BLUNDERPOP

Not dead yet

2007-04-16T12:32:00.000+02:00

At all, in fact. We're just waiting for some new stories... So, by all means, send them in!

And now for something completely different

2007-02-07T20:01:00.000+01:00

This is just an odd bit of ranting - just scroll down to the posts underneath (and don't forget to check the 'previous posts' on the right) for the hardcore musical bonanza.

OK, so the cat story didn't have anything to do with Spinal Tap whatsoever. Those guys probably didn't even have cats. And they sure as hell didn't make them sing (if the first statement turns out to be wrong, you might to want start doubting the second one as well though). But since I loathe those embarrassing linear gaps on my blog and no new stories seem to be forthcoming (I'm too groggy to post them anyway - that's what a concussion does to you), I've been pondering about ways to fill those gaps up.

For one thing, I could steal other people's Spinal Tap stories. Theft is common enough on the internet and anyway, who could sue me? I live in Antwerp. You don't even know where that is*. But that wouldn't do at all. It'd be boring. And if I'm about to be bore myself (never mind you) for no good reason, it should at least include drinks.

Then it hit me: let's drop the pretence. Let's write about what really interests me: me. Let's talk about all the simple yet incomprehensible things in life. Let's talk about love in the air, about the futility of reason, about all those dissapointments that give you more strength (and the rare ones that casually dump you in a pool of self-inflicted misery) or about the reason for taking on a job you hate (notably: making sure you'll never ever have to do it again).

Then it hit me again: if you want start egotripping either a) start a band or b) put another blog online. Because crap like this will make you lose the 5 visitors a day you're still getting, dude.

Some deep thoughts on the farce that is contemporary music then, perhaps? Nope, then I'd become my own worst blunder. And besides, I'm not about to bite the hand that feeds me. At the very fringe of besideness there also was a wee voice saying: "you'll also lose even more visitors. Dude."

At this point I had to make a brief detour to the wee voice to point out that I don't care about the amount of visitors this blog gets (don't take it personally - I'm just not the sort of dude who enjoys jerking off on his site stats).

And there I was, back at square one. But suddenly, there was a third hit and this time, it went straight to the cranial base. I realised that this blog is all about superficial drivel. Sure, I'll throw in some (hell no: wads) of irony for good measure, but in the end Blunderpop is and will always remain a tribute to stupidity. So why do I bother about linear gaps? Who cares? Instead, I could be spending quality time in an animal shelter folding balloons into funny'ish shapes to the amusement of underprivileged cats (remember: I have a concussion and all those hits aren't helping either).

So, finally, have I made any point at all? Well yes, several in fact. One: Spinal Tap cannot be rushed. Just visit this blog from time to time and see what's come up. If there's nothing: give your cubicle a jolly good bang and start filling out your time sheets. Two: writing in your blog while ye olde internal gyroscope has forgotten about gravity is not a good idea. Three: I'm going to put up another blog with my own confused view of the world. It will be straight from the heart (or at least with as few detours as a male brain will allow) and it might very well be tacky.

I hope all that is good enough for you. But if you prefer some really harcore pornography instead (possibly including underprivileged cats), just let me know.

* In case you're an attorney: yes, I live in Ohio.

Spinal Pussycat

2007-01-10T12:46:00.000+01:00

Spoiler warning: This particular post has nothing to do with Spinal Tap itself, nor with music or anything remotely cool in general. This one is about one strange cat. I'll get back to posting regular stuff soon (and of course, the archives are still full of real Blunderpop). This is just a bit of New Years' sentimentalism, I suppose.

Nothing ever happens here. And for once 'here' doesn't apply to the Blunderpop blog, but rather to my wordly home in Antwerp. Yesterday, we had a bit of Spinal Tap of our own there. Pussycat Spinal Tap, that is.

My wife and myself -who are leading perfectly normal, quiet, tax-evading lives- are currently serving two cats. The eldest doesn't cause much excitement ; Basje used to be one mean, territorial bitch but ever since her ovaries got sliced, she has become indifferent to the world. Sure, there will still be interfeline unpleasantness whenever her droit de seigneur over food and accomodation is being questioned and as far as kitty's occasional mood swings are concerned: that's why one keeps an antiseptic handy in the medicine cabinet. So now she's just mean.

Then there's the youngest, Wickie. There couldn't be more of a contrast with Basje. Here's a quickie on Wickie :

- clumpsy. This is a cat you can push over.

- easily distracted. Often by nothing in particular.

- stupid. When her own tail hits something, she goes bezerk.

- clever. In a very abstract, detached, lofty sort of way.

- extraordinarily talkative. If you want a pet that not only talks back to you, but actually comes and tells you stories, then this is the cat for you.

- ridiculously sweet. To humans as well as to other cats.

Wickie, Spinal pussycat par éxcellence

In short: she doesn't seem to get the idea that cats are supposed to be solitary, mean, haughty and slick animals. This is even more striking when you know that she's the daughter of Basje (her siblings ended up dead in my fridge, don't ask).

So it won't come as a surprise to you when I tell you that Wickie's resume as a predator is basically a blank. She did emerge victorious from several fierce battles with twigs, leafs and -on one memorable occasion- a semi-comatose moth, but anything else has been way beyond her hunting skills. Until yesterday, that is. Yesterday, Wickie caught a mouse. I don't know how she did it. Was it a one-off hiccup from her primal instinct? Or possibly the mouse was intoxicated after nibbling from some fermented fruit in the compost heap? Who will tell?

Anyway, there she was, standing in the kitchen with a wee little mouse tail dangling from her mouth. I already heard stories of cats bringing bits of prey to their bosses ("there you go sir, you must be starving.") / servants ("medium please, with a bit of Whiskas on the side"), but I also figured those animals'd be dead. But no, I should have known that Wickie doesn't abide to convention. So she dropped the mouse from the mouth, which was very much alive indeed. The latter happily rummaged through some oranges before Wickie picked it up again. Together, they moved to the first floor, possibly because she didn't like my wife an me anxiously hovering about. There, they had some more fun playing hide and seek together. Mind you: Wickie didn't make any attempt to hurt the mouse. No claws, no juggling, no chewing, no nothing. Just a keen interest and possibly -at least, I like to think so- the idea that she had made a new friend. And the mouse itself didn't seem to mind much either. So they got along nicely. Rumour -a glimpse in poor lighting- has it that Wickie actually gave the mouse a jolly good wash with her tongue. Fact is, that Wickie didn't want us anywhere near, which is in itself exceptional. Again: this is a cat that talks to you.

Not Wickie (but I was too stunned to take pictures so here's some stock photography)

Eventually, Wickie's limited attention span got the better of her and she finally lost track of (or interest in?) the mouse and it dissapeared. A few hours later my wife and me were dutifully watching TV when she suddenly calmly remarked: "I think I felt something move under that blanket." (you should know my wife is not exacty squeamish). And there it was. The mouse didn't have as much as a scratch and it calmly walked across the couch, checking us out. And it didn't seem in any hurry to run off either. In the end, I caught the mouse without much effort (it either was fearless or else it was paralysed with fear) and returned it to the wild in the back of our garden. Later that evening, Wickie suddenly remembered her new-found rodent friend and came to look for it. She seemed sincerely dissapointed that 'her' mouse wasn't around anymore. I think this cat needs a soul mate.

And in case you're wondering about Basje: she slept through it all.

Update: Wickie, the scourge of the savannah, has actually caught a second mouse, this time with lethal consequences. The wee rodent must have had an heart attack as it was otherwise unharmed. Anyway, the mouse is very much dead. Hence, Wickie (who is still upset about her now defunct toy) has been officially listed as a predator.

Worst Christmas Song ever

2006-12-27T15:22:00.000+01:00

The slightly masochist people at Retrocrush.com have chosen, after long and excruciating deliberation, the worst Christmas song / video ever. Sorry Macca, it's nothing personal. But why on earth did you have to make such a truly tacky song? Even to the standards of the late 70s. You're rich, aren't you? You've got your musical freedom? You don't have to record any piece of shit, do you? So, again, WHY ? And people, by all means do check the video featuring a great number of musicians (and never mind that there are no instruments whatsoever in the song itself, apart from a keyboard from Plastic Hell) and the late Linda McCartney shaking bells.

