Slimloung(ing)
Just before the first band was about to play, the office seemed to breathe with the sounds of its occupants. Normally, the office was painfully bright, flooded with fluorescent lights and filled with SlimDutch students squinting at a slideshow while chanting “Mag ik een biertje?” and “Focking lekker.” A most welcome kind of background chorus -occasionally interrupted by a well-placed curse word- that accompanied most of our meetings in the building. Now the office seemed transformed. The crowd murmured with anticipation. Excited voices greeted each other “Hi,” “Hoi,” “How are you?” conversations drifting and dissolving into bursts of laughter. Beers popped open, one, then another, followed by cheers and the clatter of glass bottles. Shoes shuffled and jackets rustled as shoulders turned and bodies shifted closer together. Fashion freaks and outcast originals leaned against one another while a low tide of whispers moved through the now dimly lit room. There is something about music and dim light that has a curious power: they turn adults into children again, suddenly restless, waiting for the story to unfold. When the first band stepped forward, they were barely noticed at first, like a teacher quietly standing at the front of a classroom waiting while the chatter slowly faded. Most people need to shout to command attention; some never have to raise their voice at all. When Marie, lead singer of Barren Sea, began to sing, the voices fell away. By the second note, an intense quiet filled the room. Her voice didn’t just fill the air with sound ,it carried the weight of her words, leaving no room for anyone else to speak.
Like a flower blooming through cracks in concrete, Barren Sea grew out of unlikely ground. The band emerged in the aftermath of a near-fatal car crash involving lead singer Marie — an event that became the central inspiration for their aptly named debut EP, The War on Cars. The band describes their sound as alt-rock rooted in rugged grunge, blended with melancholic slowcore and shoegaze. On their website, they say the EP reflects “the unease of living in unstable times,” tracing Marie’s healing process as it filters through everyday experiences, childhood memories, and fragments of dreams.
Even though I’d wager that at least half the feet gently swaying to the music didn’t know the story behind the songs, the nodding heads seemed to catch the rhythm of something deeper that pulsed quietly beneath the words. Their songs told a story not only through Marie’s voice or through the lyrics themselves, but through what lingered just beneath them in that quiet space where meaning isn’t always explained, but simply understood.
After the performance, the room seemed to exhale. Conversations slowly returned, chairs scraping softly across the floor, and the door swinging open again and again as people stepped outside, for fresh air, or, for most of us, a cigarette. Small circles formed on the pavement, half-finished sentences replaying moments from the set drifted as cigarette smoke upward, curling and dissolving into that familiar scent that lingers on nights like these. But before most cigarettes had burned halfway down, the first notes from inside began drifting through the open doorway. One by one, the smokers turned their heads. Then their feet, wandering back in as the band had already found their footing inside.
When I think back to the performance, the first image that returns is a small moment near the front of the room, somewhere around their second or third song. In the middle of the music, the guitarist glanced toward the singer. They exchanged a quick smile. It was the kind of moment that might easily go unnoticed, but once you catch it, it stays with you. At first, the singer's grin hid in the corners of his mouth, barely visible as he leaned into the microphone. But with each song it grew a little wider, until it had spread all the way across his face. Soon the smiles moved through the whole band. Quick looks between songs, small nods, quiet laughter. Song by song, they seemed to relax into the performance, enjoying not just the music but each other's company on stage. Watching them, I was reminded of the interview I'd done with them earlier. They'd approached the conversation the same way they began their set: calm, professional, composed. Thoughtful answers,the kind you expect from musicians who take their craft seriously. But as the conversation continued, something else slowly surfaced. Beneath the seriousness was a clear sense of purpose, a quiet but unmistakable passion for what they were doing. Not the dramatic kind of passion people sometimes perform for an audience, but something steadier: the determination of people who genuinely love what they do and are willing to do the work to do it well.
The former New Neighbours have moved house and reemerged as Former Resident, leaving their original bassist behind in Belgium. The current lineup is singer Teun, guitarist Warner, and drummer Simon, with substitute bassist Ruben bringing nothing but good vibes to the band. The trio came together in Amsterdam almost by coincidence, sparked by Teun’s boredom and a desire to cover songs by ex-bandmate Mika and Warner.
Inspired by bands like Wunderhorse and the “old” Coldplay, Teun and Warner write most of the band’s lyrics, describing them as “the things we experience in a poetic jacket.” Yet their definition of experience doesn’t feel bound by the song itself. Teun marvels at how listeners interpret the tracks differently from the stories he wrote. All art, whether writing music, painting, or sculpting, escapes the creator’s control once it’s finished. Maybe you envision a flower while sculpting, but when the work is done, it may be a statue, yet it is not set in stone; it lives on its own. A song might start as a personal translation of experience, sung with the voice of the storyteller, but once it’s released, someone listening may find an entirely different story hidden in the shadows of the same words . The music itself doesn’t change, but its meaning evolves with every listener.
