But first, let's talk about chickens. Did you know that fans are not allowed to bring live chickens into the stadiums? Apparently, some years ago Nigerian fans brought the animals with them as some sort of good luck charm. They sprayed them green and white to support their team. I guess they had a neat little barbeque after their team got kicked out of the cup. "Can't have a trophy but we have chicken nuggets, which is also nice", that kind of thing. I don't really like the rule. There are already so many things people cannot bring with them. One Australian guy brought an inflatable kangaroo and heaps of girls brought inflatable boobs but there have been way too few weird items in the audience, apart from Maradona's cocaine, obviously. We'll get to El Higho later in this article. For now, let's hope the fans will bring more funny stuff to the stadiums, like ostriches, rainbows or suicidal mumble rappers.

Well, this is where the World Cup becomes more intriguing than 'The Bold And The Beautiful'. Serbia and Albania have never been friends. In fact, there has been bad blood between the two since the beginning of time. They have been massacring, slaughtering and butchering each other for centuries. The entire Balkan area is completely messed up. There have also  been the Yugoslav Wars and Kosovo War to add fuel to the fire. 

All that bad blood reflects on and near the football fields. Granit Xhaka and Xherdan Shaqiri play for Switzerland but they both have roots in Kosovo and Albania. During the match they received racist remarks from Serbian fans, which apparently was a reaction to Xhaka and Shaqiri mentioning the troubled relationships between the countries in interviews. The footballers celebrated their goals with the Albanian eagle, which was a huge bite in the butt for the Serbians. Eventually, both players have been fined by the FIFA for this gesture, claiming politics don't belong in football.

It's true. I haven't heard a gay joke in weeks. I also haven't heard or seen any gay or anti-gay propaganda, apart from the two homosexuals getting kicked out of a nightclub. Is everybody so afraid of Russia these days? I have been waiting for an intimate lesbian or gay kiss on camera for weeks. Someone's got to have the balls to shove his or her sexuality in Putin's face, no? Did everybody forget what Pussy Riot has been fighting for? If you have to get all political and shit while having scored expensive tickets for a football match, you might as well make a nutcracker of a statement, right? I've seen a Muslim girl take of her headscarf during a match. To me she is now the bravest person in Russia. I'm sure the LBGTZFGHEZEFRTYHERGRYUHERFAZCZRGHRTHGZECDGTFRYHRTHGZEFZAEFEDTG cummunity can do better. Ride a dildo to the stadium or something like that, for crying out loud.

That is pretty much what the VAR is about. The FIFA invited some guys who weren't good enough to be referee to sit in a room and either shut up or overrule the people who are good enough to be a referee. It's like having a porn company run by virgins. So be patient. Within a couple of years, the FIFA will have invented a VAR overruling entity, with more guys who are mostly there because people simply can't stop complaining about everything. In fact, the VAR is only there because you don't trust the referees. So it's your own fault.

I think he was pissed off because Nigerians couldn't bring live chickens into the stadium. From the looks of it, Maradona likes the taste of fried chicken, certainly with a few lines of white... sorry, glasses of white wine. Besides, people are hugely misinformed. Maradona was not making "fuck you" gestures. He was signaling the score in Iceland - Croatia at that time. Croatia scored again but before Maradona could make both a fuck you gesture and the devil's horns, he passed out, drunk on two glasses of white Russian wine. White. Russian. Wine.

It's all a lot of rubbish mumbo-jumbo nonsense to make the air vibrate and have something to talk about. They're both first in their group with Belgium being second first because of one more yellow card. Now it seems that the second in the group will have an easier route to the final. Let's read that again: To. The. Final. Yes, because the tradition is that both teams will always reach that final. As if it matters anything what the route to the final is. Although, with Germany being eliminated by South Korea, chances for both teams seem to improve. 

We have the Premier League going up against the best players of the Premier League. That is one of the most exciting competitions in football. It makes Belgian professional football look like an episode of Samson & Gert. So now, finally, after ninety six billion centuries, Belgians can prove that they're better than the English. No buddy, our team is not going to play to lose, even if that means a rougher route to the finale. Do you think the fans will accept that? Thousands of flags, shirts, hats, phone covers and other environmentally endangering merchandise would be burned in the streets if Belgium would play to lose. Plus, we'd make Nainggolan our only Red Devil for Euro 2020.

