The Homesick turn the whole miserable top-down state-approved music propaganda bullshit on its head, simply by having the confidence to be themselves.
The gig was so good that by the end they were roared back for more. Punks? Encore? Yep. This is Leiden, anything goes.
The funniest thing about this Fat White Family gig is the power of suggestion they command. I mean it matters not if they decide to do the ironing on stage...
They are one of those rare bands who undoubtedly peaked at their first record but who could never be accused of under achieving.
The Membranes may flirt with a cartoony image of themselves but in the words of the Sage of Sheffield John Shuttleworth, don't be fooled.
Then MES and Elena shuffled on; buttoned up and carrying their stuff, looking like two daytrippers who were running for the Last of The Summer Wine coach trip to Holmfirth. You just felt this was going to be good.
Why this craziness, have these teens been O'ding on frikandels again? No; it's drummer Erik's 18th birthday. That's why. So we celebrate in full-on, Head On style.
Downstairs in steamy, sweaty, sleazy Kult, Apneu's goofy singer is wearing high heels and he's winking at people.
Welcome to de Nobel all ye weeny boppers, this is your musical poppa!
Some use music as a way (by telling others what's 'cool' or 'important') to show how important they are. You never see these gadflies, these Osrics, on a cold Tuesday night in a converted bike shed in a Leiden squat.
See, this was the beauty of the whole drone scene; you just logged in or out when you needed to, it helped refresh the mind rather than zonk it out.
The sheer intensity of Swans is always a wonder to behold.
Good People; who on this planet has the heart to tell Harry Merry to stop?
We walked in to see this Romanian genius in full flow. Man, he looked off his tits; rocking this 'unwanted lunatic at a family do' red kagoule-cum-dad's coat. Zipped up. Over a jumper.
This is a point where people are beginning to realise this is a really special show. I mean Neubauten are special anyway (they're not ELO are they) but this gig is sliding off the richter scale.
As they said earlier to me over a pre-gig pint “we’re the most provincial of the provincial”. How many bands have lyrics about their mam doing the dishes?
Tricoli’s gig more than lives up to his LP’s reputation. Gothickle Musique Concrète has never sounded so fucking groovy.
Like some high priestess at Boudicca’s side, invoking an army of Wode-covered Hairies to the slaughter, Lipstate urges us on. Magic.
Violinist Adrian lets us know that he left the Netherlands that night, because he can't stand missing the gig. 'I'm absolutely fucking determined.' He drives from Gorinchem to Calais, takes the tunnel and then drives all the way up to Stockton.
King Champion Sounds couldn't really fail; lined up on a stage in perfect order, they blasted out their tough, psyched-out rockasoul.