As the offspring to a much revered musician parent, the path towards potential success can be handled in one of two ways; your family name can hang around your neck like a crippling anchor, forever impeding creativity for fear of being accused of piggy backing. Or, you can fearlessly show off the name, brimming with family tree pride and making little effort to tread too far from where mommy or daddy previously trod. It takes only a few seconds of Fomo’s opener ‘Neurotic World’ for it to be clear that Liam Finn has chosen that second option – this is a Finn album, no doubt and one that dad, Neil, would be very proud to call his own.

Liam Finn - FOMO

There’s no piggy backing here at all though as Finn Jnr is as effortlessly talented as his father. As already mentioned, the voice is almost identical and tonally, it’s perfect for the warmth required to create an emotional bond with the listener which is so often lacking from other pop music of this ilk. Liam’s songwriting, although not quite at the heights that Crowded House got to with their biggest chart pleasers like ‘Don’t Dream it’s Over’ and ‘Four Seasons in One Day’, is assured enough to deliver a track like ‘Cold Feet’. The song has a confident, chart friendly swagger and whilst we’re not quite in ‘timeless classic’ territory, it sounds like Liam has it in his locker to deliver one at some point in the future.

There’s a good variety of sounds on Fomo aided in part by the one string in Liam’s bow that his dad doesn’t have – a genuine talent at the drum kit. ‘Roll of the Eye’ for example begins with a soft bouncy ball drum beat, then later in the background of the chorus, there’s some unusual cymbal/bell interplay and the song ends with a solo of sorts, merging both sounds and cranking up the raucousness. ‘The Struggle’ brings to mind further Finn Family comparisons but this time – the slightly lesser known Uncle Tim. Crowded House’s Woodface featured Tim Finn as a full time member and his slightly madcap and kooky sound is all over that album just as it is on this Liam Finn track. The incessant Peter Gunn theme style bass and warped keyboards, give the song an almost nightmarish quality, backed up with the at times, incomprehensible lyrics,

“You drink the juice and I’ll suck out the bone marrow.”

Fomo comes over like a ‘Liam Finn presents the Best of the Finn Family’ with a slight contemporary edge. It’s a strong family heritage that has made a strong album and hopefully in another twenty years, there will be another Finn generation taking over the mantle from granddad Neil and daddy Liam.

I’ve recently moved house. It’s given us an opportunity to take stock of the baggage my family has accrued over the years and though we have more room for our ‘stuff’ now, this feels like a chance to properly de-clutter and settle. Why am I telling you this? Just to make conversation really. No, no, of course, I’m doing one of those analogy things.

My Morning Jacket - Circuital

My Morning Jacket seem to have gone through a similar de-clutter process lately as sixth album Circuital is a fully stripped back, easy listening long player that displays not a jot of the experimentation of previous albums Evil Urges and Z. This is a band who have never settled in the past, morphing from their early atmospheric, howling rock to a more varied sound encompassing funk, pop, country and classic rock, whilst cementing their well deserved reputation as an outstanding live band along the way.

Casting an eye down the track listing, one song title leaps out; ‘Holdin’ onto Black Metal’. The name may pique certain expectations or fears that the track may be a repeat of the opinion splitting and inarguably goofy ‘Highly Suspicious’ from Evil Urges but oddly, despite the name and some grin inducing lines (“It’s a darkness that you can’t deny but it don’t belong in a grown up mind”) it’s an oddly restrained affair. I was expecting some mock death metal riffing but no; there’s definitely some tongue in cheek but it feels as if this is as far as the band are willing to go these days. In all honesty, the song and album are all the poorer for that approach. Certain songs are crying out for a trademark Jim James yelp followed by a jam rock breakdown but it just never comes. It’s actually a little maddening at some points, when as a fan you know what the band are capable of to hear them taking the safe route each time.

