Songs of heartbreak and defiance

Bestival, Robin Hill Park, Isle of Wight, 8-11th September 2011

This was a new one. Waiting so late in the year for my main festival fix and holiday in general. The weather being what it has been this year, it did feel like we were going to pitch a tent in bleakest midwinter. As it happened, the big storms they predicted never actually hit us until Monday. Fair do’s, when it did hit us it was the remnants of a hurricane, but I’m getting ahead of myself…

Another new one was being driven to a festival. Untold luxury compared to the trains and buses I’ve had endure before. It was the furthest I’ve ever travelled to a festival, and a joy to return to the Isle of Wight, home of many a childhood holiday.

Thursday saw a full evening of entertainments being put on, but the only one we were really interested in was the return of Santigold. I last saw her back in Leeds 2008, and since then she’s expanded the band and the wardrobe. L.E.S Artistes was played ever as usual and reminded what a bloody perfect song it is. Tracks from her forthcoming second album made it sound like a very exciting prospect indeed. She even through in her Major Lazer collab Vibrate. All kinds of amazing.

Friday’s first attraction was Beardyman, looping and cutting his own voice at an unbelievable pace. The sounds he produced rivalled any instrument. Bonus points for dropping in I Think I’m In Love by Spiritualized.

Then came a rare chance to see Australian kings of cool-as-fuck dance Cut Copy. Skinny bastard frontman Dan Whitford had itchy feet behind his keyboard stack, barely keeping still for the duration of their all too short set. The sun came out and the Big Top tent became more and more full as several conga lines of drunk teenagers came in to feel the noise. It was good to hear Saturdays off their debut Bright Like Neon Love, but it’s a shame Going Nowhere couldn’t have joined it. Several tracks of In Ghost Colours got a good reaction, but it was newie Zonoscope that was the main attraction, with Need You Now bringing things to a loud and emotional climax.

Next came Patrick Wolf, a bit of a favourite of mine if you’ve been paying attention. I’ll admit Lupercalia didn’t immediately grab me like previous albums have done, but soon enough it opened up to reveal a collection of beautifully positive songs about love and that. And it was from that record that this set mostly populated, his touring band now expanded to include a woodwind player. I wasn’t expecting to hear anything from Lycanthropy, but it was odd that The Batchelor was ignored. His new album was always planned to be an opposite to its predecessor, but perhaps there just wasn’t enough time. He was playing later in the day than I had seen since 2007, but it was still only a 50 minute set. “Oldies” came in the shape of The Libertine, Accident & Emergency and a humongous singalong for (what else?) The Magic Position. But I think the night belonged to the new. House, Bermondsey Street and Time Of My Life all sounded spectacular, especially with the added muscle of the live environment. Together and The City were two of my favourite performances of the festival. Patrick Wolf just doesn’t know how to disappoint.

Saturday was Big Dressing Up day, which annoyingly coincided with the worst of the weather. That only amounted to a brief but heavy shower, and with that out of the way we made it back into the arena in time for most of Dan Le Sac vs Scroobious Pip. It had all the wit and anger you could ask for, although I did spend most of the set looking around me wondering who everyone else’s costumes were meant to be.

Some exploring around the site lead to a science tent with, amongst other things, a soldering class, a sound table and a TARDIS. Wonderful stuff.

A few hours and many ciders later, we found Cocknbullkid in one of the smaller tents. Within the space of 2-3 spins, Adulthood became one of my favourite albums of 2011. Lively in tone, self-deprecating in lyric and resplendent in her attire, Anita is a star and has the tunes to prove it. Another set that went by all too quickly, I was right down the front making an out-of-tone fool of myself. And I didn’t care.

From out of nowhere, PJ Harvey is having one of the best years of her career. Unfortunately for alcoholic reasons I wasn’t really paying attention. Not being too familiar with Let England Shake, and also as a result of her playing around with the arrangements of other songs, I only recognised a couple. But fair play to her, you get the feeling she’s only ever done things her own way.

A theme is forming, unfortunately I’d had too much to fully appreciate a 2 ½ hour set from The Cure. Robert Smith still sounds every bit as haunting as he probably did several years before I was born, and I had a good little dance to Love Song and Just Like Heaven, but unfortunately the bad apple juice got to me and we bailed. As a punishment they went and played all the massive tunes after I left. Bastards!

