WHERE TIME HAS BEEN ON OUR SIDE (THE LOVELY BASTARD)............
2008:: Temporarily break. End of May we do it again, and things go well. The future is a fairytale, fantasy and cold hard horror that we create.
2007:: A glorious last day of the year when Keet and Cisza are born in Rotterdam.
2007:: More changes in life, love and the art of making choices! Hail hail.....
2006:: The Cut: Gam moves to Amsterdam. We continue to play in her studio in Noord.
2005:: Shows, shows, shows. Gallery openings & underground stuff, all thru friends.
2005:: WHITE LEATHER JACKET - our first CD. Recorded in Rob's digistudio.
2004:: Sweating it, eating it alive and expanding. Growing. In between rock & art.
2003:: Our first gig: Oddpop Festival for Strange Pop Music, Maastricht (NL).
2003:: The Getting Together in a shared atelier. Some Neanderthaler rock.
Where time has been on our side (the lovely bastard)............
2003 The Getting Together in a shared atelier. Some Neanderthaler rock.
2003 Our first gig: Oddpop Festival for Strange Pop Music, Maastricht (NL).
2004 Sweating it, eating it alive and expanding. Growing. In between rock & art.
2005 WHITE LEATHER JACKET - our first CD. Recorded in Rob's digistudio.
2005 Shows, shows, shows. Gallery openings & underground stuff, all thru friends.
2006 The Cut: Gam moves to Amsterdam. We continue to play in her studio in Noord.
2007 More changes in life, love and the art of making choices! Hail hail.....
2007 A glorious last day of the year when Keet and Cisza are born in Rotterdam.
2008 Temporarily break. End of May we do it again, and things go well. The future is a fairytale, fantasy and cold hard horror that we create. See you soon.
SOMEWHERE, SOMETIME, 2005
The cute guy looked me up and down a bit. 'U gonna fuck shit up?' he said. I was chewing on my guitar pick and going over things like 'did we set the beats for the shouting song at A or B?', and 'i hope this open space won't mess up the acoustics', when he directed those words to me. White square space, metallic skulls, an exhibition opening, a small town in the north of the country. I didn't know what to answer. 'So, you're gonna fuck this shit up?' he repeated and rolled his eyes around the room, the white plastered walls and murmuring audience. 'Well,' I answered. Then I thought about it. Was there something to violently shake up, a harmony to distort? When we, The Skills, met at a postgraduate art institute in the deep south of The Netherlands, getting together in a studio space and wiping off the dust of instruments from our adolescence seemed like adding structure to a situation: we craved noise. An echo. So we plugged in and whispered into a microphone. Then we started singing, slowly, repeatedly. Writing, remembering, visualizing. Playing (a)live. Ah! It felt like another world had attached itself to my known world, I inhaled twice as much oxygen and spoke with an enhanced vocabulary. We were small, sculpting from the back pocket of pop culture. The edges of poetry. Trash! O how we loved the word trash, an alibi to be unpolished, to slowly find our way in between shitty equipment and frozen voices. Our music (the writing, exploring, recording, playing, screaming, having discussions and being frustrated) revealed what it itself was about: the unpredictability of creation, obviously, and about not being vain. At all. Some years passed and although our once so familiar context has shifted somewhat, we continue to work and play together. Or separate. My response to the guy: 'Midnight calls from far down south... I always fall for the one who's paralyzing. You know.' A hot hug & rock on, G+S
