Rheinzand occupy their own very special musical universe. An exotic universe that intentionally makes a mockery of boundaries – both musical and geographical – and has its eye on one prize: the dancefloor. The band tell Jim Butler about their longing for nightlife: “You know, decent hangovers and stuff…”

The Rhine, Central Europe’s second-longest river, has long played a pivotal role in the development of the countries it flows through. It was a key component in the Roman Empire; ownership of the territories it runs across have been contested at various times in history and it played a critical role in the industrial modernisation of Europe.

It has captured the imagination of poets and artists such as Lord Byron and William Turner, and today is a vast source of tourism as visitors cruise along its 765 miles stopping off at the great romantic cities of Basel in Switzerland, Strasbourg in France and Cologne in Germany.

Less heralded, however, is the small, but significant, part it played in the formation of one of leftfield dance music’s most innovative outfits – the cosmic-inclined, electronic pop-tinged, disco-dub magnificence of Belgium’s Rheinzand. For as well as being a commercial, industrial, transport and tourist artery, the river also produces fine grains of sand that have been used to make mortar – in Belgium known as Rijnzand.

When Mo Becha was leaving Reinhard Vanbergen’s studio in their hometown of Ghent in 2013, after completing work on their first track together – the appositely-titled ‘The First Time’ – multi-instrumentalist and producer Vanbergen called out to Becha, enquiring what the (then) fledgling duo should call themselves.

“I opened the door and there was a bag of Rijnzand standing right in front of me,” the long-haired Becha remembers, smiling at the memory. “I shouted: ‘Maybe, Rheinzand.’ He’s called Reinhard. That bag was there, right? There wasn’t a band called Rheinzand. And it’s difficult to find a good name.”

The similarly hirsute Vanbergen also chuckles, adding: “I was really happy that the first thing Mo saw was a bag of sand, and not a scooter or a police car. Better to be called Rheinzand than scooter or the police I guess.”

There’s another analogy between the Rhine and Rheinzand. Traversing through six countries – beginning in the Swiss Alps, before taking in the Principality of Liechtenstein, Austria, Germany, France and finishing its journey in the Netherlands – the river is not only long, but no respecter of arbitrary geographical boundaries. A bit like the band and their music. It soon becomes clear speaking to Rheinzand – alongside Vanbergen and Becha is singer Charlotte Caluwaerts, who being Vanbergen’s partner made the duo a trio around the completion of the group’s third track – the group are proud to be European. 

“We are a European band,” says Becha, aka Mo Disko, known to music lovers of a certain dotage as one-half of the DJ duo The Glimmers (formerly The Glimmer Twins). 

“It’s a very good thing to speak languages,” adds Vanbergen.

“We can very easily adapt to language,” explains Becha further. “It's good that people from the south of here to the north can get our message.”

This message – of hope, optimism, unity all coming together on the dancefloor – is fixed firmly in the DNA of Rheinzand. Their music is a hypnotic blend of cosmopolitan 80s Euro disco pop – evoking a world of Maxi singles and eye-opening (for us Brits at least) foreign exchange visits at school – Balearic beat, cosmic prog and free-spirited new wave. This endearing openness is embedded in the band’s second album, ‘Atlantis Atlantis’. 

Across the album’s 12 tracks, Caluwaerts sings in six different languages – seven if you count a small section of German on the title track – further cementing the band’s infectious sonic Esperanto.

“I’m a nerd,” she laughs. “I always loved languages. Always studied languages in high school. Latin, Greek. The whole thing. And we already did French and Spanish together. French, Spanish and English. And then Italian…”

This commitment to overcoming parochialism finds its best expression in the single ‘Elefantasi’. A strident punk funk tale about an elephant that no longer wants to be pink, but blue, the original version is sung in Danish as an homage to their label, Kenneth Bager’s brilliant Music For Dreams. 

“It was a surprise to them,” she explains, “because I didn’t tell them I was learning Danish. They asked for an English version because they said no one would love the Danish version. But actually a Spanish one came quicker. Then French. English was the hardest one to do and came last.”

In total, there are six different versions of 'Elefantasi': Dutch and Italian complementing the aforementioned. Plus on the single release a Make Your Own Version – an instrumental – for those feeling left out. 

“We thought it was good to announce there would be six different languages across the album,” explains Vanbergen. “So people could get acquainted with it.”

“I love that I can’t understand the original version of 'Elefantasi',” says Becha. “It makes it exotic to me. It’s something I search for a lot in music. You don’t have to understand it. Sometimes it’s better you don’t. It becomes a melodic thing. Like an instrument.”

“Different languages ask different things,” says Caluwaerts. “If you do a French track, you already move sideways a bit. And if you have different languages, you're not going to be… you’re not very straightforward. If you do it in English then it will become too pop or too generic.”

“Let's say ‘Sueño Latino’ in English,” says Becha, ever the consummate record selector. “It's a different story, right? 

“Yeah,” interjects Vanbergen. “You can make all your music with one synthesiser, but at the end you want to have 20 because they all do different things. It’s the same with languages.”

The next language Caluwaerts wants to learn is Turkish. There’s a big Turkish community in Ghent so why not take the time to learn their language? There’s also a Turkish band on Music For Dreams she loves – islandman. “It’s a way in,” she affirms. “A way into culture and people.”

Vanbergen and Caluwaerts recently got back from a month in Mexico. The first time they’d travelled anywhere since the pandemic. Having previously taken travel for granted, Caluwaerts says this trip opened her eyes to the amount of bureaucracy and red tape involved.

