Roadburn Festival @ Tilburg, Netherlands, 18-19/04/26
The sacred gathering of April once again filled our hearts with balm this year, Part B
For the English version, click here.
Read the first part for the days 17-18/04/24 here.
Day 3
Saturday arrived quickly, even though the previous day had felt like a marathon. A first stop at the festival panels was deemed necessary since we skipped them yesterday. How could one not be hypnotized by Becky’s discussion with Kim Hoorweg, the face behind Teardrinker, regarding the journey toward the creation of yesterday’s overwhelming commissioned project, I Hope This Hurts. Between discussions about bodily autonomy, the backwards steps in abortion legislation and censorship, Kim did not mince her words, but instead inspired us all to become equally tough. We wish we had more time to stay, but Heaven In Her Arms were waiting for us at the Engine Room for the presentation of "The End Of Purification", the record that will reach our hands next year. The performance of the already released "Spilt Prayers", even with the pre-recorded extra vocals, was dreamlike – especially with the crystal-clear guitar sound. Long live Japanese screamo!
With "Not Here Not Gone" still warm from its release and the weight of being one of the most remarkable names in the atmospheric microcosm, Blackwater Holylight did not exactly have an easy task. Live, the trio’s material gained a different dirtiness compared to the studio versions, which fit perfectly. The lines sparkled above the effects. The reshuffling of the song order added a welcome twist. In the building across the street, the panel where Join Lev (Krallice), Lana Del Rabies, Leo (Street Sects) and Matt (Portrayal Of Guilt) met to discuss their creative process, the formation of micro-communities in times dominated by the internet and artificial intelligence, and how we can establish musical hubs, was warmly engaging, while the revival of fanzines was embraced.
Following the presentation of "True Faith Ain’t Blind" a year ago, Lane Shi returned for the second part of the three-year Otay:onii residence, and everything climbed higher. Themes drawn from the depths of Asia. Rich orchestrations. Fancy costumes. Vocal and otherwise acrobatics. Tasteful visuals. A real show, one of those you would not expect to encounter in an underground setting. On the opposite side, Thou’s spot-on suggestion to add the nightmarish Slowhole to the festival proved to be one of the hidden gems between performances, since it truly felt as if the gates of hell had briefly opened inside the Engine Room.
Very beautiful things, however, were destined to happen inside the Hall Of Fame that Saturday. To begin with, the British act that has caused a stir with the political stance of Colombian-origin trans activist Traidora introduced the audience to inclusive punk mosh pits, and the whole set impressed with its raw energy, accompanied by a sound quality uncommon in such raw approaches to hardcore punk. Crossing the avenue, we find the name of Róis among the latest additions to the informal list of Irish artists (hello dear colleague A. Kalamoutsos!) that have caught our attention. The sight of the packed Next Stage came as a first confirmation. The devastating performances combined with the genuinely mournful atmosphere sealed the result swiftly. A little later, the sight of the large 013 stage prepared for These New Puritans hinted at something special. Grand piano and tubular bells next to keyboards and percussion? Why not! The Barnett brothers, accompanied by two additional musicians, effortlessly imposed their rhythms, moving from contemporary classical to undefined alternative paths as if they were taking a stroll in the park.
On the other side, after taking a quick glance at Primitive Man’s first set but deciding to sacrifice it because at some point you need calories, especially since we would see them again the next day, we stumbled upon preachers of Jesus (we didn’t even realize which denomination) sermonizing us about our sins. We decided to wash them away with a bowl of ramen (arguably the best food the broader festival area has to offer), while the weather decided to wash away the preachers with a sudden rainstorm. We were actually wondering when that would happen, since it had taken too long by Dutch standards. Mid-bite, we heard the announcement of Agriculture’s secret show at the Hall Of Fame. As you might imagine, the queue reached the other side of the street, so we bid farewell to the idea and instead camped out for another set expected to fill up (rumor has it, those who saw one missed the other). The devastating Prostitute, whose noise rock carries constant references to the Arab world, said five words: "We came here to dance." Perhaps no one expected the Engine Room to transform into a chaotic noise disco in the middle of the afternoon, but the movement flowing through the space left no room for anyone to remain uninvolved.
