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As predicted, Friday’s afterparty back at the camping made sure that Ane Brun‘s early time slot on Saturday was an unattainable feat for this festivalgoer… To torture myself I listened to her session online at 3voor12 (I strongly suggest you do the same) and heard it was enchanting gosh darn it!
Thankfully there was Laura Marling to ease the pain, what a charming surprise she was! Before coming to Lowlands I had only really knew one song and was slightly afraid she might be a bit of a self obsessed teenager with guitar, but no! She was wonderful (as was her very tasty violin playing band member) and her small folky compositions won over the Lima crowd easily, despite her shyness.
Now things got very exciting: time to zig zag through the anxiously waiting crowd in the India tent to get up close and personal with my number one in the highest-festival-expectations ranking: Blood Red Shoes. It’s safe to say all expectations were lived up to and then some. They gave the India crowd a kick up the backside that had me jumping and yelling the entire gig, only after their last chord did I come back down to earth and take any notice of what was going on around me. The place was one big swirling sweaty sauna of jumping bodies, the entire centre of the tent turned into a mosh pit, I must have seen at least 15 crowd surfers (which is officially not allowed!) fly by. Highlights were (the obvious) Say Something, Say Anything, It’s Getting Boring By The Sea and the ripping set closer ADHD. Please come back next year with a new album!!
No rest for the wicked, just as the Brighton twosome finished up, Los Campesinos! kicked off all the way across the terrain in Charlie. Navigating my way through the thousands heading the opposite direction because the N*E*R*D* set had just finished (which was great according to my festivalbuddies), I managed to reach the energetic seven piece Welsh outfit in time to catch most of their performance. I was amazed at just how young these kids are when I saw them! But youth is obviously no deterrant for giving a great show, besides playing crowd pleaser You! Me! Dancing! they ended the show with Sweet Dreams Sweet Cheeks, which was a big hit. One blink for yes, two blinks for no, sweet dreams sweet cheeks, we leave alone!
Thankfully a brief dip in my hectic timetable allowed for some taking-the-weight-off and dinner, before it was time to join the hords for one of the festival headliners: Franz Ferdinand. They played some of their new yet to be released material, which sounded very promising. But obviously they got the Alpha all hot and bothered with well known Franz Frenzy-causing tracks such as Take Me Out, Dark Of The Matinee and most notably This Fire, which raised the roof. The audience kept chanting This fire is out of control, we’ve got to burn this city, burn this city!. Excellent performance, but the new album is long overdue. Get it out there already!
At this stage of the day I had about 4 solid hours of jumping and shouting under my belt, but I had one little pocket of energy saved, because I knew I was going to need it badly: next up, Does It Offend You, Yeah?. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had a feeling it was going to get slightly silly in the rediculously small X-Ray container. In order to witness “the hype” up front we got there half an hour beforehand. Soon enough the place was inundated with bright young things, all painfully fashionable and glow stick accessorized. When the band took the stage the excitement in the air was incredibly tangible, and with the first synthesizer key being struck the X-Ray instantly turned into a tumble dryer of insanity. I was there with two friends, but we were immediately catapulted meters apart in different directions, unbelievable!
This insanity lasted the entire gig. Shreds of what I do remember: the vocals were quite lackadaisical (particularly on Let’s Make Out, my favourire track), but they were clearly secondary to the impact of the music, which could be felt in every bone of your body. James Rushent was extremely cocky and put down their radio friendly hit Dawn Of The Dead as “a song Spandau Ballet would love”. Morgan Quaintance insisted we scream “Fuck the Sex Pistols” rather a lot. Other than that it’s all a bit of a blur, but one I’m very glad to have experienced. What an end to an amazing second festival day.
(want m’n haute couture is oh zo duur)
UPDATE: check under the clip for an attempt at the Dutch lyrics and a translation!
[Foto van Eva Reurs, klik hier voor meer foto’s van de videoshoot.]
They did it again. De Jeugd Van Tegenwoordig, arguably Holland’s freshest hiphop act, have a new single out called “Hollereer” with bleeps beeps and hilarious lyrics that suck you in from the first beat. Love this track (almost as much as Shenkie, who’s video star has a cameo in this one too) and can’t wait to hear what else is on their new album De Machine.
Someone dared to undertake the near impossible: deciphering the lyrics! With thanks to “Tinuzzz” who posted them on this hyves site. There is a thread attempting the same at nlpop.blog.nl for those wanting to do some more research.
