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.

Dreamy Days

The Big Chill, Eastnor Castle, 6-8th August 2010

Let’s be honest, going to festivals can be an effort. It’s all drink this, take that, don’t sleep, hardly eat, repeat for a week.

At the Big Chill this year I suffered some of the worst Morning Afters I’ve ever had. So it’s probably a credit to this festival (and the folk I went with) that I so easily got over them and had some of the best field-based antics of my life.

The site was hilly and picturesque. Getting up and down the massive slope on the way to the arena was a chore but the views at the top (and the potential to run into the giant inflatable balls while drunk) made up for it. There was a lot more teenagers in the crowd than I expected. In fact we were all pounced on by kids at the gate who didn’t realise they needed an adult to actually get them in to the festival. “You look like me, you could be my Dad!” Little shit. That was balanced out by the amount of literal children there with families. The main stage in the afternoon was full of kids chasing bubbles, running in circles and generally having a boogie to the music. During Thom Yorke one guy in front of me had his child on his shoulders for the whole set, and the kid was loving it. Fair play.

After spending all of Thursday drinking (honestly don’t remember what else we did) our festival started properly on Friday afternoon with Ty. It was the perfect choice. A smooth mix of soul and hip hop, with some sensational backing singers who treated us to an enviously skilled dance-off. It got us in a right good mood for the rest of the day. Plus we got to laugh about Tim Westwood.

The predicted weather for the weekend wasn’t much to smile about, however in the end it was nowhere near the drenching that was forecast. Whatever showers we had were brief and mostly happened when we were back in Tent Town. However sometimes it did impose a bit too much on our enjoyment of the music. Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions arrived onstage late, to a doom-ridden sky and a moderate gale. They had the good manners to open with my favourite song, Around My Smile, and Hope Sandoval’s voice has lost none of its honey-dipped husky seductiveness. However this was music for scorching afternoons or watching the sun rise on a beach. A windy field in Herefordshire wasn’t cutting it, so we made our excuses and left. A shame, as she rarely tours, but the weather wasn’t doing it justice.

Due our collective faffing we missed most of Explosions In The Sky, catching only the last couple of songs, when really a whole set needs to be taken in to appreciate it properly. What we did see sounded suitably noisy and chaotic.

With a new Radiohead album apparently imminent, a solo show from Thom Yorke is Christmas, Birthdays and new Doctor Who wrapped into one. Alas he didn’t have his superband that he toured the States with, choosing instead to play about a dozen instruments all by himself. Coming on stage looking like a ginger Worzel Gummidge, he opened with the obvious Eraser, with a few more tracks from his solo album following that. It was Radiohead songs that dominated the set, including Planet Telex, Everything In Its Right Place, I Might Be Wrong, The Gloaming, Reckoner and an acoustic Airbag at the end. There was apparently a brand new song too, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it sounded like. He was clearly loving every second, knowing a creepy glace to the crowd from his sideways-facing piano would provoke a massive reaction from the assembled crowd. I’ve been treated to a few Radiohead performances over the last few years, and it’s always difficult to be objective with a band you love so much. Yes, it’s gloomy, but there’s beauty in the gloom. Everyone arm in arm singing along to Airbag at the end was a moment.

Massive Attack headlined that night and I really wasn’t paying attention. Their new record is what is commonly referred to as “a return to form”, but their set wasn’t exactly party music. And this is coming from a Radiohead fan. I was made to leave early, apparently missing out on Unfinished Sympathy, which could have made all the difference. We’ll never know.

Hospitality Records, them what have hosted many a fine evening before, had a whole tent to themselves until the small hours, so we went there. And that’s when the night began to fall apart for me. Danny Byrd was doing his usual Let’s Play 40 Seconds Of That Song Then Stop The Beat And Reeeeewind business which to be honest gets on my tits. I just want to dance. Don’t get in my way. Our group got split up and that was agitating me. I was looking out for them, but as I’m usually the beacon they were hard to spot. Then I began to slow down. Maybe it was the drinking since midday, maybe it was the attempt to wear a waterproof over an RAF jacket, but something was telling me to go to bed. So I did.

A bit of an average end to the day, then. But what followed on Saturday was possibly the greatest, most consistently entertaining and all round fun line-up of music that I’ve ever seen. Metronomy kicked us off with their shrill voices and nerdy keyboards. After near-missing them three times now, this was my first proper sight of them, and my how they’ve grown from bedroom bleeps to full on live band dance-pop mayhem. There was a charming attempt at failed banter about cars and the weather, but what they lack in main stage experience they make up for with Heartbreaker, Radio Ladio, My Heart Rate Rapid and A Thing For Me. Synth-nerd-tastic.

