Listening to an album, from beginning to end, appears to be an extravagant experience in our modern age. For some years now I've heard the phrase "the lost art of album listening" bandied about and, whilst I'll admit that MP3s and music streaming have changed the way we listen to and experience a collection of music, I feel it's to easy a trope to point the finger of blame solely in that direction.
People have, in my experience, always taken their music in different ways. There were mix-tapes before MP3s and they didn't kill album listening. Hitting shuffle on my old Pioneer 6 CD player left me ignorant of song titles for most of the albums I listened to in the 90s, the same goes for the large number of albums I've enjoyed on my iPod despite my listening to them from beginning to end. Maybe it's more the pace of life that has affected the savouring of an album; do we have the time to pore over the sleeve art and liner notes whilst taking in something either new or reassuringly familiar? Probably not as much as we did. To paraphrase Ferris Bueller, life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and listen once in a while, you could miss something good.
Thankfully there are like-minded folks who still want to enjoy the album experience, and it's through their efforts that Classic Album Sundays was born (apparently over a good meal with friends which, yes, adds to its charm). If you've not encountered it before the concept is beautifully simple, you listen to a classic album from beginning to end, on vinyl, pausing only to flip from A to B.
My one and only experience of an official Classic Album Sunday was several years ago, at Bestival, where whilst suffering the hangover of the previous evening's festival excesses I found myself in a wooden hut, atop a mound at Robin Hill Country Park. There are few better ways to prepare yourself for a day's festival-going than sitting in a darkened room, surrounded by strangers, and letting the blissful sounds of The KLF's Chill Out album wash over you.
After enjoying that experience I was pained to discover that, despite similar happenings popping up across the globe, there wasn't a regular event near me (which, now I think of it, does make me wonder why I didn't try and start up my own event, but I digress). Thankfully that's all about to change with the announcement that the very lovely Pie & Vinyl are to start hosting a regular Classic Album Sunday event.
The inaugural Classic Album Sunday at Pie & Vinyl takes place on Sunday 14th October with the featured vinyl being Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation. The event is both a celebration of the 30th anniversary of the band's fifth album and part of National Album Day. Jon Callender & Jim Shaw (of Cranes) and Adi Vines (of Swervedriver) will be present to discuss the album and their personal experiences of Sonic Youth.
Limited tickets are available now, priced at £10 (plus £1 booking) that, obviously, includes a Sonic Youth themed pie (meat or vegan). Further information, including details of the shiny hardware AudioT are supplying for the event, is available on the CAS website and P&V's events page.
Showing posts with label Bestival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bestival. Show all posts
Friday, September 28, 2018
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Bestival 2011 - Part Three
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 Robert Wyatt 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 Robert Smith 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 David Attenbrough, 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 Big Top 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.
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 Robert Wyatt 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 Robert Smith 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 David Attenbrough, 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 Big Top 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.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Bestival 2011 - Part Two
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.
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.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Bestival 2011 - Part One
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Bestival 2011 Preview
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 2005 Black Refuge EP, featuring the excellent Turn To The Assassin and a tasty cover of Bruce Springsteen's Ghost of Tom Joad). Junip have 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.
Jon Hopkins and King Creosote
Not to take anything away from PJ Harvey and her Mercury Prize win last night, but I think these two were robbed.
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?
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 2005 Black Refuge EP, featuring the excellent Turn To The Assassin and a tasty cover of Bruce Springsteen's Ghost of Tom Joad). Junip have 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.
Jon Hopkins and King Creosote
Not to take anything away from PJ Harvey and her Mercury Prize win last night, but I think these two were robbed.
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?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Björk - 'Crystalline'
Not that I ever need an excuse to play some Björk you understand but, as my Bestival ticket plopped onto the doormat earlier...
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Bestival line-up
Details of the (quite extensive) line-up for this year's Bestival, which takes place the weekend of 7th-9th September, have been released. The Chemical Brothers headline the Friday night, with The Beastie Boys taking charge of Saturday and Primal Scream wrapping things up on the Sunday.