Safe and simple however do not have to be wholly negative adjectives and if anyone can make safe and simple sound successful, it’s My Morning Jacket. And they have a bloody good stab at it. ‘Circuital’ would have fit quite nicely on the It Still Moves album with its sweet echoey vocals and free love guitar jangling. It has an optimistic, wholesome sound from a bygone era which is a real ear refresher in these dark, cynical times. ‘Wonderful’ goes a step further. It’s almost naively sweet in its theme on…well, just feeling good. “I’m going where there ain’t no police. I’m going where there ain’t no disease.” Can you Imagine that? It’s easy if you try. ‘Outta My System’ reinserts the tongue very slightly into the cheek delivering a ‘drugs are passé’ message through sunshine Beach Boys vocals. Taken on another level, James may well be singing about the band’s output – they’ve been there, done that, got it out their system and this is where they’ve landed.

I’m left torn over how I feel about Circuital. The best way I can sum it up is that it’s the best disappointing album I think I’ve ever heard.

We’re still surrounded by cardboard boxes in our new home and we’re quite adamant that we won’t move again – I sincerely hope that My Morning Jacket get itchy feet and do decide at some point to move on again cos this is a band that ought to be all about V-shaped guitars, smoke machines and big beards, not a band resting on their laurels in the middle of the road.

13-15 May, 2011

We live in hard times, friends. Not hard like it was back in the 20s, 30s, 40s and 50s obviously, or even the early 80s of course but you know, bread is pricey these days, so pretty damn hard. The enforced economic cutbacks are far reaching and have inevitably spread to everyone’s favourite indie-cred festival, ATP. Now down to just one May festival from the previous years’ 2, one will become none in 2012 due to a big dip in ticket sales caused by all manner of possible reasons; a perceived lack of quality in the curators and invitees of recent years, too much choice in the festival peak season, general overkill and that phrase much used of late: ‘tightening of the belt’.

FRIDAY

After our first ever traffic issues getting to Butlins and then sorting out an apartment mix up (we’re given non catering accommodation when we ordered otherwise), I am verging on desperate for my first ale of the weekend and this is accompanied by the lo-fi solo ditties of Highlife. It’s a gentle musical introduction, pleasant enough but fairly forgettable. Dent May was a bit of a let down when he was behind his promising ‘magnificent ukulele’, now strumming a standard acoustic, he is even less interesting than before.

At this point, it’s clear to see that numbers are well down on previous festivals (rumours suggest that only 55% of the ticket allocation was sold) and this leads to some pros; MUCH shorter queues at the bar, less packed stages, and some cons too; no Pavilion stage, less atmosphere. Lee Scratch Perry tries his very best to get the smaller crowd whipped up and he’s pretty successful at it. It’s not often you’re in the presence of a supposed legend and while the 70 year old’s archetypal reggae gets my toe-a-tapping and my head-a-bobbing it doesn’t quite get my pulse-a-racing. Extra marks to the stylish pensioner though for wearing the most ostentatious outfit of the weekend; a kind of mashup of a German World War 1 uniform, adorned with Prince style robotic chrome. 

Grouper‘s slight soundscapes are just too minimal to make any kind of connection. Perhaps this is a timing thing following on from Mr Perry but I’ve seen plenty of similar acts who have made a far greater impression from equally slight levels of output. Big Boi, on the other hand, is far from minimal. As the name would suggest, he is big and boisterous and though hip-hop is far from my favourite genre of music, Mr Boi is surprisingly engaging.

SATURDAY

The Meat Puppets (Photo by Peter Harris)

Saturday starts with the footy and the successes of Manchester – this puts a smile on this United fan’s face and on the face of my City following festival accomplice. The Meat Puppets only add to the joy, playing their classic album Up on the Sun in its entirety. Although the album is 26 years old and some of these songs may never have even been played live, the set is a clear front runner for act of the weekend. The brothers Kirkwood clearly still revel in playing live music and they thank Animal Collective for setting up the obstacle course of having to re-familiarise themselves with an album over a quarter of a century old.

