Rob da Bank's annual farewell to the festival season, a hedonistic September weekend on the Isle of Wight, is now in its eighth year. Having spent an entertaining couple of days so far I headed back to Robin Hill for a final fun-day Sunday... Sunday dawns with a fresh impetus to get on-site earlier, to see more, so I'm lucky enough to catch a snippet of Festival favourites The Cuban Brothers before pointing my feet toward the Big Top. The Unthanks, soon to tour with a set comprised of RobertWyatt and Antony & The Johnsons' tunes,
are gently drawing a crowd with beautiful music and cheeky banter.
After enquiring if the audience like prog, a question that gets a cheer,
the band finish their exquisite set with their take on a King Crimson song (the name of which, I'm ashamed to say, escapes me).
Whilst the techs do their thing Sly & Reggie, the Middle Class Sound System, do their best to keep the audience entertained before The Midnight Beast take the stage; the duo respond to the heckles with good humour, spinning out their iPod
powered set with a bizarre and very English take on reggae. Finally the
pair give in, unplug their MP3 player, and leave (sadly before singing
their excellent song extolling the joys of libraries) and the trio of
reprobates that is The Midnight Beast appear.
Now
I'll have to hold my hand up here, I've never heard of the band (on
first seeing the name I mistakenly thought I'd be in for some rock), but
their broad humoured shenanigans brought a smile to my face. Expletive
packed pop parodies, digging sharply at the blandness of boy bands, are
supplemented by reworked covers of Ke$ha's Tik Tok and Rebecca Black's Friday. All good fun it must be said, but I don't think I'll be able to watch the Teletubbies ever again. Having spent the time it took for my breakfast porridge to cool poring over the festival programme it looks like the Psychedelic Worm is the place to spend a Sunday afternoon. A couple of years ago José González was everywhere; his cover of The Knife's Heartbeats shifted almost as many TVs as it did CDs. Before that though he was a core member of Gothenburg trio Junip and, now returned to the fold, they entertain a near capacity crowd in the Psychedelic Worm with a set nicely mixing new material with older tunes.
Norwegian pop folk band Katzenjammer follow;
an all female foursome who delight with their upbeat tunes and musical
versatility, swopping instruments throughout the set in a well rehearsed
manner. Their european hit A Bar In Amsterdam got a few whoops from the audience, notably from a small contigent of the band's countrywomen, but it's their take on Genesis' Land of Confusion that caused my draw to drop open.
If The Cure's set the night before had been my expected highlight then John Grant usurps RobertSmith of this honour. The Denver native
informs us that, as he's been touring his debut solo album for the past
18 months, it's probably the last time we'll hear a Queen of Denmark
set. New material is on the way he promises. With his powerful vocals
and honest, humorous lyrics filling the tent it feels like one big warm
hug, so enraptured are we by the tall man in the beany hat on stage.
Finishing with the album's title track there is a palpable feeling of
"that festival moment" in the tent; half our party are in tears, behind
us a man is comforting his wife, she also wet of eye. Such is the power
of John Grant.
After all the emotion something more light hearted was required before the Björk experience. The Polka Tent, tucked away in a corner of The Grassy Hill, had offered all manner of delights over the weekend. Maybe a Scouse Bluegrass band wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but they certainly did the trick. Loose Moose's countryfied cover of Alexander O'Neal's Criticize I'm sure there was a prize offered for knowing who originally sang Live It Up (Australian one hit wonders Mental As Anything) but I decided not to claim it. Leaving Sky 3D's
crack team of camera toting man machines, all lined up to record the
cowboy themed striptease (including wooden pony) that followrd for three
dimensional posterity, I moved on to the Main Stage for the Queen of Icelandic Delights, the one and only Björk.
