Trudy Bookings, a one-piece organizing good old-fashioned DIY punk concerts, got the Cuntroaches to Ghent. The Berlin group bend hardcore with no-noise to a sound that makes your stomach chern - very much like you ate that leftover spaghetti at the back of the fridge of which no one really remembers how it got there, but better. The 3-piece played a short no-time-for-bullshit set that makes you relive every nightmare you ever had in just one take while at the same time you just can't wait for more. The singer screamed ferociously, making us suspect that she's Rosemary's baby 20 years later, while the guitarist was headbanging savagely in a wig of blond dreads, hypnotizing you to follow him to the secondary pits of hell. Oh, and there was also this guy with a cat mask and a ball of wool functioning as a human foot stool.
Like the vermin they're named after, this is a band hard to shake off. And I loved it.