Biography
Don't beat around the bush: with LA MUERTE we have the loudest, dirtiest and most ruthless Belgian band of all time. La Muerte is not the kind of band that serves up its noise with a spoonful of jam; once there is power to the amps, they go wild as if they have a personal account to settle with everyone who bought a ticket. Consequently, their songs feel like a nasty tackle on your knees and the VAR is not going to help you because they have long since run. La Muerte, born in 1983 in a Brussels maternity home and thus generational friends of Front 242, has since survived just about 750 musical trends and still pulls from stage to stage like a tornado. Just the covers they've recorded over the years sound like they've plopped the original songs - "Wild thing" by The Troggs, "Crazy horses" by The Osmonds, to stick with those two - into a shredder. Time after time, the result sounds like yard waste on fire. As far as we're concerned, on Sunday, August 4, you have a choice: either you go to the fair for an hour - we hope the oliebollen taste good and you pull the flosh so you get to go again - or you sprint to our club and undergo what La Muerte has to offer: apocalyptic post-metal that hopefully never serves as the soundtrack to an alien invasion, genre take no prisoners. If you go for option two: maybe bring earplugs anyway because once La Muerte is done with you you'll be walking around with an ear trumpet for years.