When Björk was announced as Bestival's
last headline act I must admit I did a woop of joy (mentally if not
vocally, I tend not to woop out loud too much if I can help it). Björk continues
to surprise, delight and frustrate with equal measure with every
release; her new material, apparently inspired by nature programmes and DavidAttenbrough, has been dispatched to the world via an interactive iPad application. Her Bestival set,
featuring a large chunk of this new material, should have been another
golden festival moment. Instead, sadly, I felt an ever growing feeling
of disconnectedness as the set progressed; try as I might I couldn't
hook into whatever the important message Björk was
trying to get across. It could've been my distance from the stage,
maybe the vast number of festival wasters and talkers I appeared to be
surrounded by, but I'm staking my money on the pounding bass travelling
over from the BigTop that over-powered Björk's vocals. Imagine listening to your favourite album whilst the neighbours are cranking up the Black Eyed Peas
to eleven. There you go. Admittedly, and by her own admission, her
festival set wasn't going to be exactly crowd friendly but a small woman
in a ginger wig, frolicking seemingly out of time to two songs at once,
doesn't help. On the plus side at least the power of her backing choir
cut soared over the neighbouring sounds. Unfortunately, after an hour of
feeling ever more like poking out the eyes of the oiks surrounding me, I
gave up and headed for Sailor Jerry's to wait for Niki & The Dove to appear.
Sitting in Bollywood,
watching the world walk past on its way to one tent or another, I had a
chance to think back over the weekend; as my first taste of Bestival I
can safely say that I enjoyed it and will definitely return. I'm not a
big fan of hills but, seriously, I don't think there's much Rob Da Bank can
do about that. And hipster wasters in silly hats are a necessary evil
of festivals, without them who would the rest of us punters point and
laugh at? The fireworks fire off overhead and the magic starts to fade. I
stand, point my feet in the direction of The Black Dahlia one last time, and prepare to ruin some more ligaments.
Just when you think the festival season is over another one pops up to extend it. Sort of. Fake Fest is Southsea's own tribute act festival; a celebration of some of the world's best bands by some of the UK's best fakers, which takes place this Saturday, 1st October.
Castle Field will come alive to the classic tunes of Queen, The Rolling Stones and the Foo Fighters courtesy of Chichester's Rhapsody, Kent's Fool Fighters and Bath's Rolling Zones. In addition there'll be support from "the best local cover bands and the coolest DJ on the decks" (I'm quoting the ad in the paper, no support details have been released that I can find).
As much as I like tribute bands (they're often the only way to experience a live performance of certain band's songs) and as much as I think this sounds like a great idea I must admit to feeling a slight bristle upon seeing the ticket price. Advanced tickets are £19.99 (or £25 on the day), children ages 16 and under can go free with a paying adult (one child per adult).
Admittedly this is considerably less than you'd pay to experience just one of the real versions of the bands represented (I'm not going to work out the developmental costs of building a time machine to see Queenat Wembleyin1986, I'd figure there'd be a lot of zeroes involved though). However I saw more original music for less at Southsea Fest last week (come to think of it I saw more fake music for considerably less in Gosport a couple of months ago).
Regardless of my idle kvetching I hope the event is successful, Castle Field is a great space for something like this and Portsmouth has been missing a suitably chunky musical event of this ilk since the Heineken Big Top was packed away many years ago. The
event strap-line is "a full experience of a festival without the price
tag!", whether this means Glastonburystyle toilets or Bestivalstyle
fancy dress will be in effect is your guess as much as mine. Tickets can be purchased via The News' website (select Event Tickets from the list of items on the left of the page) or by phone on 01243 534125/534126
No sooner have R.E.M. decided to split up then news of a final Greatest Hits release lands. Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, Part Garbage will be released this November, a double CD that plunders the band's back catalogue for songs you probably already have plus three new songs recorded after Collapse Into Now was completed. For the most part I'm happy with the large chunk of the band's oeuvre I've already paid out for (call me old fashioned but that's how I am) so I can't see myself buying it.
Nevertheless it got me to thinking about what tracks I'd throw onto an R.E.M. compilation CD; what songs I'd include, what songs I'd leave off and why. Then I noticed that the chaps from Pet Sounds had already assembled a packed Spotify playlist over at Strong Island which is more deserving of a listen then something I'd conjure up.
But, whilst you're waiting for Spotify to load up, you could always give the following a listen; first up quite possibly my favourite R.E.M. song ever. It's just... well, you had to be there.