Needless to say, Sunday started out a little slowly, but eventually we got started and had more of a wander around the site. This is certainly one of the more beautiful festivals I’ve been too. The atmosphere and the people a lot more on my level than others I’ve attended in recent years.

When I saw Kelis at Parklife back at the start of the Summer it was a far cry from the superlative performance of the year I’d seen at Big Chill 2010. However this blip was soon forgotten as she owned the afternoon. The addition of a live drummer put a bit of much needed pulse into the backing tracks. Kelis had arrived as Master of Ceremonies, killer pins on show and giving it her all. It was the third time I’d seen her do this set, other people’s songs thrown in and everything, but her charm and honestly shine over everything. Bounce got a huge reaction, as did Milkshake and Trick Me. But still nothing from Kaleidoscope! Curses. Acapella will always be amazing. End of.

Sunday evening contained the two acts I was most looking forward to, having never seen full sets from either of them before, so we claimed a spot down the front and prepared ourselves.

Robyn was probably the highlight of Bestival for me. Body Talk is a sensational album, songs of heartbreak and defiance fighting against a punishing backdrop of beats. She moved, she grinded, she took off her clothes AND she ate a banana. Not really sure what it meant, but it was bloody amazing. The Girl And The Robot never sounded better. Be Mine, Dancing On My Own and Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do all equally spectacular. And Indestructible. It was an exercise in How To Be A Star. We can only watch in awe.

Then came Bjork, another act who’s only ever answered to herself. Accompanied by two instrumentalists, a 30 piece choir, a whole load of apps and a bloody huge wig, Bjork admitted it wasn’t the perfect time to play an unreleased album in its entirety “but I’m going to do it anyway”. Crystalline was the most familiar of the new songs, with its 8-bit app looking like a Game Boy game of old. Hidden Place came along at just the right time, and from then on the set played just the right balance of old and new. It would have been preferable to be more familiar with the new record, but it didn’t stop her performance to be anything other than breathtaking. The choir were a definite highlight, well choreographed and sounding divine. Joga, Isobel and Hyperballad all came with new arrangements, Joga sounding like heaven itself as the choir took on the string arrangement. Declare Independence close the set, the day and my first Bestival with a thundering cry to match the storm we battled the very next day, with all the choir joining Bjork for a literal wig-out.

Then came the fireworks, the giant glowing men and the end of yet another festival season. To say I waited so long for this one, I certainly wasn’t disappointed. With no Glastonbury in 2012 I can’t think of a better festival to replace it in your schedules and in your souls.

Lethal Drizzle

Moving house, lack of internet and general Stuff has kept me from posting this so far...

Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 22nd-24th June 2007

Watching Glastonbury on TV is like aliens looking at Earth from space. You get a sense of scale, it looks beautiful, confounding, like nothing else…but you really don’t have a clue what it’s like until you’re there.

It’s almost worth going just to cut through the mythology and cliché. In a way, after viewing what appeared to be a never-ending canvas metropolis on the small screen, it wasn’t long before it became A Festival Site, just like the others, with muddy paths and shit toilets. But of course this wasn’t like any of the others. This was the greatest festival on the planet, viewed from the sky or more traditional ground locations.

The bus journey down was a living hell. Cattle to the slaughterhouse get better rights than the eight hour journey we were put through. This was mainly down to “Steve” and his lack of festival site navigation. That and quite a few other people had heard about this little event and also wanted in.

To write a review about Glastonbury and only talk about the music would be repetitive and more than a little overdone. The following were seen, even in a vague context during some more comatose tent-based moments:

Reverend & The Makers, The Cribs, Modest Mouse, Good Shoes, Bright Eyes, Super Furry Animals, The Coral, Rufus Wainwright, Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Björk, Brakes, The Long Blondes, CSS, Klaxons, Pigeon Detectives, Babyshambles, Gruff Rhys (twice), Editors, Mr Scruff, The Holloways, The Enemy, Sunshine Underground, The Marley Brothers, The Rakes, The Go! Team, Jamie T, Chemical Brothers.

