Texoprint isn’t the kind of band you casually throw on in the background. Their music demands your attention—hell, it might even demand your surrender. It’s raw, loud, emotional, and layered. They don’t write songs to make you feel better. They write them to make you feel, period. And they do it together. Always together.

The trio—Jasper Werij, David Pop and Redwin Rolleman—met at the Herman Brood Academy, drawn to each other by a shared love of abrasive sound and an urgent need to create something real. They quickly became known around campus as “the noise boys”—inseparable, loud, and always scheming their next sonic detour. What started as a classroom project soon morphed into something more focused, more serious—a band with no fixed genre, but a very fixed sense of purpose.

Their first show? A New Year’s Eve party in 2019 where they forgot their songs, got too drunk to play tight, and ended up improvising half an hour of chaotic noise. The audience fled—except for two die-hard harsh noise heads who stuck around. It was a mess. But it was also the beginning of something real.

They weren’t always called Texoprint. The band originally went by Kalaallit Nunaat—Greenland’s indigenous name. Initially, they received positive feedback, but over time they realized the name was culturally inappropriate. “Three white Dutch guys can’t just take an indigenous name,” they now say. The decision to change it wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. Texoprint, named after a factory where Redwin’s father used to work, felt immediately better—closer to home, more DIY. And fitting, too: they’ve always printed their own merch, made their own visuals, and done everything on their own terms.

Trying to pin down their sound? Good luck. If you must: imagine a furious haze of reverb, noise, jagged guitar textures, and vocals that bleed with emotion—cut through now and then by sharp flashes of melody and melancholy. Everything they make is born in the rehearsal room, together. No solo bedroom demos. No ego battles. Just intuition, trust, and chaos turned into coherence.

You’ll hear hints of My Bloody Valentine, Christian Death, The Jesus and Mary Chain—but Texoprint never sounds like anyone else. They’re obsessed with avoiding the obvious. Repetition is the enemy. Predictability is a sin. That’s the unspoken pact.

Lyrically, they dive into the strange and specific. David writes about internet subcultures and fringe realities—like in ‘Street Theater’, which explores the paranoia of people who believe they’re being gangstalked. Other tracks delve into anxiety, ADHD, existential dread, and the weird nostalgia of dreaming you’re back in high school. Redwin and Jasper write more from the gut, David more from obsession for illustrious personas. That tension brings balance—and something uniquely Texoprint.

Their new album, Modern Living, is a milestone. It’s the sound of years of growth, noise, and sharpening their shared voice. Compared to earlier work, it’s more refined, more intentional—without losing its edge. The title nods to a 1970s interior design book on Redwin’s coffee table and slyly riffs on the wave of abstract post-punk band names. It’s ironic, it’s aesthetic—and it sticks.

The album cover says it all: two tourists standing still as the tide rolls in around them, caught in a moment of indecision. Shot in a tidal zone near Zeeland by photographer Jules van Eijs, it captures the feeling of the album—uneasy beauty, looming threat. Previous releases have featured collaborations with visual artists like Roy Vastenburg and Yonah de Beer; every project is a dialogue between sound and image.

Texoprint has grown from a school project into a band with a clear and uncompromising artistic vision. Modern Living was recorded in two deeply meaningful places: Mailmen Studio (where they made their first EP) and Sahara Sound Studio (their longtime rehearsal space). The album was mixed by Koen Verhees of SØWT, close friends and sonic allies.

So, what do they want from their music? They’re not quite sure. They make it because they have to—because it’s the only way to get certain things out of their system.

Their dreams? Ambitious, but real. More shows. More countries. More chances to scream into the void together. A European fanbase. Maybe even Japan or South America. Not for fame. Not for money. But to keep doing what they love in a world that often undervalues what artists bring.

Texoprint is angry. Texoprint is close. Texoprint is loud as hell. And if you’re paying attention, you’ll hear it too.