Next perhaps an obvious choice, but there's a (suitably dumb) reason why; once upon a time my local pub had, tucked away on its jukebox, the GreenpeaceRainbow Warriors CD. It was only CD in the damn thing with any R.E.M. on it at all, hence this got played an awful lot.
And finally.. I know, I could've picked something heavier/darker (i.e. anything from Monster) but this is a beautiful tune.
Rob da Bank's annual farewell to the festival season, a hedonistic September weekend on the Isle of Wight, is now in its eighth year. After a fun-packed first day on the Isle of Wight I ventured back on site for Bestival day two...
Mercury Award nominees Jon Hopkins & King Creosote may not have garnered a large crowd for their Saturday slot in the Psychedelic Worm but those of us who made it were treated to something special. Admittedly problems with the thumping bass from the Big Top caused some consternation and a slight reworking of their set list but this didn't put the duo off, indeed a couple of King Creosote's solo songs were thrown in for good measure.
Back at Wonderland, waiting for Trophy Wife to appear at the Bandstand, I came across Mr High Five,
a young lad who delighted in 'high-fiving' all and sundry who entered
his path. Was I having a good time? Yes? High five! Was I stoked to be
seeing The Cure? Yes? High five! His Dad had bought him Three Imaginary Boys for his thirteenth birthday, he'd been a fan of The Cure ever since. That, I quite rightly surmised, deserved a high five.
Leaving the high-fiving behind I decided to head back to Bollywood via the Ambient Forest
only to get slightly disorientated in the dark glades; only after being
mistaken for a DJ (it must be the beard) was I able to get directions
and exit out the other side (and all without finding where exactly the
real DJs were). Oh well.
In The Black Dahlia, my festival home-from-home, the delightfully monikered DJ Auntie Maureen plundered the dark recesses of her record collection until she eventually found one I owned (although my version of I Tawt I Taw A Puddy Tat
is on a 7" 45, not a 78). Joining in with the crackly version of the
Hokey Cokey she finished with may not have been my best idea; such
pursuits are best left to folks with more better knee ligaments than I
but that's beer for you.
With ligaments stretched it was time to find a spot in the crowd to enjoy The Cure, my highlight of Saturday, if not the whole festival. Indeed a chum of mine had bought his Bestival ticket just to see Robert Smith on stage, his palpable level of excitement possibly causing the chest pains he suffered on Friday. I suppose I should gush on just how great The Cure were,
and they were there's no doubt of that, but my enjoyment was slightly
impaired thanks to the amphetamine-fuelled young lady who spent near
half the set talking at me, my chums and anybody who happened to walk
past. Once she moved on I could enjoy the last half of the evening, a
delicious serving of their back catalogue that made me go a little bit
gooey inside. Afterwards, over at the Big Top, Diplo
was winding up his set with a choice selection of tunes, causing some
more bundling from the excited people in front of me. I suppose at this
point I should confess that I'm not the biggest fan of Primal Scream;
they're OK, they've had a couple of good tunes, but really I can't see
what the fuss is all about. I did set out to watch their set but, still
aglow with the post-Cure feeling, I again wandered off.
Round the corner, at Sailor Jerry's, Dutch Uncles
are on stage. The Mancunian five piece feature that great audience
divider, a lead singer with an affected voice. In this instance a high
pitched warble that reminded me a bit of someone; three songs in it
dawned on me that they were a bit like 70s electronic rock duo Sparks, only not as good. With their proclamation that they'd be on stage til 6am I decided that it was time to make like a tree.
I must admit that, on hearing the news this past week that R.E.M. were calling it a day, my initial response was a slight shrug and a shuffle of the feet. A shrug of 'so what?' and a shuffle of embarrassment.
For the longest time R.E.M. filled that part of my soul where My Favourite Band lived. They were That Band. From the first time I stumbled across them I knew they were for me, and that I'd end up buying everything they released. Ever. And yes, I know how sad that sounds but, in my defence A) I was younger then and B) I'm a bloke, it's how we operate.