Ariel Pink looks like a trouble maker. Awkwardly hunched over, with arms loosely swinging, there’s an air of petulance surrounding him as if he’s always only 30 seconds away from a tantrum. An unlikely front man embodying the stage apprehension of Kurt Cobain with the apparent temperament of Axl Rose; the music however is miles from either. Pink’s Haunted Graffiti are a total anachronism playing music from 2010 which sounds like it’s from 1979 in that era of slight cheese before the big fromage of the new romantics came along. It takes a while to click but when it does, our group all agree that the show is surprisingly enjoyable.

Beach House are an absolute joy. The set list is wisely heavy on Teen Dream and Victoria Legrand’s voice fills the room magnificently, never better than on my favourite song of last year, ‘Zebra’. Kurt Vile and The Violators, in contrast, prove to be disappointingly bland, lacking all the spark that made them a fairly enticing prospect on record. 

At this stage, I am probably less excited about seeing Animal Collective than any of the past ATP curators. I really like Merriweather Post Pavillion but having seen them before and knowing how they work live, ie, they don’t tend to actually play their songs, choosing instead to ‘jam’, improvise and rework, the pull of bed seems equally if not more enticing. But when in Rome…

And to be fair to Panda Bear and co, they work so much better here then when I last saw them. Yes, if you’re waiting to hear ‘the hits’, you are going to be sorely disappointed but the disco party vibe they create is actually pretty good. I don’t manage anywhere near the 90 mins of the set but I’m happy while it lasts.

SUNDAY

Deep Fried Mars Bar

The cut backs strike again Sunday lunch time as we head into Minehead for our traditional Sunday roast in the slightly ramshackle yet charming pub, The Hobby Horse. As we near the door though, our hearts sink with disappointment as we see a pile of unopened post behind it. The Hobby Horse is no more. We find an alternative but it’s just not the same without the drunken locals and scabby carpet. At least my wife is able to continue her somewhat icky tradition of grabbing a deep fried Mars Bar from the local chippy (well, I say icky but they’re actually much better than they look, or smell for that matter).

Later, Group Doueh gives ATP a new unlikely hero. As Doueh and his band belt out their Hendrix flavoured traditional African/Arabian music (yep, really), one of the band’s 3 backing singers OWNS the stage. Possibly the second oldest artist at the festival after Lee Scratch Perry, she shakes her shawled booty across the stage, milking the cheers with a near constant double thumbs-up gesture. Only at ATP! The Entrance Band then bring us back down to earth with a boom of a bass. Paz Lenchantin, previously of Perfect Circle and Zwan is the true lead of this band though she doesn’t sing. Her prominent bass grooves are the anchor for the fairly straight forward psychedelic rock trio. They’re a welcome slice of normality.

The brief taste of normality, however, is skewed again as Prince Rama begin their set. They are a female duo, comprised of simple percussion and keyboard/samples, backed with Far Eastern-tinged vocals. Joining them on stage is a quite beautiful bharatanatyam (classical Indian) dancer who aptly represents the duo’s output. The immersion is only slightly broken when we find that the traditional Indian dancer is called Melissa!

We want to like Tickley Feather more. Annie Sachs is very excited to be here, infectiously interacting with the crowd in between songs. But it’s the songs that let her down today in a set which is far, far too quiet. The potentially pretty music ends up sounding wet and insipid. Sorry to say, but TF are the let down of the weekend.

As the weekend draws to a close we catch 2 more, polar opposite acts. Atlas Sound is gentle and swirly and simple, Bradford Cox once again at ATP, comes over like a shy, bumbling geek. It’s nice and that adjective is all that’s required. Gang Gang Dance throw everything and the kitchen sink into their music, some of it sticks but in general it sounds like a chaotic and often annoying mess. 