Kevin: Hey @Walker, better start building a wall so I can kick underneath it.
Walker: @Kevin, well, Courtois is used to picking balls out of his goal when you're on the pitch. We'll make him bend over like a Kardashian.
Kevin: Haha, fat chance, we got Romelu. He knows how to catch a long ball and do something useful with it.
Walker: Hah, we got Kane. He'll destroy you.
Kevin: Kane? We'll lock him up in Fellaini's hair.
Kyle: It'll be like playing Chelsea again, but with Tottenham's defense. Can't be that hard.
Raheem: I passed Alderweireld before, I can do it again.
Kevin: @Raheem, that's the only pass you'll ever succeed in.
Vincent: Come on guys, take it easy before someone gets hurt.

While I'm writing this, I'm watching Germany being in big trouble against South Korea while Sweden is munching tacos like madmen. Germany is unleashing attack after attack but the Asians stand strong. I see the fans and I can feel their emotions. People are actually wetting themselves, I'm damn sure of that. Nowhere else in sports do emotions run so rampantly, so it seems. I see tears, fear, laughter. I see so much energy coming off those stands you can easily electrify a small country with it. At this moment into this article, South Korea have scored, thus sending the Germans back home. So it's "Tschüs" for the reigning, no longer defending world championship. Before the match, their coach, Löw, said that if they would lose, they'd had to smell his fingers. This is pure horror for Germany, but not for the rest of the world. Suddenly everybody's chances have hugely improved, also because most of the other title candidates aren't top level at the moment.

​Rik

Where shall we begin? Russia won again, that's a good start. They kicked Salah and King Tut's butt with 3-1. Even more so, the statistics seem to mention that the Russians ran the most during their two matches. 118 and 115 kilometers respectively. Not even in the Premier League do the footballers run that distance. Now, carefully, the first doping-rumours have started. Here and there people are talking about the scandals again. After all, doping increases the stamina, makes athletes run longer. I think those guys with the fluo-yellow vests will have their work cut out for them. I just watched Messi walk past one of those dudes. The doping control man almost pissed his own pants this time, so scared was he. Of course, Messi was not in a very good mood after having his ass handed to him by Modric and his Croatian legion. That goal by Modric was a beauty by the way, one of the prettiest ones so far in this World Cup. 

Sepp Blatter was in Russia. For those who don't know who Blatter  is: he was the eighth president of the FIFA ("Football Isn't For Arabs" - according to 9Gag). Blatter is currently on a six year ban from serving in any FIFA activity because of corruption, bribery, fraud, money  laundering and all the other things men in suits do. Naughty-presi Putin invited Blatter, possibly in another attempt to one-up Robbie Williams' middle finger. For an anti-gay forerunner like Putin, he certainly likes to invite old white men to his parties, no? 

It feels weird knowing that an odds-on favorite like Argentina might not even make the next round but Iran still has a chance. Perhaps that's the charm of something like the World Cup. The Muslim countries aren't doing very well. Loss loss loss loss...it looks like the Belgian state budget. Yet, teams like Saudi Arabia, Iran and Tunisia can build a wall like no Trump can. I bet Donald has never thought of that: just stack a heap of Arabs on top of each other and no Mexican will migrate to the USA. 

Luckily, when the performances on the grass are disgraceful, there are always the fans to cheer people up. The internet always goes wild over the beautiful women cheering their team. Balls 'n' boobies, that's all most people need for a successful World Cup, or better, "Balls, beer 'n' boobs". Apparently, the Russians are getting low on beer. Shops and bars underestimated the beer-lust of football fans. Probably because their national competition isn't sponsored by a beer brand, like the Jupiler League in Belgium. Soon, they will have to dilute their beer with vodka. I'd say "finally", some more aggression. This has been such a goodie-goodie world cup that people are beginning to lose interest. Where are the hooligans? Where are the English inbreds? Where are the Russian fist-troops? Hell, all attention now goes to the Japanese and Senegalese fans who clean their section in the stadium. Fucking pussies. Is the final going to be Japan vs Senegal for the cleanest stadium?

Actually, I'd like to give these fans some sort of being-human-award. What they did wasn't necessary but it said so much about these people and perhaps even more about the other countries' fans. It shows that some people still know what respect means, possibly even more than the ones on the pitch. So Kudos to Japan and Senegal, you two are now my favorites for when I ever decide to leave this tree-cutting, lion-shooting and nuclear-disaster prone country that Belgium has become.

I mean, here we are, in the middle of thousands of people cheering on their team. Fans from winning teams showed frenzied signs of happiness. They waved flags, sang songs and danced the night away. What were the Belgian fans doing? Complaining that our team won by only 3-0. Winning wasn't good enough, our Red Devils had to crush the competition with at least 274-0, that seems to be the general idea here. I guess we just have to face it, Belgians can't be happy. Our natural emotion is disappointment, which is pretty easy because when we're not disappointed we can be disappointed for not being disappointed. If you want more goals, go watch handball.