NEDERLANDSE TEKST
daar komt vjezze
holler at ya boy boy
boy daar komt vjezze
holler at ya boy
daar komt vjezze
holler at ya boy boy
boy daar komt vjezze
holler at ya boy
je kan me vinden in de maccie of de wopperschuur
saus op me shirt BA op me haute couture
harder papi
meer chanel dan coco
vjezze fur
meer stijl dan een homo
je kijkt o zo zuur naar me haute couture
want me haute couture is o zo duur
kom niet zomaar, wat doet die met die ho’s daar
vjezze komt smooth, hij komt nu van clochard
karl kanker kani’s uurgh
vaak komen ze in groepen
te dom om te poepen
oeniger dan koeien
ik zal ze niet vervloeken
het is niet hun schuld
daarom fok je moeder
ik weet zeker dat ik niks van je aan heb
want jij bent slechts jij
en ik ben aan gek
ik ben zo blij dat ik ben wie ik ben
dat ik ga waar ga dat ik sta blablabla
daar komt wiwa
holler at ya boy boy
boy daar komt wiwa
holler at ya boy
daar komt wiwa
holler at ya boy boy
boy daar komt wiwa
holler at ya boy
willes hoor yo wederom waarzinnig
papi’s geil op dope en die boys gaan innen
kinnen omhoog borsten vooruit
mic in de hand
en wat borsten voor buit
hou het sickie zo simpel
bespaar je de rimpels “je haat op mn stijl”
terwijl je staat op mn gympen
gemaakt om te pimpen
jij om te fronten
altijd in je ooghoek
net als je oogpoep
holler naar die bolle gooi die hals omhoog
want zeg nou zelf ik ben kankerdope
baas pop hopen doh’ gewoon de illest
nigger wees weg omdat hier een willes
ok laat me eens vertel en wat het is
wartaal spacet meer dan achilles
tis die boy die met meer poes dan oedie
nigga holler at ya boy, G
faberyayo
holler at ya boy boy
boy faberyayo
holler at ya boy
faberyayo
holler at ya boy boy
boy faberyayo “was volgens mij dope maar ik doe het nog één keertje voor “le zekerheid”
holler at ya boy
laat het mokkel daar maar hobbelen op me hobbelpaard
f tot de aber jongen god maak de roddels waar
praat met respect als de baas je wat zegt
ik ben rijk, rap lastig en aantrekkelijk
uitermate kek als ik slets schreckelek
uitermate nep als ik raps van je rap
klippen door je schuur
dorp of plantsoen ghostwrite mn moer
kork of tantu
faber-yayo vader-lay low
praat met 2-woords drama ego
klik niet met caps en saaie air max
schroom niet, zwaai met me hermes
als ik de tent verlaat
wordt de manager kwaad
sletten staan stil
echt de laatste plaat
keer me om en die snollen hollen weer
dus kom niet weer aan de rimmen met de hollereer
je kijkt o zo zuur naar me haute couture want me haute couture is o zo duur
[herhalen]
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
(ROUGH) ENGLISH TRANSLATION
(some parts haven’t been translated, suggestions welcome)
here comes vjezze
holler at ya boy boy
boy here comes vjezze
holler at ya boy
here comes vjezze
holler at ya boy boy
boy here comes vjezze
holler at ya boy
you can find me in the maccie or the Wolvenschuur
sauce on my shirt BA on my haute couture
harder papi
more chanel than coco
vjezze fur
more style than a homo
you’re looking oh so “sour” at my haute couture (sour as in jealous/ resentful)
cause my haute couture is oh so expensive
don’t come for nothing, what’s he doing with those ho’s there
vjezze comest smooth, he came from clochard now
karl fuckin kani’s uurgh
often they come in groups
too stupid to take a shit
sillier than cows
I won’t curse them
It’s not their fault
so there fok your mom
I’m sure I’m not wearing anything of yours
cause you’re just you
and I’m it fool
I’m so happy to be who I am
to go where I go that I stand blablabla
here comes wiwa
holler at ya boy boy
boy here comes wiwa
holler at ya boy
here comes wiwa
holler at ya boy boy
boy here comes wiwa
holler at ya boy
willes yo insane as usual
papi’s horny on dope and the boys are inning
chins up and breasts out
mic in hand
and some breast as loot
keep it sickie so simple
save your wrinkles “you’re hating on my style”
while you’re standing on my sneakers
made for pimping
you for fronting
always in the corner of your eye
just like your eyebuggers
holler at the big guy throw that neck up
just admit I’m fuckin dope
baas pop hopen doh’ just the illest
nigger get out cause here’s willes
ok let me tell you what it is
wartaal spaces more than achilles
it’s the boy with more pussy than oedie
nigga holler at ya boy, G
faberyayo
holler at ya boy boy
boy faberyayo
holler at ya boy
faberyayo
holler at ya boy boy
boy faberyayo “I think it was dope but I’ll do it again just to be “le sure”
holler at ya boy
let the mokkel rock it on my rockin horse
f to the aber boy god makes the rumours true
talk with respect when the boss tells you something
I’m rich, rap tricky and attractive
extremely kek when I slets schreckelek
extremely fake when I rip your raps
klipping through your barn
village or square ghostwrite mn moer
kork or tantu
faber-yayo father-lay low
speak with two words drama ego
don’t klik with caps and boring air max
no shame, swing my hermes
when I leave the club
the manager gets upset
sluts stand still
really the last record
turn around and those bimbos are running again
so don’t touch those rims again with the hollereer
you’re looking oh so sour at my haute couture cause my haute couture is oh so expensive
[repeat]