At times, it feels as though everything that could be said about the pink grandeur of Boris has already been mentioned. On the other hand, every time the needle drops on the record with the iconic monochrome cover or the trio takes their positions to play live, everything changes. Both the band and arguably their most successful work simply possess this aura. The sight of stacked Orange amps behind the smoke and the first strike of the gong set the foundations within seconds. The call for chaos, which we have seen fail miserably in similar circumstances at the same venue, was answered deafeningly. The blows during the duo of "Pink" and "Woman On The Screen" kept coming. The pit and crowd surfing during "Just Abandoned Myself" felt ripped from a tiny club. The fading out of "Farewell" can only be described as dominant. Some of us being veterans of Boris, we decided to support the underground and another dive into the Hall Of Fame brought us face to face with the Iranian-origin Ameretat, who were in fact introducing themselves live to an audience for the first time. In a Packed Hall Of Fame, the spirit of hardcore punk and their self-titled debut record showed exactly what they are truly worth.
The schedule said we would go see Dälek, however a fortunate coincidence changed the plans. Awaiting Dälek’s upcoming appearance in Athens and with the sudden announcement that Inter Arma, one day earlier than originally planned, would play a secret show at the Skate Park dedicated entirely to "Sky Burial", there was no dilemma. Inter Arma are one of the best live experiences in extreme music right now, and they prove it every single time. The incredibly expressive Mike Paparo devours both the living and the dead, TJ’s immense figure and pink shorts behind the drums are as hilarious as they are awe-inspiring because of his abilities, and Joel Moore’s bass walks through the crowd. A masterpiece. At the same time, if one had to summarize Moloch’s presence in three words, they could easily be "rage," "mud," and "mass." The band from the big island may not stand on the front lines of the sludge fraternity, but that doesn’t have much to say. The riffs stormed down relentlessly. "Bend. Break. Kneel. Crawl." acquired an even darker feeling.
Nevertheless, we abandoned the Kopelhal side very quickly, because there was one major event at the festival. The reunion of Oathbreaker and the full performance of "Rheia" after nearly ten years moved generations upon generations of fans and musicians. Their presence on the Flemish side of Europe’s map inspired and enchanted their peers, many of whom were there to support them. Without even playing the festival, Dool, Brutus, members of Amenra, Dan Barrett of Have A Nice Life and many more were present. It was undoubtedly a major event. The sight of Caro Tanghe in a striking red dress reciting the lyrics of "10.56" while 5-6 thousand people maintained absolute silence quite literally could take your breath away. Until the first scream of "Second Son of R", when we all breathed again. "Don’t make me pity you, in the end." Without any pity, through absolutely perfect sound, "Rheia" ressurected before us angry, overwhelming, ready to take revenge. "Needles In The Skin" escalated things even further, if anyone dares say this performance as a whole was not the absolute climax.
With pain in our hearts and memories parallel to "Rheia" leaving our eyes empty but our souls full, and the thought that we would meet again this year, the chance to steal a few notes from Questmaster’s set right next door felt too foolish to miss, since who knows when you’ll have the chance again to catch someone playing (such good) dungeon synth live. Alone on stage, he constructed the ultimate fusion of medieval role-playing games and vaporwave aesthetics. Somewhere around there, Eirini and Kostas met for a "marathon" on the Kopelhal side. We are happy to report we made it to every single set we wanted to watch. First appointment with metalcore legends Saetia, who returned to live performances and recording activity after a century and a day (what do you mean 22 years?). Clearly in a different phase of life and while everyone has grown older, they still filled us with warm memories through songs like "Endymion".
The plans were slightly different regarding our continuation plans, but the secret show by Portrayal Of Guilt, whose set we had previously sacrificed, won the battle and we found ourselves on the balcony of the Skate Park. Naturally, despite the late hour, absolute chaos was unfolding inside the Park, legs flying everywhere, while we must admit it was somewhat necessary to decompress by watching something so physically demanding from afar (we were not lucky enough to get another balcony at the Skate Park this year). Returning to our predetermined route and another grand entrance into the Hall Of Fame, where we encountered Industry, who with the most ideologically driven punk performance of the entire festival as well as one of the most energetic in terms of delivery, deeply impressed their name into the list of acts we need to watch closely. Their album "A Self Portrait At The Stage Of Totalitarian Domination Of All Aspects Of Human Life" returned to Athens to decorate our record shelf.
In the other neighborhood, the vibes were very different. On one hand, Patrick Walker organized a karaoke party at the basement bar and we definitely felt some FOMO, but upstairs, the line connecting Aya’s semi-chaotic electronic style with heavy music may not stand out immediately. A second, more attentive look above her sound-mix reveals something different. The bass was taking heads off. The dancing only stopped when the console – apparently bought in Athens according to the artist – gave in. The issue was handled with tons of humor. The recovery and the dedication to the dolls came triumphantly. Those of us who stayed on the other side had highlighted Truck Violence’s name in fluorescent marker for the post-midnight Engine Room slot. You see, following in the footsteps of Chat Pile, these youngsters also emerge from the American countryside – from Canada this time – blending noise and sludge with banjo and hardcore. A technical issue immobilized them for quite a while, but fortunately did not reduce their set time since they were the final act on that stage today. Like true professionals, they revived the bass that nearly died on us, and what followed was a monstrous performance centered around their self-titled album. I almost felt sad that the clock was showing too late for more people to enjoy them. Little did I know… Setting the DJ sets aside for today due to exhaustion, we dragged ourselves back to bed, unable to comprehend that the final day was already approaching.