Imagine having a Fqemtfoiesqrgtuknbsdeftgbson as dentist. Your teeth will behave, that's for damn sure. Somewhere in 2018 the UEFA Nations League will kick off and our Belgian Red Devils have to go up against these Icelanders. Our defenders will probably have no choice but to open the sluices again, like we did against the Germans a few decannia back. We'll also have to face Switzerland, who saw all our secret accounts and document shipped to Panama. Oh history, you funny.

I'll end this thing with a word on the VAR, the "assistant video referee". I love it when they introduce things into sports that will undoubtedly cause more discussion and confusion. I want every sport to be as confusing as possible. The VAR has become such a nice comic relief to the whole thing. Of course, being pissed on illegally brewed Russian vodka, the VAR only works before and after the game. Gotta love that.

The VAR never really worked in Belgium, which isn't surprising since nothing really works here. In Russia they have a very complex network of cables, satellite-dishes, wi-fi, bluetooth and whatnot to make sure that every clear error is punished. But, in the end, it might just be better to use one extra referee who can look at the match from a different angle. That would be cheaper. It still wouldn't work but the FIFA could save some money, no? 

Oh, that's true, a mumble rapper died. Boy, did he pick a bad moment to be shot now that all attention is on the World Cup. Just proves that mumble rappers are dumb.

See you soon


Rik

When I was a young boy, I used to watch football matches on television with my father. My mother didn't like the game so she did some crossword puzzles or play Tetris on an LCD gaming device. Later, since my father worked in an electronics factory, we bought another television so my mother could watch her soap series while my father and I cheered on the Red Devils. I think those were the few moments when I felt truly at ease, at home. 

In a tiny room in a tiny house in Brazil, a seven year old boy is watching his heroes play against Switzerland. He watches it on an old television, probably a model from the early eighties. In those days things were made to last. The television is standing on a plastic picnic table. There is nothing else in the room, just the boy, the table and his ancient television. He is happy because Brazil has scored. He won't be this happy until they score again.

The man writes that those footballers are overpaid morons who run after a ball, only to kick it away again. He presses "publish" and takes on more sip from his wine. Then he decides to go to the movies, to watch overpaid morons pretending to be somebody else. Later that year, that same man will appear in a wooden cubicle to vote for overpaid morons who will only attempt to divide and enslave their subjects even more. 

I can't help but think about that little boy in Brazil. That boy has one goal in life, become an athlete and be rich. It reminds me of another story (read) of a boy that wanted to become an athlete, coincidentally a football player. He was born in absolute poverty. His lunch was bread and milk, every single day. One day he came home from school and saw his mother dilute the milk with tap water. They no longer could afford the milk. That day, the boy made a promise to his mother. He promised that everything was going to be fine. He started training. Later, his grandfather begged him to take care of his daughter, the boy's mother. Once again, the boy promised to fight. Only a few days later his grandfather passed away.

I'll tell you a little secret, I really enjoyed Robbie Williams' performance at the opening ceremony, especially the 'Angel' duet with Aida Garifullina. What a perfect name for a soprano by the way and what a beautiful and talented lady that Aida is.  Williams is an excellent entertainer and with that done-before middle finger he tried to prove to the world that he is still some kind of enfant terrible. Was it against the Russian's treatment of gay people? Was it against the billion dollar industry that football has become? Was it against his fans who are mostly a bunch of overpaid morons? I don't know. I think it was just Robbie being Robbie. And as far as the enfant terrible thing is concerned, we Belgians have Nainggolan, a guy I like more and more each day. Here in Belgium, the non-selection of Radja was a huge thing but Radja, although clearly "bitten in his ass", takes it with a neat dose of humor. 

The Saudis weren't good, but neither were the Germans, the Brazilians or the Argentinians. Although, we have to give Argentina the benefit of the doubt because they were battling the Icelandic vikings, the only nation that as one man stands behind their team. More than 95 percent of the Icelandic population watched the match. That must be an absolute record and a baffling number, considering the fact that Iceland is not a football nation, yet. Given time Iceland will undoubtedly dominate. Do you know why? I'll tell you why. The Icelanders don't care about anything but Iceland. They support their own. They know what the word "United" means. For Icelandic people, uniting is not a vague concept like "Metalheads Unite" or "Fortnite Fans Unite". On this side of the world, the word "unite" is only used to divide people into little groups of people who hate everything about all the other little groups. In Iceland, being united means being one, fighting for each other and turning all faces into the same direction, which I assure you is not Donald Trump's stupid antics. 