I have mixed feelings as we drive home. The dominant one is back ache but that’s to be expected. I am a bit sad that there will be no more May ATPs for the foreseeable future. Minehead has its charms in the spots of pleasant weather that May occasionally brings. But as you may have gathered from the above ramblings, this has not been the strongest ATP in terms of music, in fact, this is easily the weakest lineup of the 7 festivals I’ve been to. It wouldn’t have swayed me from booking next May’s however because regardless of who curates and who is invited, ATP is the only festival of the year which I absolutely cannot miss. I’ll be back in December.

Backlashes against popular, critically lauded debut albums are all but inevitable in the often snobbish world of music fandom. Fleet Foxes was undoubtedly a very strong first long player, becoming a beacon and standard-bearer for 2008’s love affair with folk music.

Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues

The backlash took a while to manifest and it was mild in comparison to other fickle falls from grace; prompted not by anything the band had done, more the way the internet has become a jostling ground for everyone to post their opinions on anything and everything. In the case of Fleet Foxes, the forums were asking ‘it’s not that good though is it?’ and whilst I personally echoed this to a certain extent, my semi-gripe with the album at the time was one of questionable staying power, a fear proven two years later with the album case growing a covering of dust rather than a smearing of smudged finger prints.

There will be no backlash or such doubting against Helplessness Blues for it is absolutely the masterpiece that the debut was often purported to be. It’s on the theme of doubt where the album begins, with the telling opening to ‘Montezuma’: “Oh now I am older than my mother and father when they had their daughter. Now what does that say about me?” This questioning of Pecknold’s self worth permeates throughout the album; has he achieved enough at the tender age of twenty five? Is his ‘job’ worthwhile? Perhaps a career of harder physical graft would quell these fears as he ponders on the album’s title track, “If I had an orchard, I’d work till I’m sore.”

What he or nobody else can doubt is the strength of Pecknold as a songwriter and vocalist and each of these qualities, the former especially, have matured to great effect for this second album. Where before songs set their stall in the first minute or so, here, they ebb and flow, embracing you in swirls of harmony in one moment, soothing in effortless space the next. The two double-named tracks ‘The Plains\Bitter Dancer’ and ‘The Shrine\The Argument’ are like nothing Fleet Foxes have done before and are perfect examples of how Pecknold has upped his game considerably. The former haunts with aching, echoey wails, holding back with beautifully measured control. The latter begins under a veil of shadow, with Pecknold’s strangled vocals howling from the dark, later returning to the hymnal staple of the Foxes past, finally culminating in an incongruous jazz sax skronk. It’s unusually epic for a band who have kept song form very simple up to this point.

It’s almost unheard of for a second album to be this much better than the debut, especially considering said debut only lacked a certain something, that extra layer that keeps it essential. Helplessness Blues is essential now, it will be essential in two years time and well beyond, don’t doubt it.

“It’s not who you are, it’s who you know.” – a phrase that might at first seem appropriate to Jesca Hoop’s slow rise to relative prominence. Originally a nanny to Tom Wait’s children and then championed by our very own champion, Guy Garvey, it wouldn’t be overly cynical to say that Hoop has been given a helping hand to get her where she sits today. At the same time, it’s “who you are” that first gets you noticed by “who you know” and if Hoop’s smoky vocal tendrils hadn’t ensnared Garvey, then there would have been countless others in his place.

Jesca Hoop - Snowglobe EP

At a recent gig, Hoop told those in the crowd that she was feeling lonely in her new Manchester home and it is on this theme that we begin the Snowglobe EP, with ‘City Bird’. The track aches with clear feelings of homesickness and solitude represented by the sound of the song which has a very solo, minimalist quality and also lyrically, “City bird, fly away from my window, cos you don’t sing like the birds from home sing” and “I set the table for the ghosts in my home.” Hoop’s vocals are husky and drowsy and she infuses every single utterance with melody and forlorn character.

‘While you were away’ again, dwells on being left alone, “Your home is warm cos I’ve kept it warm”. The track has an otherworldly sound, almost coming off as a creepy Wicker Man style homage.

