Where have the times gone?

So, months have passed and my blog untouched. It's... sickening, I know. So much talent and so little productivity... yes, you've guessed it: You have landed back on planet Jasper for some cynical blablablabla.

Assessing my current situation, a few things come to mind. I'm having a slightly sore throat. I'm listening to, ocassionally watching Boilerroom.tv, where Scuba and Jimmy Edgar of Hotflush Recordings fame are playing some deephouse cuts from -wait for it- a boilerroom. The obviousness of it all (I mean, they've so clearly put the pipes on the ceiling in the frame for all to see) makes me a little queezy, but it could also be the mindnight oil I'm burning.

As we speak, Scuba (whom I deeply respect) is rolling a fag in the background, while Jimmy (a wee bit of loathing, there) is doing the hip deephouse-with-a-touch-of-90's-R&B thing. There are two vinyl players (untouched so far) and Pioneer CDJ's hooked up to a Pioneer mixer - pretty much the club standard. Being a digital wuss myself, I always feel a slight envy whenever I see these guys actually beatmatch and -mix their cd's. Having the discipline and patience to actually beatmatch by hand is something that is becoming obsolete, as there is no necessity for this skill: any and all DJ software will take of that for you. The ability to do this is still considered an art though, meaning that in order to be taken seriously as a DJ (regardless of one's ambition in this direction), one must master the beatmatch-by-hand. Frustating.

Tomorrow, I will have a stab at becoming a serious DJ. Ill advised and obviously doomed to fail for my lack of beatmatching-skills, I feel compelled to attempt my first try. In the past few months, I've been slowly gathering some tracks that I feel strongly about, and have gotten comfortable with the DJ software. I've also managed to demistify the range of elusive (sub)genres that comprises the spectre of electronic music. No small feat considering the many tiny changes could propel a tune into a completely different category. Also, there seems to be an outbreak of Peter Pan-syndrom (or early stages of senility) among electronic music fans. Basically meaning that most DJ's and fans forget or negate any tracks over 18 months and under 15 years of age. So 90's shit house is okay, but some great minimal track from "06 has been banished to some place far from collective consciousness. I'm tempted to say 'swallowed in a big K-hole', but it seems Ketamine as a whole has gone to that same place. Yes, this scene is odd.

Well, Jimmy Edgar has bored me enough to make my eyes heavy. I'll let you get on with your lives, for now. Perhaps I'll share the experience of making my very first mixtape somewhere near the end of the week.

Ta-ta,

Entwistle (my DJ moniker. Like it?)

Writer's Update #1

Hi Folks!

So, here's the breakdown of all the writings I've forgotten to post on here in te past 2 weeks:

March 7: The BAMM Argument: OK GO

Every so often my editor Chris Davies and I take a punt at cracking a controversial subject by taking oppossites sides in the conflict. I always enjoy writing these pieces, not only for my love of the form (polemics for everybody, hurray!) but also because it seems to really trigger both Chris and me to really give it our best. I guess we're competitive that way, even though I can't really speak for Chris off course.

This week, following pieces on Justice (pro) and Coldplay (con), I had the pleasure of thrashing OK GO. Read it over at the BAMM.tv BLOG

March 7, 8: 5 Days Off for OOR.nl

For the second year in a row I've been dispatched to review one of Amsterdam's finest electronic festivals, 5 Days Off, held annually at Melkweg and Paradiso. I was present for the opening two days, witnessing sets from the likes of Sleigh Bells, The Field, SBTRKT, Koreless, Falty DL, Kutmah, Krampfhaft, The Gaslampkiller, Jameszoo and Dorian Concept. Fun times, and great music for the most part, even if it wasn't quite as exhilirating as the past year.

Read it at OOR.nl: Day 1 (The Field, SBTRKT ao) and Day 2 (Kutmah, GLK ao)

All in Dutch (sorry foreign amigos!)

