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(Dour Diaries Part 3 on Playlouder)

Day 4

10:00
Wovenhand were intense. I decided upon the word at the exact same time as a Dutch 16 Horsepower enthusiast (Nic) I’d met before the show – part of a group of friendly comedic Dutchfolk who had been dragged along by Nic to see David Eugene Edwards’ post-16 HP soul-troubling, post-rock/alt. Country/generally indescribable epic, filmic, gothic, apocalyptic glorious noise rock outfit. They outshone and overshadowed everyone else I’ve seen so far at Dour. Good enough even to overshadow the arse-holes who run Camp D’s bar ringing their siren and shouting their mouths off all through the night, preventing me from getting a moment’s sleep.

I found myself gripping the bar of the fence and holding on for dear life as though onboard a ship on stormy seas. The band was a force of nature. At one point Nic was so affected and invigorated by the music that he insisted on instigating a round of hugs and high fives. It was quite touching. It was almost like being at a more surreal catholic mass (except there was weed, and nobody asked me for spare change). One of the security guards or stewards kept losing it and dancing madly, waving his arms and trying to get the crowd going. The powers that be kept having to have words with him, but to no avail.  When compared with, for example, Agnostic Front’s main man enthusing in his affected growl about his band’s new CD/DVD package and how everyone should head over to the merch stall and buy it – well, there simply is no comparison with the onstage demeanour of David Eugene Edwards. He was sombre and polite and earnest throughout, only really revealing himself in the deep soulful howls through his distorted second microphone and the spasms of energy that occasionally raise him from his seat and send him spinning across the stage with his guitar or banjo. Intense.

11:36
Alcohol run leaves me feeling invigorated once more. Take that festival sponsors! Lidl was shut as it’s a Sunday, so I went even further up the motorway to a dump of a supermarket without even a box to deposit my rucksack in. Huh.

I’m back on my bridge. Running out of paper so I’ll shut up soon. Best head back in a moment anyway.

12:30
Am now lunching on salted nuts. Couldn’t afford food to go with my fake Cointreau and apple juice. And I had to throw out the peanut butter sandwiches because they were making me feel ill. I’ve found a use for my old-brand Playlouder stickers. They make excellent nutsack resealers. So adhesive. Now I’ve got all this fake Cointreau and apple I quite fancy a beer. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think? Hah. On the way in two reprimanded drunks were being kept outside the festival due to their bottles of foul alcopops – they got the security guy to search my bag (which he would have done anyway as it is standard practice) and they said something about me being “rouge”. “Je fatigue,” I said. Perhaps the first time I’ve been understood in French this weekend. I also had prepared “C’est seulement jus de pommes”, “C’est pas ouvert”, and “C’est pour ma mere – elle est mallarde”. Not that I could pronounce or spell them. Anyway, the former was sufficient.

13:00
Set The Tone finish a set of decent standard heavy metal with a very impressive and welcome rendition of Black Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid’ – quite the crowd-pleasers, and that’s nothing to be sniffed at.

13:32
The Moonshine Playboys are Hayseed Dixie. No more no less – oh, and I’m not saying Hayseed Dixie thought of it first, but they have pretty much killed it, not that I cared for them anyway. Nestor were jangly indie pop and I couldn’t find a way in. I am roaming. I have roaming rates. Which means jap all when you’ve got no credit and no battery, mind you.

13:38
Dancehall. Kruger. Hardcore? Metalcore? Borecore? Blue hoodie boy and his girlfriend are here again. They’re so miserable. I want to hug them. Or slap them. I think it’s drunk o’ clock for me. Naturally that particular hour happens… well, hourly for the Belgians. Not least when I’m trying to sleep. Fuckers. I’ve just seen a boy with Anrchy trousers. Brand new trousers that have anarchy written all over them – not by him, by the designers. I must write a poem about them. Poems about trousers are the way to go. Trousers say a lot. He is obviously very politically-minded, for example. I like sitting and writing and drinking with abrasive metal playing. It’s oddly soothing. You hear that, Kruger? You’re oddly soothing. Put that in your needle and tattoo it to your legs. Actually, mercifully no board shorts or leg tattoos on show here. It translates to the music too. Harder, darker, less pansy, less angsty. ‘SPREAD LEGS NOT LIES’ – Jesus these French girls want some moral guidance. That is an inappropriate T-shirt.

