Wildbirds & Peacedrums

August 26, 2010

On the way to this gig, a friend asks for a description of Wildbirds & Peacedrums. “They make your insides shake,” we tell them. He raises an eyebrow. Another friend adds “but your heart is in your mouth.” He looks faintly suspicious as we arrive at the (lovely) Lexington.

Vocalist Mariam Wallantin and drummer Andreas Werliin formed  Wildbirds & Peacedrums whilst studying improvisationl music together at the University of Gothenburg in 2006. Four years, three albums and a marriage later, the couple’s sound is still rooted in structured improvisation and experimental collaboration.

Tonight, the Lexington is populated by an audience of bearded industry types, eager to pass their personal judgement on Rivers, released this month on the Leaf label. The album brings together previously vinyl-only  EPs Iris and Retina.

The duo open with ‘The Wave’, a bluesy track off Rivers featuring steel pans. Like The Gossip played at the wrong speed, it’s a swagger of signature-shifting simplicity. Next up is ‘Chain of Steel’, which we are told is the first song they ever wrote together. A vocally-led incantation, the track draws on Wallantin’s Iranian roots in its Persian rythyms and patent emotional intensity.

The unique dynamic between the two is made explicit on ‘My Heart’ (with Wallantin repeating the key lyric “I am lost without your rhythm”). There’s a mutual support between the two that extends farther than a purely musical partnership and allows for vulnerability in performance. And with the support of Werliin, Wallantin offers us an incredibly generous performance – at one point even abandoning the microphone and with it any mediatised divide between audience and performer. Like Bjork, her eccentricities are sometimes classed as affectation – yet it’s clear that this is expression rather than pretension. She means it.

A sore-throated Kate Bush collaborating with a loose-limbed Chris Corsano. In the best possible way. Sore-throated in a rich, husky, enviable way – rather than spluttering and sick. Loose-limbed in a spacious, instinctive way – echoing the vast Scandinavian landscapes from which they hail.

By the encore, my insides are shaking and my heart is in my mouth. My eyebrow-raising friend and the bearded industry types are cheering like they mean it.

Reading Festival

August 27-29, 2010

When the music at Reading Festival begins on Friday (following a boozy Thursday session in the town centre), a hangover is as welcome as the evacuation of vomit that preceded it (said sickness is still being blamed on an salmonella-friendly campsite BBQ on Thursday night). As the phrase goes, time stands still for no man (even one with a hangover) and a now-successful remedy is to get a cold pint of Gaymers (other ciders are available, just nowhere near the festival site) and head off to see some bands.

The early afternoon begins with Frankie & The Heartstrings, Surfer Blood and New Young Pony Club, and all benefit from a fresh crowd keen to jump around and revel in the weekend. Girls provide a welcome decline in pace, even if the crowd aren’t as supportive, waiting patiently for closer ‘Lust for Life’.

By the time Two Door Cinema Club hit the stage the arena bars have all been located, and the aforementioned hangover is a distant memory, which is lucky as this set was the real surprise of the weekend. Sure, ‘Tourist History’ is a decent album, but to fill out the tent with such an energetic crowd leaves the band looking almost awestruck. Reading regulars Biffy Clyro always draw a big crowd, but lead-singer Simon Neil’s questionable bleach-blonde beard and pink jeans combination is something that can’t be overlooked, no matter how good their set is.

Mumford & Sons draw the biggest non-headline crowd of the day on the NME/Radio 1 Stage; such is the desire to see songs with accordions and banjos that many people are forced to watch on the outside screens, with hoards of punters clamouring to get just a glimpse inside. For some people, there are probably a million better things to do whilst waiting for sub-headliners Phoenix.

Despite not personally watching them, it is almost compulsory to at least make reference to Guns N’ Roses, as (for the wrong reasons) their hour-late arrival is amongst the most notable moments of the entire weekend. Hearing reports from friends and other notable figures on Twitter makes the decision not to buckle to temptation and check them out entirely worthwhile.

LCD Soundsystem and Marina and the Diamonds are the main beneficiaries of the lack of activity on the Main Stage, but James Murphy edges out Ms. Diamantis on the basis that his band’s days are numbered (however much everyone wants another LCD album) and they play out the first day with a superbly well-received set that spans all three of their records so far.

