Tour. Be as good as you can, night after night. Try your hardest. Work hard at it. Honour the fact that people are paying to come and see you.
A farewell from Incendiary magazine: 2002-2015.
Like Prometheus, Rats on Rafts are fire stealers, tricksters, concerned with conjuring up form from fire and brimstone. They are the most elemental of bands and watching them in action is like standing next to a blast furnace.
On reflection I’d say that the day in Dudok was probably the closest you’d get to feeling the actual spirit that drives the real, workaday Dutch underground.
Playing in front of a set of projections showing their trademark revolving Cannabis leaf, Toner Low got very deep into the world’s navel.
I’m beginning to think of Haldern’s programme as a curriculum instead of just a timetable of bands.
What For? feels like an urban record, a record that communicates at street level; replicating conversations in bars, shops or plazas.
Whilst Atomos is much poppier than their last one, it also boasts a greater sense of gravitas and remove.
The record dissolve into an uber-pleasing sound, the sort of thing you imagine plays in Japanese public toilets.
Ryan West's music is like Kingsley Amis's great quote about boozing and having fun; "I want more than my fair share before anyone else has had theirs".
Raumschmiere's newie also captures that sense of disconnect in real time that you get when staring out on a still, clear autumn day. Brilliantly.
Dan Deacon. Where do we begin? With the Crocodile Dundee led dance off? The bizarre tai-chi contest. The drummer? The drummer! The cat noises?
Someone should make a plaque when they stick the shiny new building up. ‘You probably don't know it, but this is where "greatest rock and roll bike shed in the world" was.’
Both bands contributed to a great night, and a lot of new people turned up and realised that there is another world outside the 3fm bubble that is actually a creative drip-feed for it.
The gig was also sort of dressing up game indulged in by two grown men whilst singing about your pals, eating, sailors, and bodybuilding.
WORM had filled up nicely with a mix of Ethiopians, trendies, part time punks and Roffa dossers, existentialists, and the odd emissary from the world music chin-stroker club.
One day, I promise, I will get bored about writing about Rats on Rafts. But not yet. Rats are unstoppable at the moment.
Some of my Dutch pals look at me like I've just announced that I've converted to satanism when I say I love Frans Bauer.
Somehow things ended and a room full of people with a second wind ran around wondering what on earth to do next. Some night!