I co-wrote these pieces with Harm Groustra (@fresh77); pictures by Remco Brinkhuis (@remcobrinkhuis) and Bart Heemskerk (@bart_heemskerk)

The Field - pic by Remco Brinkhuis

March 10, 11: Festival FabrIQ for OOR.nl

There was a lot more happening that week, so over the weekend I attended the third annual Festival FabrIQ. It was my 2nd year in a row covering the festival, again for OOR. I'm getting fond of building these traditions now I've been in the field of music journalism for a while.

In the three years of its existence, a very nice bunch of indie and folk artists have passed through Den Bosch for FabrIQ. Last year was a blast, with surprising performances from Nils Frahm, SUUNS, Sleep Party People and Cloud Nothings. Looking back I feel this edition was slightly more on the folk side than indie, but a great two day event nonetheless.

Read about it here: Day 1 (Kim Janssen, Idiot Wind, TRIPPP) Day 2 (Damien Jurado, Cass McCombs, Xiu Xiu, Chad Vangaalen ao)

pics, again by the incredible Remco Brinkhuis (@remcobrinkhuis)

Damien Jurado, pic by Remco

That's all folks!

Bahnhof

It’s an odd sensation: It’s Friday, 6pm, I’m inside Amsterdam Central Station. I’m running on 3 hours of sleep and a stern hangover, a full day of meetings behind me. But, as regulations stipulate, I’m not allowed to travel on my Discount Railway Pass until 6.30. Seeing my financial condition of late, I’d better wait it out. I’m munching on a bag of Fritos for lack of better things to do and, dead tired as I am, manage to wander a bit around the station. All around me people are moving faster than me, rushing to get home. Where was I going again? It takes me a while to process te question.

My legs feel awfully mushy. I notice I’m kind of pivotting on the spot. I pass the HEMA, I can smell the rookworst, and continue to wander into a bookstore. I stare blankly at the cover of Economist magazine, it speaks of a recovery of the financial crisis. I feel it’s only just begun for me, what with budget cuts and all. It’s hard being a man of culture these days. Being a cultured man in general is already a challenge these days. Having no money only adds to that. Nickelback is bruising my ears as I gaze at the station’s multimedia store. I wonder if I’d be able to describe the emptyness I’m feeling, once I jot it all down. Probably not.

On the platform, I see the Train à Grande Vitesse destination Paris. There’s a bunch of clowns already gathered at the bar of the restauration car. I guess they felt like getting right down to business. Who can blame ‘em? Travel and drink are a wholesome marriage. I wish I could have bought that Economist. A verse pops into my head, its from a Nits song, suits my state of mind. Getting away from it all seems a joy like no other when you’re down and out. Still, even in harsh times like these with just a handful of halfbaked ideas and the intention to dig out your soul, there’s silver lining.

Konichiwa! My guardian angel thank god is never far. I’m dead poor but full of joy when she’s around. I don’t deserve it, and can’t afford it, but I’m committed to trying my darnest and straightening out my shit. Even though no-one and no-thing will ever actually make me an above average man, inspiration strikes and suddenly I’m there: I’m that happy kid again.

I ponder these predicaments and blessings while everything around me is continuously in transit. Going one place, then the other. Then a train comes and takes me home.

Adieu, adieu sweet Bahnhof
My train of thought is leaving...

St. Vincent - Live Review for OOR Magazine

First live review I've done in a while. GREAT concert. The pics were made by Bart Heemskerk, who I think did a very nice job of capturing HER (Annie Clarke) essence on stage.

IN DUTCH
http://oor.nl/#reviews/concerts/1925/st_vincent_is_de_superlatieven_voorbij

GOOGLE TRANSLATE ENGLISH (never great, but all the more instrumental. And Google Translate won't work with the OOR website (probably flash difficulties or something)

St. Vincent is beyond superlatives.