After the shambles that was Axl Rose the night before, Saturday is crammed full of bands eager to announce themselves punctual, or to have a dig. Whilst they are obviously entitled to an opinion, bands without a particularly prominent stature (for example, Hadouken) attempts to gain a quick laugh seemed a little disingenuous…

Besides the promising return of Everything Everything to the festival (after playing the BBC Introducing Stage last year) the day is spent at the Main Stage. This is lucky, as the clouds disperse, making way for welcome rays of sun. Mystery Jets are joined during their set by recent collaborators The Count and Sinden, whose single ‘After Dark’ gets everyone dancing.

The Main Stage is home to some acts that have moved up the festival ranks over time –  The Gaslight Anthem, The Maccabees and The Cribs all show they are willing (but more importantly, able) to showcase their wares to some of the biggest audiences they have played in front of at festivals. For The Maccabees and The Cribs it’s a last chance to perform to festival crowds before heading back into the studio to work on new material.

When it comes to reunions, The Libertines’ set is destined to go one of two ways: either a disjointed mess which would effectively ruin the legacy they had garnered over the last ten years, or a performance worthy of their (rumoured) £1.25m fee which would leave those there desperately wishing for more. What transpires is emotional to watch, and to see Pete Doherty and Carl Barat on stage together again is something that many thought would never happen again.

In terms of Reading/Leeds headliners, Arcade Fire might not be the most obvious choice, but of the three on offer over the weekend, they are the band with the most to gain from the festival, and lead singer Win Butler humbly acknowledges that they didn’t have a hit song, but are just pleased to be playing. A set that comprises of their best work from ‘Funeral’, ‘Neon Bible’ and recent release ‘The Suburbs’ may just about cement their place amongst the festival elite.

As most of the weekend has remained dry, it seems only predictable that Sunday’s weather would not be so generous. Still, this means that heading towards the NME/Radio 1 tent is an even better decision, with sets from The Joy Formidable, personal favourites Los Campesinos! and Mercury Prize nominees Wild Beasts, drawing bigger crowds than they may have initially expected.

A quick wander around the arena leads to the BBC Introducing Stage, where The Drums draw a rather sizable throng for a cynically well-publicised ‘secret’ appearance on Radio 1’s Live Lounge. Whilst their recent single goes down well with those gathered, a ropey cover of Arcade Fire’s ‘We Used to Wait’ is mercifully forgettable and sees the numbers dwindle substantially.

In the Dance Tent we see Four Tet and Metronomy. The former, whilst sounding amazing, isn’t a great visual spectacle – and might as well be dancing round whilst playing ‘Football Manager’ with iTunes in the background . Joseph Mount et al play the majority of their only ‘proper’ album, ‘Nights Out’, throwing in a couple of old tracks for good measure.

Sunday evening is a mixture between musical past and present wth, with Paramore, Klaxons and the supremely witty We Are Scientists, mixed with the likes of Weezer and Blink-182. In a weekend full of reunions and returns, it is only fitting to roll back the years and laugh at jokes about masturbation, giving Barack Obama a blowjob and covering Jedward singles with Tom DeLonge, Mark Hoppus and Travis Barker.

With measures taken in the campsite to curb most of the ‘traditional’ anti-social behaviour in the early hours of Bank Holiday Monday, Reading Festival might be returning to the point where the music is more important than rioting – roll on next year!

Weezer's Rivers Cuomo, from near the front of main stage: atop a sign, below a screen

August 28-29, 2010

Leeds Festival is a sheer delight. The crowd isn’t necessarily dead excited for one band in particular, more enthralled by the sheer amount of things at its disposal.

(The following review ignores the Friday because, unfortunately, I wasn’t there. Sadface-”boo” me.)

Saturday’s main-stage bill is killing me (not good ‘kill’) with its entire line-up of  ‘dumb’ schtick, skate-punk, nu-metal and rap metal FUSION (perish that thought) from the super-late ’90s/early ’00s, bravado, and jokes about wanking and Mexicans.  An attempt to make myself more informed will inevitably be met with criticism that Reading/Leeds’s selection of bands within said header is A Good One, but I can’t tell my Limp Bizkits from my Good Charlottes. I last just 10 minutes through the way of Blink-182’s headline set, because I don’t understand what it feels like to jump around as instinct – even though I realise how prematurely aged that makes me sound. Are brains less instinctive to use? Were they even more unfashionable back then, when this was big?