So is it such a bad thing that for once these people can cheer a little after their team beat Germany? That should not be surprise, that should be heartwarming. According to some sources, the many happily jumping people caused a little earthquake in the area around Mexico City but that is not true. It was possibly just a real earthquake somewhere in the neighbourhood, caused by tectonic activity. But for once, let's just believe the happy story that people can actually cause earthquakes. I mean, we love that kind of stories. We tell them to our kids and then tell them that lying is bad. When those kids finally discover that the Easter Bunny isn't real, we make up another story to regress their anger and when they see through that lie we tell them to shut up and find a job. And you wonder why your adolescent doesn't really like you.

I found it increasingly difficult to understand people's hate, fear and anger towards either talented or hard working people. True, some people have it easier than others but is that a reason to empty your gallbladder all over your facebook page? I don't like Justin Bieber either but there must be a reason why she is so immensely popular. Eighty percent of the world population being absolute nitwits can be such a reason but so is being picked up by pedophile artist agents and having massive wallets shoved in your face.

Anyway, back to football. I really wonder why I have not seen a meme about steroids and performance enhancing drugs after Russia beat Saudi Arabia. Why is that? Has everyone forgotten the gargantuan Russian doping scandal in the Olympics? Am I now under electronic surveillance because I mention this? Is Putin now spying on me for being the only journalist who dares mention this stuff? I guess nobody thought of this because of the cringeworthy appearance by the Saudis. Is the Saudi team still alive or am I stirring in another dangerous pot here? 

I also really dig the drama around the whole World Cup. The Mexican team hanging out with prostitutes for example. Athletes and hookers have always been an entertaining match, just like athletes and cocaine, right Maradona? See, the world of football is just like the real world: whores, drugs, parties, the more the merrier and the richer the better.

I just don't understand the group sex thing. I already puke when I think about showering with other men, something footballers do seem to enjoy, but having sex with somebody in a pool while your teammates are in the same pool, having sex with the same women? That feels very Skull & Bones to me. Those weren't orgies, those were secret society initiation rites. Whenever a guy debuts with the Belgian Red Devils, he has to sing a song in front of the group. I think in some countries, I'm not going to mention which ones because I don't want to die, teammates have to jerk off together as some sort of sick teambuilding thing. Groupwanking can turn people into presidents so I'm sure it can also cause a big win against another football team but still, yuck.

I'll move to saver havens with Spain - Portugal. That was by far the most entertaining match so far. Ronaldo might be an absolute ass but he scored a hattrick and thus saved one important point for his nation. I, as a Belgian, still hope Lukaku will outdo Ronaldo. Actually, I would like to see a UFC match between Lukaku and Ronaldo. That would probably be even more entertaining that this World Cup, a cage fight between two successful strikers. I don't like mixed martial arts. I'm one of those sissies who prefer professional wrestling but that is one match I would definitely watch, or even better, Lukaku versus Neymar. 

I found the World Cup so far extremely entertaining. There have been a few good matches, some surprising results, a bit of laughter with people's last names and a dash of hilarity when the mosquitos attacked the English team. There were facepalms too, like when Roberto Martinez complained about the length of the grass and the ninety minutes Neymar spent inspecting that length. I also enjoyed the Swiss players' grin whenever they looked at the little troll rolling and crying and whining and complaining. I think my advice in this article is clear. Don't roll and cry and whine and complain. 

Don't be a Neymar.


Rik

Believe it or not, most of the songs on those Spotify playlists weren't even Belgian, and the ones that were, weren't very victorious. Besides, the songs some artists are presenting as their 'World Championship Anthem' sound like farts in a bottle. So, as happens quite often, I think I can do better than just throwing some Stromae, Blur and Psy into a list and name it "Belgian Red Devils Playlist". This list is 100% Belgian and 100% awesome. Go Devils!

Born in 1910, Django Reinhardt grew to become one of the most significant jazz guitarists in Europe. During his short but impressive career Django (born Jean) brought his gypsy jazz to all corners of the world and even today whole festivals are dedicated to him. Out of his huge catalogue I selected the uplifting song 'Shine' because that's what we all want the Red Devils to do in Russia, right?

Here in Belgium we have a rich tradition of folk music, named either 'Kleinkunst' of 'Levensliederen'. Zjef Vanuytsel is one of the most influential artists in Flemish folk history. His songs 'Het Dorp' or 'De Zotte Morgen' are (or should be) known by everyone who has ever attended a campfire. I selected his ode to this little weird country, in which he tells us it's better to live here than in some of our possible opponents' countries. 

The Belgian new beat scene has turned this country into a frenzy of beats and basslines. In the late eighties, new beat acts grew like mushrooms, only to soon fade away again. I selected a song by BX-8017 (Jack Mauer & Marc Neuttiens) because a. new beat rules and b. it's Russia related. Now dance!!!

