THE VICES — BEFORE IT MIGHT BE GONE

Photography MATT WEINBERGER

Story OLIVIA J. BENNETT

Patching onto a video call with The Vices’ vocalist and guitarist, Floris van Luijtelaar, he’s sitting in a dimly lit car parked outside a Los Angeles motel. As he gestures toward Jonathan Kruizenga, the band’s keyboardist and guitarist, I watch as he makes his way down from the warm yellow exterior of the motel’s building, framed by a wrought iron railing.“This is actually where they shot Once Upon A Time In Hollywood,” Floris tells me with a grin. While this isn’t The Vices’ first time playing in North America, coming to the end of their 16-city album tour (US and EU) still feels like a fairytale for a band that started with humble but headstrong beginnings.

Settling into the backseat to make room for his bandmate, Floris and Jonathan start reminiscing about their hometown. Groningen, a small city in the northern Netherlands, doesn’t come up much in interviews. “It’s a small town, you get to know each other really quickly,” Jonathan says. “Me and Simon [Bleeker, bassist] have known each other since we were kids. We all kind of grew up together.” Floris nods, adding that he and Simon first played together as a duo in 2011 under the name Ten Years Today—just two 16-year-olds in a dusty attic, jamming with no real plan beyond making music. Their sound pulled from Red Hot Chili Peppers, alternative funk and garage rock, influences that carried through as they evolved into The Vices, now with Mathijs Louwsma on drums.

But Groningen offered more than just a tight-knit scene—it had history. At the heart of it was Vera, a legendary DIY venue that, since the ’70s, has helped break some of the biggest names in alternative, grunge and indie rock, hosting everyone from Nirvana and Sonic Youth to The White Stripes, The Strokes and IDLES. “Every time I found a band online that I thought was sick, I’d realize they’d already played at Vera,” Floris says. “They also brought in so many bands I didn’t know, which helped broaden my musical world.” Beyond Vera, Groningen’s Sonic Festival played a key role in shaping their musical identity. “It’s kind of like the SXSW of Europe,” Floris notes. Jonathan chimes in, “There were also a lot of small bars where you could start out. Places where you could get your 15 minutes of fame with a full audience, trying things you wouldn’t normally do.” The city may have been small, but the exposure to music was massive.

Even with Groningen’s thriving underground music scene and support for up-and-coming artists, there was still skepticism around making it a real career. “You still had to convince people that this was something you could actually do,” Floris says. “Since I was nine years old, I knew I wanted to be in a band. But I don’t think many people saw it as an actual path.” Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “Dude, it’s pretty uncommon to know what you want to do at nine.” Floris laughs, shrugging. “When you start out, people just think, ‘Oh, you’re in a band’, like it’s just a phase.” He switches to a mock wise-elder voice: “Ahh yes, but what are you studying? What’s your real job?” Jonathan nods. “That’s more of a small-town thing. You have to convince people of what you already see.”

The idea of vice, for them, has always been about something else—not indulgence, but obsession.

From the moment The Vices formed in 2019, there was no hesitation. “We were all in,” Jonathan says. “Everyone dropped what they were doing, sacrificed everything and went full-on.” That conviction, however, took time for others to grasp. “It was like a wave,” Jonathan explains. “Slowly, people around us started realizing we weren’t stopping.” Floris’ parents, though, were on board from the start. They got him a guitar and lessons, steering him toward electric over acoustic—partly because, as he puts it, he struggled to focus on any one thing for too long. His dad introduced him to John Lee Hooker and Howlin’ Wolf, while a local musician taught him Rolling Stones riffs in a cover band at 14. “They were both huge influences on me,” Floris says. “They showed me what rock and roll really was.” And it’s that sense of music—raw, instinctive, but intentional—that would carry through in more ways than one.

The band’s name, The Vices, is often framed as a thematic anchor for their lyricism and sound, but Jonathan sees it more simply. “It doesn’t mean anything to me personally,” he says. “I just like the way it sounds and looks.” He takes a more literal approach. “Like, if you look at different bands, for example, The Black Keys, they’re not actually black keys. That would be really weird.” 