I was rathermore into Darren Hayes, Artful Dodger and my Pure Garage I compilation at the time you see, so I can’t remember. And I therefore have a total lack of nostalgia for the Saturday bill. “But it’s Weezer,” I hear you cry. “But it’s a melody, just like Darren Hayes’s,” says your mate. You’re both right; Weezer are great fun live, and I forget my preoccupation just like a good girl oughta. Frontman Rivers Cuomo climbs on everything, crashing and falling like the class joker… and a complete and utter buffoon.

I’d probably be more “but it’s Weezer” myself if I held Pinkerton on the pedestal most music-loving people seem to, but without that it’s little more than a half-fun/half hideously valueless “sure you’re still having a mid-life crisis dude, but where’s your self-respect?”-type situation. “And where’s yours, you Savage Garden loving dimwit?” I hear you cry; I’m not sure, truth be told, but can conclude that I need more – and needed more, at 15 – than fulfilment in a 10-second space.

Back in my comfort zone, it’s immense to see Magnetic Man getting all amazing as the sun sets, and the audience’s reflexes at their danciest. And it’s more than the 10 seconds that the music reverberates for, as the beats are met with a veritable quake by the entire packed tent. I’m excited by just how simultaneously The People head-bop, raise arms, and “lose it” to the familiar doof/lurching-doof rhythms. Bass drums pound, settle and infiltrate with such force that I ponder whether Skream, Benga and Artwork possess Godly powers. And that’s excitement, m’lord.

Summer Camp put on another of the weekend’s great shows, with Jeremy Warmsley and Elizabeth Sankey – now without the band – as shiny and adorable as they are on their records. ‘Veronica Sawyer’ is just beautiful, and not-on-record ‘1989’ particularly shines through; the romance and twinkles of their sound are presented with a stride that’s getting more charming each time I see them play. The choruses are so crashing that they could – and should – be loved by hundreds of thousands.

And now for the gratuitous MAN-rock vs. LADY-pop angle of the piece, wherein I can carefully disguise the gap between the music I was brought up on, with – the bill. Queens Of The Stone Age‘d be a force akin to the power trio of Magnetic Man if Josh Homme’s eyes weren’t busy rolling back and forth during their most manly of manly numbers, ‘No One Knows’. Marina and the Diamonds gives me more in the way of danger… if danger is thought of more as steadfastly-stuck-to tautologies.

Ms. Diamandis a superstar regardless of who she’s terrorising, and ‘Shampain’ is her gold-card. Her machine-like demeanour isn’t new, but to see it hit the sycophantic crowd exactly where it hurts is super-special. Her preposterously self-obsessed songs come to life through an icy, impenetratable wall that I’m happy to sit behind. Marina wears the pop star outfit, does the pop star poses and really gets the fame game.

The pleasures continue with Yeasayer, save a mid-set lull because it’s just too darn much to be that damn obvious for so flipping long. Blood Red Shoes have a ruddy great time later on, and I do too. Everything Everything are all I could wish for at their secret-ish set to an enthusiastic crowd late on Sunday, but I’ll spare you that and direct you to the 1,800-word spectacular that is my words on Man Alive, instead. Hell, I’ve been writing for a long time now.

Thanks Leeds, it’s been fun. And a special thanks to Gaymers for hosting us, and Avis for the means to drive up at the last-minute.

L.E.D. Festival

August 28, 2010

Competing with established gurnfests SW4 and Creamfields, not to mention the might of Reading and Leeds tempting tens of thousands out of the capital, it is somewhat of a bold move for L.E.D. Festival organisers to launch a new two-day dance event on the August Bank Holiday weekend. Reports from Friday were ominous; an extremely patchy bill topped by the horrifically turgid David Guetta was matched by a low turnout, mud and a barely audible soundsystem. Boasting the likes of Aphex Twin, Friendly Fires, Leftfield and everyone’s favourite comedy South African rappers Die Antwoord, surely the Saturday would fare better?

After negotiating the obligatory Victoria Park police sniffer dogs – and witnessing some poor chap being led off in handcuffs – first port of call of the day is zef-as-fokk Die Antwoord over on the minuscule main stage. Despite a humble crowd, chav-on acid Ninja, strangely alluring pixie Yo-Landi Vi$$er and masked decks maestro DJ Hi-Tek treat the show like it’s their Wembley Stadium. Entering in their trademark white hoodies, the unlikely-looking trio quickly launch into their biggest tune ‘Enter The Ninja’ complete with Yo-Landi’s naggingly catchy, high-pitched “I am your butterfly” chorus. Fears that they’ve peaked too early are soon quashed thanks to their gloriously cheesy stage antics. Highlights amidst the “zef” shouting include YoLandi in gold bling waving her ass at the crowd singing “I got what you want boy but you’re never gonna get it”, Ninja dancing like a knobhead in ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’ boxer shorts and the pair’s simulated fight in animal costumes during the encore. True, their rap-trance tunes are naff, but Die Antwoord more than make up for it in outright weirdness.