Oh, and don't forget to check out this guy, whose song came in a close second in the Retrocrush Christmas poll.

Ho ho holy shit !

2006-12-15T07:59:00.001+01:00

The name of the site really says it all... Last Christmas has been collecting for almost two weeks now and the database (which also includes videos) is becoming quite impressive and continues to grow.

Currently, they've already posted 103 covers of the Wham! song (with a total playing time of7hr 8min 37sec) which includes versions by Vietnamese pop hero Dam Vinh Hung, Manic Street Preachers, The Hairy Bottlers, The Three Degrees and -of course- Richard Cheese.

And yes, Blunderpop does know the secret of Christmas cheer:
a funky little jingle deer !

Cover me, cover you

2006-12-11T10:20:00.000+01:00

When you're not able to come up with songs of your own, what do you do? You make some covers of course! Sometimes, even that goes horribly wrong. Here are a few examples. Watch and hear bad songs become even worse (and good songs being thoroughly gang-banged).

The Final Countdown - Yes, there's always worse. Europe's video clip at least had a crowd.

Smells Like Teen Spirit - It certainly does. Wow. I'd feel stupid and contagious, too.

Something by Iron Maiden apparently - Words fail me... and the singer as well.

Super Trouper - Psychedelic accordion bonanza, baby!

You're Beautiful - With a sensual Latin twist.

Doesn't all that make you wonder what their own songs sound like? No?

Alive and twitching

2006-12-05T11:07:00.000+01:00

Blunderpop still lives, although things are a bit comatose right now. Needless to say, this is your fault. We need your stories to keep this blog up and running. We did receive several comments though, but most of those were either complaints ("why don't you update your blog more often?") or proposals about the purchase of family-sized packs of Viagra. The latter sounds mighty interesting too, we agree, but in itself it's not exactly Spinal Tap. So stop bitching and start writing. Cheers!

Sleeve Wars (First Blood)

2006-11-02T10:45:00.000+01:00

In the not-so-distant past, Blunderpop has posted several galleries of truly horrid album covers. Well, throw in some Monty Python-esque animation and watch the record sleeves slug it out!

Many thanks to omnipresent Butsenzeller for the link.

Du Hast Rammstein?

2006-09-30T11:23:00.000+02:00

How to beat a teenage Rammstein fan.

Worst Album Covers

2006-09-28T12:27:00.000+02:00

What do you do when you don't have a lot of time, but you still need to update your blog every once and a while? You come up with a classic of course! So here are a few links to galleries with truly horrible, funny and/or disturbing record sleeves.

Heavy.com / Diesel (this one seems to be offline for the time being...)

Museum of Bad Album Covers

JimLawrence.net

Pork Tornado

Well, can he?

Have you got an album cover that's even worse? Feel free to send a scan to Blunderpop.

Bassist Wanted

2006-09-24T10:47:00.000+02:00

An excellent series of music-related comics by cartoonist / stand-up comedian / editor Porter Mason from Brooklyn, NY. 'Bassist Wanted' includes useful tips on how to deal with Ticketmaster, the conditions on which you're allowed to buy an iPod and how to escape the cheesy ramblings of James Blunt (essentially, you can't).

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Butsenzeller vs a senior citizen

2006-09-22T18:04:00.001+02:00

After reading Butsenzellers' story below ('No Sleep Till Ranst'), I remembered another incident in which he starred:

It's bad enough when the police comes and closes down your party because of 'sound pollution', but it gets even worse when concerned citizens take the right in their own hands. This is exactly what happened on a block party we organised a few years ago in Antwerp. And again, Butsenzeller was deejaying on the afterparty. There were a lot of people, most of them very drunk, having a good time. Curfew was at midnight and only minutes after the clock struck twelve, a one-person vigilante decided to take action. Suddenly, this old lady made her way through the crowd, entered the stage and in one fluid motion... put her hand on the record that was playing, forcing it to stop. Silence. Butsenzeller was at the time very busy putting on a new record and was wearing a headphone, so it took some time before he realised what was happening. To his amazement he then saw this angry granny standing beside him. He shrugged, hit the start button of the turntable, and the party took off again. For ten seconds. Then the old lady put her hand on the record again, making it stop. Butsenzeller put the record back on. The woman put it off again. And so the struggle went on - it was like a surreal scratching contest. The crowd started to realise what was happening and soon a shower of plastic cups, beer cans, wads of paper and other debris was raining down on the stage. The crowd obviously intended to hit the old lady but being drunk they also hit Butsenzeller, the DJ gear and of course, each other. In the end, Butsenzeller gave up the fight, called it a night and left the stage. A day later we had to excuse ourselves profusely to a very disgruntled neigbourhood committee.

No Sleep Till Ranst

2006-09-22T09:55:00.000+02:00

Some time ago, Butsenzeller had to deejay the afterparty on Gyprock, a festival organised by the Chiro (local youth movement) in Ranst, Belgium. One of his bands, Traktor, also happened to be the headliner on this festival, so he had to run from his drumstool to the decks. Enter the Kafka-esque Ranst police department.

It was a fine party with everybody going nuts, but a at a given moment the police did a bust, clearly intending to ruin the party. Within moments, there was a big hassle, with one guy hanging around the back of one cop, trying to keep him from getting on the stage. But Butsenzeller -being the conscentious professional that he is- was totally focused on his deejaying and didn't notice anything until another cop was standing right in front of him, loudly demanding his ID card. Butsenzeller turned the volume down and said to the cop that he was only doing his job (a cheap excuse mostly made by the police itself). But there was no way Butsenzeller was going to hand over his ID card just like that ; instead he said that any complaint about noise -or 'sound pollution', as the law puts it- was the responsibility of the organiser. The latter had to provide a decibel meter preventing the deejay from playing too loud. So the cops went to the backstage in search of someone responsible. In the meantime Butsenzeller put the volume back where it belonged and spinned the Beastie Boy's 'You Gotta Fight For Your Right (To Party)' which was chanted along by everyone in the audience. In the end -because it was almost 3 AM (the official closing time of the party)- the cops left the party going on for another 20 minutes, but they asked to do it a bit more quietly. This should have been the end of the story but of course, it wasn't.

DJ Butsenzeller @ Gentse Feesten

A few months later, Butsenzeller received a phone call from the Gyprock organiser, who almost begged him to come forward with his real name because the local police of Ranst actually threatened this poor youngster that he would never be allowed to organise anything ever again, if they didn't receive an official statement by the 'deejay in charge' pronto. Boots felt sorry for the hapless organiser so he called back to the local police, only to end up on an answering machine. So he left a message, giving his real name and a phone number where they could reach him. He got a message back on his own voicemail several times, mostly on unholy hours like 7 or 8 am. It turned out that the local police department was only open until 11 AM (criminals must enjoy temselves very much in Ranst every afternoon). Being a musician and therefore mostly working at night, he always heard the messages way too late to get back to them before closing time. The cop who left the messages sounded more nervous every time and finally gave Butsenzeller an ultimatum: this was his last chance to call back, otherwise they would put out a national search warrant for his 'misdemeanour'. What else could he do than call them before going to bed? So he did, first of all telling the cop that he didn't feel like getting a threat like that, when no crime was actually committed. The officer calmed down after that and asked for an appointment, because all they really needed was an official statement op paper. Bootsie naturally didn't feel like going to Ranst before 11 AM to oblige. So he bragged around about his busy schedule and asked the police officer if he could go to his nearest police station for the statement instead. This he was graciously allowed to do and they made an appointment at 4 PM.There, an officer eagerly wrote down (yes, with a ballpoint!) the statement and finally excused himself for taking Butsenzeller's time.

Of course the case was closed by this final act of red tape and he never heard from them again. And there was another edition of Gyprock a year later.

Being as conscientious as Butsenzeller himself, we did a little check on this story and the police of Ranst have since changed their business hours so deejays and other criminals be aware!

