I’m actually kind of surprised when Sharon van Etten says that She Keeps Bees are from New York, because I wouldn’t have automatically assumed that. She (singer Jessica Larrabee) just seems to have this nicety about her that makes you think she should be from Minnesota or something. She is so thankful that everyone has come to her show that she sometimes loveably enthusiastically forgets that she needs to be talking into the microphone rather than into the air. She even almost apologizes for throwing some of those do-you-believe-in-life-after-love Cher moves in there to keep “that rope” behind her head, meaning her sizeable ponytail. “It’s physics” she explains, after which she briefly mimicks the singer.

She Keeps Bees came out with a new album this year, and so they’re touring, and if tonight is anything to go by, you might want to take a look at whatever (I imagine relatively small) venue they’ll be playing. The soft-loud interplay throughout the gig is used to great effect, and the way the drums and the two guitars manage to work together and not, say, battle each other shows that they know a thing or two on how to craft a sound. So the synthesizer which she praises  for being so very clever (she’s going to ask it to do her taxes next time around) is not the only thing that has some smarts. And then there’s still her lovely hoarse voice, which again can go up and down, whatever the song requires. On two songs she even basically starts a capella, which is ballsy. One of those bands that play that kind of non-pretentious indie rock you cannot help but love, and even on some songs, feel touched by.

Sharon van Etten is having fun. She’s having fun with She Keeps Bees, saying something like, and I’m paraphrasing, “I miss you guys so much in New York, and now we finally see each other again! In Utrecht, what the...”. She’s having fun with her fellow band members, who she sneaks glances to whilst undoubtedly sharing in jokes. And she’s definitely having some fun with an Irishman up front, who is almost miming her songs back at her and whose laugh has Van Etten in stitches, saying she wants it as her alarm clock sound. “I’m thinking bad thoughts”, the man says, to which Van Etten replies with a don’t want to know, then saying that the next song is dedicated to him, entitled ‘Break Me’, which has both of them laughing loudly. It shows how much she has evolved since she played right in front of The National in Eindhoven years ago. There, a young, insecure kid was on stage, but here is standing a woman who owns the stage and who is being backed by some professional musicians to help her get all these sad songs for star crossed lovers across.

Musically, again, she is a novice no more (except that she apparently broke her amp, but oh well). She moves from soft, acoustic songs to louder songs she herself accompanies with the electric guitar, and she moves from her hits like ‘Our Love’ to a song that apparently didn’t make it onto the last record. Her voice is wonderfully fragile, a quality that she manages to keep in there despite her having to go over the top of raging instruments on some of the songs. This, for example, is evident during closer ‘ Your Love is Killing Me’, where she has to quite loudly ask her lover to “break my legs so I won’t run to you”, but despite the needed volume she does manage to get the desperate, the sadness, and the inescapability of the fall in there. She’s grown up as performer and as an artist, but in her voice and in most songs she doesn’t let you forget that growing up is not without it’s growing pains.

There are quite a few reasons to be jealous of Binkbeats, the young Dutchman. First of all, he’s making his live debut in the big room in Tivoli Vredenburg (where, for example, a few weeks earlier Morrissey was playing). So he’s certainly all smiles about that. Envy all around also for his incredible set-up though. Binkbeats, next to creating new sounds, also deconstructs tunes by other artists, and in order to do this he’s put every instrument imagineable on stage, and then some. In a lovely circle he’s got all kinds of “actual” instruments, devices, electronical hardware, and you name it. It looks absolutely fantastic. With in the center of it all mr. debutant.

And cue technical difficulty number one, two, and four-hundred-thirty-nine. That’s the thing about technology, it might not work exactly how you’d want it to work. And I’ve seen many seasoned musician get annoyed, angry, and apathetic because of that. Not this young kid, who apologizes, recognizes that the first couple of minutes were not up to scratch, but then tries to fix it, and the rest of the set he manages to do what he wants to do. He uses all kinds of samples, loops, sounds, and live instrumentation and singing to, eventually, get the desired effect. Some of the songs sound perhaps a bit too deconstructed, with all the odd bits and pieces not being put together to create an ongoing flow. On some of the tracks this does happen though, and then his wizardry comes to the fore pretty well. Just for the comeback alone this guy deserves a thumbs up (though, admittedly, it’s not like he’s never been on a stage, having performed with Kyteman Orchestra, but that’s less a-boy’s-storybook, don’t ya think?). 