“To say I don't believe in borders or possessions is very hippy,” she explains, “but actually, to me, it doesn't make sense. It's not something we are. Also because I'm white European, I don't have to think about it. And I’m very, very conscious of that. It's just not fair. It's politics.”

Rheinzand’s first – self-titled – album was released in the ignominious month of March 2020. And while it proved a musical panacea for many during those first few months of lockdown – even going on to secure top spot in Piccadilly Records’ prestigious end-of-year poll (“We cursed in six languages,” jokes Vanbergen; “It gave us a real positive boost,” says Becha) – wider events meant all the band’s plans, most notably a series of live shows, came to a shuddering halt. Rather than feel sorry for themselves, the group decided to use the situation to their advantage. The plan was to write every day for a month. 

But first Vanbergen and Caluwaerts had to be invited into Becha’s musical universe. By his own admission, Becha is not a musician as such. He doesn’t play any instruments. His vocals on ‘The First Time’, were indeed the first time he’d sung on a track. And while his deep, gruff and sensuous tones adorn ‘Atlantis Atlantis’, his real skill – honed over years of DJing – are in musical presentation. He’s the band’s musical director. 

“Mainly I’m hanging around having a drink or a smoke and nodding my head,” he says. “If I’m not nodding it means we’re not there yet. I guess I’m more of a vibes man ensuring it all heads in the right direction for me personally.”

And for the vibes to be flowing correctly there needs to be atmosphere. The first album, Becha notes, had atmosphere, but unintentionally. Everything about ‘Atlantis Atlantis’ is intentional. To kickstart this he selected a bunch of tracks that could be used as inspiration and reference. 

“It’s basically my record box,” he explains. “The music that keeps me busy at the moment. Everything that I like; that I discover; that I get sent; that crosses my path. It all gathers in my box. My universe.”

“It really is a universe,” smiles Caluwaerts. “A world that Mo invited us into. It was really nice to start from, because the lack of nightlife, because we didn't play live, we couldn't go out… so we had to immerse ourselves in this world (of nightlife) during daytime hours and reimagine it.”

When the album was almost there, the trio invited back drummer Stéphane Misseghers and bassist Bruno Coussée, to record their parts. Misseghers and Coussée played on a couple of tracks on ‘Rheinzand’ and are an integral part of the live experience. Although it was never intended to be a band in the traditional sense (“It was all electronic and 12-inch-based to begin with,” says Becha) it soon became clear playing live and doing things within a band aesthetic made sense.

“It’s a hard-working band,” laughs Becha. “We don’t have roadies, each one does their own gear. Load the van, unload the van.”

The result of this ever-shifting, always-evolving, decidedly-experimental world is the triumphant ‘Atlantis Atlantis’ – so called, explains Vanbergen, because it sounds good when you shout it as a choir answering the lead vocal in the track itself.

Grander, perhaps even more ambitious, than its predecessor, ‘Atlantis Atlantis’ veers from rousing and hypnotic, Arthur Russell-like, wonky pop on the emotive call to arms ‘We’ll Be Alright’ to infectious and familiar tales of nocturnal (mis)adventures set to dreamy and sophisticated slo-mo disco on the opener ‘Better’. In between there is dancing as the perennial vertical expression of a horizontal desire ('Facciamo L’amore') and otherworldly odes to the power of the dancefloor on the gothic low-slung bass groove of the title track.

There’s also a sense of adventure and yearning throughout. The album itself represents a desire to reach Ibiza’s secret cove, Atlantis. A journey the group have attempted many times, but never succeeded in reaching.

“It’s been a few years since I went to Pikes, when Harvey started his residency,” says Becha. “We tried to go to Atlantis – this little cove close to Es Vedra. It’s hard to get there by land. So we’ve since tried by boat. But jellyfish kept us away. It’s become something of a running joke. I think the best thing of the journey is never reaching there. The journey always continues. Imagine you arrive there and its nothing. Yeah. It's maybe better to just keep it a dream.”

It’s also about a desire for the dancefloor – a place denied to so many for so long. Like the White Isle cove, Atlantis becomes a club the group seek, but never find. In the song itself Caluwaerts repeatedly asks Becha for directions, but alas he doesn’t know the way. “There’s certainly that longing for the nightlife, you know, decent hangovers and stuff,” says Caluwaerts.

So, it’s pop. But not pop. It’s diverse. International. A land of freedom. Of glamour. Of mythical nightclubs. Possibly in Ibiza. Frequented by Harvey. In other words, very Balearic.

“It depends who’s asking!” laughs Vanbergen.

“I can understand why people might think that,” says Becha. “It ticks a lot of boxes of what people might think is Balearic. For me Balearic is whatever is good. We’re certainly diverse and I think Balearic is diverse. There's a lot of different parameters that we touch of being, you know, Balearic, but there are other parameters that we touch that are nothing to do with it.”

“I didn't even know the genre before we started Rheinzand,” admits Vanbergen.

“Balearic? There is no genre,” Becha states. “It was the same with the new beat period here. That was just very adventurous dance music. And that's what we are.”

“I think it's a nice way of saying it,” concludes Caluwaerts. “Adventurous dance music.”

Call it whatever you want of course. Fundamentally, there’s only one question that needs answering. Are you dancing? Because Rheinzand are asking. 

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This article first appeared in issue one of Disco Pogo.