Mud will tear us apart

2006-09-21T21:47:00.000+02:00

As regular readers of this blog might have noticed: I've been to Dour festival several times. Each year, I used to pitch my tent on one of their assorted mudfields (someone said 'camping site' ?). All of this is very nice, if you discount fierce searchlights, drunk people stumbling over (or even in) your tent, the omnipresent smell of piss and shit (even without any refuse-tanks exploding - read on if you want to catch up on that one) and a LOT of havoc in general. But when it starts to rain, things do get a bit uncomfortable. And when it pours for four consecutive days, it becomes living hell.

This is what Dour looked like on the second day (and the festival is only half-way!)

The last year I went, things started off nicely enough. The first day, it didn't rain at all, even though I did manage to blow up my gas stove. It went downhill ever since. After three days, I made myself a little status report. It went a little like this:

- clothes: utterly and totally soaked, in particular my underwear for some strange reason

- food: most of it still at home. as for the remainder: see 'clothes'.

- tent: not even remotely resembling one.

- shoes: begging to be shot

- one night stands: an orgy of mud

- good concerts: possibly, but there was no way I could go and see them because I forgot to bring a kayak / snowshoes

- money: still a little bit of it left. Which means I'm more lucky then the guy who dropped his wallet in the mud, never to see it again (true story)

- wellness factor: huddling against the bottom of the Kelvin scale

- tobacco and soft drugs: see 'clothes'

As you can imagine, my enthousiasm was about to hit rock bottom as the dawn of the fourth and final day of the festival joyously announced itself with yet another torrent. But I still had a sense of duty lurking somewhere in the back of my mind, screaming: "RifRaf Musiczine managed to get you in for free, so it's time you do something back for them". My ears were filled with mud at the time so I didn't quite get the message, but I went to the RifRaf cabin anyway, who were also hosting the 'Lost And Found' department of Dour festival, because I had a job to do.

Of course, in the beginning, the rain & mud thing is still funny -and even somewhat erotic for some....

After sitting there for about an hour, watching people frantically browsing through a box of wallets and key rings, I noticed a guy coming up to me. He was entirely naked, save a rope sack that hid his most, erm, important parts and he was almost entirely covered with a cake of mud. He explained his quandary to me. On the first night, his tent had been stolen. On the second night, he had lost all of his clothes (he didn't tell me exactly how this had come about so let your imagination roam freely) and finally, on the third night, he had lost his wallet. I wanted to ask him why he just didn't come to us after his tent -or at least his clothes (I mean, the idea of spending two days on a festival naked, even if you have a wallet -where are you going to put it?- strikes me as a bit odd)- had been stolen. But I soon decided against it. Instead, I went to one of my RifRaf fellows, quickly explained the situation and ran off as fast as I could to my designated mudfield, packed all my stuff that was still worth packing and took the first train home. I haven't been back since... I will go back though, as soon as Dour organises its next festival somewhere in, say, the Kalahari.

God, how I hate mud!

Video Did Kill The Radio Star

2006-09-20T09:11:00.000+02:00

It's been very busy here, so we haven't had much time to edit new stories. But in the mean time, here's a lovely videoclip from Journey, a rock band that truly embodies the Spinal Tap spirit. This no-budget video sums up all the musical clichés of the ultimate Blunder decade: the 80s. The song ('Separate Ways', from their 1983 'Frontiers' album) is erm, very interesting in its own right, too.

Allmusic describes Journey as :

* Yearning
* Slick
* Earnest
* Rousing
* Self-Conscious
* Theatrical
* Sentimental
* Smooth
* Romantic
* Passionate

Well they are, aren't they?

Webcam superstars

2006-09-04T09:11:00.000+02:00

Well, this is not your average Blunderpop entry, but this little megamix is just too good not to post:

Sisters are doing it for themselves

2006-08-30T09:17:00.000+02:00

When I was working as a journalist on the 1997 edition of Dour festival (where they forgot to put me on the list so it took a lot of persuasion, frantic conversations through walkie-talkies and finally the need to cut up my bus subscription so that they could make me a photo pass) I heard the following story from a volunteer who was working at the backstage.

One of the headliners that year was new wave veteran band the Sisters Of Mercy. Well ,they're not really a band ; it's just a singer that doesn't know how to sing, a guitar player of limited ability and a monotonous tape loop. But still, they did have a hit or two during the 80s and this, combined with an uncanny ability to make truly horrible covers of good songs, does make them legendary in a somewhat perverted way. And, being a bunch of over-the-top old twats, they revel in their faded glory and tend to behave like the superstars they are manifestly not. For starters, upon arrival, the Sisters said that they refused to play until it was entirely dark. This somewhat upset the time schedule of Dour festival, it being July and all. They also demanded a dressing room that was entirely isolated from the rest of the backstage and they generally behaved like assholes.

He won't thank you and he's not serene

And of course, they also had some very specific food demands. I'm not sure what it was that they wanted, but it might have included lots of (black) beluga caviar and a teppanyaki of roasted bat. Anyway, as their designated personal assistant -a hapless volunteer girl- was bringing them their food, she went to singer Andrew Eldritch and humbly asked him what he wanted to drink. Upon which the old bastard, completely ignoring her, blankly stared at some point in the distance and breezily said: "Don't talk to me, talk to my manager."

I still have some Sisters Of Mercy vinyl and CD's lying about here so if anyone needs some stuff for target practise, feel free to send me an email.

All quiet on the Blunder front?

2006-08-22T17:44:00.000+02:00

You might have noticed that we haven't put any new stories online for over a week. Well, the reason -the culprit if you will- would be you. Yes you. As we said in our Blunder statement: your stories are the stuff that keeps this blog going, because we're not going to make them up (even though that IS a tempting thought). So, please, send them to us pronto. You can do so by sending them (preferably with a few pix) to blunderpop@yahoo.com.

Take the next copyright, then turn left

2006-08-11T11:19:00.000+02:00

Yesterday, Undercurrent and Guerilla organised a little concert of German / Japanese electropop band Pitchtuner. It was a very last-minute kind of thing, as we had a lot of trouble finding a venue and ended up in a metal/gothic shack in the centre of Antwerp. This resulted in several bewildered regulars (electro? pop?), a total lack of stage lights and a PA-system that had seen better days (probably when the Mongol hordes were still roaming the European plains). The latter resulted in the concert starting way too late and as there was a curfew, the band could only play for about half an hour. But all of this is -sadly- nothing out of the ordinary. What happened earlier that evening, however, was.

We had made arrangements with the booking agency that Pitchtuner first had to come to our place for dinner, and afterwards we'd all go to the venue for the soundcheck and so on. At about the time the band was due to arrive, they called us saying they had arrived at the venue. We quickly explained there had been some misunderstanding and that they were supposed to eat at our place first. The band said they'd come at once. At this point, we were getting a bit worried as time was already running out and we feared Pitchtuner would have a lot of trouble finding the way from the venue to our place, the Antwerp road system being what it is. But to our surprise, only a few minutes later the door bell rang. "Wow, those guys definitely have a good sense of direction!", we thought as we opened the door. Upon which four persons entered our house. Nothing strange about that you think? Well, it is if you know that Pitchtuner is a threesome.

There are three of them, right?

We figured it must be their driver. Not. The band figured it was either someone from the club or else a friend whom we sent there to help them out. Not. After a lot of discussion and several raised eyebrows, we -being utterly clueless- finally turned to the guy asking who the hell he was. It turned out - brace- that he was someone from the Belgian copyright organisation Sabam, whom you have to pay whenever you organise a gig without getting anything in return (unless you're Madonna). He explained that he had been waiting for us at the venue for several hours -god only knows why- and that when the band turned up, he offered to show them the way to our place. But he never told the band just who he was - even though he claimed to us that he did. But hey, as he was here now anyway, maybe we could oblige him to fill out the paperwork? Well, we didn't have much of a choice, did we?

At any rate, this was the first -and probably only- time Sabam actually did something good for us, because if it weren't for this guy, the band would have arrived way too late for dinner and our time schedule would have been entirely corrupted. So thank you Sabam!

Global Dispositioning System # 2 (the navigation system strikes back)

2006-08-09T12:22:00.000+02:00

The Balkan country of Slovenia can boast two contributions to contemporary music: industrial band / movement Laibach and Tekton Motor Corporation, whose gimmick consists of sampling Formula 1 racing engines into their beats. Slovenia used to be a part of Yugoslavia and it's the only republic that managed to secede from the federation without any serious bloodshed. There has never been given an explanation as to why Slovenia managed to escape civil war, but Bart Dujardin -manager of the Je M'en Fish indie collective- has finally provided an answer: the Serb troops simply couldn't find their way into the country.