If anyone remembers the concerts given by Perfume Genius a few years back, they were quiet, small affairs. Not in terms of audience per se, but the band was a two member affair, and the main focus was Mike Hadreas sitting behind the piano singing his personal, heartfelt songs. These moments are still there, but what he has added is a breakfast full of variety. Variety in terms of pace, attitude, and performance. It’s like a Jean Genet prophecy, on stage the guy has basically become the sashaying Queen from his most recent album, including lipstick, a women’s suit, and a pinstripe-yet-see-through shirt. The moves he is making are almost dares, and you can almost hear the sweet transvestites in the back whipping their snapping fingers saying You-Go-Girl.

Some of the television performances felt a bit awkward, or at least they were not quite convincing to the point that here’s the second coming of Elvis. In the context of a whole gig, it seems to be a more natural fit. The real gain is that the show-- running a bit under the scheduled hour-- isn’t a one-trick affair. Not only the performance has been upped, the variety in terms of music as well, with the addition of all kinds of instruments and influences. The setlist definitely is doing them (the four man band Perfume Genius has become) some favors, with new and sassy material bookending and mixing with the smaller and personal tracks from the man’s earlier work.

If one is afraid that the older material might sound sparse or archaic in comparison to the more daring newer songs, then they will be pleasantly surprised by the fact that perhaps the two best moments come when he plays songs off of his debut. When Alan takes a seat next to Mike on the piano, and this lovely, shy smile appears on the to that point extravagantly performing singer’s face, one has to acknowledge how sweet the sight is. Musically, the track ‘Look Out, Look Out’ is still a dagger through ones soul as he warns to indeed look out, look out, for there are still some quite menacing things about.

Far less endearing and far more alienating is Dean Blunt, who is doing a sort of Beat poetry & jazz session that has a lot of raging saxophones, spoken word, and which provides little in terms of structure. It is as intriguing as it is hard to really warm up to. Some of the playing is expert, some of the lines read out are quite worthwhile, yet most of the time it is so far out of the realm of what one can call a musical performance that it is hard to know when to clap, admire, laugh, thank, praise, or feel like the butt of an elaborate prank.

On stage there’s a drummer, two horn players, a pianist, and the performer du jour, who has printed out a four page essay to read to us. The spot turns on him as the others are playing some free jazz in the background, and when he stops, the spot disappears and especially the guys on the horns go absolutely crazy. After a loooong while the spot turns back on again, with the next part of a tale about music culture, money, living on the street, and chasing your dreams. As Dream chasers, so he says, feel like a higher class, it’s just that they are in a different tax bracket. Certainly, there’s some art to be found here, and it’s quite sure that something is being performed, though the meagre applause at the end of it all indicates that a large portion of the audience just isn’t quite sure what that exactly is. It comes close to DuChamp’s Fountain, with the audience not confident if this is an essential critique on the state of music/art/life, or if they are at the other end of someone laughing.

Blues is one of those genres that we connote to the years of yore. Luckily, some of those old dogs are still touring around (or have been up until recently), so you can still get to see a fair few who’ve contributed to the heydays of the blues. Some of those I’d consider must-sees, like a Buddy Guy for instance, who still has the music running through his veins and who can still perform the heck out of his guitar. Old doesn’t have to mean ragged or deluded per se (cue comments by people who’ve seen Guy four to five decades ago and how awesome he was back then). Though, admittedly, the crowd at Dr. John’s performance has an urgency to dance that’s only rivalled by their inability to still smoothly do so.

Dr. John and the Nite Trippers are hot, apparently. Yours truly ran into them as they were playing Primavera this year, and here they’re performing in front of a sizeable crowd as well. So there’s the good doctor, with a huge band backing him with the organ, the horn section, the guitarists, and with the man himself behind the piano. What I love about these kinds of set-ups is that, theoretically, a blues band like this can play a song that lasts forever. Because first you can get the intro before they get to the first part of the song, then every band member takes a turn soloing, and then you get a call-and-response between the band leader and either the audience or the other band members. Usually, the band leader isn’t satisfied with the response, and will halt the song to try again, and only then does the last part of the song actually begin. You gotta love that blues kind of theater.