The EP’s title track hints at the larger arrangements from Hoop’s first 2 albums but there is none of the playful quirks from those earlier releases, perhaps a symptom of Hoop’s state of mind when the EP was written. The final track, ‘Storms Make Grey The Sea’ really hammers home how Hoop was feeling at the time. Whilst a solo a cappella is a brave way to end an EP, this feels like a missed opportunity based on Hoop’s ability to arrange vocal harmonies. Perhaps this is one step too far into Hoop’s introversion. Hopefully she finds some friends and joy in Manchester soon, as Jesca Hoop sounds much better when there’s more light in her output.

If Danielson’s 2006 album Ships was the sound of an excitably tireless toddler who’s just sneaked into the food cupboard and eaten a bag of sugar, then The Best of Gloucester County is the same child grown up, suitably admonished for past silliness and with a freshly garnered grip on reality. That’s not to say that Daniel Smith and his myriad of backers have lost their sense of fun and playfulness, it’s more that they’ve found a counterpoint to the mayhem and are as confident and comfortable in playing it straight and low key.

Danielson - The Best Of Gloucester County

Understandably, Smith opens the album with his lively foot forward with the brilliantly titled, ‘Complimentary Dismemberment Insurance’. The track begins with real momentum and as Smith’s unmistakable vocal squeak cuts in, it feels as if you’ve stumbled upon the song half way through its play time. This enticing skill, one that Danielson have used before, is the equivalent of an author attempting to grab the reader’s attention in the first paragraph of a book. There’s no gradual settling in here; you’ll know if you like the album or not in the first 30 seconds.

The album in general is soaked in optimism. The keys are always major and the music feels joyful and uplifting. Smith is a happy man and obviously draws some of this joy from surrounding himself with friendly collaborators. Sufjan Steven’s unmistakable banjo plucking adds light throughout and Smith always looks to bring levity to the music despite how many people and instruments are involved. The collaborative party feeling is hammered home on ‘People’s Partay’ where Smith beams with pride on what he’s created; “This block party will be great. I am an event planner by trade. Come join us and dance all day.”

‘Lil Norge’ is a slightly odd beast. It tips the scales a touch too far into the saccharine, approaching the twee of Belle & Sebastian. The lyrics at first back this up with the chorus begging “Can we be friends? Can’t we be friends?” but delve a little deeper and it becomes apparent that the froth of the music is hiding a more adult message about the complexities of forming and keeping international allies.

The folk carnival is wound down significantly for the second half of Gloucester County giving the overall album its feeling of depth, variety and maturity. ‘Olympic Portions’ spends its opening 2 minutes in a lovely Autumnal snooze whilst ‘You Sleep Good Now’ is a pretty and straight forward folk song. ‘Hovering Above That Hill’ has Sufjan Steven’s imprint stamped all over it, coming off like one of the jangly interludes on the Illinois or Michigan albums.

But the standout in this second half and possibly the album as a whole, is closer ‘Hosanna in the Forest’ sounding much like a wind chime orchestra backed by a woodland nymph choir (not a description I imagine I’ll ever use again). The song is not particularly fitting or representative of what’s come before it but it’s about as sweet a wind-down as you’re ever likely to hear and shows perfectly what kind of writer and musician Daniel Smith has grown into.

Merely mention the phrase ‘prog rock’ to most music fans and they’ll turn their nose up as if you’ve just unwrapped a block of ripe Stinking Bishop before them. The genre does tend to conjure connections in one’s mind; that chin scratching, real ale drinking, beardy nerd who thinks that Terry Pratchett is the funniest man on Earth. The kind of people who don’t ‘feel’ music but dissect it. Even the phrase itself ‘prog’, as in progressive, has a kind of holier-than-thou feel, as if it’s more than just your bog standard rock. It might as well be called ‘pedestal’ rock. But the ‘p’ word doesn’t have to be a dirty one. For every chin stroker band like Yes and Rush (entertaining as they are), there are more restrained, sensible proggy alternatives such as Anathema and Porcupine Tree and it’s in this camp that we find Amplifier.