Normally preferring to organise events from behind the safety of the desk/computer, I decided in April 2006 to hurl myself into the half-adventure, half-holiday event of touring with 2 bands, mainly as a photographer. The last concert was in Italy, but we first did some gigs in Germany and Slovenia and Italy as well. This story is centered on Slovenia and our mission was to boldly tour where no man has toured before. Well, actually, one of the bands already played 3 concerts there in 2005 and they told me the country was like nothing we'd seen before. Anyway, at some point we were somewhere at the fringes of Germany* and we asked people if we'd already crossed the border, they would mysteriously smile and say that "we would notice once we entered Slovenia".

Lesson 1: When looking up travel information on Slovenia, we couldn't count on websites like www.mappy.be ; they didn't even bother listing the country. But since it's relatively small, we printed out some maps from the internet and hoped for the GPS system to do its job. The latter turned out to be a mistake. Once we were in Slovenia and we moved inland, away from any border (first Germany* and later Italy), the GPS acted as if we were driving on Mars. The phrase "Recalculate...route..." haunts our deepest memories to this day. The funniest moment came when we were driving on a patch of straight highway and the GPS confindently stated that we had to "drive 4 kilometres, then turn 180 degrees". This sounded spectacular enough for a change. Unfortunately, after about 3 kilometres, it 'recalculated' again (and subsequently decided we had to be completely somewhere else altogether, of course). The countryside was vast, green and above all, not inhabited, so no luck on that part as we couldn't ask for directions.

Well, this is a South-African road sign because we couldn't find one from Slovenia, but you get the idea...

Lesson 2: Be sure not to rely too much on Slovenian signalisation. Just as an example of what to expect: somewhere along our drive through the countryside, there were some heavy road works being done. The result was a traffic jam which stretched for about 7 or 8 kilometres (and there's not a lot of alternative roads to be had in Slovenia). In Belgium, there would be crisp-clear road signs stating the usual information (Drive 30/h, buckle up, etc). But not in Slovenia. When we stumbled on this traffic jam the first road sign showed us a smiley. Not a smiling smiley, you see, but one that was in a clear state of depression (it either showed a bottle of antidepressiva or a gun to its head, I can't quite remember). Road signs like this popped up every 500 metres, an on each the mood of our poor smiley gradually lightened, until at the last few kilometres the smiley was happily jumping around on the sign, finanlly looking like as if it was high as the sky on the last one.

Lesson 3: Expect the unexpected. What is deemed a club here in Belgium is obviously not the same thing in Slovenia. In 'Metelkova City', there was not one part of a building that was not filled to the brim with artwork of all kinds, outside or inside of the buildings. Playing a live show there was literally an eye-opener alright.

'Metelkova City' Is it a club? It is art? Or is it just strange?

* Blunderpop note: the country must have been Austria as Germany doesn't have a border with Slovenia, well not since the end of World War II at least.

More Je M'En Fish here.

Burning Blunder

2006-08-07T07:29:00.000+02:00

Last night, Blunderpop was featured -with an interview no less- on Belgian national radio Studio Brussel, more specifically on 'Brandend Zand', hosted by Lux Janssen. If you have a lot of spare time, you can listen to the entire show here. We're in it somewhere...

There's no way you can really win a rock contest

2006-08-04T08:32:00.000+02:00

Ken Veerman (aka SimpleSongs) has "decided to dedicate my first anecdote on Blunderpop to everyone who's ever had the guts to organise a gig, no matter how badly the previous one went. Because it's simply too easy to pick on the guys who are putting together a show, even if they mess up slightly (or not so slighty, but that's not the point)." So he sent us this story about surreal line-ups, veggie poultry and the unfairness of getting free booze.

Having organised a load of gigs myself for the Antwerp underground combo Undercurrent, I've witnessed our own so-called 'experienced' promoter make the most ridiculous mistakes ("Are you telling me you can't even put chicken stock in a vegetarian meal?" "Erm, no". "Shit, you reckon they'll notice?") and all I've learned is that experience is more about 'not panicking when the shit hits the fan' than about erm … 'wiping shit from fans'.

"Is that fan clean?" (picture by Thomas Bartosik)

Rock contests are a popular thing it seems. There's all kinds of reasons (some good, some bad) for this: the audience gets to see five bands in one night, if a band sucks, it's only on stage for about fifteen minutes so it's easy to retreat to the bar for the time being and ignore them, there are no fees to be paid to the bands and every band brings along its own -albeit sometimes tiny- legion of fans.

I remember this rock contest last year which had five bands competing for two awards. First of all, there was the typical 'professional' prize, where a jury of often dubious expertise (any musician who once played in a one-hit wonder and went downhill ever since can be in it) chooses the 'best band of the night'. There was also a public award ('which band was most popular to the crowd on that particular night?') so every visitor received a polling form which they should fill out and hand back to the jury after the last gig.

SimpleSongs @ Kaaiman (picture by Brook Williams)

The following order in which the bands were to play was decided at random. Now, having five bands on one night is a logistic hell, so starting early is wise. There was however quite a stir when it turned out that the first band on was supposed to play at 7.30 pm whereas all the leaflets, posters, press stuff etc clearly mentioned "doors 8 pm". As you can imagine, this took the chances of that first band of winning the public award well into the sub-zero area (and almost beyond the Kelvin scale).

To top it all off, the band who had to play last went to the jury to complain about… (brace) the free drinks that were available in the backstage. Their argumentation being: "we'll be totally drunk by the time we're supposed to go on stage." The band saw this as 'unfair'.

More SimpleSongs here.

Danish Butter Rookies

2006-08-01T15:24:00.000+02:00

Anne-Mette Bak from Denmark sent us this story about the Roskilde festival. Danish people just love FKK and streaking but they'll also be quite happy to use any evidence whatsoever in this regard just so they can take the piss out of any poor soul that happens to be caught in their nudist web. So be careful whenever you participate in Roskilde's annual 'running naked' contest.

I discovered your awesome site through the Roskilde community website, and saw that you were looking for festival stories. I love festivals and the many fucked-up things you experience at them. I am just a 'normal' visitor who for some reason always ends up in some very weird situations. Allthough this particular story is not about me but about a guy I know.

Every year the Roskilde festival has a 'naked run race', something everybody goes to see. I go to a fairly small college (about 400 students) and most of us go to Roskilde every year. The joy of going to a small school can also be your worst nightmare, because it's nice to know everybody but on the other hand it's not so nice when everybody also knows about you and your screw-ups. Some poor first-year guy learned about this 'social control' thingie in a very sad way...

Ready, set, go !

At the time, he had not started college yet, but while he was at the Roskilde festival, he decided that he should join the naked run race. So he did. He had a great festival and returned safely home. About a month later he started college. In Denmark, it is custom that the 1st years go through a lot of humiliation and traumas during their first couple of months. The students of the 3rd year have the honour of being the dickheads who get to soak the 1st-years in water, put birdseed in their bags, humiliate them at assemblies in front of the entire school etc. All of this is because the new students should not think they are equal to the 'old and wise'.

So this guy is going through his daily traumas. He -sadly- is the guy that everybody knows and therefore there were quite a lot of 3rd years trying to figure out how we could humiliate him. Then one day on our way to school while sitting on the bus we took one of the free newspapers they distribute on our public transport and started to read the backpage (which is being written by comedians) and there, on a picture that takes up half of the page, is our guy - running very much naked in Roskilde mud. A few hours later, a huge load of this particular newspaper was scattered all over our school. We ended up not having to do anything to ruin his first few months at college, he did it all on his own. Need I say more apart from the fact that he didn't attend the race this year? Hehe...

And the winner strips it all...

Big Bummer

2006-07-29T14:54:00.000+02:00

Some people (we know who you are) insisted that Guerilla should post a story of its own, as we host this blog and are no strangers to Spinal Tap ourselves, especially when it comes to organising a festival. And as the biblical saying goes "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone". So here comes our very own avalanche.

