topic: reviews
Submitted by dash on Tue, 19/07/2005 - 19:46.
Horrified at the thought of becoming a lazy old man I am more determined than ever to get over there, not least because the line up this year is well worth checking out. Brushing aside moans of corporate take-overs, loss of the 'community festival', vast distances and other pathetic attempts to justify not leaving the house on a glorious day. The trek is well worth it. Last year saw ugly scenes of violence erupting by the dance stage, so the organisers decided to not have any dance this year. Boohoo. Instead, they've replaced it with the 'WKD' stage - yes, sponsorship is all over the place now. Along with 6 quid x 150,000 plus sponsorship from Bath Ales, WKD (Smirnoff, innit), Jaegermeister and the great 3vil Orange, they can't be doing too badly anymore. Oh and the pound for a shitty little piece of paper 'programme' that tells you what's on. Extremely useful, but value for money? No. These Orange boys really know how to fsck things up.
Anyway, what I'm trying to say (pre-rant) is that there is plenty of dance music anyway. It's just a bit less generic. Lots of hiphop, bashment, dub, drum and bass, electronica - surely that's enough? We had a bit of a discussion about that when the clubs got together for their little protest. So on with the experience...
SATURDAY
I arrive at about 1:50pm and quickly scanning through the programme make a beeline for the acoustic tent, where Slow are about to play. I pass Dead St. Hotel at the Venue stage, a kind of generic modern rock-pop band and the main stage where they are setting up for their next act. I pause, distracted by the sound of fast Stephane Grappelli style jazz violin. In the Colston Hall Global marquee, Sheelanagig are laying down some seriously fast and furious celtic / eastern European folk jazz reels and are very entertaining. They finish with a rendition of a Polish folk tune and I finally make it to see Slow. They are like their name, unhurried gentle harmonies and the audience is hypnotised, resting after the long walk.
In the Blackout tent I slowly cook while watching a version of the apparently actually terrible Jude Law film Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which is made into a cult classic, shortened to about 40 minutes and given a brilliant soundtrack of electronica which carries the film perfectly. This should definitely be done a lot more with bad scifi, the music can appreciably change your perception of what's on the screen. Also I guess he'd cut out a lot of crap from the original film too.
Frank Dapper entertains the crowds outside, humiliating festival goers and juggling fire on top of a high unicycle. As usual, the show is all about the build up to a very impressive, albeit extremely brief feat of balance.
The Wraiths play their folk acoustic renditions of poems by the likes of Tennyson, Keats and Oscar Wilde to a packed tent. It is hard to describe how it sounds, the music fits well with the words although the guitarist is very scarey.
Some of my friends turn up. Now we have to fight to see what we want.
The Cuban Heels look set to go far. They have the sound, the upbeat guitar riffs, the pretend punk-pop that everybody else of late with lots of publicity seems to have. Whether they have the tunes and imagination to carry it off is another matter. Having said that, we leave them to see The Weary Band who suffer from poor mixing and seem somewhat more pedestrian than I remember.
A moment of uncertainty ensues, do we stay for Caroline Martin, or trek off to the other end of the site to catch Rose Kemp? The gorgeous voice of Rose wins out and she is no disappointment, playing solo on electric guitar. One of the songs falls by the wayside as the loopstation thingy suddenly decides to blast the lovely layered harmonies with loud distortion. Not sure the festival-goers notice though. She is great a cappella doing Sing your Last Goodbye to an entranced crowd. Violence seems to suffer a bit from the loss of the band, and I can't help myself feeling a twinge of regret that she doesn't have the backing. Not that it matters.
Now the event we're all waiting for, well at the announcement of 'really loud hard noise metal' most of the audience disappear as Geisha take to the stage. The space is quickly filled and from the first brutal sonic attack to the last, the front of the stage becomes a frenzied no-go area. I am gratified by the resilience of the audience, even those who seem to hate it stay put as if nailed down by the noise. This is where Geisha are supposed to be. Outside, screaming through a huge soundsystem and yet you still want to hear it louder, bigger. At the end we have the obligatory guitar-smashing, this is the biggest and best they have ever been and they are going to enjoy it.
I follow a teen metaller who excitedly runs to the front of the stage and nicks the shattered remains of the singers guitar, a trophy of the first time Geisha were truly unleashed on an unsuspecting public.