Even before the play button is hit, The Octopus impresses. Three years in the making, two disks and a running time of two hours – this is an album that screams BIG. Most impressive however, is the fact that this mammoth album has been created without a single penny from a record label. Forget the prog rock tag; Amplifier are an indie band in the original, truest sense of the word.

You should never judge an album by its cover and marketing blurb, as the old saying goes but in this case, thankfully, The Octopus is equally if not more massive and impressive when you do get round to pressing play. We start with instrumental opener ‘The Runner’ which, even sans lyrics, manages to convey the album’s thematic preoccupation with the vastness of the universe. As ‘Minion’s Song’ starts, the first thing you’re struck with is how much Sel Balamir sounds EXACTLY like Feeder’s Grant Nicholas. Balamir’s delivery is a little more crisply English, a little more clean and polite but it’s pretty uncanny how close the two voices are.

Muse’s ‘Butterflies and Hurricanes’ is also a reference point here as ‘Minion’s Song’ has that same piano led, rock opera style. Elsewhere, other band’s influences creep in; the riff in ‘Interglacial Spell’ is pure Led Zeppelin, ‘Trading Dark Matter on the Stock Exchange’, possibly the least successful song on the album, sounds very Pink Floyd and ‘The Sick Rose’ has a Far East vibe reminiscent of Tool’s more introspective moments. I make all these comparisons not to suggest that Amplifier are rip offs, nor that they wear their influences too readily on their sleeves, I mention these bands as The Octopus seems to somehow encompass them all, as if it’s an encyclopaedic entry into the library of prog rock.

As with pretty much every double album ever created, it’s a bit of a slog to get through it all in a single sitting and disk one is unevenly loaded with the album’s better tracks (‘Interglacial Spell’, ‘The Wave’, ‘Planet of Insects’). However, The Octopus is one of the most meticulously crafted albums I’ve heard in a long time. You really can hear how everything’s been honed to perfection over the past three years. The band’s self titled debut from 2004 will no doubt seem somewhat flat after listening to this behemoth and if that’s not progressive, I’m not sure what is.

Torche - Songs For Singles

Releasing an EP must be a liberating experience. It gives a chance for any band to smash the shackles of expectation associated with the album making process, unburdening the artist from any stylistic choices imposed by themselves or the studio. In the case of Songs for Singles, Torche have cut their own reigns as the eight slabs of pop metal on offer here practically fly out the stalls, sounding suspiciously like they’re pumped up on performance enhancing drugs.

It’s not as if Torche have ever messed around in getting their grove going (there was certainly no meandering on the un-aptly titled Meanderthal album) but previously, the band’s sub three minute songs have kept to a fairly simple riff based verse chorus verse format. Here though, on the opening six tracks, none of which get near the 2:30 mark, the riffs ebb and flow relentlessly and nothing feels obvious or predictable.

Opener “U.F.O.” for example, offers three or four riffs based on a theme, all are great and each could carry a four minute track on their own. Perhaps none of the riffs and beats here are anything out of the ordinary but it’s the deftness of how they’re handled and shifted around which gives the whole EP a palpable sense of adrenaline and excitement.

Songs for Singles isn’t quite all pedal to the metal though. At track seven of eight, Torche sensibly realise that a change is as good as a rest and they begin to wind it down some. “Face the Wall” sounds like Infernal Love era Therapy? with a great airy, epic and atmospheric sound. This slower, more deliberate pace is heard again on closer “Out Again” which sounds very much like where the Foo Fighters promised to head before they steered into the middle of the road.

Torche are one of the few heavy bands around who actually feel more vital the closer they approach radio friendliness. They still know how to pound and sludge with the best of their contemporaries but theirs has always been a softer, rounder sound which was always likely to metamorphose this way. Let’s hope the shackles stay off for album number three.

