She had slept badly, she said, the London singer Sophie Jamieson. Nervous about her concert on Thursday in the Paradijskerk, on the first day of the Left of the Dial festival in Rotterdam. Not surprising perhaps, because her sober indie folk seemed far too subdued on paper for this guitar festival, but not necessary: it turned out heavenly beautifully. The large church space surrounding Jamieson accompanied the singer with a full echo that embraced and lifted her modest guitar notes and strong, warm voice. Perhaps it was also extra deep because of her poor night – how beautifully she performed her pure, naked folk songs.
Left of the Dial is an unruly, three-day showcase festival for young dogs who try to win souls in halls, cellars, on boats and in churches in the center of Rotterdam. Bands without tour managers, promoters, roadies and often (still) without fans. Everywhere in the Maasstad you saw Berlingos, Sprinters, Doblos and sometimes an old station wagon, where musicians from the more than a hundred bands on the program got out with instruments and amplifiers under their arms. As always, many Brits, Brexit or not, but this year the many great acts from France, Sweden, Germany and even Japan also stood out.
Creepy noise
There also appeared to be some changes in terms of content this year. Previously it was mainly a rock and punk festival, but now singer-songwriters like Jamieson fit in seamlessly. Or then you suddenly found yourself listening to the eerie electronic noise of Nze Nze from Brest, France, with a singer who screamed lyrics in the language of the Fang from Central Africa. Or their compatriots 15 15, who suddenly interrupted their trip hop for an intense sermon in Tahitian. Strange, but cool. At least as strange (and also cool) was the Japanese Haru Nemuri, who delivered her infectious pop-rap-hardcore-dance cocktail in Rotown with such crazy energy that it left her breathless, and so did we. After she put on a brutal death metal voice, she took a few gulps of honey straight from the squeeze bottle, to loud applause. Nothing was too crazy this edition.
The fact that Left of the Dial is melting into the soup of adventurous festivals that are becoming increasingly similar (think Le Guess Who?, Roadburn, Motel Mozaïque, Rewire) is perhaps a sign of the times: genres are blurring, young bands are keeping to themselves. hardly any booths and visitors, from young to extra mature, are happy to go along with this.
There were certainly bands that played ‘one-two-three and go’. But they are also part of a generation that doesn’t care about genre walls. Like Adult DVD from Leeds, who occasionally put down their guitars to reach for one of their keyboards or mixing consoles: punk rock, interspersed with 8-bit computer beeps and hard beats – is just possible. “This is the best festival ever, fuck Glastonbury!” shouted the enthusiastic singer in the packed Club Centraal (formerly Vibes). He had never seen such a large audience – it couldn’t have been much more than 100 people – before.