Steve Harley and the Cockney Rebel do seem to only have one song and the restless audience has to wait until the very end of their set for them to play it. Until then, it's grandiose dad-rock but when they do bring out the hit Make Me Smile, everybody wakes up and has a big party for ten minutes, suddenly remembering they're at a festival. The atmosphere is quickly dulled down again by the Super Furry Animals who, while they have made an effort to get dressed up and put on a show, are just terribly dull.
A few songs into their set, I fight my way out of the atrophying crowd and find Zion Train, who know how to have a good time. A fair amount of 'One Love' stuff ensues, marred only by the lead singer getting a bit carried away and saying that all Americans are fat lazy and stupid. Now while we like to have a go at them and their country IS going to get us all killed, I think it's a bit harsh to say ALL of them are stupid...
We make our way home down the path through the woods, halfway down the lights go out so you can't see the drunk festival goers impaling themselves on barbed wire trying to get round the bottlenecks. It seems a long trek, but it's well worth it. Home. Cups of tea. Bed.
SUNDAY
It takes a while to get moving on Sunday. After a pub lunch to get the energy up we storm up the hill and arrive as Smerins Anti Social Club get under way. They are a great funk band, lots of storming tunes to start our day (at 5pm) on a good footing.
Steveless follows, a confusion of chaotic punk, shouting and childish banter. At one point they launch into a tirade against Blackbud who are playing on the main stage at the same time, which causes a group of my friends go to see them with the logic of 'if this rabble hates them, they MUST be good'. Steveless is the kind of thing you only go to see once, just to make you appreciate everything else a bit more. A choice quote from a fellow Choker's 11 year old step-sister: he asks her if she liked it and she says 'It was OK but it gave my friend Alice a nosebleed'.
Roger Tarry is a blessed relief after that, melancholic, gentle acoustic songs to start a long Bristol session in the acoustic tent. After the rushing around of yesterday and a poor night's sleep the rest and relaxing music is much needed. Angel Tech are brilliant as always, their Jukebox song a particular highlight. I stay for Jane Taylor who captivates the audience and receives a standing ovation for her performance.
The biggest problem with Sunday is deciding what to do at the end of it. All the headliners look good and it comes down to a toss-up between Roni Size and Blackout who narrowly beat Toxic Dancehall because of the drum and bass promise. Roni Size wins by a narrow margin, mainly because my girlfriend want to go and he delivers some wicked tunes, the weak moments in the set are noticeably the old Reprazent stuff, Brown Paper Bag seems tame compared to everything else. Dynamite MC was nice enough to point out and ask the guys fighting at the front if they wouldn't mind not fighting at the front as we're supposed to be having a party. Security ask them too. Still, I have some great fun dancing and being pushed around by drunk people and there are big smiles on everyone's faces.
We cheat to get home and duck through the fence, across the golf course the way we used to go and down a long dark scarey tunnel by the side of the road back to civilisation. The flash on my phone saves us from being too scared but I'm surprised that only a few people chose to go this way. Sure, it's dark and spooky but at least we didn't have to contend with the sardine effect and barbed wire.
SATURDAY
I arrive at about 1:50pm and quickly scanning through the programme make a beeline for the acoustic tent, where Slow are about to play. I pass Dead St. Hotel at the Venue stage, a kind of generic modern rock-pop band and the main stage where they are setting up for their next act. I pause, distracted by the sound of fast Stephane Grappelli style jazz violin. In the Colston Hall Global marquee, Sheelanagig are laying down some seriously fast and furious celtic / eastern European folk jazz reels and are very entertaining. They finish with a rendition of a Polish folk tune and I finally make it to see Slow. They are like their name, unhurried gentle harmonies and the audience is hypnotised, resting after the long walk.
In the Blackout tent I slowly cook while watching a version of the apparently actually terrible Jude Law film Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which is made into a cult classic, shortened to about 40 minutes and given a brilliant soundtrack of electronica which carries the film perfectly. This should definitely be done a lot more with bad scifi, the music can appreciably change your perception of what's on the screen. Also I guess he'd cut out a lot of crap from the original film too.
Frank Dapper entertains the crowds outside, humiliating festival goers and juggling fire on top of a high unicycle. As usual, the show is all about the build up to a very impressive, albeit extremely brief feat of balance.
The Wraiths play their folk acoustic renditions of poems by the likes of Tennyson, Keats and Oscar Wilde to a packed tent. It is hard to describe how it sounds, the music fits well with the words although the guitarist is very scarey.
Some of my friends turn up. Now we have to fight to see what we want.