A short visit to the Annie Mac curated tent is cut short when grime MCs Boys Better Know astonishingly start chanting “oggy oggy oggy, oi oi oi” and beckon “we need more girls down here!” Even a brief outburst of pissing rain doesn’t halt my quick exit. Now, alongside death, brilliant Friendly Fires shows are surely one of the few certainties in life? – or so I thought. Unfortunately, the band are the first victim of the day of the shoddy soundsystem. Despite Ed MacFarlane clearly giving his all, his vocals are barely audible while the bass reverberates out of the speakers like a wet fart. The sad result is that usually shimmering tracks like ‘Jump In The Pool’, ‘Paris’ and ‘Lovesick’ are flat and fail to get the pulse racing.

Bizarrely, the sound recovers from its lurgy just in time for Goldfrapp. Dressed in basically a  shredded binbag, Alison Goldfrapp still manages to look resplendent as the band dispatch a fuzzy electro set dominated by their current album ‘Head First’ alongside the likes of ‘Strict Machine’, ‘Number 1′ and ‘White Horse’.

The summery vibes are all a stark juxtaposition to the fucked-up techno carnage of Aphex Twin in the dance tent. Flanked by a impressive strobe setup, Chris Cunningham is unrelenting in his warped aural onslaught of crunching bass lines, bleeps and almost alien sounds. Die Antwoord’s much rumoured guest spot doesn’t quite materialise but they do bound on stage briefly in their animal suits during a bowel-shakingly dark number. Nice. Cunningham duly saves the weirdest to last, coaxing the paranoia of the wide-eyed capacity tent with 15 minutes of screams and shrieks.

With the dance tent now finished, it ensures the crowd over on the main stage for headliners Leftfield is the largest of the day. Despite Paul Daley no longer touring, guest vocalists and a full band performing alongside Neil Barnes ensure the set is far removed from the knob-twiddlery of kindred spirits Orbital and The Chemical Brothers. With darkness now set in, ‘Leftism’ classics like ‘Release The Pressure’, ‘Song Of Life’ and ‘Open Up’ sounds as voluminous and ground-breaking  as they did 15 years. Never wavering, the set is epic throughout and comes to a suitably crushing climax with “that song of the Guiness advert” ‘Phat Planet’.

So, despite the odd sound hitch, the second day of L.E.D. Festival is saved by the strong bill. Whether organisers will be able to propel the festival to new heights in 2011 remains to be seen.

Mirrors

August 21, 2010

Some genres never truly go away, always bubbling under the surface ready to come out of the woodwork for their umpteenth revival. Whilst some artists contribute to the evolution of genres, others are content in recycling the same old formulas and are more than happy to add to the stagnation of certain forms in the knowledge that there will always be an appreciative market, unwilling to even tiptoe out of their musical comfort zones. They’re happy to hear the same styles, lyrics and visual trends rehashed. Younger music fans, some with a limited musical vocabulary, may have genuinely never heard well-worn sounds before, completely unaware or even unperturbed by jaw-dropping unoriginality.

Brighton’s electro four-piece Mirrors seem to fall somewhere between these two processes. Whilst they seem heavily indebted to the clean, tight and often dour semblances of the early 80’s, which in turn borrowed masssively from the straight-faced mechanics of Kraftwerk, there’s a meatiness to the rhythms which tends to pull the proposition over the right side of 2000 – making their signing to Skint seem quite appropriate. Taking to the stage in the more-than-intimate location of York’s Basement (the adjoining cinema’s internet café by day/comedy and gig venue by night – we count 37 people), vocalist James possesses the kind of downcast, airy croon typical of many vocalists associated with the early 80’s electro-pop movement. Opener ‘Fear Of Drowning’ sets the scene adequately – brooding, and weighty, but lacking the killer hook needed to stamp their arrival on stage. The lack of live drumming keeps the music tight, but perhaps compromises the energy and dynamics often needed to separate live performance from record.

