After a five=hour journey, we arrive, near crippled with numb bum syndrome, at the barriers of Minehead‘s Butlins. We are greeted by a red coat who is as camp as, well, Butlins and it takes him all of eight seconds to cram in an outrageous double entendre even though I didn’t ask him to give me one. Welcome to the wonder that is ATP.
We dump our stuff off at the chalet which seems to have been recently fitted out with a new bathroom and kitchen (hopefully next year they’ll upgrade the beds/bedding!) and we make our way to the circus of rock. Come the very stroke of 4:30 we are standing in a newly refurbished Centre Stage, pint in hand, waiting for the festival’s opening act, The Holloys. The room feels bigger and more airy and with a new acoustic suspended ceiling at the back, the sound is much improved, with the previous years’ back wall reverb bounce now almost totally eliminated. The Holloys are an almost pitch perfect amalgamation of The Clash and fellow invitees, Foals and their smooth, bass led grooves impress us and the slow trickle of early festival arrivers. They are genuinely thrilled and surprised to be here and with no label, manager or booking agent, it’s easy to share their excitement – this is what ATP is all about.
Giant Sand leave me bemused and cold. Their brand of rambling, lounge lizard, country feels like a parody, but of what, I’m not too sure. We cut them short to catch the whole of The Bronx‘s set and it’s an excellent decision. Their rare ability to meld hard hitting punk rock and melody without cheapening or dumbing down the overall effect is impressive and they storm through a great set with gusto and infectious enthusiasm.
Kristen Hirsch can melt steel at 50 yards with the intensity of her stare. There’s an odd dichotomy on display with her performance during Throwing Muses much anticipated set. On one hand she’s a tiny bundle of controlled fire, eyes blazing and throat growling on the other she’s absolutely motionless and not particularly interesting to look at. Hypnotically boring, weird. I’m surprised at how little they grab me and my long time Throwing Muses loving friend is also mildly disappointed.
Yann Tiersen takes to the Centre Stage for the second time after a very impressive previous ATP performance at Dirty Three’s 2007 festival. He surprised us back then, shunning his French side street accordion ditties for a more straight forward rock sound. We’re not surprised this time and also not quite as impressed. The Gaelic folk put to such brilliant effect soundtracking Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s magical film Amelié, might have made Tiersen’s set a distinct highlight but his indie rock compositions are merely solid and pleasant this time round.
I won’t say that Bon Iver are a revelation as I expected them to be this good. Justin Vernon‘s voice and the harmony arrangement of his backers, is at times pant-moisteningly good. ‘Wolves’ lays down the gauntlet for song of the weekend and if the Butlins’ bookies had been open, I would have put a £100 bet on nobody bettering Bon Iver’s performance across the rest of the weekend. After they finish, the rumble of our empty bellies pulls us back to the chalet and the prospect of double hip hop combo Mr Lif and J-Zone, or the blues/experimental combo of Buffalo Killers and Pit Er Pat lose out to the third option of bed.
After watching the slight anti-climax of Manchester United taking their third Premiership crown in a row and once again dodging the rain (something we did with unnerving accuracy all weekend), we begin Saturday with The Whipsertown 2000. They have a lot of charm but are let down by some flat (as in tonally) singing.
The Pavilion stage absolutely swamps duo Blood Red Shoes. Guitarist and second singer Laura-Mary Carter looks totally overawed by the occasion which is understandable and endearing even if it feels that her performance is slightly stilted. Their catchy pop rock is good but would have been great on the Centre Stage or even on the third, smaller stage in Reds. Th’ Faith Healers have no such stage jitters and put in a shift of slightly dated sounding, down tuned riff filled grunge. Easy to see why The Breeders chose them.
In this big world of ours, there is but a minute percentage of women that can get away with wearing a lyrca jumpsuit and CSS’s Lovefoxxx is not one of them. I can’t shift the feeling that I’m watching an act that would be better suited to festivals like Reading or Glastonbury but it seems that I’m in the minority as CSS’s disco punk pop gets the crowd bobbing up and down like buoys. Luckily, the antidote to CSS’s party fun is upstairs. Wire own the stage like punk royalty, playing a set that feels like a showcase for all that is and should be good about punk rock in the last 20 years. Super tight, super loud and just plain old super. Teenage Fanclub end our pre dinner section (we decide to see Shellac tomorrow) with a set of old school, jangly rock. Not sure if it’s been planned like this but they feel like the antidote to Wire’s CSS antidote. A mark off for the Scots though, as they stand behind us during the Breeders set and pretty much talk through the whole thing. A shocking lack of respect.
A pause for grub and back for this year’s ATP curators, The Breeders. I have wavering expectations, liking new album Mountain Battles well enough but finding some of the earlier stuff a bit hit and miss. I feel slightly foolish though as The Breeders waltz through a set which is as impressive as it is downright enjoyable. The Deal sisters are clearly having one of the best weekends of their lives; they’re loving this and it makes it easy for us to love them. ‘Cannonball’ predictably gets the biggest audience reaction of the whole weekend and it doesn’t just feel like the token hit single that everyone wants to hear.
