I would like to ask you how many times you have opened a book without knowing the writer, attracted by the skin, the back cover or anything else. You'll remember what you found inside or not. As you would have liked, get hooked to the end. Lead to search for more works by the writer. Or not. I don't care. I don't care, above all, because what interests me is precisely the option of giving the unknown a chance. I would like to replace the cover of the book with the afix of a concert and ask again how many times have you gone to see a concert without knowing the group?

Answering the question to make up for my calculations or the day before I saw a sign on social media, I made a proposal to a friend who lives in Zarautz and I got out by car. I have almost an hour of travel ahead of me. Like reading the back cover, I've put the discography of the group to help me along the way.

On Thursday there is a spring atmosphere in the Arrano bar, with lots of people out there, pieces of pizza and garbage in the hand. Everything is ready inside for the Dishes concert. Google has told me that it is a group created between Amsterdam and Leide and that in Euskal Herria they are going to make a six-concert tour. The second one today.

The concert has started in a setting as small as improvised, marked by a bloodletting, between a large refrigerator filled with beer with the paper door and the kitchen door, a few meters from the bar. "If you force him a bit, the puzzle always wraps," I thought.

It's a punk rock melodic that sounds to me without knowing me. With a prominent presence of battery and adhesive riffs, this punk rock that unconsciously moves your body. The singer's voice and way of being can make the group specify. There is no broken voice, shouts, aggressive frontwoman, but a powerful innocence that sings firmly to Palestine, to the European killer borders or to feminism.

We enter live for the latest songs and end with a great surprise and a version of Kashbaden. They've caught us. The version is finished, but the audience says “another one!”. They don't have another song, singers, thank you for gesture. “It doesn’t matter! Repet! Repet!” They convince them and start playing. The singer was raised between four or five accomplices of the audience at the time of her performance. Lying between the arms, micro in the hand, you see a very long smile, as well as other musicians and people. Now yes, it's over. “Thanks for being here.”

The way home I've done with Kashbad in the car. I remember that this is the first album I bought with my money and I didn't hear much time. It may always lead to the unknown. Or not. No matter. The puzzle of the underground culture, because it needs so much that the pieces that want to be part of the puzzle come and take care of fitting the pieces.