Although very much alive in some local scenes, Belgian hip hop usually isn't very top of the bill. However, this French rapping act managed to score bigtime in Belgium and in France. With this track I'd like to raise the pressure on our Devils a bit, and perhaps publish something at least one of those Red Devils will actually like.

With Luc De Vos, kleinkunst gained a massive level of rock 'n roll. This tune represent Luc's love for the ball game. Heaps of football fans on this side of the language border know this song and let's face it, every time Gorki can appear on one of our lists, he should. This one goes out to the fans, sing it loud there in Russia. 

Look, we all know that chances of Belgium becoming world champion are rather slim but we can all dream, right? So for the next few weeks, this legendary song by The Wallace Collection will be about football, deal?

Ok, enough with the goodie goodie stuff, time to get serious and dominating. And what better way to be all powerful and scary than by throwing our extremists into the scene. This is what we want on the football field, fighting hordes, breaking limbs, tearing flesh. Let's fill that champions cup with the blood of our opponents...

The will, or desire, to win must obviously be present in our football gods, otherwise they will get absolutely nowhere. So this track by Marc Verhaeghen' industrial EBM act The Klinik fit quite well in this list. 

But then again, you can have all the will and desire in the world, you still need to get out there and kick that leather ball. So here is Antwerp breakcore legend Sickboy and his forward pushing track 'Time To Play'.

Natacha Atlas was born in Schaerbeek and is as multicultural as this country itself. That  ethnic versatility also appears in our national football team, which, as Natacha claims so beautifully in this cover, is also a man's world. 

Post rock also seems to thrive here in Belgium. I selected this piece by Motek because after all, those 23 dudes over in Russia are mostly just trying to get their hands on the cup. They are all tryers, just like all of us, I guess.

Indie rockers School Is Cool have a pretty neat idea. Let's finally put something in our national trophy wall. Fun thing is, these guys have some other nice tips too, like 'Run Run Run' and their Radja-inspired 'Bad Behaviour'. Well, I don't think that's really about Nainggolan but you know, I have to mention him at least once. 

Stoner rockers Hypnos 69 has been clearing the path since 1994. With piercing, fuzz-loaded riffs this tune will undoubtedly push the Red Devils forward. I mean, look at the press. Even the BBC is claiming that Belgium will become world champions. Talking about a burning ambition...

Also coming from the glorious nineties, Wizards Of Ooze delivered some butt shaking jazz funk. Now let's just hope that our millionaires in shorts bring back that championship cup, preferably in a big red balloon. That would be pretty cool, no?

And we finish this list with some booms, courtesy of trance pioneer Marco Bailey. It took me a while to find something football related but in the end my fantasy told me that the moment we win that world championship would certainly be a dreamday. So there you have it...

I had a rough night with only a few hours of decent sleep. I felt annoyed, sleepy and irritable. Yet, somehow, after a few cups of pitch black coffee, I realized that it would probably be best to just skip all other plans and start gardening early. That would certainly be better than getting annoyed by useless advice by useless people in useless facebook groups. This morning I saw someone promoting a book on "how to overcome your masturbation addiction with the help of Jesus". Obviously, I read the first few pages. Void of capital letters, punctuation marks or spaces between paragraphs, it was technically as horrible to read as the content itself. Apparently, if you lay your dick in the hands of a Mexican named Jesus, it's not longer masturbation. In that case, it's gay and we all know God is ok with that. Or, if He's not, that author will probably release a sequel soon, "How to overcome your gay addiction with the help of God" and earn another three dollars.

The garden was empty, all of them were. Perhaps most of the gardeners were still sleeping or just not keen on hard work during the Ramadan. The first person I saw was a drunk throwing the bottles from the day before in a glass container. I took the necessary equipment from the shed and started clearing the weeds. It was easy at first, working my way around the raspberry bush. But when I reached the part with grass, things got a bit nastier. Grass is a bitch, especially its roots, but eventually I bulldozed my way through that obstacle as well. Like last time I hacked and bashed and smashed my way through countless of green things. The sun was burning my skin and the sweat was rolling over my face. One liter of coffee and one liter of Aquarius kept me going until nature decided it was time for revenge.

While hacking my way through the weeds, I apparently disturbed a sandbees' nest. Suddenly there were bees everywhere, seemingly inspecting what had become of their habitat. One of them got stuck in my shoe and stung me, which apparently told other bees that I was the culprit here. I saw them roaming around, munching on the little white flowers. Once in a while, one of them would fly up to me to tell me to get lost. I offered a truce. I was even prepared to negotiate about giving them a piece of land on the other side of our parcel. But they wouldn't listen so after a few minutes I decided to give them some time off. 

