Greetings from 4 AM.
Seeing new bands at the SPOT-festival is often a jarring experience. Even more so, when I got to the Finnish band Neufvoin’s gig at Vox Hall in Århus.
Hearing Neufvoin play is realising that sound is a physical thing. Whenever the bass drum sounded it seemed to lift me up off my feet and shake me, until my ribs rattled and my ears went numb. And high above it soared the voice of a boy with blonde whisps of hair, clad in a red flanell shirt, delicate and shattered, like glass being struck to pieces by the deep, irresistible, violent bass.
I am a skinny guy, so I thought maybe it was just me, until I saw our drinks wobbling and trembling on top of the makeshift table that was placed in the middle of the hall. As the deep, penetrating drum sounded, the glasses shook and wobbled, and moved toward the edge, each beat releasing frech new bubbles to the surface until the beer was flat and bitter.
The sound crushed all resistance.
Now I am sitting in my hotel and trying to get used to the thought of rousing myself in three hours to make nice at the Ambassador’s brunch for industry folk tomorrow. Should be fun, as long as I can manage to stay on my shaky feet.
As I said, little sleep tonight. Mercy upon my weak, polluted flesh.
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