When asked about their goals, the guys didn’t dare dream of fame, calling themselves “a fish in an enormous sea,” and instead focusing on the next step in their adventure. They do entertain visions of one day playing Paradiso, Utrecht’s Ekko, or even touring abroad, opening for another band, perhaps even Coldplay someday.
As Former Resident moves forward, we’re ecstatic about what life has in store for them. With their debut EP Jets launching in just a few days- the 13th of March to be precise-, we were thrilled to host them at the latest Slim Lounge. Unsure when to listen to it? Fear not. According to Warner, the perfect setting for Jets is one we all inevitably will encounter during these unpredictable spring months. If you find yourself on your bike, battling the wind with barely-inflated tires, press play—and before you know it, the music will ease your near-hypothermic commute into something almost cinematic. And for those letting their bikes rest in winter hibernation, there’s good news: On the 17th of March you can enjoy their music indoors, at the cozy and wind-free Cinetol.
If the interview with the previous band was a gentle introduction, talking to Bellamy Grove felt like a prophecy, the kind you get from the oracle of delphi: glimpses of what’s coming, only fully understood once it hits. I had met the band at a small café earlier that week. Only after 5 minutes after shaking hands with the first member to arrive, Dano, the singer,I became the proud new owner of fireworks, pressed directly into my palm after he reached into his bag. The contents of that bag were the wildest dream of any twelve-year-old, or frankly, any adult who still secretly loves setting things on fire: a colorful chaos of crackling, popping, sparkling mayhem, casually handed across the café table. Looking back, it was the perfect preview. When Bellamy Grove took the stage that night, the room erupted in exactly that same spirit. Guitars roared and crackled through the speakers, sharp and bright. The band moved constantly, jumping, running, climbing onto amplifiers, while the crowd pressed forward with the same restless energy. It was impossible to stand still. The music pulled people into motion: dancing, shouting, laughing, until the room grew warm with bodies and sound. Shirts came untucked. Sleeves rolled up. And yes, trousers were removed. Bellamy Grove, to their credit, came fully prepared: the merch was ready (and on).Watching them felt exactly like lighting fireworks. First, there’s the spark, the moment you strike the flame and step back. Then the rush of color, noise, and motion as everything bursts into life at once. Some people are the ones lighting the fuse. Others stand back, watching the sky with wide eyes. Bellamy Grove managed to be both at the same time: setting the fireworks off, and enjoying every second of the explosion right alongside the crowd. In short, their performance was exactly what Dano had unknowingly placed in my hand that evening. Fireworks.
Named after Bellamy Square in Amsterdam, the band has been together for around three years. Made up of Teun, Tobba, Joris, Dano, and Noa, the group began as friends who, in their own words, started the project as “Een uit de hand gelopen hobby”. Since then, they’ve released their debut record in July 2024 and joined Claw Boys Claw on their farewell tour. Their tour stories are too many to tell here, but one night in Groningen can’t go unmentioned. Sworn to include a shoutout, we’ll give credit where it’s due: the night was made unforgettable thanks to the Vera, its lovely crew, and, of course, Eierballen - though sadly, the one who was most hyped-for this delicacy, has yet to recover the memory of its taste.
Trying to pin Bellamy Grove’s sound to a single genre is a challenge. Surf rock, punk, funk — all labels have floated around them before. The band keeps it simple: it’s just rock ’n’ roll. Their earlier songs leaned toward upbeat, surf-driven tunes, but their newer work is more layered, more interwoven. Each member comes from a different musical corner, drawing inspiration from artists as diverse as Franz Ferdinand, Steely Dan, D’Angelo, Velvet Underground, and, last but certainly not least, guitar teacher Fernando. It took time for all those backgrounds to settle into a cohesive sound, but now it’s unmistakably Bellamy Grove.
All lyrics are written by Dano, who favors ambiguity. His songs often draw from personal experiences and moments of life, yet they’re wrapped in metaphors and imagery, leaving room for listeners to create their own interpretations. “I’d almost prefer it if people misunderstood the lyrics,” he explains. For him, that’s where the magic lies: how someone interprets a song reveals something about their inner world, the way they think, and how they adapt what they sense into their own framework of reality. A song, once released, doesn’t belong solely to its writer; it lives and evolves with every listener.
Whatever the setting, Bellamy Grove seems less concerned with fitting into a genre and more focused on energy. “The more fun and chaos we bring to the stage, the more it comes back from the crowd,” they insist. And if the interview and the impromptu fireworks were any indication, that exchange of energy is something they take very seriously.
The effect is undeniable. The music didn’t just fill the room it pulsed beneath it, moving bodies, minds, and hearts in ways words cannot fully capture. In that shared chaos, it became clear why this band, born as “uit de hand gelopen hobby,” now commands a stage with unrelenting vitality. Luckily for us, these fireworks are (well, most of the time ) legal. And for those who missed their set at Slim Lounge — bring a lighter to the next show on March 20th, and we’re sure you’ll get your own spark.
That was it for this month's Slimlounge kids, hope to see you all at the next one!! But before we say our goodbyes- a special shoutout to Agota for the wonderful line up, evening and vibes
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