What to say about The Frogs? They’re easily the worst act of the weekend but that’s only judging them on actual musical talent. In terms of entertainment, ridiculousness, crassness, theatrics and spectacle, they’re right up there. Imagine Julian Clary and Alice Cooper becoming lovers and forming a band. I’ll say no more.
The hype ball has been rolling for Holy Fuck for a while now and having heard some of their new album, including single ‘Lovely Allen’, I’m quite excited myself. We’ve even had a chalet rest, much needed to make it to the graveyard slot of 1:30. Just how good are they live? They’re good. That’s all though. Don’t dismiss the hype and don’t ignore those who claim that they put in a performance that will go down as ATP legend, just take it with a pinch of salt. They do rock and they do roll and they also bleep a bit but they lack a couple of things which hold them back from greatness. They need more highlights like the fantastic ‘Lovely Allen’ (which brings back worrying memories of last year’s Battles‘ set which felt like the floor was going to collapse) as at the moment, too many of their songs sound too alike. Secondly, it’s great having a live drummer to play with a band like this but some variation on the beats would go a long way. They were, however, worth staying up for, though I’m not sure my back would agree.
Sunday starts with Times New Viking or that’s what it says on the timetable anyway. On stage, they sound so unlike their recorded output that they could easily get away with using a different band name. I would have liked to have heard their hugely fuzzed up, effects laden music live but the cleaner sound of the live set is actually pretty damn good too. Heartless Bastards surprise me greatly too. My apologies to Erika Wennerstrom, who I’m ashamed to say I mistook as a man on hearing a few snippets of their music before the festival. She has an astonishing voice which seems all the more surprising coming from that tiny frame. The Hless Bs (as Dianogah apparently call them) are an unexpected highlight, carried a long way by Wennerstrom’s voice but worthily accompanied up by a kind of Deep South, evangelist rock backing.
Dianogah continue the Sunday line-up run of excellent music. Stage banter can go a long way and the tale of Dianogah losing out big time to Shellac and their crew in a game of poker the night before only adds to how likeable this set is. It’s a little heavy on newer tracks but this is a minor quibble when these newer songs are just a millimetre below the early stuff in terms of quality. The run of excellent music is ended by Melt Banana. I realise my name will be mud in some circles for saying this but just what is the point of this band? They belt out a random ‘mad’ din which tries to avoid form of any kind. The ATP booklet mentions that their latest drummer is extremely talented which is something I’ll have to take their word for as his ‘mad’ smashings of the kit display not a jot of it. I have to wonder if Melt Banana would be thought of so reverently if they came from Essex rather than ‘mad’ Tokyo.
Deerhunter‘s Bradford Cox turns into a bumbling geek (his own word) when he invites the Deal sisters to join the band on stage. His star-struck awkwardness is endearing and he is soon put at ease by the Deal’s current vibe of inflated excitedness, yep, they’re still having a great weekend. Together, they play an Amps cover (another of Kim Deal’s bands) which turns out to be one of the most infectiously joyous moments of the weekend. The rest of Deerhunter’s set is dreamy and swirly and unexpectedly loud.
I almost, almost lose my £100 Bon Iver bet during Shellac‘s second set of the weekend but they don’t quite make it. As the band pretty much live at ATP, you’d expect them to be ace and they really are. Menacingly jagged riffs are blasted out, feeling like a face first tumble down the side of Kilimanjaro. Todd absolutely smacks every single drum beat down with the full force and weight of his body and it’s clear that once again, here is band having unmitigated levels of fun. Yes Steve, we can hear you now.
In choosing to see this second set from Shellac, we unfortunately miss Foals, only catching the last song which sounded pretty good.
Supersuckers claim to be the best rock’n'roll band in the world. It’s a bold but woefully inadequate claim which is disproved by the clear fact that they’re not even the best band on this stage, today. They’re not even in the top three. They play catchy, riffy rock which you will have heard a billion times before. Somehow, you can’t help but admire their misplaced arrogance and they do put on a decent show but the music just doesn’t hold up. Due to severe old-man syndrome, Distortion Felix are my last band of ATP. They’re loud (very), energetic (very) and a little boring (quite). Not the closer I would have chosen but my body decides otherwise.
No time to mention non-musical highlights including:
Home made apple pie and pasta bake!
The Hobby Horse pub, its stereotyped selection of drunken characters and its quite stunning roast potatoes.
The geese that tried to peck through the glass of our chalet.
East Bound and Down on ATP TV – another classic HBO comedy.
The saving of a frog (the animal, not a member of the band) from certain death.
The best £10 spent ever on a back saving massage.
Sharing the thrill of live music with a respectful and buzzing crowd can be an infectiously excellent experience. Sadly, on the flip side, a noisy and inconsiderate crowd can not only put a dampener on gig proceedings but taint it to the point of total spoilage. A question I ask myself time and time again is why do people pay £20 to come and see a band and then spend the entire time gassing with a friend. Why not play the band’s latest album at home with a mate, perhaps serving up some watered down lager to make the experience more realistic.
I am and at least I know this, a sad, stat-loving, spreadsheet aficionado, anally retentive, obsessive weirdo.
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