Floris jumps in. “Yeah, I think I pulled it from a Cage The Elephant lyric.” Jonathan doesn’t react, and Floris keeps going. “I heard it in one of their songs, and I was like, fuck, that’s it. We were just these little shits, always active, annoying, not really caring about anything too much. But when we started playing, people were like, ‘Oh… this is actually good.’ That’s what reminded me of the name, us being these irritating, shitty little fucks that people underestimated.” In a way, vices weren’t about recklessness, but about perception—how others saw them and how they defined themselves in response.

That perception has changed. If being a menace once felt like a defining trait, younger generations are redefining vices altogether—drinking less, steering away from self-destruction, and embracing a more conscious lifestyle. Floris rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, the whole ‘Oh, that’s a rockstar’ thing.” Jonathan chimes in, “People assume if you’re in a band, you’re just drinking all the time, doing drugs, and sleeping with prostitutes in motels.” Floris glances around. “You do realize we’re literally sitting in a motel parking lot right now?” They both laugh.

Joking aside, Jonathan clarifies, “We’re probably the least rock and roll band if you think of it like that. We don’t drink at shows. We don’t use drugs. We try to stay healthy.” The idea of vice, for them, has always been about something else—not indulgence, but obsession. “It’s about letting music take over your whole life and sharing that with others,” Jonathan says. It’s a force that pulls you under, something you willingly surrender to. Like a wave, it builds, grows and carries you forward before you even realize it.

Floris, as if tying the whole philosophy into a single thought, quotes Mac Miller: “Kindness is underrated.” He pauses. “You have to strive for being kind and doing what you love.” In a way, their interpretation of vice reflects this generational shift—less about reckless rebellion, more about confronting both the pressures around you and the doubts within. That conflict is at the heart of their latest release and third studio album, Before It Might Be Gone. Sonically, the album refines their signature mix of jangly indie rock, punchy rhythms and sharp melodies, pulling in elements of Britpop swagger, surf-inflected guitar work and the kind of driving, restless energy that underpins their live performances. There’s a looseness to their sound. Raw and unpolished, but never without intention—reflecting both the turbulence and catharsis of its themes.

“It’s about someone trying to find themselves, going through the rough, dark sides of who they are, figuring out what they don’t like about themselves,” Jonathan explains. “But it’s got a happy ending. Coming home. And home can be anything. Your friends, a place, an album. It can be whatever you make it.” Floris nods. “And when you come home, there’s this feeling of unconditional love… It’s just there, waiting for you. That’s what this album is really about. Not being so hard on yourself.”

Jonathan, thoughtful for a second, adds, “Everybody has vices. You can look at it negatively, or you can just accept that it’s a part of life.” He pauses and looks out of the car window. “It depends on how you deal with it. That whole unconditional love thing, it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world.” The album’s journey of Nostos—of finding one’s way home—had no map or compass for The Vices. They never set out knowing exactly where they were going, but that was never the point.

For Floris, Before It Might Be Gone’s creation was just like every other. “You write music without an intention, unconsciously. And then when you look back, you start piecing together what it was actually about. For us, it’s always a reflection of ourselves. And in the process, you end up making things clearer in your own life, too. It really helps.” Jonathan sees it in a slightly different way. “Each of us takes something different from the finished project. That’s the whole thing about being in a band, you’re still individuals, bringing your own experiences to the music, but you’re doing it together. It’s personal, but it’s shared.”

Self-reflection comes naturally to Floris. Looking back, he admits, “I have a very naïve outlook on the world… and on myself.” Jonathan considers this for a second before adding, “This is probably more about the music than the lyrics… but what I really learned was that music is more of a feeling than it is sound.” Touring internationally pulls them between the raw energy of cramped rooms and the vastness of festival crowds. Floris finds it harder to connect with a massive audience, while Jonathan takes longer to settle into smaller shows. And though the music is the focus, feeling makes its way through, no matter the stage.

A turning point came for Floris during their San Diego show. “I noticed I was less focused on the notes I was playing and more on what I felt in my gut. If that’s what happens live, that’s a beautiful place to be. I’d never experienced it that consciously before.” That moment, that feeling, was proof of something greater—that they weren’t just moving forward, but moving with purpose, toward something deeper, something lasting—before it might be gone. And if there’s one thing The Vices have proven, it’s that they’re all in—no hesitation, no backup plan, just music as home, wherever that may be.