Patrick Wolf. Sighs. He did it again. I wasn’t sure how his particular brand of pop would go down with the gang, but thanks to my directors commentary filling them in on just exactly what each song was written about, what the lyrics were and how many times it’s made me cry, they seemed to get the message. It was a perfect Greatest Hits set, with interestingly no inclusions from forthcoming Album #5 The Conqueror. He finished with Magic Position. We had a little dance.

Then the Gods Of Festivals were truly smiling on us. There was some confusion as to what order Kelis and Plan B were playing in. Official literature said Kelis headlining and clashing with MIA, internet rumour said otherwise. Turns out the internet was right, and I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t randomly turned my phone on to get a call saying Kelis is on now, get the fuck over here. It was my favourite set of the festival. Resplendent in attire fit for Cleopatra, Kelis was on top of the world. New album Fleshtone is bothering LCD’s This Is Happening for my record of the year, it’s a cracking example of how an American artist can take the European electro sound and not make something fucking terrible. It is testament to how proud and happy Kelis is with herself at the moment that she played pretty much the whole album. The old songs were there too, with Millionaire thrown into Trick Me to much cheering. I was right at the back but the love in the tent was unmistakeable, especially when ending on Acapella, possibly my tune of the festival as it hasn’t left my head since then. Kelis’ show was like nothing else I’ve seen, and I so easily could have missed it.

So with the schedule for the day now all over the shop, we got to catch the end of Roots Manuva, including the wonderful Dreamy Days, but sadly too late for Witness. He seemed on good form and I wish I could have seen more.

With a rare UK show from M.I.A, you can never quite tell what mood she’s going to be in. Thankfully, tonight she seemed to be in a playful one. Opening with a teasing medley of what to come, Galang was settled on and the dancing began. I was a bit merry by then. The rainbow laser and epic video wall was an unbelievable site. Boyz, XR2 and Bucky Done Gun were all thrown out there, but then things started to nod off into the weaker moments of the new record. /\/\ /\ Y /\ (yes, it really is called that) is a typical M.I.A album in that it contains equal part amazing pop music and unlistenable nonsense. And, a fair amount of dubstep. You know my feelings on dubstep. Opening the encore with Teqkilla, she started to encourage people on to the stage, just like she did back at Reading 2005 when she co-headlined the lowly Dance Tent with Mylo. A few turned into dozens, and as the intro to Paper Planes started up dozens turned into hundreds. We got one verse and one chorus before the plug was pulled. I found it hilarious at the time, but I feel a little short changed now. It was a mostly brilliant set, which would have felt more complete if we got to hear the song we all came to make gun signs at. Plus she didn’t get to play XXXO, one of the best singles of the year. I heard a rumour she’s facing a paycut for the stage invasion antics. So there you go.

Saturday’s delights were extra special as I woke up feeling ridiculously terrible, a situation usually reserved for Sunday. So I was apprehensive as to what horrors Sunday morning would bring. Not many, in the end, but it still took a while to get going. I was pretty comatose for Norman Jay’s DJ set. It was a good collection of tunes, and it was great to see toddlers getting down to some DnB.

The lineup for the last day really didn’t have a great deal going for it, so we lazed around and drank the remainder of our alcohol. One less thing to carry home. One thing we did make a point of catching was the massive bonfire and firework display. A Wicker Man-esque construction had been looming over a corner of the site all weekend, and it was finally set alight. We could feel the heat from across the lake. It was quite a sight when it eventually toppled.

For reasons of boredom we saw the beginning of Lilly Allen’s set. Now these words come from someone who actually owns a physical copy of her first record. I remember when she first emerged, Allen appeared to be a refreshing change from the cardboard cut out female singers with zero personality that had come before. When I first downloaded LDN I played it on a loop for days. So what happened? Over exposure perhaps, or maybe my continued inability to separate personality from musician. He second album claimed It’s Not Me, It’s You. Well, I’m happy for it to be me. She seemed to pull the biggest crowd of the weekend, so well done there. But it did nothing for me.

We were in danger of ending the weekend on a low point, so we needed a good dance to see us through. The words “Zero 7 DJ Set” don’t initially bring mind the atmosphere we were after, but how wrong we were. We dipped in and out of his three hour set which was a suitable mix of various upbeat genres, finishing on the Pilooski re-edit of Franki Valli’s Beggin’. We also took in one last wonder around the site, before a couple of us called it a night around 3am. Possibly the first time that the latest I’ve stayed up was on the last night, and I was in a bloody good mood to boot. Even after I suffered bouncer hassle and spilt an overpriced drink in the space of a few minutes.