Visually, it’s very clichéd – skinny ties, suits and slicked back hair do not help Mirrors’ quest to carve out an individual identity, lined up like Kraftwerk with the ends rotated 90 degrees. The welding of modern beats with synths reminiscent of early Gary Numan or Visage is an appealing enterprise, but with bands like Delphic and Hot Chip paying homage to the past without it becoming the defining aspect of their sound, it all seems a bit redundant, dealing in opportunisitic morbidity like an electrified White Lies. The reason La Roux’s shameless revivalism worked was not only because had she worked on a unique image for herself but she had one or two blinding singles – a great song being a great song regardless of it’s genre or vintage.

Mirrors, on the other hand, lack the heart-stopping moments required when tackling an old genre in such a typical fashion. Their textbook electro-pop doesn’t sound very far away from how it looks on paper. By the time we reach the big-chorused 2009 single ‘Into The Heart’, it starts to become annoyingly formulaic, the presence of synths making Mirrors seem no more forward-looking than the landfill guitar Luddites we all finally lost patience with two or three years ago, and the fact that they’re are about to embark on a tour with OMD as opposed to a contemporary band speaks volumes about the comfort zone they operate in.

Having said that, there’s the odd infectious moment – urgent set highlight ‘Ways To An End’ is a catchy, uptempo, number – kick-drum heavy and instantly memorable yet there’s something about the whole proposition that just doesn’t seem to click into place. It’s functional and proficient, but decidedly unloveable, and offers up very little that hasn’t been done to death more convincingly, a very long time ago.

Green Man Festival

This review has to start with a total confession of my journalistic bias: Green Man Festival is my favourite place on Earth. Consider my hat firmly in the ring on that one. Just like kids hanging up their stockings for Santa, or lonely middle-aged housewives hearing the thumping beat of the X-Factor opening music, the foreboding doom of black cloud moving over the horizon of an otherwise kind-of-dry summer fills me with an excitement that can only mean one thing: Green Man is coming.

Holding an outdoor event in the middle of a Welsh mountain range is asking for a bit of drizzle at the very least, but this year brings rain to an unprecedented degree. When I say “rain”, I don’t just mean “heavy rain” or even “really heavy rain”. I mean some serious, turning-it-up-to-eleven, next-level biblical shit. The sort of Noah’s ark weather that could get a festival of a less steely constitution cancelled. So it’s to Green Man’s glowing testament, then, that in spite of the weather (and, to some degree, even because of it) this year’s festival is every bit as magical, fulfilling, groovy, relaxed, mischievous and downright brilliant as any other year.

Needless to say, the shelter-providing Far Out Tent is pretty popular during the downpours, and that’s where I spend most of my Friday with synth-led party-starting bands keeping hips shaking and hands clapping all afternoon. Later, stage headliners Fuck Buttons pull the crowd into a far deeper euphoria with their destructive volume and ever-towering walls of noise. By taking their early-career propensity for punishing abrasion and combining it with a more dance-friendly approach, the live experience of the Fuck Buttons has evolved into a powerful and transcendent force to be reckoned with.

Thankfully, Saturday night at the Main Stage is a somewhat drier (if not less muddy) affair, meaning that Billy Bragg gets the fifteen-thousand strong sing along that his working class anthems were written for before making way for the jaw-dropping stage show of the Flaming Lips. Deftly combining their more hard-edged new material with stripped down sing-along versions of old classics, the clearly joyous band spends their hour spewing an obscene amount of confetti, streamers and balloons whilst hammering out the tunes. Being near the front and in the thick of it is life-affirming to be sure, but you can’t help but wish that you could simultaneously be at the top of the arena’s natural amphitheatre so as to take in the full panoramic view of the Lips’ multicoloured volcano set against the backdrop of the stunning Black Mountain range – a view you won’t find at any other festival in the world.

Sunday evening’s headline performance from Joanna Newsom – who has regularly played the festival since its humble beginnings – is an unsurprisingly mesmerising affair, despite a new wave of rain and a visible sense of fatigue within some of the crowd. Going by in what feels like a flash, Joanna offers up material from all three of her albums, including a good number of her 10-minute-plus epics as well as – to the delight of the crowd – some old favourites like ‘Peach, Plum, Pear’.  With Newsom’s vocal timbre enriched by a flawless backing band of rhythm and strings, the crowd falls strikingly silent for the duration of the set – utterly enraptured by the spellbinding nature of the band’s swooping embrace.