It was hearing The One I Love that clinched the deal; that one song caused me to hunt down the band's back catalogue up to that time. Document moved into my favourite album slot, or it did until I heard Fables at least; both albums continued to duke it out for my attentions before Green appeared and knocked them both into second position (for the time being).
Any fears that the band would sell out when they signed to The Man were abated, although fears that their old label would re-release some tunes to make some money out of sad sacks like me were fully founded. But the band-fan relationship could take it; I'd buy that re-release of The One I Love with the one additional track I couldn't get anywhere else (the things we did before the internet eh?).
Of course, as in any relationship, there will always be differences of opinion and compromise must be reached if things aren't going to go south permanently. Everything had been great so far, big smiles all round. Then the second album for The Man, Out Of Time.
I can still picture it in my mind's eye; I'd bunked off work a bit early and hit Woolworths on the day of release. Waiting for the bus, pristine copy of the CD in my grubby mitts, I was full of that self-satisfied glow (the glow you only get from buying the album before anyone else you knew had). Then I got home, extricated the CD from the case, thrust the shiny silver platter into my Amstrad CD1000 and pressed play.
Lines of disappointment formed on my face as I listened. To my ears the album sounded unfinished, with pop filler dropped into move some units and keep The Man happy. I ejected the disk, filed the album away on the shelf and looked forward to several months flicking the channel over every time Shiny Bloody Happy Bloody People appeared on the TV.
For a time it seemed that R.E.M. and I were through. They wanted to be all pop and radio friendly, I wanted something different. And then, just like that, Automatic For The People appeared. A deliciously maudlin and subdued album that contained, for my mind, some of their best work to date. Gone was the the happy clappy, in was the dour, the introspective and depressing.
The band maintained this winning streak with Monster, a heaving slab of raw guitars and distortion that invaded my head and wouldn't leave. On the accompanying world tour I got the chance to see my heroes, standing amongst several thousand people at Milton Keynes Bowl. The experience of Let Me In, with a mirrorball lowered from the gantry to spin gently next to Michael Stipe, shards of light dancing across the crowd, is one of the "life flashing before my eyes" bits I intend to fully relive when my number is finally up.
Looking back now I don't think I appreciated some of the great tunes on New Adventures In Hi-Fi when I first heard it, instead I selectively played Wake Up Bomb and How The West Was Won and Where It Got Us on repeat; a loud rocker and a new tune with an old feel. The rest of the album went pretty much undiscovered by me until several years after, possibly not until the disappointment of Reveal.
Despite liking Imitation of Life so much that I bought the DVD single (which featured the excellent video) the subsequent album felt like it missed more boxes than it hit. Some great ideas, yes, but a forgettable album all the same. Can you remember the other hits from Reveal? No. Me either.
Around The Sun passed me by completely, Accelerate got a couple of listens but it didn't really bring anything new to the table. The latest (and final) album will probably go unlistened to until it appears in my Christmas stocking. And that brings me back to the shuffle of embarrassment I mentioned earlier; a band that I invested a lot of time (and money) in that now, some time after I moved on, finally reach the same conclusion. I look to my feet, grimace slightly, shuffle one Converse behind the other and cue up Document. There, that's better.
It's taken 15 months of rumour, wrangling and trauma but finally there's some good news for The Cellars. The News are reporting that the venue has been saved from auction (and possible closure) after one of its long-time patrons bought the pub from Enterprise Inns. If that wasn't cause for three rousing huzzahs the venue has also announced that, as it's no longer tied to a chain, the beer range has been refreshed and prices lowered. Smashing. I really like The Cellars, it's a fine cosy venue and that it's been saved from being turned into flats or a convenience store welcome news indeed. Over the next few months the venue has a veritable plethora of musical delights on offer, from the likes of the eccentic John Otway, the legendary Dean Friedman and newcomer Jazz Morley in October, Miles Hunt & Erica Nockalls (from The Wonder Stuff), Emily Barker & The Red Clay Halo and Mama's Gun in November plus a smörgåsbordof new local talent from Jurassic Mark's showcases in December.