Blonde Redhead - Penny Sparkle

Some people go through life playing it safe. They order the same meal from their local Chinese take away every time, they go on holiday to the same place every year and they only ever wear plain black t-shirts cos black goes with everything doesn’t it? These people buy albums from certain bands because they have expectations that these bands aren’t going to deviate from their previous releases. You can probably see where I’m going here and although this analogy might be a little harsh on Blonde Redhead and their fans (of which I am one) you can always tell a Blonde Redhead song after the first 10 seconds and as an extension of this, you always know what you’re going to get from a new Blonde Redhead album.

Sadly however, it’s inevitable that when you rest on your musical laurels, the law of diminishing returns will kick in and this is where we are with Penny Sparkle, Blonde Redhead’s 8^th studio album. If this is your introduction to BR, Penny Sparkle may just be interesting enough to prompt further back catalogue purchases but long term fans will be less impressed. Where previous albums 23 and Misery is a Butterfly sonically soared, Penny Sparkle hides in the corner like an introverted toddler.

The album starts well enough with the sultry and restrained ‘Here Sometimes’ followed by the sparkling ‘Not Getting There’ though even these tracks, which are two of the best on offer here feel less magical and alive than the better tracks on the aforementioned albums. It’s as though Blonde Redhead have been so affected by the world’s economic instability that they’ve let an air of general pessimism creep into their music. How else can the snore fests that are ‘Will There be Stars’ and ‘My Plants Are Dead’ be explained? Both tracks are dull plods to snoozeville and in all honesty, very little from this point onwards is likely to wake you again. ‘Everything is Wrong’ may at least stir you with its promising opening but the track’s potential is squandered through aimless repetition.

Musically, Blonde Redhead have always kept things relatively sparse in the past. They deliver melody via the vocals whilst the backing music has always been simple and unobtrusive; however, there has always been a variety in delivery up til now. 23 and Misery is a Butterfly had a real band feel which was augmented with subtle electronica, on Penny Sparkle virtually all the music is delivered via synths and drum machines. This lack of variety deadens songs and creates an incredibly flat feel to the album.

Penny Sparkle feels like a blemish on an, up till now, extremely consistent back catalogue. The sad fact is that in the future, when I get the hankering to listen to some Blonde Redhead, Penny Sparkle will be bottom of the selection pile.

End of the Road Festival

September 10-12, 2010

The natural post-festival chat which keeps revellers awake on their long journeys home invariably revolves around the pros and cons of the festival. It’s telling that the worst we could come up with on our drive home from End of the Road was that it rained for a while on Saturday morning. The organisers seem to have gone out their way to improve every facet of this cosy festival but even they can’t do anything about the great British “summer”. With the cons so easily dealt with, what of the pros?

Well, at End of the Road, the non-music highlights are perhaps as important to the overall vibe and experience as the music. Where else can you see peacocks wandering around the festival grounds? Where else do you get a choice of at least 10 holistic remedies including Indian head message, an osteopath and deep tissue massage (my back’s favourite part of the weekend)? Where else do you get a choice of flawlessly good food including Arabian Boureks (crispy, filled pasty type thing), whole rotisserie chicken and spuds (my belly’s favourite part of the weekend) and spicy Jamaican jerk chicken? Then there’s the quality (mostly) of the toilets and how often they’re emptied, the family friendly vibe, cocktails including the fieriest Bloody Mary (renamed as a Scary Mary) that has ever passed these lips, the hidden gems in the wooded area such as the free for all piano area, a light up disco dance floor and a games area. If you’re bored at End of the Road, there’s something very, very wrong with you.

So, to the music. The Ruby Sons kick things off nicely in the Big Top tent with an energetic set. Their calypso-pop really is a perfect opener to the weekend’s musical proceedings. Elliott Brood keeps the momentum going with a full on, toe tapping, thigh slapping run through of their countrified rock. Freelance Whales are the first genuine standout of the weekend, promising much with their melody rich pop and delivering in spades. They’re followed by a rare dip in form with the oh so American, God fearing ditties of Jessica Lea Mayfield. Nothing wrong with her performance and she’s amiably sweet and self-effacing but the music does nothing for me. Wolf Parade however are unequivocally ace. This is exactly how a ‘super group’ should be run with Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner taking it in turns to pelt out their extremely danceable rock tunes and although their voices are fairly similar, their delivery is totally different with Krug hunched over the keyboard like a mad scientist and Boeckner all swagger and swinging hips.

