Tunes, not chat

As much as I loved Massive Attack's set at Portsmouth Guildhall last night, and an excellent array of tunes and arresting visuals it was too (including a nice Terry Wogan tribute), my enjoyment of said gig was somewhat hampered by the drunken chatterboxes stood behind me who willfully bleated on throughout the show. It is my gig-going bugbear. My prime punter annoyance. Why pay £30+ for a ticket if you're going to talk all the way through the gig? Why cheer loudly when Horace Andy takes to the stage if you're just going to gab during his performance? Surely not just to piss me off, that they could've done far easier and cheaper than spending £££ for a ticket plus whatever to cover the amount of booze they'd imbibed. No matter, the Dave abides and, by shuffling my carcass slightly forward, I moved myself just about out of earshot (though slightly more up close and personal to some flat-cap wearing hipsters then I'd like) and could enjoy the show (and damn good it was too).

By my own admission, and no surprise to you reading this, I'm a bit of gig whore. I have been to a lot of shows over the years and, yes, I've sadly stood through too many that have been spoiled by someone crapping on about something when they should be listening. Venues have bars, if you want a chat go and stand there, prop up the counter and chew the fat. Don't stand next to me and talk to your mate about your favourite song, the one you want played at your wedding, that you then talk loudly through when the artist plays it (that was one time seeing Ed Harcourt) or just witter on incessantly and ignore the very British looks of umbrage that are being thrown in your direction (as happened at gigs by such fine artists as John Grant, Midlake and Sleaford Mods to name but three).

Last night's experience reminded me of times in The Cellars (RIP) where they had a notice pinned near the bar advising that it was a "listening venue"; if you spoke too loudly during a set then one of the bar staff would tell you off, and they weren't kidding either. Slightly less full on is a poster campaign by Independent Venue Week that makes the point very clearly; if the band is interrupting your conversation you're in the wrong place. Ideally venues shouldn't have to post up nanny state posters telling punters how to behave, nor should I have to waste pixels venting a small amount of spleen about some people I don't know who couldn't care less, but sadly that's just the way it is.

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(update - unfortunately the link to the IVW campaign appears to have expired, the posters are present via the illustrator though; click the image below to view them on Robbie Porter's website)

Life on Mars

One of the sad facts about gaining years is that, with every day, there's an ever increasing chance that someone you know, love, appreciate, admire or respect will disappear. It's one of the choice parts of the human condition, a happy/sad twist that makes you reflect on what you have, what you've missed out on, what hours there are in the day to make something new or maybe just that it's high time that you bought that new shiny thing that you'd promised yourself. It may be that someone you know has passed on, or it may be that someone you've never met, but to you has had an equally important impact on your life, has died; the writer of a book you can quote offhand perhaps, or an actor who's work you enjoyed, the painter who's way with colour makes the juices in your brain fizz or the performer who's music lifts your soul. If life is like a box of chocolates, and you never know what you're going to get, there's a likelihood that some days you'll be handed the Peanut Cracknel and not the Noisette Triangle. Today was one of those days.

David Bowie is dead and, not to put too fine a point on it, it's bummed me right out. It bummed me out when I woke up to the news, half-dreaming the report read out on the radio, and it's continued to do so as the day has progressed. It's bummed me out, it's pissed me off, it's made me sad and, from the tweets I've read and the items I've seen populating my newsfeed in Facebook, unsurprisingly I'm not alone in how I feel. Today may be beyond Peanut Cracknel, today was a big bar of Marmite chocolate, chewed with a grimace. David Bowie is/was a genius, an artist, a chameleon, a creator of beautiful music and, by most accounts, was a really nice chap to boot. Part of me thinks that this is just another way of him reinventing himself, that he'll reappear as a new creation tomorrow, but that's just the dreamer in me. Bowie has left the planet. The body may be gone but the body of work remains and will always be with us. He really made the grade, and for that I am thankful.

RIP David Bowie (1947-2016)

What to see at Southsea Fest 2014

It seems to me that the relatively simple task of picking a small selection of bands to see at Southsea Fest becomes more difficult every year. That said perhaps I'm deluding myself that it was ever simple (every year I try, and usually fail, to be in several places at once to take in all of the delights on offer) and this year's line-up is, in my opinion, stronger than ever. Eventually, after much poring over the Clashfinder, scratching of head and imbibing of caffeine, I came up with these suggestions for acts that you should maybe see this year...

Honeyblood - The Wine Vaults 'Pie & Vinyl' stage [2100-2130]
Last year, at the inaugural Gland Rock, I found myself the lucky recipient of a bag of Fat Cat vinyl in the raffle. This stuffed Santa's bag of aural delights somehow made it home safely, despite my tired and emotional state (it had been a long day) and the next morning, whilst my hangover slowly abated, I rifled through my red felt sack. Tucked away inside I found a lone 7" single, Bug by Honeyblood, on soothing mellow pink vinyl. None of this is any explanation why you should see Honeyblood at Southsea Fest but, if you need one, know that they can make cakes explode with their minds.



Battery Hens - Southsea Social Club 'Champagne Justice' stage [1355-1725]
At Southsea Fest 2012 I found myself in the cramped confines that is the tiny room above Bar 56, watching a dedicated if not sizable mosh pit wreck themselves to Battery Hens. To this day I still have no idea how I made it out of there without being drenched in lager. If you like noise, and don't mind flying lager, then these are for you.



