The motto "same old town, brand new music" befits Nod Ya Head well, with the Fareham promoter quickly establishing a deserved reputation for booking an interesting mix of bands for its live music nights. The line-up for their fourth showcase, which includes something great from the other side of the Solent, can only add to this renown.
The Isle of Wight continues to bring forth great musical offerings, such as the cinematic electronica of Curxes, the spiky indie-pop of Lauran Hibberd and the eclectic loveliness of Plastic Mermaids. The island's latest export is Jeph, an indie foursome with a lush line of jangly guitar; if you like The Beths then these should be right up your street.
Second on the bill are Flying Machines who, I have no doubt, some idle writer will tailor a quip about being magnificent men. The band Portsmouth band, not to be confused with the London outfit of the same name, released their debut long player Tales of a Quiet Guest last year.
Rounding out the line-up is Portsmouth's own Fugitive Orchestra, the one-man-band of James Tattington, who recently celebrated the release of his new single Tomahawk Caress with a gig at the city's newest venue, The House of Rapture.
Advance tickets for the Saturday 6th April gig at The Roundabout Hotel are available online now via BookEvents, priced at £6, with entry OTD still a snip at £7.
UPDATE:
02/04 Physical tickets are available for purchase from Heathen Chemistry, West Street, Fareham.
Singer-songwriter Lauran Hibberd has a talent for blending a catchy tune with a fantastically snarky lyric, case in point new single Sugardaddy. Opening with an intro that Rivers Cuomo would be proud of, the song bounces along to a rolling riff which underpins the outrageously dark libretto. The chorus that joyfully infects your brain is one that could, quite easily, cause concerned glances from fellow travellers if sung aloud on the morning commute.
The Isle of Wight artist will soon be out touring with Minnesotan indie outfit Hippo Campus, supporting them at dates across the UK and Europe, with stops at the Shepherd's Bush Empire (Thursday 21st February), Bristol's SWX (Saturday 23rd February) and the Concorde 2 in Brighton (Sunday 24th February) along the way. I can definitely recommend her live set; I was fortunate enough to see her perform at Dials last year, a polished performance of foot-tapping sarcasm and wry observation, interspersed with tales of travelling to Glasgow and song writing in a Citroen Berlingo. Fantastic.
If I didn't know better I'd say there were Elves on the Isle of Wight, escaped from the North Pole to fashion festive electronica and ambient sounds, for it's from across the water that this suitably Yuletide gem hails.
From their Vectis base Curxes have taken on Greg Lake's 1975 Christmas tune, I Believe In Father Christmas, and created a beautifully delicate, dark and melancholy version of a classic.
Curxes have form for spinning a dark Christmas cover, their version of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, recorded several years back for the excellent Breaking More Waves blog, is also well worth a listen/purchase.
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.
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.
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.
The provisional line-up for this year's Isle of Wight Festival was announced on Virgin Radio this morning. Unfortunately, despite an email reminder from the organisers, I slept straight through the announcement. Oops. Might've helped if I wasn't listening to the wrong station as well I guess.
Acts thus far confirmed to be appearing are as follows:
Friday 8th June
Snow Patrol
The Feeling
Saturday 9th June
Muse
Kasabian
Ash
Wolfmother
Amy Winehouse
Arno Carstens
Sunday 10th June
Headliner TBC
Keane
The Fratellis
Paolo Nutini
James Morrison
The Sunday headliner will be released in due course, as will most likely several more bands/artists to fill out the (radio-friendly?) bill. As per last year there are, unfortunately, no Day Tickets on sale; a Weekend non-camping ticket will cost £105 (plus booking fee), a Weekend camping ticket will set you back £125. Tickets go on sale at 9am this Thursday.