Day 4
As is customary and beloved, the fourth day always begins with the annual meeting with the "brains" of the festival, Walter Hoeijmakers and Becky Laverty. Without any intention of hiding information, the two of them answered our questions tired but full of enthusiasm – from the absence of Coalesce and the hope for the "obvious" next year (meaning Neurosis, of course), to this year’s difficulties and queues, as well as the surprises still awaiting us. Always one of the favorite moments of the festival and available for anyone to listen to now. After a stop at the visual art exhibition of the Malleus collective of Ufomammut, where we were magnetized by beautiful female portraits drawn from various mythologies around the world, it was time for the third and final encounter with Krallice and their "Present" at the Terminal, with the story continuing with the same grandeur. Music that transcends boundaries, as the trilogy of performances by the titans Krallice concluded magnificently.
Folk in all its forms prevailed especially on Sunday. Virtuoso guitarist Sir Richard Bishop with his acoustic guitar conquered the Hall Of Fame with his spirit and deeply emotional music. Favorite snapshot: Dan from Agriculture standing slightly beside us, lost with closed eyes in another dimension. We met him again shortly afterward outside Siem Reap, and he confessed to us that he was anxious no one would attend his personal set later on. Keep that in mind… Inside Siem Reap’s set in Engine Room, however, indie rock comes alive and in a way that regenerates us while revealing the sensitive soul of Gilles Demolder of Oathbreaker and Wiegedood.
Capitalizing on the momentum from their victorious appearance two days earlier, Slow Crush were not intimidated by the vastness of the Main Stage and assembled their puzzle, with last year’s "Thirst" at the center, piece by piece. The sound gained a dreamier and less gaze-y tone. The bass lines constantly stole the spotlight. The waves came naturally. Those of us who stayed nearby were rewarded with what Walter had warned us about. Truck Violence, secret show, Skate Park. Canada’s future turned on the lights, stripped down, and amid screams, mosh pits, falls, stage dives (even from members of other bands), delivered hands down one of the best experiences of the festival. The photos here speak for themselves. We then entered Primitive Man’s set to enjoy the live performance of "Observance", but our gaze was already lost in the void. They, however, as expected, tore the walls down. At the same time, in strictly solo mode, Lili Refrain lowered the lights and intensity, pulling the Next into some universe full of fog and magic for a while. The loops, pedals, percussion and six-string served the Italian artist’s thematic perfectly. The climaxes overflowed with darkness. The whole thing could easily pass as a séance, assuming it wasn’t one from the start.
The time had finally come for Inter Arma to conquer the Main Stage, for the world premiere live performance of the 45-minute epic "The Cavern". With violins and selected guests, as well as a masterful video art, Inter Arma remain harsh and filthy, but for the first time stand majestic on a huge stage. A work balancing between death, doom, sludge and psychedelia did not intimidate the six-piece, who shook us with a flawless performance in every aspect and proved the band masters both DIY small stages and grandiose ones with immense ease. Seriously, find them on a stage near you and you will not lose. Immediately afterward, with 2/3 of the Otay:onii set lineup plus one essential bass player (of Greek origin!), Lane Shi climbed onto the Lady Bird stage for Hugging’s surprise appearance. Maintaining the creator’s open-minded mentality intact, the sound rested on eccentric melodies, with the keytar adding details. The connection with skate aesthetics was subtle, but ultimately that mattered little.
Among the not-so-secret appearances, one of the day’s highlights was undoubtedly the neo-folk passage through the magical world of Kiss The Anus Of A Black Cat, an artist who notably foregrounds his antifascist beliefs in a musical field unfortunately plagued by ties to opposite ideologies. Under pink lights, he dragged us into his pagan doctrines and we bent under the sounds of "Sevenfold" and many more beautiful songs. We left early, because the usual suspect mr A. Kalamoutsos (whom we mention in almost every second paragraph) had warned us that Sanam are no joke. A blend of East, trip hop, psychedelia and mathcore, the Lebanese Sanam nearly abandoned their festival performance due to war and travel difficulties, however both the organizers and the band were determined. The atmosphere at the Next stage could be cut with a knife. Their cover of the traditional "Ya Nass" hypnotized us with Sandy Hamoun’s otherworldly voice.