The very first festival we organised was indoor at Hof Ter Lo, a venue in Antwerp which holds about 1.000. Given the fact that Guerilla only existed for a few months and we didn't have any experience whatsoever (apart from a few gigs in a squat, see the story below) this might have seemed a bit overly ambitious. And, of course, it was. The festival was called 'Big Bang' and that's exactly what it was: chaotic and destructive.

- the day of the festival, the guys who went to pick up most of the audio & light gear managed to prompt a general nervous breakdown when they called us saying "There's been an accident: the lock on the doors of our van snapped and now there's a sprinkling of PA stuff on the highway for about two miles." That's what Belgians call a 'joke'. Not funny. Not funny at all.

- the second stage was only finished three hours after the festival started. The second stage was also the spot where there was a rock contest on with a few new bands. But the jury got so drunk that no winner could be chosen. Some of those bands are doing very well now, by the way. UPDATE: I was wrong because a winner was chosen after all: reggae band Calabash (they're headlining alongside Omar Perry on the 2006 edition of Willrock festival by the way).

- when the second band on the main stage started to play, the woofers exploded. They were replaced by the woofers of the second stage. Those were a lot smaller, so they exploded as well. Half an hour later, the mixing table started to emit smoke - the master volume switch had fried.

- one artist managed to empty a fire extinguisher in the backstage and only afterwards (!) set the entire place on fire. Stupidly, he started to brag about his exploits when there was someone of the organisation nearby. But afterwards, he was very sorry about the whole thing and we're still good friends today.

- a video projector was stolen while it was being used on stage. No mean feat, huh? Afterwards, rumour had it that some bloke who was affiliated to the band that was on at the time, knicked it and sold it off so he could go and buy heroine (him being a junkie). But there was no proof, so the company whom we rented it from sued us (as if we wanted to steal an ancient projector). There's still no verdict in the case.

Think Of One thing you wouldn't like to see happen on a festival. Big Bang provided a bucketload.

- we arranged for a monitor mixing set on the main stage but alas we forgot to hire someone who knew how to use it. In the end, a girl who once took one lesson in sound engineering anxiously agreed to do it (we blackmailed her into it, I guess). Not surprisingly, the sound coming out of the monitors was somewhat less than perfect.

- there was a huge delay in the line-up and we even had to cancel a band (Neven). As a consequence, the main act (Think Of One) had to play three hours late. So they were very hungry. Being excellent organisers, we had foreseen this and we actually managed to trick a real chef into preparing food for the band. But -being equally stupid- we put the food 'for the time being' in an area that was accessible to the public. Needless to say, the crowd really enjoyed the free food, but Think Of One didn't. Fortunately, the chef managed to whip up a meal with the leftovers.

And there's a lot more where that came from. As I'm sure some of you will only be too happy to point out to us. So expect updates soon...

Silent Support

2006-07-27T09:22:00.000+02:00

This story was sent to us by homeboy Dizel Washington, whose previous exploits include a stint with Sint-Andries MC's. Currently he's behind the mic of AC/DJ, which stands for Antwerp City Disc Jocks and has equally notorious Brad Piet on the decks. They are the ultimate party crew whose motto is: Party Hard / Rockin' Loud / Makin' Antwerp City Proud. Even though the 'loud' bit sometimes has to be taken with a pinch of salt...

Late summer 2001. Belgian national radio Studio Brussel ran a contest to promote the upcoming Groove Armada gig at the Vooruit the following fall. You had to send in a mixtape and the winner was awarded with an interview on Studio Brussel, a 30 minute dj-set during prime time, as well as getting to do the support for Groove Armada.

Me and my man Brad Piet were making mixtapes on a daily basis at the time. What we did was mix as many records as possible, record it on a 90-minute audiotape, and take it with us to the bar we went to that night where we would ask the bartender to play it. That way we could check out the effect our selection had on people and analyse our mixes as well (Blunderpop note: we've been using similar excuses so we could get drunk at some pub).

Dizel Washington & Brad Piet

Anyway, one of those tapes we submitted for the contest and guess what: not before long I got a call from this dude at Zomba - the record label of Groove Armada- who told us we had won and were hereby invited for our interview and dj-set on Studio Brussel. All of this went well and so we were getting ready for our official entry a few days later to eternal fame and stardom - rockin' the infamous Vooruit in Ghent as support act of world-renowned producers Groove Armada.

As you can imagine, we were more than a little excited. So we got to the venue well on time and were received as true stars with a backstage room, fresh fruit and all the drinks we wanted. We also got to say hello to the Groove Armada crew, who turned out to be a bunch of nice geezers. Then at 10pm we were called to the stage to get it on. The hall was packed and some people were even cheering us. It felt like “Yeah, this is going to be a memorable gig”.

So we put our first record on and immediately noticed that there was hardly any sound coming out of the speakers and the monitors, even though the output meter on the mixing table clearly showed everything was OK at our end. So we turned to the sound engineer and told him to pump up the volume. Bit by bit they gave us a few more decibels, but we could still hear the people in the crowd having a chat. We both thought "What the f*ck is this? Some kind of joke?". Once again, we went to the sound guy to ask for more volume. We were finally told that this was impossible. It turned out that, whenever there was a theatre play on at the venue next door, they had to limit the volume to a bare whisper. So they were sorry, but this was all the sound we were going to get.

AC/DJ superstylin'

We turned to the crowd and yelled at them that this was the loudest we were allowed to play. Not caring anymore about mixing, we made ourselves comfortable on the monitors in front of the stage and talked to some friends who had especially come over to support us - only to watch AC/DJ's opportunity to rock our first big crowd go to waste. At the end, even one of the Groove Armada guys came to see what the hell was going on. After 20 minutes or so we decided to pack our stuff and get off the stage.

When Groove Armada came on later that night, the sound was immediately turned up to full power. A bit disappointed we headed back home, but our hunger to rock was bigger then ever. And the rest, as you know, is part of rock 'n' roll history.

More AC/DJ on the Guerilla site and on Dizel's MySpace.

Artists and beggars can't be choosers

2006-07-24T13:11:00.000+02:00

This story was sent to us by musician / rarefishie / Spinal Tap veteran Thomas Bartosik

I don't mind chaotic DIY shows but, alas, sometimes there's just too much tapness involved.

Each year in March, the student body of an academy in Antwerp organises a little festival in a local squat with lots of bands, dj's, performances, poets, etc. Until last year I was a student at this school, so they asked me to perform with one of my bands, Haachtse Witte. Given the low entrance fee, all the artists were 'paid' with 3 beers, a bottle of water and a lasagna. The previous year the festival wasn't really well organised, so I kind of interfered with the whole thing on the night itself; providing a second stage so all the bands could play, making sure everybody had juice for the amps as well as improvising a new schedule on the spot. This year, I did not have the time to help them out. Nor did anyone else, apparently...

Because I had to do some stuff for work, I arrived just in time for the soundcheck. We were scheduled as the fifth band on the indoor stage. I had to get up early the next day so I was hoping to go home as fast as possible. When I arrived, the second band was playing and I was told there was -obviously- a huge delay. First of all, there was a guy who played in two bands. Both bands were re-scheduled on the night itself to play on two different stages at the same time. Great thinking. Secondly, they forgot something very important: a PA doesn’t work really well without a sound engineer, especially when the mixing desk is up on a balcony at the other side of the room. As you can imagine, that makes it rather hard for a band to play on stage and do your own mix at the same time.

Noticing nobody really seemed to bother and seeing time go by, my band mates of Haachtse Witte had already volunteered to help out so we all ended up behind the mixing desk. Suddenly, somebody came to us and said we had to tell the band to stop. So we did. The third band was I Love Sarah, good friends of us. We had a hard time doing their amplification because there was no time for a soundcheck and we didn't really know which mics were plugged in and which weren't. During the set we also found out that the mic for the guitar amp and the monitors were not working, so we had to improvise with other mics while I Love Sarah was playing.

one half of I Love Sarah

After a while, Ken (SimpleSongs) -also a member of Haachtse Witte- went backstage to prepare his own set. There, he asked for some help with the PA. He also needed a hand to haul all his gear to the stage but nobody seemed to know who was responsible. But they did have a good excuse: they were all very busy making hamburgers. Wandering around, Ken ended up at the entrance where someone told him: "Just ask the guys from Haachtse Witte. They'll help you out." OK...