Modest Mouse are the weekend’s first headliners. I don’t know a great deal of their music but they go down well with myself and the majority of the two-thirds full crowd who noticeably up the noise and activity levels for the band’s biggest hit, ‘Float On’. My personal headliners follow next with The New Pornographers. Nobody else makes music like The New Pornos anymore – catchy, grin inducing sunshine pop with big hooks and massive choruses and they end the day perfectly.

How do you annoy a hillside full of festival goers raring to start their second day? You open the main stage’s output with 5 solid minutes of ear piercing guitar feedback. These kind of raucous shenanigans are just about acceptable at the end of a band’s set if they’re noisy, guitar smashing anarchists but Forest Fire are no such band. They play fairly plodding, middle of the road country tinged tunes which are pleasant if forgettable. They really ought to consider downsizing to a trio as Mr Feedback seems to think he’s in a different band. P45 on the way I reckon. But perhaps he could apply for a job playing with Snowman because they are pretty raucous. They’re also one of the revelations of the weekend. They’re loose and noisy and not at all like any other band playing at the festival which works absolutely in their favour. Their manic, diminutive keyboard player bounces around the stage as if it’s electrified.

Phosphorescent and Iron & Wine both captivate the main stage with their respective, good time, head-bobbing country and hushed, lo-fi gems. Beards-a-plenty too which seem prevalent all weekend.

After seeing the original set which got Monotonix banned from ATP and then the second ATP set after said ban was overturned, which in turn got that same ban reinstated – I was beginning to wonder if this is a band that purposefully court controversy in a bid to hide what may be a weakness in their musical output. Well, on the evidence of today’s performance; not so. It’s a massive credit to these middle-east mad men that they keep their set so tight despite playing its entirety either lifted above the crowd or atop the recycling bins 50 yards from their original starting point. Pure entertainment.

Wintersleep sound oddly weedy and un-engaging and the full Tipi Tent gradually empties to make their way to today’s headliners, Yo La Tengo. Again, the crowd size is surprisingly small, though I suppose Yo La Tengo are far from household names. They’re so easy going that they’re unlikely to have gained many new fans tonight but still, somehow, as an often meandering trio, they fill the stage with an effortless, feelgood vibe. Once again, it’s the follow up to the headliner which manages to seal the evening in a more notable manner; it’s Caribou tonight and they perk up End of The Road with a set of big beats and duelling drums.

Sunday is our day of rest. The sun is out (mostly), the peacocks are cawing and my back is feeling a good deal better after my massage. Dylan LeBlanc, The Antlers and Yuck are all pleasant and apt backing for such a day but it’s not until early evening that Sunday’s music offers somebody of note. And what a somebody! Olof Arnalds is super kooky but also incredibly sweet and likeable. Her music is slight and gentle and she switches between English and her native Icelandic tongue effortlessly. It’s not the tightest performance of the weekend, in fact, Arnalds is probably the least polished of all the acts but her banter and mid song giggles make most of the tent fall in love with her just a little bit.

Dour Scots, Errors, get the Big Top bouncing with their electro post rock, warming us all up nicely for the weekend’s final headliner Wilco. Of the three festival headliners, Wilco are the band I’m least looking forward to but sometimes the best festival acts are those that surprise and confound expectations; Wilco are extremely good. There’s real craft in these songs and the variety of styles on show mean that despite feeling achey and tired, we are kept entertained well enough to be able to ignore our pains. It’s a fine ending to End of the Road, my favourite festival of the year and quite possibly my favourite festival full stop.