PRONK

PRONK has been yodeling for years in the shadow of the Sallandse Heuvelrug. Songs bubble up like intestinal gas. He cobbles them together with his non-technical ass with the help of D. Kleinlangevelsloo, a nimble-fingered measure for whom no button is too much.

The bands PRONK used to play in preferred American coal to ABN. After all, for a brat from Luttenberg, Dutch was a language for wimps. 'Just give me a Motörhead record', his mother once said to the record store around Sinterklaas. 'Stoons, Ramoons or Iesiediesie is also fine'. After all, Dutch-language crap didn't fit in his clogs.

Nowadays, PRONK has been rampaging the floorboards with the band Bökkers for years. You still can't call it generally civilized, but Dutch all the more. With extra attention for the homo sapiens on the German border. PRONK's music is cut from the same thick wood. The straightforward mentality of Status Quo supplemented with power pop choirs and PRONK's voice that reminds you most of Feargal Sharkey on a Zündapp.