While I was still on the balcony with Freek (the third Haachtse Witte member) the girl who was responsible (yep) for the indoor stage came to us. Not to take over, you see, but to make sure we were doing it right. At this point, I started to realise that my band would not be on stage any time soon, so I mentally prepared to go to work in the morning without getting any sleep. I wanted to know what the plan was -if any- so I went backstage where everybody was still making hamburgers. There, a guy from the organisation was moaning about the fact that they weren't on schedule anymore. I suggested that having a sound engineer would be a good start to avoid losing time. To which he replied: "The bands are all playing for free, so they mustn't complain about anything".

Haachtse Witte, excellent stuff

Normally, Haachtse Witte was scheduled to play after SimpleSongs but the festival crew decided on the spot to add one more band called Schidzoïde. Meanwhile, we could set up our gear on stage, so we started to put up the drumkit they arranged for us. It turned out the kit was not complete and the kick was broken, so we had to borrow some material from the nice guys of tRAM. I plugged in my effect pedals and waited for Schidzoïde to finish. But, suddenly, while Freek was getting us more beer, some drunk guy stumbled onto stage to drum along to the music. I didn't mind him drumming, but I don't like people to stand on my effect pedals, but there was little I could do about it. Five minutes later the girl (the “responsible” one) comes up and complains to us that the drunkard is playing on tRAM’s drumkit. Maybe she should have been there herself to keep people away from the stage, and maybe she could have told him not to step on my pedals as well.

Anyway, Schidzoïde went on for quite a bit, trashing his guitar and all that, and when he was finally finished (it was 3 AM at this time) Responsible Girl came back and told us tRAM had to play now. Our show was cancelled and we had to get off the stage as fast as possible. I packed my stuff, went home, drank coffee for an hour and went to work.

Alternate Blunderpop URL

2006-07-24T11:25:00.001+02:00

You can now also bookmark / link to us by using www.blunderpop.tk. Of course, you'll have to click through ('or wait 15 seconds' etc) but at least this URL is easier to remember. We'll change the URL into something pop-up free as soon as possible. And yes, new stories are coming up very shortly. So keep checking this blog regulary for updates.

Blood on the drums

2006-07-14T12:48:00.000+02:00

This story was submitted by photographer / musician / last action hero Kris Verdonck.

A few weeks ago we had to play with our band The Chocolate Lovers on the opening of a three-day art fest in Antwerp called 'Liefhebber' ('Amateur'), which was being organised by the city of Antwerp and one Mr. Raoul from the venue itself. It was supposed to be about art & music and the love for both. It turned out to be somewhat different...

The venue was an old squatted mansion which could hold like threehundred people. The chief-squatter was a guy from Nigeria, dressed in this funky jazz outfit from the 50’s. You know, with the hat and all the works.

You had to address him as Mr Raoul. Or even better, like he had said before: as the Governor. So Mr Raoul had been chewing on these strange plants all day, which made him all the more nervous as time passed by. During the soundcheck, he started making weird yelling noises while talking nonsense and dancing all along. “Okay, that’s one weird guy”, we thought, “We better not pay too much attention to him.”

After we had finished the soundcheck, the audience started to come in. Then some art connoisseur –you know the type- made his opening speech and we finally hit the stage. Into the fourth song the Governor -who had been dancing all the time- mounted the big stairs behind and above the stage. Suddenly he started yelling at the crowd. Then he grabbed a lamp-post that was standing there, ran a few flights down the stairs, and smashed it on the head of our drummer, Dirk. The latter started to bleed heavily, the stuff dripping on his snare drums, and the poor guy nearly lost consciousness. Luckily there were some women in the audience who knew how to treat an injured head. They got some bandages and other useful stuff from the emergency kit and took care of him.

When we realised what had happened, I put my guitar down and chased the Governor, who in the mean time had run out of the venue. After a few hundred meters, I was closing in on him. But the Governor suddenly turned on his heels. He was holding this big brick in his hand and he obviously intended to hit me with it - preferably on the head. “Fuck.” was all I could think. And I naturally ran off as fast as I could.

The Chocolate Lovers performing with Johnny Dowd

At this point, people were pouring out of the venue and they noticed what was happening. Some of them tried to block the Governor. So what did he do? Well in the end, six visitors hit the dust. Then along came our friend Bart, who tried to grab him. Unsuccesfully. He got smashed on the head as well and started bleeding profusely. Knock-out number two.

Finally, this giant guy, nearly two meters tall and built like a boxer -he turned out to be a concert organiser who had come to check us out- managed to get hold of the Governor, wrestled with him for a bit and put the guy’s arms behind his back. The Giant Organiser dragged him into the venue and locked him in a room, after telling him that if he’d make as much as one single move, he’d be dead before he knew what hit him.

Meanwhile, we had returned to the stage and after we got the all-clear sign, our singer grabbed the mic and announced the next song, as if nothing had happened. “So ladies and gentleman, sorry for the inconvenience & the blood on the drums. Okay, now let’s do ‘Sinnerman’.”

Smack My Beach Up

2006-07-05T08:51:00.000+02:00

OK, here are two little stories of my own (since not too many have been submitted lately, you lazy bums) and both of them took place at Beach Rock in Zeebrugge (every year it has a different name because the organisation really likes to suck up to its sponsors ; so it can be 'Axion Beach Rock' or 'Lada Beach Rock' or 'National Manure Inc. Beach Rock', anything goes).

The first time I was there I had to do an interview. I didn't have a backstage pass for some reason, but as the artist -the singer of Breakbeat Era- came to pick me up, this wasn't a problem. So we did the interview and afterwards, I naturally wanted to return to the frontstage. But as I came to the checkpoint, some boneheaded security guy didn't want to let me go through - because I didn't have a pass. I patiently tried to explain to him that I didn't want to go in the backstage - I wanted to go out. I didn't want instant free drinks, I wanted to queue for ages so I could pay for them. I didn't want to rub up to celebrities, I wanted to rub up to drunk teenagers. So we argued for about ten minutes but to no avail. The only reply I got was something along the lines of 'befehl ist befehl'. In the end I had to go and find someone higher up in the festival hierarchy -who probably had more important things on his mind- who could talk some sense into this moron. Eventually, I was set free, even though the security did give me a look that clearly said "I'll beat you up later when I get the chance" . ***

The security guy wouldn't let me take his picture, but these gentlemen just might be some of his chums.

A year later, I was on the same festival again and this time I did have a backstage pass, hurray! And better still: I didn't have to do any interviews. So me and my friend had a lot of time to spare, as well as access to lots of free beer. The problem was that the festival had a sponsor deal with Maes. Now, you probably need to be a Belgian to appreciate the difference between a good beer and a bad one, but believe me: Maes is bad. So we went out to a shop, bought some Jupiler (good beer) and went back to the festival, knowing fully well that important people and other freeloaders with a backstage pass don't get frisked. Soon, we were happily enjoying our beers in the backstage lounge (they had plastic plants and even a little fountain). Suddenly, an anxious-looking guy in a suit came to us and said "You can't do that!". Can't do what? "Drink that-thàt beer." Pardon? "This festival is being sponsored by my company Maes and here you are drinking Jupiler. You took advantage of your backstage pass to smuggle it in." Of course we did. That's what backstage passes are for. "OK, OK, I have a deal: why don't you let me have those cans and I'll bring you two ice-cold Maes beers." And he did. He even managed to find two glasses. It was a good deal for us because our drinks were almost empty and we were already too drunk to taste the difference anyway. We also decided not to tell Mr. Maes about the eight Jupiler cans that were still in my backpack.

Suck Chuck Berry

2006-06-30T08:50:00.000+02:00

Filip Janssens, who sent us this story, only read about it in a magazine. But he feels this is the greatest rock 'n' roll anecdote ever and Blunderpop is tempted to agree. So here we go.