We would have stayed there, had Warning not been set to appear just minutes later right next door, with a new song after two hundred years (approximately). As fervent supporters of Patrick Walker, we ordered wine and waited for the ultimate emotional unraveling. Sure, we were not witnessing the historic and recorded Warning appearance at Roadburn from a few years ago, some of us had even seen them recently again, but every live performance of "Footprints" is a personal liturgy for us, which no matter how many times it is heard scratches the same wounds. Several wines later, half of us left for the opposite side in order to catch Street Sects in their industrial incarnation. Had they played slightly earlier in the festival schedule, bodies would have dropped from dancing.
Those who stayed behind at the Main Stage chose something different. The names Bill Orcutt, Steve Shelley & Ethan Miller (see Harry Pussy, Sonic Youth & Comets On Fire) alone rang alarm bells. Their collaboration under the Orcutt Shelley Miller banner took those bells and shattered them while smiling above the remains. Strictly instrumental, completely jam-oriented, with the fewest possible pauses and maximum grooves. Those of us who remained across the street learned with surprise that Crouch by Wim Coppers (of Wiegedood, Oathbreaker and much more) would wreck the Skate Hall. We attended for the sake of it before moving to the Hall Of Fame where, despite the artist’s fears, a packed and silent crowd had lost itself into the singer/songwriter sounds of Dan Meyer and his personal album "Kneeling". Humble and captivating, he seemed to be living the most beautiful moment of his life.
Remaining on the "other side," we stopped by the mysterious Ak’Chamel, known for their aesthetic and musicological relationship with shamanism. A performance that left many question marks and was not helped by its sound, but at the end of the day an experience we overall wanted to have. However for someone else, it was a new day, new album presentation, but same intensity, same devotion. With the medal already in their pocket, Boris came out for the kill, and in hindsight the result could not have disappointed. Not during such a seminar by the masters of drone. Not with "Flood" in their arsenal. Not in a packed 013. Heading in the opposite direction, the description beside the Skate Park curtain seemed like a tongue twister and somewhere nearby there was a note saying "black metal" – ultimately, that was enough. Playing at home, Lijkschouwer distributed modernized railway guitars and helped bring the shutters down with shouting and pushing. As it should be.
The curtain at the Terminal Stage fell with a band also moving within the Thou lore, since Chained To The Bottom Of The Ocean took their name from the former. Devastating death sludge from people with a huge future ahead of them, whom I would have preferred to see opening the festival instead of close it, in order to ignite the engines. Even so, they managed to launch us into the stratosphere without much fuss. We eagerly await our next meeting. The final notes for the Main Stage were entrusted to the dreamy K-X-P, and sitting somewhere in the stands with numb legs, we drank the festival’s final beers with hearts full of warmth and beautiful memories. Although reality had not yet spoken its last word since something always goes wrong for us on this trip, the dreamlike character of Roadburn Festival gave us the strength to face one final misfortune and return home already eager for the next edition.
Highlights:
M.T.: Cult of Luna proving every single time their endless talent, in case we forget. The moment Teardrinker’s set ended and the lights came on at the Terminal, seeing women crying emotionally and hugging each other. Mandy, Indiana with the perfect combo: one of the festival’s most important and simultaneously entertaining moments. The energy of the bands at the Skate Hall!
A.M.: Cult Of Luna, in general. The quote of the four-day event: "it’s my cultural duty to start songs two or three times" spoken by Billy Woods. The 10+ crowd surf attempts over the ramp within the first five minutes of Habak. Saturday’s "Pink" & "Rheia" streak on the main stage.
K.L.: Habak, Oathbreaker (perhaps THE highlight of the past five years… sorry Ulver), Machukha, Backengrillen, Truck Violence (at the Skate Park).
E.T.: It is obvious that, from a feminist perspective, the performances of Teardrinker and Mandy, Indiana held a special place in our realities. Truck Violence destroying everything at the Skate Park. The pulse of Industry, Eyes and Street Sex at the Hall Of Fame. The unmatched talent of Cult Of Luna and Oathbreaker. The war-shattered looks in the eyes of the singers of Sanam and Machukha. The riff of "Bodhidharma". The hug with Leah that irreversibly glued together some very broken pieces inside me.
Disappointment:
M.T.: The fact that we now have to enter the process of wondering whether some bands’ background visuals are AI slop or the work of animators. Even at Roadburn
