Wholes don’t ease you in. “Berlin” opens with a single line that lands like a slap: you’re on the edge, the floor is cracking, and the whole thing is about to give way. This Belgian noise-rock crew built a track that crawls under your skin before it starts thrashing. It doesn’t hit you in the first second. It coils. The pulse is sharp, the vocals creep low and wait, and before you know it your head is nodding while you’re getting mauled. There’s a bit of ’80s new wave in there, some Butthole Surfers chaos, and splinters of Jesus Lizard post-hardcore. It’s nasty. It’s crunchy. It’s fun in a way that feels a little wrong.
The song is about a life already sold off to some Swiss bank. It’s about a system that splits people apart while making them want more. That kind of weight usually gets delivered with a sermon. Wholes chose to rip it open instead. The lyrics are a punch to the gut, and the music matches. The guitars get heavier as the track goes, and the vocals stay smooth against all that noise, which keeps everything balanced. It’s punk, it’s rock, it’s new wave, and it feels like being stuck in a broken world that keeps spinning anyway.
This track is part of the album WHOLES/NOT WHOLES, five new songs plus reworkings of other artists’ material, a year after their debut A Mass In The Water. On the same release, vocalist Uši Es dropped a murder ballad about her family, torn from Maluku through Nugini to the Netherlands. That’s heavy stuff. The band calls their sound “what a scar sounds like,” and that fits. Damage, catharsis, darkness, change.
In November they’re touring France, and on December 18 they bring “Berlin” to Charlatan in Ghent. If you like your rock chaotic, with a brain and a bruise, this one’s for you. Wholes aren’t here to soothe you. They’re here to leave a mark.