#nmth

Brutus in Patronaat, photo Rob Sneltjes It was around the Years 2010 - 2013 that there was an all-encompassing paradigm shift in my music experience, or that I might get answers to questions that mainly explained the unrest of my consciousness, not in the last place by not being able to start a day with no mania without first Tool's Forty Six & 2to have turned. Otherwise the day had no use. The most striking thing further is that the majority of artists that I ended up with - along the deep nightly quests on YouTube for more variations on Tool (where is that fucking album, godmother, he is almost there anyway, right ?!) - who were able to satisfy the restless blood thirst for more soul-aching-sonic blankets, appeared to come from one specific label, namely: Sargent House. It was the beginning of an overall possession for everything that came through the label / management bureau, which resulted in 2013 in a playlist in which Chelsea Wolfe's Pain is Beauty, Deafheaven's Sunbather and especially Russian Circles' Memorial were turned into the mother: 1777 radically replaced the Tool Track as a self-evident gray-turn track of that point.Cathy Pellow to interview in the context of a boy's dream / solid delegation on Roadburn '15 / latest addition Mylets, I did not let that opportunity in all my infantility course, and it was not completely annoying together in the starting shot of Never Mind The Hype .

Russian Circles in Patronaat, photo Rob Sneltjes In the same year of 2015 a new Flemish act came up on my radar. My musical focus was Amenra, Steak Number Eight, Kapitan Korsakov, Raketkanon, Wallace Vanborn and MIAVA, for a long time preferred by our southern neighbors, but BRUTUS was one who immediately demanded full attention. Long story short: it felt almost like personal satisfaction that the band signed last year for her debut 'Burst' at Sargent House. Shit was once again beautiful in the right places together. Similarly on the 27th of May 2018 in the Patronaat in Haarlem, where after an almost spiritual religious experience in Utrecht with SLEEP, the euphoria continues through dreams, nightmares, pain, and desperate hope in all beauty the state of mind of a music freak - no fan - fully operable. Certainly in the sense that they have the ability to make music that, during nocturnal listening sessions, force them to meditate and self-reflection. Anyhow, to the extent that the prologue and formalities that I had to pop out of my system, would be the order of the day. Merci, Brutus

Brutus in Patronaat, photo Rob Sneltjes

BRUTUS Completely against my normal use, or the curse that until recently I thought it rested, it is unbelievably nice weather and I fall exactly in the shot of a stifling BRUTUS when I enter the hall and get a beer. 'Fuck it, no time, point and space for paranoid Murphy's Law hassle and just enjoy with your mouth' I admonish myself with a clenched fist. It had to be just like that and how. The band completes this day the tour they have made with headliner Russian Circles, after which they will continue their bizarre journey with Thrice and subsequently Chelsea Wolfe. Personal discharge of lost guilt is also possible after having to bail after two songs during a glorified 'DJ' job on the NMTH-hosted stage during Life I Live Festival.

You know, I can easily and faintly shout how 'nice' and 'cool' it is to be overwhelmed by a bucket of sound, whatever it is, of course, but it is clear that this is more than just that . It is extremely difficult to hold on to the recognition of the golden rule of the sum of the parts of 'the band', without emotionally detracting from what is loud and clear: the musician behind the boilers and the microphone which, in my experience, making life as happy as a factor in what carries the predicate as an outdoor category. I only need to hang up trigger words like 'dynamic', 'sublime', 'control', 'overwhelming' and a big hint of 'magic' to describe that inept, but it is above all the science of witnessing the talent that knows how to turn pure energy into a hope-inspiring comfort, in a form of unrivaled benefaction of firm blast beats and blissful singing in the same moment, that deeply responds and makes emotions legendary. Thank you Stephanie, and thank you BRUTUS. The consumption.

Brutus in Patronaat, photo Rob Sneltjes

Aaron Turner from SUMAC in Patronaat, photo Rob Sneltjes

SUMAC Okay, typhus. Fuck it all: my eardrums, my earplugs, my state of mind, my field of vision, my zen-like vibe in which I sat, all hurled up and scorched everything to the bone, because it's all about hurting, goddamm and what's fantastic . I mean it. Let me start by putting a heavy light on Aaron Turner, thanks to his contributions to Mamiffer, ISIS and of course Old Man Gloom. SUMAC sounds very heavy, intrinsically and disruptively fine on record - in the light of this evening. Live is simply suffering from pain as a motherfucker, but so engaging that no hair in your beard even think that it is a possibility to walk away from all sonic violence. In that sense it is such an extreme sensation that you suddenly understand your post-apocalyptic BDSM. Perhaps even a striking representation of what it is like to live with a brain that tends to surrender to panic attacks and pavor nocturnus (nightterrors); the misery thoroughly unadulterated musically framed without hostage. I can not describe it any differently, but I thought I had experienced the ultimate in all pain-crossing violations with a 124dB + peaking A Place To Bury Strangers. That was not so thanks to SUMAC. I drew the pressure under pressure that it is as if a cat is screaming in your ear in all its strength, while she has her nails firmly planted in your face, not because she wants your attention or pain, but because she can. To. Fucking. Cool. What an experience AF.

Russian Circles in Patronaat, photo Rob Sneltjes

RUSSIAN CIRCLES Finding the idea that legendary music is often a sum of its parts is in the case of Russian Circles unmistakably and exceptionally the case: whether you have it or the devastating machine work of Dave Turncrantz, the generally vulgar, but extremely next-level Eddy van Halen's fretboard fingertapping work by guitarist Mike Sullivan, or the engagingly driven bass parts of Brian Cook: all exceptional, but together transcending everything. From opener Station it may be clear that this is a band that handles their shit fairly and does not want to take any time for strange entertaining freaks and jokes. Just put down a typhoid show that is ready to fully take over all the overwhelming intensity and to suck you into their world of experience. That experience is no longer a matter of coincidence, because among others Africa, Harper Lewis, Vorel, Mota and the closing Mládek (a song that is named after their characteristic European tour bus driver with a bag full of stories), it is especially clear that discipline, focus and full dedication to what makes you happy. Not because it is worth it, but because it is possible. Yes, it was such a weekend. it is especially clear that discipline, focus and full dedication to what makes you happy is rewarding. Not because it is worth it, but because it is possible. Yes, it was such a weekend. it is especially clear that discipline, focus and full dedication to what makes you happy is rewarding. Not because it is worth it, but because it is possible. Yes, it was such a weekend.