I left ground zero and sat down on one of the chairs to inspect my foot. It was already swelling, itching and stinging. I put a bottle of cold water on the hump, which was uncomfortable in more ways than you can imagine so I tried to forget about the hole thing and put a cigarette in my mouth. I looked at my arms, they were covered in sweat. My back started to itch, so did my legs and my buttocks. What the hell was going on here? Did more than one bee sting me? Had other insects decided to join in on the human flesh buffet? Luckily, I had my little towel, my trusted piece of rough wiping cloth. I scratched the sweat away and got back to work.

I dug a first trench and then a second one. Then I took a scratching break. I noticed more bumps and immediately a bunch of curse words appeared in my head. Another cigarette followed, and another bottle of Aquarius. Then it struck me: allergy. Here comes a fun story, I'm allergic to my own sweat during hot temperatures. At times like these, I wish I was just allergic to gluten so I could just be an annoying ass about it. But my own sweat? How fucking lazy does that sound. "No, I can't help you today, it's too warm outside and I'm allergic to my own sweat". Ok, I AM lazy but this just sounds like a lame excuse. 

A year or two ago I had a conversation about this condition with my doctor. She told me that treating it would be possible but it would consist of smearing expensive lotions on my skin and probably getting some anti-allergy injections. Is that worth it? I don't think so. Yet, is it worth having a garden when the work can cause this kind of inconvenience? Well, I guess the best way to cope with is is to learn from it. The things with the bees was unfortunate and being allergic to myself is a nuisance but I guess I could have known. I'm allergic to most people. That's probably why I hate having sweaty bodies around me at concerts. That's probably why I dislike the gym. I am literally allergic to people on hot days. I'm going to use that, maybe I can get my doctor to write me a note about it. 

Well, I noticed that this blog is not very funny but how would you feel when your whole skin is tickling and burning? There is little else to write. Watering the few plants I have already put in the ground is not that exciting. Although, I have to say, the pumpkin and the tomatoes are doing quite well and I did find an almost perfect potato when I was digging trench three. I'm going to write an eviction notice for the sandbees now. I want those morons off my property and on another part of my property. Because in the end, I think we can be friends. I made them a peace offer by sowing wild, native flowers in what I call the "flower garden". Let them have their orgies there and not on my foot.

Well, see you next time. There are still plenty of gardening adventures to come...



​Rik

Several years ago, around Merchants Of Air's first birthday, this website was mostly seen as an underground metal webzine. Our reviews consisted mainly of black and doom metal with several other subgenres filling the gaps between the two. However, gradually that changed. A few months ago, I noticed that we are now being seen as an alternative/ambient/post-rock website. All good and well but we are still an open-minded crew, focusing on as many awesome stuff we can find. And in hard hitting Belgian it rarely gets more awesome than Antwerp Metal Fest, bursting from the local underground like a volcanic eruption and throwing a plethora of fantastic bands onto their stages. They have been doing that since 2013 and now our Merchants can finally make it. So, as promised to the fine people behind this epic event, here is a little preview, a bunch of recommended bands and a sweet ass walk in the park.

This is a wonderful city. I moved here about eleven years ago and since then I have been strolling around its massive musical underground. I see this festival as Graspop's little brother but also as a return to a place with great memories. Bouckenborgh park has been one of my favorites here, especially the pond. So yeah, during some bands I might be strolling around, photographing the ducks. However, I'll be mostly there for the metal, just like ninety perfect of the Antwerp metal scene. The event will see a heap of bands from in and around this city climb the stages. With Off The Cross, Objector, Bark, Carrion and Fleddy Melculy a great sense of pride will undoubtedly roll over the audience. But of course, the whole festival will be awesome, just have a look at our recommendations. 

Finding five must-see bands per day is astonishingly easy. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, you might want to see all bands on this festival. Who knows, you might discover a few favorites. My very first recommendation however is to come early.

These guys pleasantly surprised me with their appearance in Edegem some months back. Shortly after, they did it all over again when they sent me their EP for review. Both the gig and the record convinced me of their qualities. This is some good old fashioned intensely raging thrash metal. Objector will undoubtedly kick off this festival with sheer power. You'll know when Antwerp Metal Fest starts. All of Antwerp will know that...

There is more goodness to be found but that's up to you to discover. I do recommend partying out to the AMF All Star Band and Goe Vur In Den Otto, but beware, Sunday will be merciless.

Well, who would have guessed. I am going to do exactly the same as on Saturday and advise everybody to come early. 

