By Noel Oxford
If there are circles of hell, then this trip surely dwells on the lowest. Fortunately, there are several significant upsides. Firstly, Roadburn is sodding incredible. Secondly, despite the first sight to greet me being a downed motorcyclist getting shoveled into an ambulance, Holland has left a lovely impression. Thirdly, I can’t tell you how nice it is to have a bed again. Haven’t seen one since Wednesday. Or a shower, for that matter. Slept in car. Fortunately, it seems to help me blend quite well.
Due to the foregoing drama, my enjoyment of last night’s action roster was muted and somewhat curtailed. Had my bones rattled by downtuned grumbles sicked up by Sons of Otis at the Midi Theatre. They are so heavy and so psychedelic that I sneezed, although that could have been the incense too. Their drummer, so captivated was he in his performance, looked as though he was coughing up every beat from the depths of his scrotum. They even played a jam that totally didn’t suck!
I’d like to say I soldiered through and made it to Goatsnake, the headliners last night, but the shameful truth is that I didn’t, and that is very unfortunate indeed. The spiralling nosedive of my ‘holiday’ crash landed into my plans and consequently, had me sleeping a la carte. I was going on 36 hours with a catnap on a bench on the ferry, and there were no signs of life at my hostel, and I got a parking ticket, and my phone was too dead to ring anybody, and every hotel is booked rigid.
A pretty miserable beginning, but it’s all turning butter-side up again. I fervently hope.
So the festival is just lovely, as far as I can tell. Holland is a wonderful place, incredibly familiar, but also quirkily alien. And while I might have horrid luck, at least I was foresightful enough not to fly in.
Got Church of Misery and Karma to Burn tonight, plus one of the headliners, but I don’t know which. Now for a nap. Toodle-oo.