A fine selection of gigs forthcoming I'm sure you'll agree, and there's plenty more to whet the appetite on their website. Now all they've got to do is make sure they don't leave the tables in place by the front of the stage (I know, some people are never satisfied).
Rob da Bank's annual farewell to the festival season, a hedonistic September weekend on the Isle of Wight, is now in its eighth year. That it's taken me this long to get off my tuchus and make the short journey across the water is a tale for another day but, having hosed off the caked Somerset mud from my wellies, off I went.
The festival site is covered by a thick blanket of fog by the time I arrive (there's a side-tale of walking into a pub that I won't bore you with), so much so that it resembles Silent Hill more than Robin Hill; keeping this tenuous gaming theme going the first sight I encountered once inside the enclosure was a tree festooned with what appeared to be Little Big Planets. Once the fog clears I'd see the site for real but, on this damp Thursday night in September, the lights and strange buildings rendering out of the murk added a surreal twist that my brain struggled to cope with. Somewhere in the murky gloop 80s popsters Blancmange were already working their way through their back catalogue. With no point of reference to guide me (save for the signs pointing the way which, obviously, I ignored) I first ended up in the Psychedelic Worm (it's a big tent, I was tired, etc) before one of our party picked out the sound of synths in the air; following the sound led me nicely to the Big Top, arriving in time to hear both Living On The Ceiling and Blind Vision. Lovely.
Thankfully the fog had lifted by Friday morning, with the sun just about making a proper appearance by the time the legendary Brian Wilson took the stage. The former Beach Boy, perched at his keyboards for most of the set, had the crowd singing along with arms waving to the beat. Backed by his really rather excellent backing band he played the feel-good songs we wanted to hear (plus one of his new Gershwin re-workings which, I must confess, worked better than I'd anticipated).
Bestival's eclectic line-up means the upbeat fun of Brian Wilson is followed by 80's hip hop legends Public Enemy, another of the many acts on the bill that I was looking forward to. Unfortunately, and try though I might, I just didn't get it. The posturing was excessive (we're a captive audience, there's no need to bang on about how great you are) and I want to hear some tunes not Flava Flav banging on about his Twitter feed. I lasted 20 minutes, which was about one and a half songs of their set, before I moseyed off to find something more entertaining.
My wandering led to Bollywood where, almost hidden behind the Ferris wheel, sat The Black Dahlia tent. According to the programme it was supposed to have an air of a 1930's speakeasy, which would be true if the bar staff in such places spent more time talking to each other rather than serving the customers. Regardless of the listless bar staff the tent was a delight; DJs spinning 78s of old jazz and swing, each song heavy on the crack and pop.
It was whilst sitting on the carpet, watching the chandeliers sway, light bulbs flickering almost in time to the music, that Sara Spade (aka The Ukulele Lady) took the stage. With her band she entertained with a collection of original songs and classics (including a requisite Formby number), keeping my foot tapping and bringing a smile to faces all round. Leaving the comforts of the Dahlia I made steps to the Big Top, where Graham Coxon was entertaining a sizeable crowd. A sizeable and, if the people near me were anything to go by, quite excitable crowd.
It was whilst standing at the back, listening to highlights of Happiness In Magazines, I first encountered the great Bestival tradition of bundling. It's fairly straightforward to get the hang of; all you need to do is, when amongst your group of chums, push one to the floor so the rest can dive on top. When the screaming for air gets too loud you all pile off, help you chum to their feet, have a smoke and a big laugh. Well, it makes a change from piping Nitrous Oxide I suppose.
The Bestival site is fairly big, so it pays to plan ahead if there's specific bands that you want to see. It could also be argued that half the fun is stumbling across bands as you wend your way around the place. Or you could do like me, make a plan to do one thing then do something completely different. That's how I ended up at the Wonderland Bar (which, for some reason, I kept calling the Wonderland Zoo for the rest of the weekend), near the Bandstand in Tomorrow's World, instead of staying put at the Main Stage for Magnetic Man. Admittedly I got to catch some of their set; as I yomped up the hill, past the Pants To Poverty stall, Getting Nowhere drifted up the hill behind me.