This one is about of my icons, the living link between blues and rock, world famous for his bad manners as well as for his guitar riffs: Chuck Berry. As everyone knows, in the latter days of his career -from the late 60s onwards- good ol' Chuck was somewhat less than motivated during concerts - he was simply in it for the cash. He never brought his own band ("more money for me"), arrived at the venue about half an hour before the gig and spent most of the remaining time counting his money. When he did get on stage, he didn't even glance at the backing band, let alone talk to them. He just started to play a song, without the band having a clue which one. Of course, most of Chuck Berry's songs are very much alike, based on the same three chord blueprint, but that's another story. As a result, most of his concerts were utterly shit (I was lucky enough to see him perform well on the 1996 edition of Peer Rhythm & Blues festival, but that's yet another story).

Anyway, somewhere during the 80s in the States, almost 60 year-old Chuck arrived at a venue, late as usual. The promoter, who was of the nervous kind and didn't expect him to show up anymore, heaved a sigh of relief and handed over the fee. Mister Berry prompty started counting the money, before dissapearing in the backstage. All of this without saying as much as a word. A few minutes before the concert, the man was still nowhere to be seen. So the promoter went to the dressing room and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. And again, each time a little more insistent. But all remained quiet. Finally, the man mustered all of his courage and opened the door. And there was Chuck Berry: sitting on a chair with a ham sandwich in his hand and an 18 year-old girl between his legs giving him a vigorous blowjob. Wide-eyed and gasping for breath, the promoter finally managed to stammer "Five minutes to showtime, Mr. Berry?!?" Upon which the rock 'n' roll legend calmly replied: "First I'm gonna finish my sandwich."

Smoke and the water

2006-06-28T08:54:00.000+02:00

As some of you may know, this blog is being hosted by Guerilla. Having organised a lot of concerts and festivals, we're no strangers to Spinal Tap ourselves. So from now on, we'll put up a post of our own every week. This one is about the very first gig we ever organised.

The venue was a squat in Antwerp (apty named 'Los Squattos') so we had to improvise a lot. Of course, there wasn't any electricity so we rented a generator. As it was raining, we couldn't simply put it outside but instead had to haul the contraption up to the first floor. There, we put it next to a window but it soon turned out that this didn't provide enough ventilation ; the toxic fumes went straight into the venue itself. So we boarded up the entire first floor with plywood. No more fumes, hurray! But then we realised -notably when the venue was suddenly plunged in darkness- that those things need a refill from time to time. Crap.

After cursing our own thoroughness -we used a lot of nails- we finally managed to make it to the generator, took the nearest jerrycan and filled the tank. The machine immediately started to splutter ferociously, emitting huge clouds of smoke. A passer-by might have thought the Sioux were on the war-path again. Then it went dead. It turned out that the jerrycan contained water, whereas generators tend to prefer gasoline. Crap.

There was only one thing we could do: drag it out of the window, turn it upside down and let the water flow out. Easier said than done, because those things are bloody heavy. But in the end we managed to do it and -after a lot of pleading and cursing- the generator came alive again. The rest of the evening went without incident but we all had aching muscles for days to come.

Blunder media

2006-06-26T21:28:00.000+02:00

Lovely! Belgian daily De Morgen ran a little article about Blunderpop last Saturday. And De Standaard -another daily- covered us in their "En nu even ernstig" weblog. So did national weekly Humo on their Linke Boel. Anyway, read on because there's plenty of Spinal Tap dead ahead!

Dour festival visitors in deep merde

2006-06-25T09:43:00.000+02:00

(story sent to us by happy camper Jan Decoster)

Several years ago, I went to Dour festival with some friends. I don't remember in which year it was, but Ministry (real bad gig) and Bloodhound Gang (a lot of fun) played on the same stage on the same day. (Blunderpop comment: that must have been the 1999 edition). Upon arriving, we had a discussion about where to pitch our tents, the choice being either beside the road (lots of noise & mud) or next to the fence (the omnipresent smell of piss). Eventually, we decided upon the latter. A good choice as it turned out.

One night we were happily having a chat and enjoying a drink when we saw a tractor rumbling by, with a container in tow. It was a local farmer who helped out with the lavatory refuse. So this particular container was filled to the brim with excrements. Suddenly, the grip of the container snapped. This resulted in a lively fountain of shit, piss and chemicals that sprinkled everyone and everything within a 100 ft radius. One girl in particular, who was sitting in front of her tent next to the road, was literally covered with shit.

imagine getting sprayed with the contents of this baby

The farmer who drove the tractor simply closed the grip again and hopped on his tractor, intending to leave ground zero without a worry on his mind. But before he was able to do so, a dripping and smelly guy pulled him from his tractor, screaming something along the lines of "Like fuck you're gonna leave us here like this!" The farmer pulled out a walkie-talkie in which he mumbled something and beat a hasty retreat.

About 15 minutes later some guy with another tractor and a water hose turned up. He doused the area for about five minutes -which wasn't really effective as there was hardly any pressure on the hose- and cleared off as well. And that was that, as far as Dour festival was concerned.

The area remained smelly for the rest of the festival, but at least we weren't covered in shit. I'm not sure what happened to the girl and her tent though. But I never laughed so hard in my entire life.

Check out the comments on this post for more Blunder Dour!

Confituur All-Stars vs Rivierenhof (x2)

2006-06-22T09:20:00.000+02:00

It all started in the spring of 2003. Open-air theater Rivierenhof (Antwerpen) booked the Confituur All-Stars for a gig alongside Adrian Sherwood ; the legendary On-U Sound producer even agreed to mix the All-Stars. Only a few days before the signed contract had to be sent back, the organisation cancelled the gig without giving any particular reason. The band accepted its dissapointment -and the breach of agreement- with good grace.

Before continuing with the story, there are a few things you should know about the Confituur All-Stars. First of all, they don't play songs. All they do is improvise, and they do so brilliantly. Second, it's not really a band at all - the line-up changes frequently, even though there is something resembling a hardcore. Additionally, a lot of guest musicians are invited to jam along with them. For the namedropping (which is quite a bit), go here.

Picture taken just seconds before the photographer plunged in the fountain (read on!)

Anyway, afterwards the band was again contacted by the same organisation. Did they feel like playing in Rivierenhof in the summer of 2004 ? Not with Adrian Sherwood, but still... The All-Stars accepted and the contract was signed. The organisation then asked if the band could possibly get someone famous to play as a guest musician. Axl Peleman (Camden) for instance? Well, they couldn't make any promises but they'd ask the man ; he did play with the band before so why not? Unfortunately, Axl had other obligations that day so alas, alas. Which the band communicated to the organisation at once. So they were pretty surprised to find that 'Axl Peleman' was figured prominently on the poster. Ah well, a case of slight misunderstanding probably, so what the hell?

And so the day of the concert came. Part of the crowd clearly came to see Axl, and soon left when it became obvious the Flemish superstar wouldn't be playing (although the All-Stars did bring cut-out Axl Peleman masks :)). But the overall majority -several hundred people- stayed and thoroughly enjoyed the gig. Of course, there were a few Spinal Tap moments, notably when the photographer -who was very, very drunk- plunged headfirst into the fountain in front of the stage. But all in all, it was a pretty good concert and everyone seemed happy enough.

Nope, there was hardly anyone there...

So imagine their bewilderment -soon to be replaced by hysterical bouts of laughter- when the All-Stars received a letter from some city council official. The (city-sponsored) organisation refused to pay the fee. Pardon? Well, it must have some pretty sound reasons, wouldn't you think? This is what the official said: "First of all, Axl Peleman was not present, in spite of earlier promises made by the band." The band didn't make any promises (quite the contrary in fact) and obviously the organisation wasn't charged for his performance either. OK, but "several musicians were clearly intoxicated". No, they were not (a photo camera is not an instrument). The All-Stars are pretty crazy individuals who sometimes do pretty strange things and they did have a few drinks, naturally. But they certainly weren't drunk, stoned or anything as they all happen to be professional artists. The letter also referenced vaguely to the band 'being late'. They did the soundcheck three solid hours before the start of the concert, hardly 'late' wouldn't you agree? Then the letter stated that the audience was "disgruntled because of the poor performance". Oh, were they? Amazing, that's exactly the opposite of what the band was being told (and never mind all the cheering and dancing). But the city council guy kept the best bit for the last: "I suggest that the band starts to work on its songs ; more rehearsals might do the trick". Say what now? Songs? Re-hear-sals? For an improvisation band? Which the organisation clearly mentioned on their flyers and in their press release? He had to be kidding? But he clearly wasn't. He was dead serious and ended the letter by saying that he was looking forward to the bands' "justification" and expected a new "invoice which takes into account all of the aforementioned arguments". How about that for Spinal Tap? Or Kafka?