The finale is actually the perfect summary: Annie "St. Vincent "Clarke hunts in the bouncer Your Lips Are Red a seething, noizy guitar through it, jump and smash the public in all possible ways with guitar and all her fans. Here is Annie, as she is affectionately called, one with her audience. Then she jumps in her leather shorts on the podium again, throwing her guitar down somewhere in the direction of a roadie and then shamelessly another guitar to pick up and worn outro on glowing way to put down. Her hair still messy, but the dark eyes and delicate face again perfectly in the crease. So the audience breathless as the frenzied opener Surgeon beheld, as we are blown away with the sound subsided.

And while there are still some doubts existed prior to this concert at The Max in a leap of the Galaxy. Of course, St. Vincent's live reputation already made the rounds after her performance at Crossing Border. But filling a large hall seemed still very ambitious. That turned out better than expected. The balconies were closed but the floor was very nice filled-with-it seemed merely devoted fans of the New York singer and guitarist and her band. The whole performance long there were noises in the vein of "We love you Annie!" Or "Play something very special just for us". It would get you almost break your concentration, all those declarations of love. But they are entirely justified.

Annie Clarke namely everything to get people to bond. A strong body of work, with the most recent album Strange Mercy as provisional Magnum Opus, an appearance as a dark angel with ditto voice, and fabulous electric guitar playing that constant association with Great Guitarists (Jack White to Prince) calls, without blatantly borrows to play. Try it once but do not fall in love. The perfectly tight sounding band around her (drums, bassynth, vocals and keyboards) has no trouble with the wide range in St. Vincent's repertoire is handled and subtle plays serve without losing color. Meanwhile, the public perception sucked Annie's, a wild ride in which she herself alternately sensual, aggressive, weird and fragile composing. It's hard as an artist and her animal stage to define. She has a little distance thing, almost alien about him. It is part of the spell.

Almost 90 minutes Annie the public in its grip. By the end of the regular set she asks "Did you ever really stare at me the way I stare at you?" (Neutered in Fruit). Rest assured: Whether fascinated, love, or simply overwhelmed opgegeild is; 700 souls are staring at her without embarrassment. It may also: St. Vincent created unadulterated magic tonight and we could be there. It is a typical evening with superlatives, and one afterwards somewhat melancholic finds that the best concert this year maybe already have under their belts. Particularly memorable, even with al To Lowlands Annie? (Please?)

Views: 29 February 2012, Melkweg, Amsterdam

A foggy night and borrowed time

Have I been here before? I’m pretty sure there was a jungle here, and a tribal ritual, and an African albino playing the banjo or some associated instrument. I’m confused. Is this real? The Milkyway is ever-changing. TO THE TASK AT HAND - I was sent here. Don’t really know why it was me they called for. Needed meeting minutes to be kept. Not sure I’m qualified. I tend to mess up meetings more than I can recollect them in an orderly manner. Last thing I knew I was talking Afrobeat with a bunch of teenagers and choking on mushrooms and tea in creative lounge near the psychology faculty. Ah! To be learned but twisted. I love myself a good psychology student.


Snap back to present time. What day is it? Am I really here on a weeknight? Heard a Warlock with a big beard mention these Wednesdays only come every five years. Tells me this day is borrowed, not a keepsake. Mommy would not agree. Make every day yours. THIS PLACE. There’s a musician’s vibe here, like an almost tangible cloud the loose brainmatter of hundreds of creatives float freely in the air. It’s a many colored beast whose loosely switching between our reality and some foreign dimension. I see the Swinging Star, brooding songwriters, rockers humming ancient anthems and a few lurking vultures scourging the land for easy prey.



Then, on stage, an angelic apparition. You can almost see through her soft skintissue, but her raven hair and dark eyes go right through me in return, sending a shiver down my spine. She’s somewhere midway between a Great Guitarist and a Deadly Siren, ready to send my little raft into the cliffs. Ruthless, iconic, charming. She’s asking whether I ever really stared at her. I touch her arm, whisper, “how about right now”. Gasping in amazement turns out to be an activity of great communal merit. The more these drones are doing it, the more she lights up. It won’t be long ‘til she combusts I’m sure. Burst into flames. Burn the house down. Do it for us, your devoted followers. She shreds and kisses our ears in a single instant.