The journey home is always tough. There’s no need to make it worse. The morning was going suspiciously well. All packed up and at the bus stop on time. More leg room than on the way down. Something had to give. The bus driver was just, if you’ll forgive the words, an utter cunt. I’ve already complained to National Express about him, and have yet to hear back, but it’s put me off setting foot on a coach ever again.

So, that’s summer over with then. Parklife seems like a lifetime ago, when it’s only been two months. And Glasto’s recovery was made all the more bearable knowing I had this treat to look forward to. But what now? Leeds in its traditional form is off the menu this year, which as I’ve been going to it and its southern cousin for half a decade now does feel a bit strange. But after last year’s lethargy, and this year’s delight of the new, it seems like a wise choice.

Now I have the fun task of remembering I have to work for a living. But the autumn seems to be bringing with it some potentially amazing gigs, so all is not lost.

Was it worth all that war just to win?

Patrick Wolf + Micachu & The Shapes, London Palladium, 15/11/09

I’ve gushed about Patrick Wolf many times in this blog already. I’m about to do it again, so make sure you’re sitting comfortably.

This was to be The Show To End All Shows. A one-off performance to celebrate Patrick’s seven year career to date, and topping off a 2009 which saw him take another sequined step towards the mass adulation that everyone attending tonight knows he deserves.

The setting was the Palladium, taking a night off from Sister Act – THE MUSICAL!!! and providing home for a couple of thousand extroverts and bohemians. I’ve not been in a room of so full of gay men since Ice Cream rolled out of town. It was the perfect venue. Ornate, classical and echoing with history.

Starting the night were Micachu & The Shapes, taking up a small area in the centre of the stage. Starting with a clanging drone that shuffled its way into a tune, each track swerved between abstract catchiness and what my Mum would describe as “just a load of noise”. Micachu herself reminded me of Justine Frischmann’s semi comatose androgyny. I’m still a bit undecided, but they shared the same uncompromising spirit that has been at the core of Patrick’s work since the very beginning.

So that got us in the mood for something a bit different, which is what tonight was to be all about. To add to this, the pre-performance music ranged from classical to gypsy folk to Cheryl Cole. Surely, somewhere in this myriad sonic triangle lies Patrick Wolf.

After new (I think) song Divine Intervention is sung behind the closed Safety Curtain, the all too familiar tribal thump of Overture begins. The curtain raises. The strings soar. He appears. And, not for the first time that night, the tears begin.

This gig put a few things into perspective for me. Is there any other artist or band that could draw this reaction from me? Radiohead, very possibly, but however much I love them, they like to keep a certain distance from their audience. Blur and Pulp also have the means, but I’m unlikely to see either of them live any time soon. Maybe it just doesn’t take much to make me cry these days, after a combination of relatives passing away, pets being put down and friends leaving town. God help me when The Doctor regenerates in the new year, I’ll probably need therapy.

I’m rambling.

The set had an understandable focus on The Bachelor, with debut Lycanthropy also healthily represented. As my main love falls for the middle two records, it would have been nice to hear a few more from them, but seriously this was not a performance you could fault. Other than that it ended and I had to go back to dull reality afterwards.

The highlights were numerous. Florence bringing the house down for a lusty rendition of The Bachelor. Wind In The Wires and its hushed fragility. Oblivion unveiling a horned leather jacket as well as The Voice Of Hope, and Hard Times finally getting people dancing in the aisles, as well as Alec Empire attacking what appeared to be a cybernetic ironing board.

It was this call to arms that made the whole night really kick off. There was a rush to the front of the stage, sporadically broken up by the theatre’s ushers, but the delirium was never truly quashed from then on. After a fiddle with the set list, The Libertine arrived and transformed into a stomping ukulele-off. The divine Damaris has now joined the ranks of Classic Wolf, meaning that Tristan felt like a bit of an afterthought in its wake.

Arriving at the end of the main set, which had lasted almost two hours, The Magic Position came with Patrick sporting a shiny new top hat and a tear in his eye. Its very telling that there are no decent videos of this on You Tube, as the hysteria among us all reached its peak. Some things are just impossible to document on camera phones. The performance of this song and what it means to me is hard to put into words, so I won’t.

Returning for a touching rendition of The Sun Is Often Out, dedicated to a lost friend, the end came with Vulture. Tonight’s outfits included a black feathered ensemble followed by something involving bamboo and pantaloons, but the finale was delivered in see-through trousers and a liberal application of silver body paint, emerging from behind the curtain on a rotating disco ball. I fucking love that I wrote that sentence and every word of it is true.

Tonight we watched a man throw his very essence into a show that he has been preparing for his entire life. Over the years Patrick Wolf has been occasionally outspoken and often uncompromising to the point of career destruction. Was it worth all that war just to win? Yes it was.