Despite this year’s cathartic midnight burning of the green man (for those who don’t know – a giant made of foliage sagely overlooks the festival site) being literally dampened by worsening rain, the towering flames and stunning fireworks still provide a fitting conclusion to what remains one of the most undeniably special weekends of the festival calendar. How special exactly, you ask? Well, allow me to put it this way. During his Saturday night set with the Flaming Lips (after fifteen thousand people join him in impersonating bears, frogs, helicopters and tornadoes) Wayne Coyne himself declares – with a sincerity that can’t be faked – that Green Man is the best festival he has played in over 10 years. That’s how special. Beat that Latitude.

August 13 – 15, 2010

As I walk through the transformed grounds of De Montfort Hall and the surrounding grasslands of Victoria Park I’m reminded of the final day of Leeds festival 2009, and of the final day of every Leeds Festival I have attended previously. I recall waking from a fitful sleep to the crump of exploding aerosols, face warmed by the distant blasts and the horizon shimmering with clouds of escaping gas. As I groggily, slightly hurriedly, pack up my tent, I look over what remains of the campsite that had become vividly familiar over the past four days. Many others are also packing up, but I’m surprised at how many have abandoned their spent campsites. I’m also surprised how many of those abandoned sites are on fire. My throat and eyes become raw from the green plastic of burning tent.

The final hours of Summer Sundae are an unexpected relief from the primal, ritualistic no-man’s land of Bramham Park. After my first experience of Leeds Festival’s latent threat of violence and desire for catharsis that so traditionally manifests itself by attendees setting fire to anything that can be grasped, I had become accustomed to it, expecting it each year and even getting caught up in the hysteria myself, forgetting that the outside world even existed for a brief weekend. As the surreal, unaccompanied howl of a thousand singing ‘Sex On Fire’ in the Summer Sundae Silent Disco in the Last.fm sponsored ‘Rising Tent’ adjacent to the ‘loud’ campsite (a ‘quiet’ campsite also exists for families and those who want a decent night’s sleep: I declined) turns to a chorus of boos at the one AM curfew, I half-expect the worst. But there’s no rioting; just a gaggle of happy, intoxicated people, singing and stumbling back to their tents, to bed.

I shouldn’t have been too amazed by that; it’s the sort of laid-back, fun-loving attitude that Summer Sundae is synonymous with. Set in the picturesque De Montfort Hall that had a month earlier hosted my graduation ceremony, the festival has all the festival trappings you would expect: typically priced food stands which, after lukewarm campsite beans are worth every penny; a fairground bazaar; pear cider – but on a smaller, more relaxed scale. Security is just strict enough to make you feel safe, but never imposing. Nothing is confiscated (Umbrellas, Leeds Festival? Really?) unless you’re underage.

Four main stages are dotted across the site, along with various smaller stages. The largest of these being the aptly titled Main Stage, set in the courtyard of the hall itself. It was here that, through a murky Saturday morning, Gaggle congregated to unleash their doomsaying act. Clad in eyewatering costume, at first their choral sloganeering jars a little with the morning crowd, but song by song the spectacle attracts more curious onlookers and, by the end of their set a sizeable crowd is chanting along to ‘I Like Cigarettes’. Later that evening, The Go! Team return after what seems like an age and also pull in a huge crowd, their mix of air-raid guitars, sassy raps and schoolyard chants sounds better than ever in a live setting. It’s great to have them back.

Nearby is the Musician Stage, showcasing many Leicestershire acts such as the By The River collective. Consisting of various alumnus of Leicester’s vibrant reggae-rock scene, their music is summery, fun and pulls in a huge, sweaty crowd of hipsters, families and general good-timers alike into the tiny canvas tent.

Inside De Montfort hall is the Indoor Stage, which on Sunday was curated by Drowned In Sound. A jetlagged but charismatic Catherine AD lulls a contented, hungover few early on Sunday with her sweet, gentle piano playing. More lively are Summer Camp, whose naive, old-time vocals blend perfectly with surf guitars and burbling, bass heavy electronics. The Besnard Lakes, in comparison both to Summer Camp and the majority of the other acts throughout the weekender, are headcrushingly heavy, but gifted with a terrific melodic sense and mastery of their instruments, particularly on highlights of their second album ‘The Besnard Lakes Are The Roaring Night’ such as the stomping call-and-response of ‘Like The Ocean, Like The Innocent Pts 1 and 2′ and the sparkling ‘Albatross’. Better still are Canadian transplants Caribou on Saturday, whose smoky, jazz-influenced new effort ‘Swim’ is played in full. The skittering, gentle beats of the record are replaced by a staggeringly weighty live drummer, and the band drag out their songs into dynamic, hypnotic whirlwinds that leave the crowd stunned as they duck away following an apocalyptic ‘Sun’, stumbling outside into the long-overdue sun having witnessed something like the best performance of the weekend, perhaps their lives.