... Suddenly outside. Foreign creatures and Strange Mercy. I talk to the Quiet Singer. People are ushering me into the darkness. Why me? I can’t help but follow. Garden of Eden turns out to be just another bar in the heart of the night. Sex is not on the mind, it IS the collective hivemind itself establishing itself. It’s all about Connectivity. Our phones, social media, chit chat, long letters and single syllabic messages all end in that final stage of Connectivity. It’s the only religion I dare to follow. How about some LSD? I kindly refuse, this trip has brought me far enough. Enjoy the scenery first. Breasts and bottoms. Events of a homosexual nature nearly miss me. Too close. But, no tongue no foul. If you start setting rules, you better play by them. A fair man is hard to find, but they’re out there. 



In a dark street. Suddenly not so empty. I see Philosophy Girl, a true hero. Hipster passing by. Former love past in present. A glorious pastiche of faded opportunities. I never regret a thing. Something I picked up from my attorney, you might say. Makes you look weak. Never bargain a deal looking weak. Press onward, dodging bullets and bystanders. On & on we go, past canals and hobo’s and deep fried dinners. The place suddenly starts making sense. Unforgiving Nature has some gloss, some silver lining to it. I never saw the light of day. I only saw the brightness as the bar closed down.



Time to move on. 

Confusion is a merit of wandering. It clears the mind, unlocks the brain’s backdoor. Lots of weirdo’s come in through there. The more the merrier.

REVIEW: Kill 'em Mister - Wolves Horses

Kill ‘em Mister could be considered as somewhat of a side-project. Comprising of boy-wonder-guitarist Mathias Janmaat (Bombay Show Pig), producer/bassist Joost de Glopper (producer of Houses a.o.), guitarist Richard van Rooijen (ex-GOTV) and British singer/MC Lenka Boyd, it’s the type of act you’ll see popping up every now and again to thrash a party here and there. Most of the time, this leads to acts who are either annoyingly jammy or barely disguised tributes-to-times-past. You would expect nothing of the above considering Janmaat’s profile, who’s rise to prominence has been all about cutting edge musicmaking, both sonically and conceptually.





Truth is, Kill ‘em Mister sound nothing like a side-project. Their first EP Wolves Horses is a fairly ambitious project, fusing Sleigh Bells’ high-gain guitars, MIA’s vocal delivery and Skrillex’ dubstep mayhem into something decidedly high-octane. But it’s not the initial kick-in-the-face that sets these 5 tracks apart. It’s the playful musicality underneath that’s most compelling. Opener Bad Luck is electronic rockstomp, but is aptly counterpointed by the arpeggiated synths and falsetto chorus. Scarlet Fever is built around a surprisingly catchy synthriff, the kind you rarely come across in recent dubstep anthems. For Bombay Show Pig fans they’ll sound familiar enough, but in this context all the more refreshing. Same goes for Female Killer Robot, which is closest thing to the type of ravepunk one would expect from The Prodigy or T.Raumschmiere. It’s nothing new, but it’s enough to get a raunchy indierave going, favorably in some smelly basement.



Come to think of it, if Kill ‘em Mister would in fact be a tribute act, it would probably be to rave music throughout the last 20 years. Luckily Wolves Horses is not pretending to be an anachronistic overview of rave music compiled into 17 minutes and 50 seconds. It’s just a bunch of songs these incredibly talented musicians have had a lot of fun messing with in their free time. And it shows! Not all of it is great - Rogue Leader is way less compelling than the other tracks for lack of a good hook and bland vocal performance. But on the whole, being able to score 4 out of 5 on first attempt is well above average for any act. It definitely legitimises Kill ‘em Mister as an act to watch in its own right. Let’s hope they won’t spend too much time in hibernation.

The end of the road... with Gerhardt

Dear all,

No semi-fictional stories this time around, but brutal reality. Below in Dutch first, (short) English synopsis below that.

