My distaste and distrust for other people’s music abated last week, which resulted in my attendance at a gig. The place? MusicOn; situated on the event-horizon of the black hole known as “Suburban Den Haag”. The date? 30th of April, otherwise known as Koninginnedag. The Bands? Het Glimlicht, Hyperbowl, DUF.
Het Glimlicht.
Which translates to ‘The Glow’. One of these guys’ fathers has loads of money and has selflessly spent it on the band (sound like anyone we know? – self ed.). Two drum kits (one digital, one analogue), cymbals made of two cymbals stacked on top of each other, pedal-boards the size of my big fat schlong, keyboards, two basses, two guitars. Knowing his dad would buy him another one, guitarist #2 attacked his guitar with a screwdriver and a violin bow. He didn’t wear any shoes or socks. And he had TWO Books of Rock from which he read some spoken-word shit about islands. Their other guitarist had either severe-acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) or acquired immune deficiency syndrome (AIDS) as he was forced to wear a face-mask throughout Glimlicht’s performance. Tom suggested it was in homage to Melt Banana, but I doubt this, for no reason whatsoever.
They were nice lads, and great musicians. They played all their stuff well. The maladies from which their music suffered are maladies with which all bands of their genre are plagued. These are: repetitiousness, inability to engage with the audience/put on a show (they were seated FFS!), an inability to sustain the perfect loud/quiet dynamic required of Post-Rock, humourlessness. Having seen a troubling number of Post-Rock bands in my time, I think that Glimlicht carried the PS flag with aplomb. 7/10.
Hyperbowl.
Which translates to ‘Voorhout’ in Dutch, which means ‘foreskin’ in German. These guys played Post-Rock of a very different kind: the super-rad kind. I loved this gig from start to finish. It was awesome, and they are awesome. From the moment they starting playing all these BABES flooded into the venue and just started getting FRESH. Instead of throwing their underwear on the stage, these babes were so INTO IT that they took off all their clothes and threw their hot naked bodies onto the stage, whereupon they writhed around on the floor in paroxysms of ecstasy and delight, screaming ‘rock on! Rock on!’It was then I knew that this was the best day. 11/10
DUF
Things slowed down somewhat for DUF – an amalgam of band members’ initials; Daisy, Ursula and Fanny. Daisy, whom I assume was the leader singer and guitarist, was a slight young lad of around 17, who wailed the blues forlornly in a Claptonesque manner. The kid had some clout: I was extremely impressed. Then, as the classic blues numbers continued (Jimi, Johnson, self-composed stuff with Led Zep riffs), I got bored. I don’t think this kid should care about that – he will make a shitload of cash playing Festival dates for the next 20 years. He is a better musician than I’ll ever be, so no disrespect to him: it’s just that I’ve seen people perform those songs just as well before. 8/10.
Until next time,
J. E. Griffiths
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