Tilburg gets a lot of shit from people in Amsterdam. Every person I talked to about going there asked why and when I explained that there was a music festival there, they made jokes about it. There’s even an instagram account called “Keep Tilburg Ugly”, which I’m sure is hilarious, but my lack of Dutch means I’m incapable of understanding it My impression of Tilburg is that it’s functional; like there’s no reason to visit there, but if you attend the university or work at a local business it’s probably just fine. The hotel I am staying at is a 20 minute walk from the main venues at Roadburn, and so I walk past a school, a couple of small businesses, a bar which always appears to be closed, but I learn to my surprise is actually open, a few restaurants. There’s nothing exceptionally ugly about it, but there’s nothing exceptional about it, either. But I’m not here for Tilburg, I’m here for Roadburn, which has been a thing I have wanted to do for years, and thanks to an understanding wife, who has remained in Amsterdam in order to do some tiptoeing through the tulips, I am here.
Roadburn proper takes place at a few different venues, but is centered around 013 Poppodium, a purpose built concert venue with a capacity of 3000, which also contains a second stage — “The Next Stage” which their website says holds 700, but I find that hard to believe. Across the street there are a number of other venues, which hold anywhere from around 150 to 1500 people. Near the grounds are a row of bars, and I can see they are already starting to fill up with metal fans. There are lots of battle vests and beards and beers. Every place is serving a “special Roadburn menu”, which, for the most part are a near identical choice between a burger and a vegan burger. There are some exceptions. One is offering a “fish lasagna”, a phrase I have never heard before, and am not brave enough to order. A few days into Roadburn, I find someone serving schnitzel, and I weep with joy when it includes a side salad. For now, however, I order a burger, and get my bearings. The fries are universally excellent, and in tribute to my temporary home, I ask that they be served with mayonnaise.
The first night of Roadburn is “The Spark” and is a free concert, you need no wristband to attend. The very first band is Riot City, and they play as if the biggest stadium in Europe is entirely too small– their singer does Rob Halford-esque screams, pours beer into his bandmates mouths while they pull off ripping solos, and generally are the kind of band who are having so much goddamned fun on stage that it doesn’t matter that this isn’t even the kind of music I came here to listen to, they win me over, and I think they win over most of the rest of the audience as well.
While getting a beer I have a random encounter with a couple of people who are making a joke about Jazz Crabs, which is a reference to something so uniquely online that I won’t bother to explain it here, but it’s neat to make a connection and I feel that I’m in the right place. Two more bands play, and while they are fine, I don’t really connect with them, though I appreciate that one of them did a cover of Husker Du’s “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill”, which is a total banger, and the band (“Final Gasp”) are respectful of the material while still playing it their way.
Roadburn is the first festival I have ever been to that offers a meetup for first timers and solo attendees, and I go. The artistic director, Walter, and Becky, the booker and coordinator and general powerhouse are there, which is a lovely gesture, and everyone gets a free beer, which also kind of rules.
I’m gonna try not to wax rhapsodic this entire time, but it’s things like this that give Roadburn a greater sense of community than just gathering in a place to hear some tunes, and it’s something I see and feel a lot during the course of the weekend. It’s a smaller festival, and you get to recognize people and faces and begin to say hello, and the mixer is a way to speed that process up, and a statement of intent. We’re here for the music, but the music’s not all that brings us together. A deep, deep cynic by nature, I find something joyful in that notion, and while I’m not always successful in doing so, I do my best to embrace it.
Which is a good thing, as some of Roadburn can feel a bit like a job. I mean, it’s a very good job, where you’re showing up to drink beer and hear bands, but there’s also a strange amount of punctuality and decision making involved. One of the things that I learned fairly quickly is that sets can and do fill up, and lines can form– which leads to some odd moments when I want to “check out” a band I have never heard of before, but that band has a small army of fans who got to the venue early because they are, well, fans, and you’re not going to catch, say, White Ward because the line for them is crazy.
I did suffer from a moment of “roadburnout” on the third day where my attempts to fight through a combination of sleeplessness and one too many beers and catch a couple of sets lead to me realizing I was becoming incredibly grumpy. I took a nap instead of seeing Lankum, and while it was the right decision, it’s an example of the kind of tension that can occur when the world is packed with things you want to do. You just have to roll with it, but it can be hard to do.
