Ah, Holland. What a beautiful, unobtrusive little nation. All those neat rows of immaculate houses. The precisely planted fields of flowers. The trim gardens. The clean parks and roadways. . .
And then there's Herman Brood.
He is a muscular, Dutch version of Johnny Rotten and is one of the most popular singers in his native country. Last night at the Bayou, Herman Brood and His Wild Romance staggered and thudded their way across the stage presenting a rampaging set of rock 'n' roll (complete with pidgin English introduction).
His vocal range, which resides somewhere between a shout and a scream, is prefectly suited to his hardedged songs. What Brood lacks in subtlety he more than compensates with a comical delivery and brutish stage presence. It makes for an invigorating show.
He and his group (who look like some of the disreputable characters in an old Bogart movie) sent out musical shock waves which seemed to bore through the walls. The show was not so much a performance as an assault, yet it was one which was designed to create shivers of excitement instead of fear.
Herman Brood could change the image of Holland. And why not? He's certainly one of the best things to emerge from that country since tulips and beer.