Summer Sundae is for this seasoned festival-goer; not just a side-dish of a festival to accompany a main course of one of the larger, more famous British weekenders, but a truly great gathering in its own right. The intimate, friendly atmosphere is a reminder of what a festival should really be about, and it is a credit not only to the organisers but also to the city of Leicester itself. Highly recommended.

V Festival

August 22, 2010

V Festival is often deemed one of the more ‘uncool’ festivals to go to, as Glastonbury reigns supreme, and Reading and Leeds give smaller gatherings such as Bestival and Latitude a run for their money. Despite this, we went along to Weston Park in Stafford to watch the bands put on their Sunday finest for a jolly good show.  

Our day kicks off with Australian pop singer Gabriella Cilmi. Her most famous track, ‘Sweet About Me’, is received with rapturous applause, but the crowd start disappearing, having heard the only song they’d come to listen to. Unperturbed, Cilmi struts her way through various other songs, including ‘On A Mission’ and ‘Defender’, a ballad during which she invites the audience to kiss their loved ones.

Paloma Faith continues the pop vibe, adding touches of jazz to her set on the 4 Music Stage.  Not overly convinced by her music before, her performance is so easy and talented that I leave feeling rather impressed.  Introducing each member of her band, they all get the chance to do a small solo, which she encourages the audience to cheer on.  The set includes all of her big hits, including ‘New York’, ‘Do You Want The Truth Or Something Beautiful’ and ‘Upside Down’.  Faith ends her set with a mediocre rendition of Etta James’s ‘At Last’.

Next on the list are Editors.  Familiar only with their singles (but liking them all), the first few songs of the set are lost on me, but the Birmingham band wins over the rest of the crowd and goes on to do ‘Bullets’ and ‘Munich’, along with their other hits.  Though they’re not great at engaging the crowd between songs, the band are excellent.

Lissie takes on one of the smallest stages of the venue, with a smaller crowd than she deserves.  The American singer-songwriter is very chirpy and chats easily with the audience between songs, excitedly telling us she’s been allowed extra time for her set due to the person after her pulling out of their slot.  Past single ‘When I’m Alone’ and soulful ‘Oh Mississippi’ go down very well; as does her finale, a cover of Lionel Richie’s ‘Hello’.

Ellie Goulding fills the Juke Stage tent, though, humbly thanking the crowd every five minutes for turning up and singing along.  With hype building around the singer all year, I’m interested to see how she holds up live – and she doesn’t disappoint.  ‘Starry Eyed’ naturally ends the set and is well received by the ecstatic audience.

Despite Florence and the Machine not chatting much to the crowd, Florence has everyone eating out of the palm of her hand, singing along.  She starts with ‘Drumming Song’, making her way through the album tracks and really showing off her powerful vocals before leaving us wanting more with ‘Dog Days Are Over’.

Kings of Leon end the evening as thousands of people turn up to see the band, who fill their hour and a half set with new and old favourites like ‘Four Kicks’, ‘Molly’s Chambers’, ‘Call On Me’ and ‘Sex On Fire’.  The quartet, not known for their conversational skills, prefer to get straight into each song – although lead singer Caleb announces near the end of the set that the show has been one of his favourites “ever”.  In a magical moment, the crowd unites to sing the penultimate song of the evening ‘Use Somebody’, and it seems the perfect ending to the festival.

V Festival does indulge a wide range of tastes, and there aren’t many festivals you can say that mix grime, pop and rock in the way that V does.

Grammatics

August 20, 2010

About a month back, and seemingly out of the blue to the majority of us, Grammatics announced their intention to split, citing insurmountable financial woes as the primary cause. I have watched their latter days with interest, both as a fan of the band, and also as someone intrigued by the machinations of the music industry. They have fallen back on online resources to repay their debts by selling off band paraphernalia, merchandise and little exclusive treats like access to rehearsal time and gigs in people’s gardens. While it has been disagreeable to see a band having to resort to flogging off parts of their history, it’s also encouraging that these days they would have the means to be able to do this to break even, and it has also allowed them to draw a neat line under their story with a final tour and a farewell EP.