The other Roadburn lesson I learn the hard way is that with the exception of 013, the venues don’t have bathrooms in them– you have to leave if you have to pee, and if you leave, someone will take your place and you will have to wait in line. This leads to some hilarious instagram comments about “battle diapers” and also to me learning that having a third beer during Thantifaxath’s soundcheck is a hideous idea if you want to catch their entire set. I made it, but exiting the venue is excruciating and I see some other folks doing the same exact dance I am, and it’s nice to know that some things are universal.
Roadburn is known for is “secret sets”. They are announced shortly before they happen on the TMSQR app and posters are put up for them at the “secret fountain” in the merchandise area. For the most part they are extra sets by bands who already have a set during Roadburn, but with a different theme (for example, Inter Arma played a set of covers), in smaller venues– this leads me to see a band that played on the main stage in a club with a 75 person capacity, for example. These also have lines, and the desire to see a couple of them meant making some tradeoffs that were tough; leaving Xiu Xiu’s set early to catch Couch Slut play some of their old material in a skatepark was a more difficult decision than one might imagine, especially as Roadburn audiences are really, really respectful.
If your band is quiet, the audience is too. There were moments during some bands when it dawned on me that no one was mindlessly flapping their gums and instead were waiting on the next note. Random yammering is so common at club shows is so common that its absence is exceptional, and I do my best to leave Xiu Xiu without making a fuss, despite being a Cave Troll.
By my count, I saw 22 sets, and tried to see two more that were too crowded for my liking. That’s a lot to summarize, so I’m just gonna mention a few highlights– Couch Slut, as I mentioned before, played two sets, and the first “secret set” in a skatepark was a furious run through of their earlier material was astounding, and their lead singer fulfilled her promise for a “brunch set” the next day by bringing a croissant to share with the audience. I appreciate that kind of follow through, and I encourage all bands to follow Couch Slut’s example.
Blood Incantation’s live performance of their synth based “Timewave Zero” : In addition to a laser spectacular and fog machine extravaganza, I was impressed my the, um, liveness of it all– it would have been easy to sequence and trigger your way through everything, but there was a serious commitment to making it happen in real time, including some acoustic guitar looping. I also nerded out about all things Blood Incantation before the set with a lovely couple from Wales, which kind of enhanced everything, and I saw them again in the same spot when Blood Incantation played their second set, this time performing some of their Death Metal classics.
Agriculture blew my mind twice, once in the skatepark, where they were joined for a time by Australian noisemaker UBOA for a collaborative jam. I also met some very cool people while waiting in line for that set, and one of them shared a beer with me; it’s those little moments that make the big moments bigger. Agriculture claim to play “ecstatic black metal”, and I can’t say they are lying. By the end of their skatepark set, we were all thinking of beauty and community.
Khanate played on the main stage, packed out, an impressive feat for a band who, in my friend’s estimation “made early Swans sound like the Bee Gees”. The kick drum sounded like a gunshot, the riffs were terrifyingly stretched out, and the entire thing dilated time in a very uncomfortable manner. I’d guess about 20% of the audience left, and at the end the singer joked he’d expected to see an empty theater. It’s exactly the kind of challenging music that I’d come to see, and it was a thrill to see it have such a large audience.
And, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Torpor, a band I caught on a whim when someone I had met during the festival suggested it. They had played earlier in a “sold out” set at one of the smaller stages, which had drawn a massive line, with even one of the members of Khanate failing to get in, and were given a “secret set” as well. They crushed it; a powerful, emotional wall of sludge that had everyone banging their heads in unison. It was an absolutely perfect conclusion to the fest, and a band who have been around for a while getting their due. I had one last beer, but no burger, and it was all done and dusted.
I woke up the next morning, exhausted and happy and a little overanxious to get from Tilburg back to Amsterdam to catch my flight to Copenhagen. After thinking I had gotten on the wrong train, which gave me a moment of severe panic, I realized all was well, made a quick switchover at the impossible to pronounce ‘s-Hertogoenbosch, and took the train right into Schiphol airport, and moved on, still buzzing from the whole experience. After a lengthy wait, during which I regretted not finding a sleep pod or something, I was on the way to Copenhagen, which I’ll write about soon and conclude this little travelogue.
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I read absolutely nothing during Roadburn; it was four days of a very opposite to my normal sleep schedule. I think I lugged my kindle out to breakfast one morning, read the same sentence in a book like 30 times, and then browsed reddit instead.
The Lithole 