As for who else will be entertaining the masses at Robin Hill Country Park on the Isle of Wight..
[deep breath]
Adjagas, Babyhead, Bat For Lashes, Billy Bragg, Bishi, Bonde de Role, Cagedbaby, Calvin Harris, Candie Payne, Daedalus, Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip, Dub Pistols, Duloks, Easy Star All-Stars, Electrelane, Emmy The Great, Fields, Figurines, Fionn Regan, Foals, Friendly Fires, Fujiya and Miyagi, George Pringle, Gossip, Gregory Isaacs, Horace Andy, Infinite Scale, Jackson Analogue, Jah Wobble, John Foxx, Johnny Flynn & The Sussex Wit, Jon Hopkins, Kate Nash, Kid Carpet, Kid Harpoon, Kitty, Daisy and Lewis, Kleptones, Kode 9 & Spaceape, Levellers, Man Like Me, Marlena Shaw, Max Sedgley & The Shoots, Mr Hudson and The Library, Natty, Noisettes, Planning to Rock, Plastic Little, Port O'Brien, Remi Nicole, Robyn, Ruarri Joseph, Seasick Steve, Shakes, Shy Child, Simian Mobile Disco, Simple Kid, Ska Cubano, Slow Club, Son of Dave, Soul II Soul Soundsystem Live, Spank Rock, Sportsday Megaphone, Super Nashwan, The Bobby McGees, The Cuban Brothers, The Go! Team, The Hat, The Kissaway Trail, The Maccabees, The Orb, The Rumblestrips, Thee Earls, Three Daft Monkeys, Tunng, Xerox Teens and Zion Train
[and relax]
That's just the bands appearing, the list of DJs is just as long (and knowing how these things go, both lists are likely to have additions before the gates open on the first day). Similarly to the Isle of Wight Festival no Day Tickets are available this year (doh); weekend tickets start at £115 and are still (just about) available.
As for who else will be entertaining the masses at Robin Hill Country Park on the Isle of Wight..
[deep breath]
Adjagas, Babyhead, Bat For Lashes, Billy Bragg, Bishi, Bonde de Role, Cagedbaby, Calvin Harris, Candie Payne, Daedalus, Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip, Dub Pistols, Duloks, Easy Star All-Stars, Electrelane, Emmy The Great, Fields, Figurines, Fionn Regan, Foals, Friendly Fires, Fujiya and Miyagi, George Pringle, Gossip, Gregory Isaacs, Horace Andy, Infinite Scale, Jackson Analogue, Jah Wobble, John Foxx, Johnny Flynn & The Sussex Wit, Jon Hopkins, Kate Nash, Kid Carpet, Kid Harpoon, Kitty, Daisy and Lewis, Kleptones, Kode 9 & Spaceape, Levellers, Man Like Me, Marlena Shaw, Max Sedgley & The Shoots, Mr Hudson and The Library, Natty, Noisettes, Planning to Rock, Plastic Little, Port O'Brien, Remi Nicole, Robyn, Ruarri Joseph, Seasick Steve, Shakes, Shy Child, Simian Mobile Disco, Simple Kid, Ska Cubano, Slow Club, Son of Dave, Soul II Soul Soundsystem Live, Spank Rock, Sportsday Megaphone, Super Nashwan, The Bobby McGees, The Cuban Brothers, The Go! Team, The Hat, The Kissaway Trail, The Maccabees, The Orb, The Rumblestrips, Thee Earls, Three Daft Monkeys, Tunng, Xerox Teens and Zion Train
[and relax]
That's just the bands appearing, the list of DJs is just as long (and knowing how these things go, both lists are likely to have additions before the gates open on the first day). Similarly to the Isle of Wight Festival no Day Tickets are available this year (doh); weekend tickets start at £115 and are still (just about) available.
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