Tonight sees the very last leg of their send-off, the last ever Grammatics gig which takes place (of course) in their hometown, and features (of course) two locally-based support acts. Opening band These Monsters are gloriously chaotic, battering the shit out of their instruments, themselves, and our ears. Their songs are messy, unkempt, but thrillingly energetic, and they seem to raise the Brudenell’s temperature to sweltering levels which don’t diminish for the rest of the evening. After the frenetic implosion of These Monsters’ set, there is a sea change in tone when Blue Roses steps onto the stage. There is an endearing sense of awkwardness around her between song chat, which belies the extraordinary, spellbinding voice upon which her music hinges. There is a clear debt of gratitude owed to Joanna Newsom, but it’s difficult to quibble when the songs are so beautifully presented.

By the time Grammatics emerge onstage, it is pushing eleven o’clock and there isn’t a soul in the room not drenched in a not-altogether pleasant cocktail of their own and someone else’s sweat. There is also a strange feeling in the tangy air, a mix of anticipation and sadness that this is the very last time that this band will play together. Indeed, one girl at the bar feels the need to tell me about how much she is going to cry tonight, and enquires whether I will experience the same response. Now I’m a bit too stoic a boy for all that (and, to be fair, probably not as drunk as my interlocutor), but as the band commence with the stuttering, swooning ‘The Shadow Committee’, there is no denying that it does feel a little emotional.

WOMAD

Hi! My name is Sebastian, I am 15 years old and I love music – which is why I took the opportunity to write this report on the amazing WOMAD festival, which I think everyone should experience. Here is my personal account of the whole thing:

Friday: My first event at Womad was having to voluntarily help set up a camp in the disabled campsite – altogether twenty tents, to be exact. it showed how good the facilities at Womad are in both the disabled camping and the three other camping zones. After this, it was time to head back to my camp to get ready for the first evening ,which started with the chilled out with folk melody of Stornoway in the Siam Tent – a truly amazing welcome to Womad.

This was closely followed by the sounds of blowing horns and banging drums from Soil and Pimp Sessions over at the big red tent, which was a perfect opportunity to warm up some dance moves ready for the bass bandit Poirier featuring Face-T. After a small break, I then finished off the evening with traditional tone and rhythm from China in the form of Hanggai, the perfect wind down for the first of the three mad nights one is bound to encounter at Womad.

Saturday: After a slow wake up I ventured into the arena for a walk about, catching some of Toubab All Stars, Dan Sultan and Gilzene & The Blue Light Mento Band whilst helping disabled youngsters get to see and hear the Toubab All Stars, which they all enjoyed. After that, I settled down to La Brass Banda who were quite simpily a blast. This flowed into the ukulele orchestra who did a successfully adventurous version of Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, which then gave way to a visit back to camp to refuel for the evening ahead. The evening then re-started with Sofrito Sound System, who brought back the groove and sent the bass pulsing through my feet. This flowed so well into Don Letts – one of my highlights of the festival – who brought reggae to the scene with some of his spectacular DJing; it sent a rhythmic vibe through my head. The evening ended for me on the most relaxed mood I have had in a while.

Sunday: This was thee last day of a mindblowing festival, and the slowest to start as the festival tiredness kicked in. I had a hard time gathering enough energy to turn out to Rolf Harris, who was a mad man who definitely knew how to entertain an audience. He had everyone singing ‘Two Little Boys’ and it was very moving. I was then in need of a power nap before the evening so I returned to the arena two hours later for the amazing JazZstePpa who got everyone jumping across the earth’s surface in the big red tent. After this dubstep affair we strolled over to the afro Celt Sound System who were a pleasure to dance to. There was always a beat of a drum or the call of a trumpet egging you on to enjoy yourself, and that is exactly what me and my friends did.

We then headed back over to the red tent to see DJ Kentaro, where once again everyone was dancing with glee and excitement. After these lovely but tiring sets we headed over to an interesting project called the roots architecture where a team had to build four different stages out of recycled materials, which hosted four different musicians- I was lucky enough to catch the last of the four, a breath-taking beat boxer named Rory who came form my hometown Stroud which got us all chilled out nicel. It went on until the early hours of the morning and was my favourite part of the whole festival.

All in all, this was definitely a WOMAD to remember, and thank god the weather was generous to us.