Cor Gout: vocals
Lukas Simonis: guitar
Frank van der Bos: keyboards
Hayo den Boeft: bass
Ronnie Krepel: drums
Saskia Leenes: extra vocals
Cas: extra ‘hallelujah’

All lyrics: Cor Gout
All compositions: Trespassers W / Wim Oudijk
Engineered by Patrick Richter, mixed by Patrick and TW.
Produced by Wim Oudijk.

Reviews in English: 3

PLAWAAT, Volume 1. Number 2. May/June 1988
Strange Things Are Happening:


Still, let’s leap along the path of our worldwide trip. Holland is the next port, and here we find « Dummy », the new double album package from Den Haag’s Trespassers W and their TW label. Gaining maximum points for naming this collection after a football manouvere, illustrating step-by-step on their sleeve and dedicating the records to Faas Wilkes, « the best Dutch dummy passer ever », Trespassers W also produce a unique noise. Reminiscent of Wire with a dash of Frippertronics thrown in, Trespassers W are an intelligent bunch of artisans who mix a political slant with a refreshing honesty and humour. As one lyric states, « An art shock, a culture shock again »… check ’em out

MELODY MAKER, England, August 1988

TRESPASSERS W – DUMMY (Dead Man’s Curve)

In common with other Europeans, in particular Can, Trespasssers W sound most peculiarly alien. They possess an otherness marked of specifically by « style » of « content » but by a subtler mis-shapeness that refused to correspond to the demands of ease.
In texture, they possess an angular edginess akin to masochism – a refusal accept comforts that might deny the « truth » of life. In this they’re consistant with much that is wilfully abrasive, but TW temper their discordant wiriness with purposeful play.
« Dummy » has a clownish misery – the sad hilarity of Harold Lloyd or Chaplin – that often tickles an intense melancholy nerve. And if their dedication to Faas Wilkes « The best Dutch dummy passer ever » seems plain daft, then understand that « dummy passes » are the footballing equivalent of TW’s musical trickery.
« There was a war on with reality. I couldn’t care less for the absolute beginners from the petty bourgeoisie, but I did fancy the maid as plaued by Anna Karina in Vadim’s film « La Ronde. » Here words don’t much correspond to « sense » as it is largely understood, yet the senses they make are enveloping, they illuminate known reality. TW seem to embody and justify the idea that insanity is wisdom.
In this they recall Joseph Beuys, and before him, the Dadaïsts’ « anti-art ». TW share with them a love of life that is currently also baffled and horrified – and counters its own confusion with nonsense and irrational ritual.
So where « Dummy » does become merely clumsy is only when « meaning » reasserts itself. But if words has always been as resonant as these otherwise are, perhaps linear meaning would not only be in its present crisis.

PUNCTURE #17, USA, Summer 1989

TRESPASSERS W – Dummy (Trespassers W LP)

Dutch outfit with three previous LPs to their name, including Pretty Lips Are Red, which achieved some international attention through a release on Dead Man’s Curve Records. But TW is far more than your usual rock band: combining art, music, and politics, they are a sort of cultural guerrilla squad aiming to experiments within the rock tradition and challenge the listener.
Singer-lyricist Cor Gout, along with his musician/poet/comedian/artist colleagues, uses an aural palette depicting a world on the brink of madness, with soccer as a metaphor (the sleeve and 24-page lyric/art booklet is adorned with crude drawings of soccer players). Yet rather than employing obscure poetic license, the lyrics are scathingly direct: pondering the existence of God while wandering a Beirut street, the decadence and claustrophobia of New York, me-generation, youth culture, etc.
I’m simplifying: Gout’s thoughts range from street-level to metaphysical. Musically, an US audience could lap it up; closest reference point might be early XTC, as the cranky guitar work and burbling organ tend to signal a New Wave descent rather than any gloomy post-punk or garage/hard rock. A jumpy nervousness pervades the music, a stream-of-consciousness feel that keeps one from just placidly listening. Melodies come easy, only to be subverted by jerky rhythms. The challenge is there.