The Cuban Heels look set to go far. They have the sound, the upbeat guitar riffs, the pretend punk-pop that everybody else of late with lots of publicity seems to have. Whether they have the tunes and imagination to carry it off is another matter. Having said that, we leave them to see The Weary Band who suffer from poor mixing and seem somewhat more pedestrian than I remember.
A moment of uncertainty ensues, do we stay for Caroline Martin, or trek off to the other end of the site to catch Rose Kemp? The gorgeous voice of Rose wins out and she is no disappointment, playing solo on electric guitar. One of the songs falls by the wayside as the loopstation thingy suddenly decides to blast the lovely layered harmonies with loud distortion. Not sure the festival-goers notice though. She is great a cappella doing Sing your Last Goodbye to an entranced crowd. Violence seems to suffer a bit from the loss of the band, and I can't help myself feeling a twinge of regret that she doesn't have the backing. Not that it matters.
Now the event we're all waiting for, well at the announcement of 'really loud hard noise metal' most of the audience disappear as Geisha take to the stage. The space is quickly filled and from the first brutal sonic attack to the last, the front of the stage becomes a frenzied no-go area. I am gratified by the resilience of the audience, even those who seem to hate it stay put as if nailed down by the noise. This is where Geisha are supposed to be. Outside, screaming through a huge soundsystem and yet you still want to hear it louder, bigger. At the end we have the obligatory guitar-smashing, this is the biggest and best they have ever been and they are going to enjoy it.
Steve Harley and the Cockney Rebel do seem to only have one song and the restless audience has to wait until the very end of their set for them to play it. Until then, it's grandiose dad-rock but when they do bring out the hit Make Me Smile, everybody wakes up and has a big party for ten minutes, suddenly remembering they're at a festival. The atmosphere is quickly dulled down again by the Super Furry Animals who, while they have made an effort to get dressed up and put on a show, are just terribly dull.
A few songs into their set, I fight my way out of the atrophying crowd and find Zion Train, who know how to have a good time. A fair amount of 'One Love' stuff ensues, marred only by the lead singer getting a bit carried away and saying that all Americans are fat lazy and stupid. Now while we like to have a go at them and their country IS going to get us all killed, I think it's a bit harsh to say ALL of them are stupid...
We make our way home down the path through the woods, halfway down the lights go out so you can't see the drunk festival goers impaling themselves on barbed wire trying to get round the bottlenecks. It seems a long trek, but it's well worth it. Home. Cups of tea. Bed.
SUNDAY
It takes a while to get moving on Sunday. After a pub lunch to get the energy up we storm up the hill and arrive as Smerins Anti Social Club get under way. They are a great funk band, lots of storming tunes to start our day (at 5pm) on a good footing.
Steveless follows, a confusion of chaotic punk, shouting and childish banter. At one point they launch into a tirade against Blackbud who are playing on the main stage at the same time, which causes a group of my friends go to see them with the logic of 'if this rabble hates them, they MUST be good'. Steveless is the kind of thing you only go to see once, just to make you appreciate everything else a bit more. A choice quote from a fellow Choker's 11 year old step-sister: he asks her if she liked it and she says 'It was OK but it gave my friend Alice a nosebleed'.
Roger Tarry is a blessed relief after that, melancholic, gentle acoustic songs to start a long Bristol session in the acoustic tent. After the rushing around of yesterday and a poor night's sleep the rest and relaxing music is much needed. Angel Tech are brilliant as always, their Jukebox song a particular highlight. I stay for Jane Taylor who captivates the audience and receives a standing ovation for her performance.
The biggest problem with Sunday is deciding what to do at the end of it. All the headliners look good and it comes down to a toss-up between Roni Size and Blackout who narrowly beat Toxic Dancehall because of the drum and bass promise. Roni Size wins by a narrow margin, mainly because my girlfriend want to go and he delivers some wicked tunes, the weak moments in the set are noticeably the old Reprazent stuff, Brown Paper Bag seems tame compared to everything else. Dynamite MC was nice enough to point out and ask the guys fighting at the front if they wouldn't mind not fighting at the front as we're supposed to be having a party. Security ask them too. Still, I have some great fun dancing and being pushed around by drunk people and there are big smiles on everyone's faces.
We cheat to get home and duck through the fence, across the golf course the way we used to go and down a long dark scarey tunnel by the side of the road back to civilisation. The flash on my phone saves us from being too scared but I'm surprised that only a few people chose to go this way. Sure, it's dark and spooky but at least we didn't have to contend with the sardine effect and barbed wire.
