Ashton Court Festival, 22nd July
Last year we braved the Big Walk, pausing for lunch at the Novia Scotia and trudging the long miles up the hill to the festival but not this time. This year we take the bus. By heading further up the hill than most we get a bus without having to queue in the sun all day. The 'community' is out in force, estimates put it below last year, but it certainly feels more crowded. We pay our nine pounds, all discussions about the pros and cons of such a price hike given that the festival is arguably worse than previous years now exhausted. We still pay what they ask. Why? Well it's still a great festival, albeit over-advertised and it's still only the price of a shoddy covers band at the Fleece. The 'so-called community festival' shock this year is Killer-Kola branded energy drink Relentless, who sponsor the amphitheatre stage...
Treehouse Burning are playing the amphitheatre when we arrive. I pause for a few songs because they are somehow related to someone I work with. I soon realise I'm going to have to go back to work and tell her that I think they're unimaginative indie guitar pop who seemed to go down well with some people on a sunny afternoon.
We cross the festival site, past some pop band on the main stage and pop in to the Duck Son and Pinker Acoustic tent to see Amelia Tucker. She seems to be pretty hot property at the moment and I can see why, there is a strangeness about the songs that sets her apart from your usual singer songwriters. While Ms Tucker has a lovely voice, in most of the choruses it seems like she is trying to escape the tune, often appearing to be in a different key to the rest of the band. The music is great, but this melodic weirdness leaves a bitter taste in my ears. Perhaps this is why the word 'jazz' is used in descriptions of her. The GF makes me steal a squeaky duck from the front of the stage.
On the main stage, Se Fire are pumping out the tunes, good old 'old school' rapping over a DJ hip hop and some storming drum and bass. They are followed by a troupe of can-can dancers who brighten up the afternoon with their cheeky shenanigans and fancy knickers.
A quest to meet some friends forces me to endure the last few songs by The Dirty Whites who are a kind of forced trendy punk-by-numbers 'bad on purpose' kind of band. I recently had a fierce argument with a journalist in my own home (is no one safe?) who claimed they were the greatest rock phenomenon since, well, rock and all that other so-called punk stuff. The trouble is that it sounds bad, the music is contrived and uncompelling but apparently this is supposedly why it's so 'great'.
Thankfully some feelgood festival reggae from Small Axe saves my ears and breathing a big sigh of relief we enjoy the sunshine while waiting for Emily Breeze and the Dobermen. Following in the footsteps of Patti Smith and PJ Harvey and most other women who play noisey indie punk with a dash of strange it gets a bit annoying after a while. Perhaps in a different context Ms Breeze would seem more appropriate but here it is much too harsh.
For a break from the music, we watch Chimaera do some pyrotechnic juggling, billed as 'dance and martial arts'. There is little of either but it's always a pleasure to watch skilled jugglers/poi/other-burning-things people risk setting their hair and each other's clothing on fire for our entertainment.
My Ambulance Is On Fire isn't actually on fire, but he is certainly angry about something. The white noise and electronics deny us any comprehension of words save for a quiet moment where he complains about not getting laid. Surprisingly, the tent doesn't empty and people are even dancing to the hyperactive distorted noise techno screaming.
Some interesting sounding African music draws us into the Colston Hall Marquee where we discover Moya, who are playing some great afro-pop tunes. They ruin it by playing some convoluted jazz-funk-afro stuff afterwards that seems a bit too clever, but there is a lot of dancing and hands in the air nonsense. It is also a much better option
The set of the day however, and my main reason for coming to this Ashton Court, is Rose Kemp showcasing her new band and plugging her new album. It's been a while since I saw Rose with a band and the songs have matured nicely, her voice is incredible and I think she makes a lasting impression with all those present. She has a proper album out on One Little Indian and it is just as great.
And so it ends. The bus home is painless and on Sunday I leave my sunglasses at the zoo.