Beste vrienden, volgers en die ene fan (ja jij!),

Sommige dingen in het leven zijn onontkoombaar. Tijden waarin dingen niet zo lopen zoals je eigenlijk het liefste zou willen. Je jaagt dingen na waarvan je denkt dat ze je verder op weg helpen, je ergens brengen waarvan je denkt 'daar wil ik zijn'. Dat is de essentie van 'on the road' zijn. Je wilt ergens naartoe. Natuurlijk weten we allemaal dat juist datgene wat je onderweg meepikt vaak belangrijker is dan wat je vindt op je voorgenomen bestemming. Als je er al ooit aankomt (clichés kloppen bijna zonder uitzondering met de realiteit).

Een van de wegen die ik belangrijk heb gevonden om te volgen was het spoor van Gerhardt, met wie ik nu ruim een jaar op pad ben. Dat heeft me veel mooie ervaringen opgeleverd, waaronder verschillende optredens op radio, televisie, festivals en clubs en kroegen door het hele land. De verhalen over die periode staan voor een deel op het blog en zijn volledig in mijn geheugen gegrift. Wellicht dat ik ze nog een keer van stal haal, maar laat voor nu in elk geval gezegd zijn dat ik nooit één slechte ervaring gehad heb in het afgelopen jaar dat we onderweg zijn geweest.

In dat jaar kwam wel al aan het licht dat het functioneren in een band een aparte set vaardigheden vereist. En bovendien een dosis toewijding, flexibiliteit en muzikaliteit die eigenlijk onmogelijk is op te brengen als je er niet 100% voor gaat. Ik heb bij mezelf gemerkt dat ik op dit moment niet in staat ben om dat op te brengen. Mijn persoonlijke situatie en ontwikkeling staan dat simpelweg niet toe. Dat wil niet zeggen dat ik niet nog steeds enorm veel geloof heb in wat Gerhardt (het mens en de band) nastreeft en creëert, nu en in de toekomst. G is een muzikant met enorm veel visie en talent die het verdient een vaste waarde te worden in de Nederlandse muziek en daarbuiten.

In de praktijk betekent dit dat ik met heel veel goede herinneringen de band verlaat en ze het allerbeste toewens. Ik zal mij voorlopig even niet zal laten zien op een podium. Ik heb nog geen ideeën over nieuwe projecten en bovendien zijn er voor mij buiten de muziek een aantal persoonlijke zaken die ik al te lang niet heb aangepakt en die nu mijn volledige aandacht vereisen. Hierover en over alle andere zaken die mij bezighouden zal ik op de jullie welbekende wijze blijven berichten op dit blog.

Tenslotte, een woord van dank aan alle Gerhardianen (Otto, Bernard, Merlijn, Ivo, Jorrit en natuurlijk Gerhardt), alle mensen die ik heb mogen ontmoeten en alle Gerhardt fans out there bedanken voor een zeer bijzondere ervaring. Het ga jullie goed!

Cheers,

Jasper

picture taken by Annemiek Langen @ Noorderslag 2012

IN ENGLISH

Some things in life you just can't get away from. Things don't always go to plan. It's part of being "on the road". For over a year I've been on the road with Gerhardt. It's brought me to many wonderful places, people and great moments that forever will be engraved onto my mental harddrive. But to truly master the art of being in a band, one has to be fully committed. For many reasons -entirely unrelated to my personal feelings about Gerhardt or the music- I will not bother you with right now, this commitment has become an obstacle for me to continue with the band. So as of right now I'm no longer a part of the band Gerhardt. I have nothing but wonderful, fluffy memories and feelings about the past year, but know it's for the better to part ways now. I won't be returning to the stage anytime soon. There are a few personal challenges I have to face first.

A big thank you to all Gerhardians (Otto, Merlijn, Bernard, Ivo, Jorrit and Gerhardt off course), all the wonderful people I've met on the road and all the fans out there for a very special experience. I wish you all the best!

Cheers,

Jasper