14:54
Asva. Woah! Dronebone!

15:18
Well, blow me. Asva are one of the best bands I’ve ever seen. They came on stage and played about 40 minutes of agonizingly tense music – drawn-out keyboard drones, simple, repeated, tinny guitar riffs, distorted chords, shuddering floorboards, and a fucking amazing drummer playing sparse, minimalist, extreme freaking beats at about 10 bmp a lot of the time, punctuating the silences with wild gestures and stabbing down on the top of his bass drum to accentuate each kick. He even played the snare with his dreadlocks a few times to get a barely-noticeable brush sound out of it. These dudes are proper musicians, man. They are LORDS. I suspect they may be masters of the dark arts. (And I don’t mean D&D, like Candlemass). These people are weird and dark and absolutely necessary. They ain’t seen the last of me.

15:25
The Mad Caddies are, as I suspected, a ska punk band. I thought this sort of thing was illegal now? I’m going to sit in the dark and suck on my nuts.

16:00
Argh! Why must Efterklang, T(I)NC and Hoof overlap? Argh! I must get my drink on. Can’t be sober for Hoof – that would be an insult.

16:08
I’m sorry, I just don’t get this earplug thing. I mean, I know my hearing is being chronically damaged by, for example, Asva, but what the hell are ears for if not music? Conversation? Bugger that and do me a favour. The guy at the front who I thought was dressed really well is actually dressed like the band Efterklang. That’s disappointing. Oh well. The bear of care says “grrr”.

16:48
Efterklang are good. I won’t deny that. Eccentric, enthusiastic, inventive, and not enough like Sigur Ros to be boring, but I am a huge fan of T(I)NC’s album ‘A New Morning, Changing Weather’ and I can’t resist the chance to see them live in the hope they might play some of it. I can’t stay for their whole set either though, for obvious reasons.

15:27
Regrettably going to have to leave The (International) Noise Conspiracy, who were underappreciated as it was, I felt. The two ugliest stewards I’ve ever seen were flirting directly in front of us, which was a bit of a drag. After a slow start (mainly due to the sparse audience in front of the large main stage area) I was left feeling dour, but when ‘Smash it Up’ started they already had me convinced – and even better was the following track (which may be a new one, I think?) ‘Hiroshima, Mon Amour’. These dudes ain’t exactly young anymore but they move about the stage more than most and they look freakin’ amazing today in purple velvet (the lead signer even has a cloak to begin with). I knew they were renowned showmen but I didn’t realise quite how invigorating their live show was, and yet, I have to bugger off, and feel quite grumpy because of it.

18:57
Well, I walked out on T(I)NC but it was worth it anyway. It’s always amazing to see another audience utterly won over by the inimitable genius of Chrome Hoof – I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can say about them that I haven’t already said. That they were the deciding factor in my coming here should be enough to express how strongly I feel about them. At an essentials-only depleted number of eight members (I think!) their stellar set comprising the main of ‘Pre-Emptive False Rapture’ and a possibly-improvised bass and drum freak-out to top it all off, this was the crowning glory for me, and despite the remaining line-up being pretty impressive, I simply can’t face it. I wish I had something to eat that wasn’t nuts. I think I’ll probably die if I see another band. What life after Hoof? Who cares about post-hoof festival?

19:23
I will go home. Holywood Porn Stars are rubbish. What nutjob put them above The (International) Noise Conspiracy? Speaking of nuts I’d better eat some before I go to bed. Not too many. Might overdose.

(Dour Diaries Part 5: Brussels on thesvenhunter)