to be served inside. After a twenty-minute delay, as the flute of the guest musician, loaded with effects, stubbornly refused to connect until the sound engineer, after tests and successive cable changes, managed it amid celebratory "ole-ole" from the audience. The band, without further delay, began with a noisy introduction, during which Mats Gustafsson "maxed out" his saxophone once again. Gradually the main riff of "A Hate Inferior" began to emerge, and when Dennis Lyxzén also entered the game, the shape of punk to come fully materialized in front of us.
For those who lost the entry battle, not everything was bad, since the absence from the Backengrillen set ensured timely entry to a hidden gem, that is the alter ego of Street Sects, named Street Sex, inside the Hall Of Fame. Street Sex despite their many years of experience on stages, were playing for the first time under this label, performing songs from last year’s "Full Color Eclipse". From the first note the Hall Of Fame turns into a rave party, "Turn Blue" has the best electronic burst, and one would think it was the most danceable set, if the extremes did not happen a little later. On the other side of the map and after the leveling of the "early era" appearance, expectations for a repeat amazingness were obviously in the stratosphere, and Cult Of Luna obviously delivered. The start, taken directly from "The Long Road North", set the foundations. The dives into the supreme "Vertikal" tasted similar to a sip from a fine drink. The ease with which the whole venue followed the rhythms seems difficult to put into words.
And while some experience the absolute Cult Of Luna zen, someone else knew she would catch ten minutes - to her pleasure, these were her favorite "I: The Weapon". She only was able to see that, because on the next Next Stage, where no one expected it, unfolded the most stormy dance set of the festival. Mandy, Indiana, who recently started to shine with "Urgh", destroyed every patriarchal nonsense in their passage. Valentine Caulfield got tired. She overcame her trauma, and with an impeccable speech about feminist self-determination, asked the men who pose as allies, to gather their own friends and tell them off when they overcome boundaries, because we are tired of being called crazy and hysterical. Enough is enough, inclusive feminism must rest, have fun and dance without guilt or second thoughts. And in a Dionysian set, in which she came off the stage with the rest of us for the remaining of the set, to drag us one by one into her unapologetic dance, we buried all our abusers under the tiles of the Next Stage and the untamed beats of Mandy, Indiana.
Some around here were saying it, saying it again and again from the beginning. Somewhere we found them and agreed, somewhere we lost them, in the end however the chance for Zu at Paradox was too good to pass even for us who would not completely understand. The bonding of the trio is proverbial. The rhythms did not miss a moment. The intensity stayed to the max. The ideas of "Ferrum Sidereum" were served enjoyably. After our dose from their two-and-a-half-hour set, the return to the Main Stage reality was imminent. Last time Nothing were on the big stage of 013, the calendar was telling 2022 and next to them stood Full Of Hell. And if this time the baton was only theirs, the result remained equally emphatic. The distortions, the builds, the cinematic accompanying visuals, everything was in its place. Bonus points for the in-rhythm claps in "Famine Asylum".
Opposite of the street and in reverse direction, the Engine Room was taken over by the mysterious Bosse-De-Nage. With the recent release of the wonderful "Hidden Fires Burn Hottest", very close to the ending of the night, the Americans mix post with black metal in a performance that rested the spirit of the intense day with a mindful journey. We then passed over for a moment by Paradox for the remaining half of Zu’s set and made new friends (discovering an important shortcut in the streets between stages). We completed the circle on the balcony of Next stage, for the nightly tricks of TCR Collective and the live Dj set of NGHTCRLR (or King Woman, for those who know her under that name). We moved our bodies, as long as we endured, and clinked our beers celebrating the milestone of half the festival.
Photo Credits and valuable help in the article:
Kostas Liliopoulos
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Instagram: @kostasliliopoulos
Marilena Tsingou
Instagram: @earthbound42