...and the crowd obviously hated the band

Anyway, at the end of it -when the laughing cramps had finally subsided- the band sent a 'justification' to the organisation reducing all those 'sound reasons' to scrap (not the invoice though). So did they get paid? Sure they did. Will they ever play at Rivierenhof again? Very unlikely. Unless they bring Axl Peleman of course.

Traktor, One Louder, Butsenzeller & Discordia Tap

2006-06-21T09:41:00.000+02:00

Boots is on a roll. He plays in several other bands besides DAAU, and frequently DJs as well under the Butsenzeller moniker. So he has a lot of Spinal Tap stories. Here are a few titbits (or tidbits according to the puritanical US spelling*) he mailed us (again translated into English by Blunderpop).

One Louder - another band I play in- once had to drive 600km for a gig in Hamburg. The crowd in the venue consisted of exactly 6 (six) persons. So that's about 100km per visitor. *** I also participated in a DJ battle with Mister Bullit and Boss (The Internationals) in Schoten. But there was a delay in the line-up and as there was a strict curfew we only played about 2 records each. The entire 'battle' (more like a very drunk skirmish) lasted less than 15 minutes. But it was a very well-paid job so I'm not complaining. *** With Discobar Discordia -a DJ act I used to do with Dennis Tyfus (Rotkop) with bad music and even worse outfits- we had a surreal experience when we had to play on a fancy fair. Nobody got the irony of our act so the dancefloor remained empty for hours. Eventually, it started to fill up but at that point Dennis -out of sheer frustration probably- put on Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart". The dancefloor cleared in seconds - apart from one out of his depth-looking new waver. *** Finally, there was the time one of my other bands, Traktor, did a concert somewhere and the keyboard player was so pissed that he gave our performance quite a twist when he started to use his 11th finger on his keyboard as well. You won't see Jean-Michel Jarre do that anytime soon!

* off-topic but anyway: when the US changed all the 'inapproriate' names on its map (towns, rivers etc...) at the end of the 19th century, they clearly didn't have someone on the board who spoke French. Because the Wyoming map still proudly boasts the Grand Tetons ('big titties') mountain chain and National Park.

DAAU's Global Dispositioning System

2006-06-20T09:03:00.000+02:00

Submitted by DAAU drummer Boots (translated into English by Blunderpop)

We had to leave the very nice Lars Fusion festival in the German town of Lars (what's in a name?) immediately after the show because we had an early soundcheck the next day in Rudolstadt, which is also in Germany but unfortunately on the other side of the country. So the gang left with some reluctance and in a serious party mood, even though we only had a couple of DVDs to entertain us during the ride.

"There's nothing like Rudolstadt" Literally, according to DAAU's GPS system

As always, we switched on the GPS system - only to wake up 7 hours later in a field in the middle of nowhere. This wouldn't have been a problem if only this field would have sported a) a stage, b) a bar and c) toilets. But this particular field was entirely empty, as well as located on a fairly steep slope ; our van actually started to slide down a bit. Now, the hotel in which we were supposed to stay was located in a Schwarzwald-ish village near Rudolstadt, but it was so tiny and isolated that the GPS system didn't recognise it (so instead it seems to have sent DAAU to a random field somewhere).

After liberating ourselves from our predicament and a criss-cross tour through the area, we finally stumbled upon our hotel. The -very friendly but sleepy-looking- couple that ran the hotel wasn't anticipating any guests at such an unholy hour, so we had to kill some more time playing games of poker while they fixed us up. Needless to say, because of all of this, we slept late and missed half our soundcheck time. Which of course was the reason we had forced ourselves to leave the Lars Fusion festival in the first place...

DAAU (picture by Rob Walbers)

But something good did come out of it after all, because DAAU made a song called 'Dispositioning System' (which you can find on their latest album 'Domestic Wildlife') about their little Spinal Tap episode.

More DAAU here and there

A bonus pic: here you can see Boots-cheeks perform @ Rivierenhof (Antwerpen) with Confituur All-Stars

Chicks On Speed vs male chauvinist pigs in Spain

2006-06-15T18:55:00.000+02:00

On June 10 2006 Chicks On Speed was supposed to headline the Oxygena festival in Cordoba, Spain. But they didn't. Because they weren't allowed to. Or more precisely: because they were dragged from the stage kicking and screaming. The reason? Low attendance and a convenient insurance policy of the festival organisation.

Here is a short account of events by Kiki Moorse, Melissa Logan and Alex Murray-Leslie, which the latter kindly mailed to Blunderpop.

Chicks On Speed actually performing (on another festival, that is)

CHICKS ON SPEED PHYSICALLY VIOLATED BY SECURITY PROMOTERS AND SPONSORS AT OXIGENA FESTIVAL IN SOUTHERN SPAIN

We had one of the worst experiences of our 10 year musical career on Saturday night, we were physically violated and dragged off stage by security, Ortiz Padillo Promoters and commercial sponsors at Oxigena Festival, near Cordova (Cordoba), in Southern Spain. We were denied our right to perform at the festival as contracted and our fees were not honoured. It was clear that the public attendance of the festival was extremely low and the promoters wouldn´t allow us to play for this reason, so they could claim insurance on the premise, of a cancelled headlining act. The promoters and Sponsors falsely claimed that “the band is late" as we entered the stage at 1.25am, 5 minutes prior to the planned stage time of 1.30am as contracted.

Photo documentation has been taken away from us, our camera was smashed and memory card stolen.

We want to expose these criminal acts and the organisations responsible for abusing and robing artists through their business practices and the unethical networks of festivals and concert promoters. It´s clearly a case of abuse against women, destruction of personal property, breach of contract and assault.

We´re pretty freaked out & scared by what we experienced. It would be really good to have your support in any way, the organizers were trying to make quick cash from the festival. Look out for scammers that are abusing musicians and swindling young people looking to have a fun evening.

Chicks On Speed (try to) explain to the crowd why they aren't allowed to perform

Shortly afterwards the band is being manhandled from stage

And here are a few pix of the incident taken by fans
(this link will take you to the COS website)

(story continues)

KEEP MUSIC ABOUT ART, CULTURE & A WILD FUN TIME TO BE TOGETHER & NOT A MEANS FOR HORRIBLE MEN TO MAKE PILES MONEY.

Oxygena festival , La Rambla , Cordoba , Spain, 10. June 2006 .

Chicks on Speed were physically violated and dragged of stage whilst trying to perform their live show, by numerous brutal security personnel, because the festival organiser had made a deal with his corrupt insurance "friend" to collect "no show" insurance, on the grounds of us supposedly appearing late for the show.

Our rider and contract stated a show time of 1h30 am , we were side of stage at exactly 1.25am.

There was a crowd of ca 200 people (who had all payed 25-35 euro entrance ) gathered front of stage as soon as we started the intro song and video projection. We got on stage began the show, after 2 minutes, the power was cut, we didn´t want to disappoint these people and stayed on stage, starting a very unplugged, acapella show. The crowd was chanting and rioting against what was going on and wondering why there was no sound ,we all tried to explain to the front row, that we wanted to do the show, but the promoters wouldn´t let us perform. (difficult , because the mics had been taken away) We continued to protest and sing with the audience, hoping that someone would turn on the sound, until shockingly, we were forcefully dragged off stage by around 12 male security guards.

New York artist and COS collaborator, AL Steiner was with us on stage as part of the performance, her camera was smashed and her memory card stolen, (including proof of the violence against Chicks on Speed)

We are now doing our best to expose these people THEY MUST BE STOPPED! Our booking agency Primary Talent is taking the promoters to court but we must stop this kind of abuse of artists from ever happening again !

Please send all feedback to the Blunderpop mail. You can also leave a comment and/or contact Chicks On Speed on their own website.