Unfortunately,  Dr. John and his Nite Trippers aren’t really showing off all the loveliness that the ol’ school blues has to offer. Most of it sounds kind of insipid, uninspired, and rather by-the-numbers. Dr. John’s voice surely doesn’t fit into the line of that of other blues power houses anymore, and the hoodoo and the voodoo that is promised by the skull on the piano doesn’t really transpire into something that really transports you to a New Orlean’s woman hanging over a cauldron and putting a spell on you (because you are hers!). And so all kinds of old staples are being played, but none in such a way that you’re happy that you’re hearing them live again, and if this show is anything to go by one has to wonder why Dr. John and his band are suddenly such a hot commodity amongst festival bookers. Today surely isn’t cementing his status as someone who is still at the top of his game.

Question marks dominate Utrecht for four days, as that seems to be the official logo of the Le Guess Who? festival. LGW? does not take place in one venue, and as a matter of fact, Carla Bozulich is playing at the other side of the railroad tracks from where the posh, new Tivoli building (bombarded as this year’s main venue) is situated. It surely looks, feels, and sounds like the other side of the tracks tonight, as the icey venue (never was a sweater so needed) is positioned smack down in the middle of an industrial area, and the inside of it looks about as abandoned as the outside does just a mere five minutes before Bozulich is scheduled to play.

When the American musician comes on, though, a nice little crowd has gathered, which she consecutively doesn’t acknowledge, acknowledges with a pathetic Thank you, acknowledges with a heartfelt Thank you for coming early, to a forceful Fucking Thank You! As a matter of fact, she finishes the gig by saying that she’s got only one thing to say, which is Fuck, although she does mutter that she loves us for coming to the last gig of her tour shortly after that. She also sneaks in a comment about how much she wants to introduce one of her songs by showing her vagina. Though she acknowledges that it might be better if we all just feeeelll the song, you know?

From a distance you would have mistaken her for a teacher at a Catholic College, as she is dressed in a long, black dress with a white collar. Punk, though, doesn’t have a dress code, and certainly not the jeans-with-holes one some people might have you believe. Her set starts out with the traditional banging percussion and four-chord action one might know from punk, and she certainly isn’t bothered by trifle things like hitting notes, being audible, or actually singing, though later on she will show off all of those skills, and then some. 

Don’t be fooled by the way she stumbles across the stage, or the way she uses a little device to distort her vocals. Near the end she is singing intricate, experimental ballads that include flutes, backing vocals, and her softly tapping the side of her guitar to get the exact sound that she envisions. Her rendition of ‘Artificial Lamb’ (made under her Evangelista moniker) is a good example of that. Sure, she ends with “One Hard Man” off of her new album, which played live is a bit more punky and which knocks all the intricate subtleties of the few songs before right out of the window again (as that song is anything but subtle). However, that only fits the eclecticness of not only her set, but of the entire festival. Fucking thank you, indeed.

That Xiu Xiu would ever come back to perform in Utrecht is a slight miracle in itself. Today he again taps out of his very soul and heart, being so emotive that you can imagine that if something would ever go wrong, he would have a hard time restraining himself. Que flashback to a couple of years ago, where the band was maligned by technical difficulties of all imaginable kinds, so much so that the microphone shocked him like an electric eel (ooh girl!). At one point the poor man was so fed up he kicked the water bottle in front of him into the audience, which he instantly regretted, and which caused a wave of guilt to set in. Needless to say, that particular gig was beyond saving (and understandably so).

This time, not so much, thankfully. Quirky as all get out, the sound check includes him meowing to see if the microphone is working. After the obligatory-yet-admittedly-out-there good luck tradition between him and his sole band member he immediately dives headlong into a rendition of ‘Stupid in the Dark’, which includes the line that “People are useless in the moonlight”, though, admittedly, “People are meant to be loved” as well. Which is the juxtaposition that runs throughout the whole set, basically, as love and hate, self-loathing and being comfortable with yourself all lie so very close to each other. 

The band will never be something for everyone, the electronical music they put on display combined with the performance itself is simply too outside the box for that. At points they are working with rather danceable, sometimes even traditional sounding beats, but the next moment he strings the microphone chord around his neck and starts narrating a story with no regard (or a whole lot of regard) for the volume of his voice. From music-with-a-slight-twist to performance art, whatever they do, it all does come straight out of, especially, his inner core. Cathartic it does seem to be, and luckily the involuntary electric shock therapy that reared its head into the set a few years ago doesn’t make an unwelcome return, which makes it a better night for both audience and artist alike.