Benjamin Francis Leftwich holds court at the Bandstand when I get there, a rapt audience sat cross legged, all hanging on his every note and lyric. A combination of enjoying his very mellow set combined with a prolonged encounter with the very drinkable Bestivale meant I only caught the end of Mogwai's set; what I saw lived up to my expectations, at times both raw and precise measures of sound, skillfully played dirges and melodic excursions that took my brain places it wasn't sure it wanted to go to.
My last stop of Friday was again The Black Dahlia; one-time Dangerous Brother Ade Edmondson, together with the rest of his Bad Shepherd bandmates, demonstrated how to rework punk and new wave using a mandolin and uillean pipes. What the two middle aged guys in front of me, who spent a large chunk of the set snorting cocaine and giving each other knowing "Hey, we're doing drugs" looks, thought of it I can only guess. As for me I savoured every second of the folk punk, or punk folk, before their set ended and I finally called it a day.
One of the great things about living in the Portsmouth area (aside from the close proximity of my favourite venue and the exquisite joy and pain of supporting the local football team) is Southsea Fest; this annual event, now in its 5th year, turns Albert Road into a showcase of new and interesting music with various pubs and venues along the thoroughfare becoming stages for the day. As festivals go it ticks all the boxes; there's a variety of bands to suit most tastes, the beer is reasonably priced and neither rain nor mud can interfere with your enjoyment.
Over the past few years I've enjoyed stumbling across many bands that I'd not previously heard of (no, really), some of whom have gone on to great things whilst some have stayed in the shadows. I've bought CDs, stuffed my pockets with stickers and signed up for mailing lists. I've also seen a large mouse be interviewed for TV and ended up looking after a three-legged wooden pig for an hour, but those are stories for another time.
Moving swiftly on, I've perused the line-up and picked five of the many, many fine acts playing tomorrow that I'd like to see, as follows:
Dry The River 2210-2300 @ The Globe Inn A five piece from London that produce a mellow alt-folk layered with violins and very distinctive vocals.
Clock Opera 2120-2150 @ The Wedgewood Rooms I'm fairly sure I caught these as a support for someone awhile back. I can't remember who they supported, or when, but I do recall that they made a very good impression.
Trophy Wife 2210-2240 @ The Wedgewood Rooms (Club NME stage) I caught a snippet of Trophy Wife's Bestival set at the Bandstand last weekend, excellent synthy indie (with guitar noodlings) from Oxford.
Jumping Ships 1400-1435 @ The Edge of The Wedge (BSM & Alcopop! stage) To be honest I don't really know all that much about Jumping Ships. I know they're from Brighton and I know that they create a spikey indie pop noise; I've been to Brighton, I like spikey indie pop, and I like the way Jumping Ships play it.
Apollo's Arrows 1420-1450 @ Southsea Social Club Apollo's Arrows hail from just up the road, a Southampton trio that produce a powerfully delivered alternative sound (I'm sure there's more than a sprinkle of At The Drive-In in there). Nice.
The fun starts tomorrow at midday, if you've not yet got your ticket then you might be lucky enough to get one on the day (I'd advise getting there early though, the event's Twitter feed was this morning advising less than 50 tickets available from the Kings Theatre and the Wine Vaults).
Tomorrow I'll be bidding the old homestead adieu for a couple of days, slinging my well-packed rucksack over my shoulder, and heading over to the Isle of Wight for Bestival 2011. It'll be my first jaunt to Rob Da Bank's annual shindig, the last big UK festival of the year and one that has a reputation for good music and fun. The line-up for this year is a suitably eclectic mix and, as more artists have been announced over the past few months, my excited has been building. Now it pretty much goes without saying that I'm looking forward to enjoying the spectacle of Björk's live set, Brian Wilson's (supposedly) final festival appearance, the shoe-gazing awesomeness of The Cure and the chance of seeing The La's on stage, but here are a few other bands on the bill that I'm proposing are worth checking out... Magnetic Man I'll confess that I couldn't tell you what's hot or what's not in the world of dub step but I know what I like and this lot I like very much. The combined talents of Messrs Skream, Benga and Artwork have produced a fine collection of electronic sounds (one of which, Getting Nowhere, tests the speakers in my local fleapit before every film) which should get a packed tent jumping.