But some performances really need highlighting, and the finest was surely Arcade Fire. The matching uniforms, the bizarre swimming pool videos, the delicate apocalypse of instrumentation that completely hypnotised the audience into total devotion. Numerous biblical references that weave through their new album have turned Win Butler into a paranoid preacher, his wiry frame stuttering with fear and compassion. His band, his gang, fly and crash around him, with the percussionists losing none of their sense of self-mutilation. And the songs…being at the festival means I missed the television coverage, but if No Cars Go wasn’t used over the ending montage then something is wrong. Rebellion (Lies) can’t be put into words. And the closing chant of Wake Up was echoing around the crowd long after they left the stage.

Then for some unknown reason I pushed against the crowd for half an hour to go see Arctic Monkeys. Yes, the songs were all present and correct, but something was very unremarkable. Dizze Rascal’s appearance would have been a highlight had his microphone been switched on. So it was back to the Other Stage where I managed to catch the last five songs of Björk’s set, and wished I’d stayed for the whole thing. She is without comparison. Hyperballad never sounded more beautiful, and everyone left wanting to get hold of one of those electronic Tetris block tables that was abused during Declare Independence.

And thank fuck for The Go! Team, the one band that made me forget the rain, mud, piss and shit that surrounded me and, with the help of quite a bit of cider and gin, made me dance like a twat. With only two bands above them on the Other Stage, Ninja appeared truly humbled in front of the huge crowd that had gathered before them. Inexplicably sandwiched between (ugh) Mika and (ARGH) The View, it was fantastic to see the energy and bounce supplied by the shed load in the Arts Centre was switched to IMAX-sized enjoyment.

Honourable mentions must also go to Good Shoes, Pigeon Detectives and The Rakes for tight performances, to Jamie T for being as charming as always and to Gruff Rhys to admitting he was in a worse condition than anyone watching him.

Disappointments have to include Rufus Wainwright and the Chemical Brothers. Rufus was on fine banter form, but just playing his new so-so record in its near entirety isn’t the festival way. 14th Street and The Art Teacher were the only old songs we were treated to, but he does gain point for providing the first “moment” of the festival. He brought on Martha to perform a under-rehearsed yet sublime rendition of Hallelujah. And the Chemical Brothers not playing The Private Psychedelic Reel is just pointless.

A quick paragraph about the weather. Now I realise Dot To Dot’s winter conditions were just toughening me up for the main event. There was a imbecilic piece in the NME that basically said “why was there mud?” You’re in a field. It rained. That makes mud. And really, you’ve got a waterproof, you’ve got your Wellington boots, you’ve got a shitload of booze, what’s the problem? I can’t say I noticed it after a few cans. For the first few days we were lucky, only in the sense that after it shat it down for half an hour it was then dry for the rest of the day. Only Sunday was a downer with its unrelenting drizzle. The worst came on Monday, eviction day, when the showers just wouldn’t stop. The muddy path that had doubled in size since I pitched my tent next to it had formed a free flowing river of shite. I left my tent behind. I regretted this decision halfway up the M4, but there you go.

Glastonbury, so They tell me, is in danger of losing touch with its roots. It has sold out. According to NME, it’s in danger of “pricing out the real fans”, and that there was a “noticeable lack of young people” present. Bollocks. Every walk of life was fully represented, and by the looks of the flags many nations were there as well. It was refreshing to see bands and not be surrounded by teenagers. Although as I write this, Michael Eavis is dismissing this year’s crowd as “middle aged”, not “up for it” and will be targeting a younger crowd next year. So maybe I’m wrong. That statement will do nothing to quash the “sell-out” naysayers, and perhaps it is a little disappointing. But nothing can stay in the past. Longevity is only guaranteed if you can adapt and move on. Unfortunately, in this instance it appears that this just means letting in more youth.

How many would show up if it was just half a dozen bands and a pint of milk? And how many would show up for the Greatest Show On Earth? The answer is clear. Glastonbury cannot sell out or conform, because it is Glastonbury. It is imitated but never bettered, it exists on its own and nothing else will ever come close.

There are countless things I could go into more detail about…the flags around the Dance Village, being constantly asked for a lighter or pills, the greatest baguette in the galaxy (The Growler – chips, cheese and bacon, doesn’t sound like much but it was beautiful), the new Park area that was a festival within a festival, the atmosphere of the Stone Circle…but words and hyperbole only go so far. Some things you have to experience for yourself to fully appreciate.