See you in Merksem



​Serge

It's June 6, Slayer fans from all over the world are blasting 'Angel Of Death' through their car speakers, metalheads scream the band's name whenever they feel like it and a freight train of pussies have no idea what's going on. Founded on 6/6/2006, International Day of Slayer pays homage to the godfathers of thrash metal. The band around Tom Araya and co have been influencing musicians for decades, since 1981 to be exact. So, why not do a 15 songs, dedicated to Slayer and in full Merchants Of Air mode. Here are fifteen awesome and surprising covers. But we'll start with a bonus.

American love to overdo their holiday decorations, which for the most part makes the whole season an orgy of clichés. However, here and there some hilarious light art shows up, like this festive rendering of 'Angel Of Death'.

To get adjusted to the idea of Slayer cover, we'll start in the world of extreme metal. Polish death metal legends Vader were founded only two years after Slayer but the influence is tremendous. They paid homage to the thrash leaders with this intense cover of 'Raining Blood'.

A more modern death metal version of 'Angel Of Death' comes from American deathcore act Carnifex. 

A more haunting version of Slayer's music comes from black metal innovators Cradle Of Filth, who recorded this cover of 'Hell Awaits' for their ​Lovecraft & Witch Heart compilation album.

In the extreme regions we also find this insane version of 'Necrophiliac'. Well, we found heaps of version but this grinder by Flashcrawl is one of my favorites.

But Slayer isn't only present in the extreme corners of the metal industry. Nu-metal pioneers Korn have also been influenced by Hanneman and company. Here is their version of 'South Of Heaven'. 

Ice-T and Slayer are no strangers to each other. Together, they wrote the song 'Disorder' for the 'Judgement Day' soundtrack. In 2017, he and his Body Count act played this version of Raining In Blood / Postmortem'

But it's not all extreme and metal and stuff. Aidan Baker is a huge Slayer fan too. So when they decided to record a cover album with Nadja, 'Dead Skin Mask' just had to be on the playlist.

Or how about going all minimal and introvert with this beautiful cover by Tori Amos. She proves that it's not all metal that shines. 

There are those Christmas lights again, fitting quite perfectly with this classical composition of 'Raining Blood' by American composer Walt Ribeiro.

Something completely different entirely comes from breakcore act Duran Duran Duran who mix Slayer riffs with gabber and breakcore beats.

Another brilliant rendition of 'Dead Skin Mask' comes from this jazz big band. With no less than seventeen members, they give this track an awesome makeover.

Slayer as performance art is also possible, or at least, that is what Yoko Ono is trying to prove here. That woman is mad!

I guess you need something to calm your nerves after that Ono performance. So here are cello-metal act Apocalyptica and their live version of 'South Of Heaven'. 

Just to piss some people off, here is Slayer meets dubstep, courtesy of Rudebrat and his dance festival mix of 'Angel Of Death'.

Ok ok, one more 'Raining Blood' but this time it has to feature a fucking banjo. That brings us to Rob Scallon and his redneck version. See you all in the madhouse...

Our incredibly lazy sit-down comedian Rik Stalknecht recently got his hands on a piece of gardening land. Suddenly, this inveterate couch-crusher turned into a frantic gardener. And, much like everybody who finds a piece of soil to plant some vintage vegan food, Rik also turned into a professional gardening blogger.

​Since Rik has no other outlet than Merchants Of Air, we had no other choice than to publish the writings. So from now on we will regularly publish these columns.  We are very sorry...

On the other hand, this thing might help get you started on your own little garden. Rik does know a thing or two about fruit and vegetable growing. 

When I first heard about this little piece of land I was immediately interested. I could already see the bell peppers, tomatoes, strawberries, asparagus and cabbage grow. Old memories popped up in my mind. Young me throwing leeks into holes in the ground, young me picking up potatoes, young me throwing rotten eggs against a tree to mess with the chickens. Come to think of it, that last one was pretty mean, throwing their unborn children against that old beech tree. Of course, the hens ate it all. They ate everything we threw at them. The even started picking on one of their own after we put it back behind the fence of their residence. 

We also invented a fun game to play with the chickens after reading about ancient Romans' interrogation techniques. Back then children learned real important stuff in school. The game was one of stamina. We would steal maize from the nearby field, smear our legs with honey, stick the corn grains on the honey and then play hide and seek inside the chicken den. One of my nephews or friends counted to fifty and we all ran to hide behind one of the bushes. The chickens, who adored the mix of maize and honey followed us frantically, picking the delicacies from our tender childish flesh.

​It hurt like hell.