John Grant With Queen of Denmark the ex-Czars front-man produced, to my mind, one of the stand-out best albums of last year. A stirring collection of beautiful songs that ache to be played over and over. I could continue waxing lyrical about how great John Grant is but superlatives can only go so far. Suffice to say that he's very good, so very very good indeed.
Junip You remember José González right? Had a big hit a few years back with his mellow acoustic cover of The Knife's Heartbeats? Well, before he went solo he was in Junip producing similar, if slightly quirkier, acoustic goodness (if you search the web you should be able to locate most of their 2005Black Refuge EP, featuring the excellent Turn To The Assassin and a tasty cover of Bruce Springsteen's Ghost of Tom Joad). Juniphave reformed and are touring with new material (a sample of which can be found on RCRD LBL). Mellow.
Asian Dub Foundation Being a complete gig-whore I tend to get asked, on a fairly regular basis, what my favourite gig is/was. After much umm-ing, ahh-ing and general bluster my answer is invariably that time I saw Asian Dub Foundation at The Wedgewood Rooms. It was a hot, sweaty, bouncing, gripping, pounding evening of musical power; if their set at Bestival is even a tenth of that, I'll be happy.
Treefight for Sunlight Good music seems to fall out of Denmark all the time; from Mew to The Kissaway Trail, excellent sounds have poured forth from Northern climes over the past few years. The latest to hit our shores is Copenhagen's Treefight For Sunlight, an indie pop four-piece producing joyfully upbeat and infectious tunes.
The Bad Shepherds The idea of taking a known song from one genre and reworking it in another isn't new, but the results don't often produce such mellifluous offerings as the combined talents of Troy Donockley, Andy Dinan and Adrian Edmondson (yes, THAT Ade Edmondson). The chaps rework punk and new wave classics, sprinkled liberally with beer and stringed instruments, to produce a foot-tapping folk sound (yes, folk) that introduces old favourites as if hearing them for the first time. So, grab yourself a beer, hunt out The Bad Shepherds wherever stage their playing, and have fun. Phew, I managed to get through that without mentioning Vyvyan. Oh, arse.
Son of Dave AKA Benjamin Darvill, late of the Crash Test Dummies, who blends the Blues, beat-boxing and his virtuoso harmonica playing with eye-popping results. A strange, breathless hybrid of Blues and techno, and the 'between song' banter is usually pretty good too.
I could go on (I invariably do) but that'll do for now; no doubt I'll probably not get to see any of the above and, instead, will stumble across one of the many fine artists on the bill that I've not heard of, enjoy what I'm hearing, and lose all sense of time. And, honestly, isn't that what festivals are all about?
Mud Morganfield, the eldest son of Blues legend Muddy Waters, returns to Portsmouth tomorrow night. Fresh from touring the globe Mud returns to The Cellars with his band The Dirty Aces (featuring guitarist Ronni Buysack-Boysen, Ian Jennings on Double Bass, Mike Hellier on drums and harmonica player West Weston) for a damn fine evening of Chicago Blues.
Tickets are available via the venue's website, priced £14 in advance, or £15 on the door. For a taste of what to expect check out the YouTube clip below:
Southsea's Bandstand stages a last hurrah for the Summer tomorrow when the Southsea Mafia hold their Summer Ska Annual Picnic. The musical fun and games are rescheduled from June when, as has happened a lot with events at the Bandstand this summer, bad weather caused the originally planned event to be cancelled.
The ska-packed line-up features live music from Butserfest Battle of the Bands finalists Skaraman, the precocious Huw Olesker & The Barebackers, Ugly Auntie and the mighty Big Topp. If that wasn't enough the Southsea Mafia DJs will be spinning a selection of tunes inbetween and afterward.
The shenanigans start at at midday, run through til 1600, and there are rumours of an after party (at an as yet undisclosed location) on the event's Facebook page. This is a FREE event, all you need to do is turn up and enjoy yourself.