Day three of Le Guess Who? involved a bit of box-ticking and a trip down memory lane. Wire, sporting a nice line in mint green guitars, were the first act to be checked out in the Tivoli-Vredenburg. Displaying great energy their set was pretty much as expected in terms of recognisable songs, given that I’m a devotee of their classic output from the Seventies and hazier on the later stuff. Add to that the fact that they’re still very much an active entity (new songs ‘Blogging’ and ‘Swallow’ were keenly received, as was the first live outing for a track that may be titled ‘In Manchester’) and you'd be foolish to expect only the 'hits'. 'Map Ref 41 Degrees N 93 Degrees W' was though a welcome inclusion. Technical issues appeared to dog the second guitar but those didn’t get in the way of the performance, which even inspired a small pit at one point. Anyone heading to see the band at their DRILL :Brighton event will be well entertained.

Local boy Binkbeats, who we had the pleasure to see honing his set in the ex-Tivoli-Oudegracht the day before, was given the honour of playing in the Grote Zaal tonight and the Kytopia member pulled it off pretty well. Whilst his tunes brought to mind Aphex Twin, Orbital and Jimi Tenor at various points and he’d a fantastic though too short spell utilising hand bells there were other periods when he was a tad dwarfed by the setting. A more intimate room is probably the best place within which to see him, for the time being at least seeing as his ambitions point to his sound managing to fill large spaces in the not too distant future.

A quick look in at Mac Demarco is best glossed over as his cod reggae and dungarees were highly suspect, popular though he obviously was seeing as it was standing room only even on the balconies of the Pandora room. What was called for now was a walk down through the city centre to the de Helling venue to step back in time with The Vaselines.

Entering as the band were getting into ‘Monsterpussy’ it was immediately clear that those there to watch were fans rather than just stopping by as part of the overall festival experience. Frances was in a very vocal mood, describing the audience as being compiled of three types – rowdy, quiet and those at the bar who were “just masturbating”, whilst later announcing she’s not gender biased (Eugene apparently is though) and generally keeping up a better level of chat with the crowd than witnessed anywhere else over the weekend. ‘Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam’, Sex Sux’, ‘One Lost Year’ and ‘Son Of A Gun’ whipped a small section of the audience into a worshipful frenzy whilst the rest of us were rather more restrained but nevertheless appreciative of one of the stand-out performances of the four days. Long live The Vaselines.

The fourth and final day of the festival began with a return to Ekko to catch Brooklynites PC Worship. Delivering a tight and uncompromising set (of their tight and uncompromising sound) theirs was a performance in which you could virtually see a physical representation of the coiled energy they so obviously contain and feed off & then so spectacularly let loose when the pressure reaches its peak. Staying around Ekko we caught one of the weekend’s enticing collaborations (of which Le Guess Who? had a number this time around) as PC Worship and Parquet Courts teamed up to perform as the jazz-infused PCPC. Alternately wailing and brooding the saxophone was a welcome inclusion in the marriage of the two band’s punk energies and those that had stuck around for this little step into the unknown were well rewarded for their curiosity.

 Punk of a different flavour was next on the bill as a visit to the far flung dB’s venue to catch Thee Oops and The Monsters was in order. Take it from me – you need to take the rail option when hitting this place, particularly at this time of year. Thee Oops hail from Sardinia and delivered a fast, rough & ready set that epitomised the healthy state of garage punk worldwide right at this moment in time. Theirs is a loud voice that deserves as wide an audience beyond the confines of the scene as possible.

Lightning Beatman and The Monsters rounded things off for us this year in a multi-lingual performance that nicely brought things full-circle. Plus they were sporting those same mint green guitars (okay, one was a bass) as Wire so clearly a seal of approval. With their two drummers pounding away on their combined one and a half kits, Lightning Beatman growling and howling away (all the time resembling the confused.com character with his minimal combover flailing about) and all four members sweating cobs in their maitre’d-like outfits this was a vintage performance of raw, primal, foot-stomping urgency and the dedicated crowd loved it. Cramming in 18 or so songs, including a rendition of ‘Blow Um Mau Mau’ you could feel in your gut, the boys from Bern laid it down as few others can and, once they’d disappeared from the stage, there was no chance of keeping the high going so catching a train back to town and heading home was the obvious option. A great end to another great event in Utrecht.   

Many thanks to Inga & Max for being fantastic hosts and to Jessica and the LGW? team for their help and assistance throughout the weekend. Cheers too to Stef - good to finally put a face to the name.