This review could not have been written without the formidable knowledge and translation skills of Martijn de Vries. Dank je wel, mijn vriend. Lang leve Louis-Ferdinand Céline! —MHL
Forget tulips, windmills, canals, and tall people (tallest in the world!)—what the Netherlands should best be known for are Rotterdam’s Lewsberg, the greatest rock and roll band (they’re certainly better than that decimated band of animated corpses the Rolling Stones) in the world. Lewsberg may sound like the name of a state penitentiary in Olathe, Kansas, but the band actually took its name from Robert Loesberg, notorious author of the scathing 1974 novel Enige Defecten (Some Defects).
Lewsberg are strongly influenced by the Velvet Underground during their jangly period, but Lewsberg are no one-track pony—their eponymous 2019 debut also includes some far stranger moments. Lewsberg’s members—English-speaking lead singer Arie Van Vliet, guitarist/keyboardist Michiel Klein, drummer Joris Frowein, and bass player/vocalist Shalita Dietrich (who bears a more than passing resemblance to Ulrike Meinhof of the West German terrorist organization the Baader-Meinhof Gang) forego slick professionalism, preferring to get by with sheer spunk. Van Vliet has said, “The idea was to start a rock band with really good songs, played very badly.” He’s also a big proponent of being “out of tune during a crucial guitar solo.” He’s my idea of a goddamn rock and roll hero.
As noted, Lewsberg have inherited the aesthetic of the Velvets and their acolytes, who include the Feelies, the Modern Lovers, and (why not?) England’s the Wedding Present. You can also detect the faintest whiff of Scottish twee heroes Belle and Sebastian in Dietrich’s vocals. But onto the album. Opening track “Vaan” is introduced by a chiming keyboard riff akin to the one on VU’s “Sunday Morning,” then dissolves into some aimless chit-chat between Frans Vogel (a Rotterdam poet and actor) and poet Cor Vaandrager (hence the song’s title).
“Terrible” has VU’s Loaded scrawled in graffiti all over it, and includes a feedback-drenched guitar solo that may or may not be out of tune (who do I look like, Jeff Beck?) but is certainly out of control. Meanwhile Van Vliet tosses off lines like “I’m about to do something terrible/I’m about to do something nice/It’s not in my nature/It’s so nice” and “You’re about to witness something wonderful/You’re about to witness a crash.”
The somewhat slower and stripped down “Non-fiction Writer” boasts an ear-pleasing melody and has the general feel of John Cale’s all-but-in-name novelty song “The Gift.” (Except you’ll want to listen to “Non-fiction Writer” more than once.) “He would love to watch/But he would die for imagination” sings van Vliet, before throwing in the classic lines, “He loved to talk/But he hated conversation.” And let us not forget “There’s so many things that have disappointed me/And soon one of them is you.”
“Chances” is a high-octane number with a Feelies vibe and includes an extended car crash of a guitar solo that dominates the song’s second half. Sings Van Vliet, “Chances in the basement/Chances in the shed/Chances in the living room/Chances in his daughter’s bed.” On “Carried Away” the band does anything but—it’s a lackadaisical number that opens with the lines, “All your friends were there/Where were you?” Van Vliet is joined on vocals by Dietrich, and the song’s subject is somewhat of a mystery. Is it about the funeral of the song’s “you”? If so, why is it that it’s Van Vliet who’s being carried away?
“Edith” is a runaway train that wears “What Goes On”-period VU on its sleeve–Van Vliet even sounds a bit like cranky old Lou. It features a great guitar solo and Van Vliet singing, “Here I am in a blaze again/Can’t you see you’re faking it again/Right under your nose” and “You think you know how it feels my friend/No one told me that nothing is real/Then again/That’s just how it goes.”
“The Smile” deviates from the Lou and Company formula and has more of a syncopated vibe (I’m thinking the Meat Muppets). At the one third mark the guitars of Van Vliet and Klein work in tandem before the song comes to an abrupt stop, after which Vaandrager recites one of his poems, which includes such wonderful lines as “Silent as a figurehead/Dead silent/Perfect as a prosthesis I sit” and “Sticking a little pen knife in my forehead/I pat shell-less eggs on the shoulder.”
On “Benefit of the Doubt” a pretty and repeated guitar riff slowly blossoms into something bigger and brighter, while Van Vliet sings, “Any doubt/Is reasonable doubt/Bring it up/Let the monkey out.” (What monkey? That loathsome simian ham on Friends?) Mid-song a quavering guitar takes over, before everything blooms again like one of those tulips the Low Countries are famous for and which I’ve always suspected are plastic. On the sublimely quiet “Vicar’s Cross, Pt. 2,” Dietrich takes over on vocals, and to my ears the song splits the difference between the first part of the Velvets’ “New Age” and Belle and Sebastian.
Does Lewsberg owe a significant debt to the Velvet Underground? Sure. But at last count so do approximately 60,000 other bands, and Lewsberg trumps most of them. And they’re certainly unafraid to deviate from the patented Reed formula. Lewsberg’s 20200 LP In This House has been called “nihilistic.” But I call bullshit. Lewsberg make music that makes life worth living. Which doesn’t make them rock music’s equivalent of Eastern European writers of the E.M. Cioran and László Krasznahorkai stripe. It makes them the Bee Gees.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