The strip of land I plan to exploit is 5x14 meters, plus a few small strips for a herb table, which we'll call 'Herb Alpert', and for a flower garden. The last one is for the bees which obviously are incredibly useful to pollinate your soon-to-be soup. I mean, in the last two days I have destroyed several of their favorite flowers and next week more of their property will be disowned so the least I can do is give them a bunch of tasty little flowers to munch on and an insect hotel, where they can engage in all those creepy little insect fetishes of theirs. It will be a nice hotel, more like a motel actually, with a tiny red led light, an "open" sign and a bar with fresh sugar water. In the lobby I'll play some Chopin while barely dressed bumblebees sign in the guests and show them to their room. It will be the best bee hotel in the whole world, complete with a tennis court, a sauna, free massages and free underground parking. And then I'll build a wall around the red ants nest. Those fuckers will no longer illegally enter this little garden of mine.

Actually, I am going to build a wall but not against ants. There are two ground animals that we will have to tackle; snails and rabbits. There are plenty of rabbits around this area, enough to not trust any restaurant that serves them. I distrust them in the same way I distrust Chinese restaurants selling "Park Duck". My bunny wall will be made from metal, possibly thrash metal. Rabbits have sharp little teeth that can gnaw through everything, except metal. Snails hate everything sharp so I'll protect my plants with sharp eggshells. Lazy slow little cunts as their are, snails also hate coffee so I will use coffee-grounds around their favorite food. Coffee-grounds, the leftovers from making coffee, also fertilizes the soil, hurray.

But first things first. Before I had the chance to put anything in the ground, it had to be cleared and dug around. The whole lot was covered in undergrowth, from nettles to pieces of now wild leek to grass and every rubbish the neighbours had tossed over. So I took a shovel a started hacking the soil. I removed about two centimeters of soil, raked all the green together and threw it away like an empty bag of crisps. I allowed three species of fauna to stay; the seringa, the raspberries and the redberries. The last two are delicious. I don't know who planted them there but they're mine now. In fact, while I was working the soil, I lived solely of these two fruits. They gave me everything I needed: sugar, water and a completely lack in conversation. Absolutely perfect.

A man walked by my parcel. He stood there for a few moments before I decided to show that I had noticed his appearance. I was hoping he would just go away, like I do with most people, but he just stood there with a wiseacre grin on his toothless mouth. Suddenly he said "You have to spray that all out, kill everything with burning poison from the depths of hell and wait a few months". I replied: "Not gonna". He grinned harder and simply repeated his monologue. I could have sprayed it all to death and make it easy on myself but I think Monsanto is already rich enough. Plus, I wanted to do some hard labour for a change. So I ignored the untoothed and got back to my weeds demolishing.

Then he started talking about digging trenches and covering the weeds in them. I tried to explain that I wasn't going to do that because the soil had already been enriched last year but I was talking to a wall. So eventually I just nodded, saying "yeah, that's what I'm going to do now". He then offered me cucumber plants before he started another monologue about my neighbour's tomato plants. It was a bizarre conversation but quite honestly, I don't know who was worse in it, him or me. I mean, let's face it, I communicate like a vacuum cleaner, barely. After the grinmeister left, I got engaged in a conversation with a white butterfly, which was a lot more amusing. 

Nonetheless, after several hours of shoveling, sweating and apologizing to the worms I turned homeless, my piece of soil was ready to receive its first plants. Timing was essential because a friend was coming over with some of his leftover fauna. But I made it. I broke one shovel and the nettles certainly got their revenge but now there were potatoes ready to be planted. That smashing pumpkin plant looked hungry for dirt and water and the cauliflower practically begged for a spot on that awesome piece of plant real estate. 

Just like when I was a little kid I made holes in the ground and put my new friends inside. I like digging holes in the ground to put my friends in. I guess that's why I moved to another city, otherwise I would have definitely become an undertaker. It still looks like an appealing job to me. You can get rid of people before they even start bothering you. You mostly have to be silent and nobody is really happy to see you. Oh, the joy.

But I'm digressing a bit, so back to the veggies. My phone was a great help. It made it easy to look how much space I needed between the plantings. It also told me, or at least a few websites did, that it would be best to plant potatoes and tomatoes on the side. Bunnies don't eat those and quite often also stay away from the rest too. They don't pass the "tompotato-barrier". I'm still going to build the fence though. For now, the plastic bottles will probably do. Nature hates plastics, except for whales. Apparently whales can't get enough of plastic bags. They keep up getting stranded on the beach with tonnes of plastic in their stomachs. Dumb animals (*).

Eventually, after two days of planning and hard labour, parts of my soon to become spaghetti sauce were ready to play the waiting game. It was a heck of a long time ago since I last did some heavy duty work. Now, most of my muscles are trying to call the domestic abuse hotline so I guess I'll give them a bit of rest. But very soon I will be back, clearing another lot in my ever evolving garden. Come back soon to find out how well (or how horrible) all of that went. I will now put my tired body to rest.


Rik


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(*) Keep in mind, Rik Stalknecht identifies as a comedian.