Wyldest - Bar 56 'Strong Island Recordings' stage [1520-1600] & Magick Bean Café 'The Boy I Used To Be' curated stage [1820-1900]
The duo of Wyldest (or Wildest Dreams as was) have had an eventful year so far. They've won a slot at Green Man, been tipped for great things by various music blogs and, to top it off, have had to change their name. All that and they still had time to produce a fantastic cover of Kate Bush's Cloudbusting.



Mazes - The Wine Vaults 'Pie & Vinyl' stage [2200-2300]
Manchester's Mazes arrive at Southsea Fest with a new album, Wooden Aquarium, under their belts. No, I haven't got it yet so I can't witter on about how good it most likely is; you'll have to toddle along to the Vaults and find out for yourselves instead.



Prides - Little Johnny Russell's 'Psychedelia/Quay West' stage [2130-2200]
Scottish trio Prides recently supported Foxes on tour and played the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games. If you don't get your synthpop fix fully sated by Curxes earlier in the day, and are jonesing for some 80s style keyboards and drums as Southsea Fest works its way into the night, then this lot should sort you out.



Gossling - Kings Theatre 'Southsea Fest' stage [1900-1930]
Australian Helen Croome produces beautiful folk-pop tunes, made slightly off kilter by her distinctive vocals. Quite lovely.



Fear of Men - Southsea Social Club 'Champagne Justice' stage [2200-2245]
Floaty but dark indie pop from Brighton, you can already feel yourself swaying along...



A selection of different acts then, different styles of music, some local and some from further afield. If none of these tickle your fancy, and if you have seven (!) hours to spare, I heartily recommend sampling the official Spotify playlist. If anything it made my cogitations more difficult (such that my plan for five acts to see went right out of the window) but there are gems on there waiting to be heard (including Brontide who, sadly, have had to pull out of Saturday's shenanigans).

Southsea Fest 2014 also sees a couple of local bands bowing out in style, both Attack! Vipers! and The B of The Bang have announced that theyll be playing their last gigs this weekend. Typically, in yet another turn of the festival screw, the Bang's set clashes with that of Curxes so, if you happen to spot a goatee'd oaf bundling across the road from the Kings Theatre to the Wedgewood Rooms (or vice versa) around 1520 on Saturday afternoon, chances are it'll be me.

Now, where did I put that Clashfinder...

Cate le Bon @ The Wedgewood Rooms (10/09/2014)

I feel a bit sorry for Oxford.

The city of dreaming spires may have gifted the nation the likes of Supergrass and Radiohead, provided a home for Lyra Belacqua and played a part in the education of Professor Stephen Hawking, but apparently its audiences aren't very lively. Or, at least, this is what Cate le Bon tells us of her experience playing there the previous evening. Depending upon your level of cynicality this could be viewed as disparaging to the fine people of Oxford or, instead, that well used tactic of winning over a new audience by rubbishing an old one. If it is the latter then it's not a tactic that le Bon needs to use.

The comment regarding the previous night's crowd is dropped several songs into her set, needlessly as I (and, given the applause, the rest of the crowd) am enthralled. What a difference a few songs can make; at the outset I wasn't so sure what we were in for, with le Bon striding across the stage to stand in a dark corner, set apart from the three members of her backing band. Thoughts of J Spaceman, standing aloof at the side of the stage, stirred at the back of my memory. Would this be another such gig where I left feeling that I'd paid money to watch someone who didn't want to be looked at? No, obviously.

From the opening bars of the first song le Bon becomes possessed by the music, stepping into the light and swaying toward the microphone. Holding the guitar like a weapon she moves around the stage, a fluid and better choreographed Wilko Johnson she could machine gun us down at any time. That the set plundered latest album Mug Museum is no real surprise; the first track from the new long player, I Can't Help You, is dispatched early on and a stirring Wild is dedicated to the fine folks of Portsmouth (and sees an errant string broken midway through its wig out, thus the guitar is replaced by handbells for the next couple of numbers).

Her backing band of Huw, Dan and Steve (who were all introduced to in another break between songs) leave le Bon alone for the first song of the encore, a beautifully delicate take on Frank Mills (from the musical Hair but probably better known by some as the last proper track on The Lemonheads' It's A Shame About Ray album). The band rejoin for one last song and then, all too soon, the lights come on and we make our way to the door and the delights of the merchandise desk that awaits us in the foyer.

So, yes, I feel a bit sorry for Oxford. Cate le Bon was an exquisite delight, you'd have to have been staring at your shoes, with fingers in your ears, not to have been swept along with her.

Five acts to see at Southsea Fest 2013

Southsea Fest again takes over a variety of venues along Albert Road this Saturday, filling them with all manner of musical entertainments for your aural and visual pleasure. This year's line-up is a veritable feast of music, so much so that my highlighter pen has gone into hiding rather than take on the task of helping me mark out my copy of the Clashfinder.

Given the choice on offer it might seem a daunting prospect to know where to begin, to that end I've picked five acts that I'm looking forward to seeing to get you started (to be honest I could have set down a long list of bands that I think you ought to take in, but one of the many joys of Southsea Fest is stumbling across your new favourite band when 10 minutes before you'd not heard of them). Are we sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

The Computers - Edge of The Wedge [2115-2145]
Exeter's finest, a rum bunch of slick rockers who should make the walls of the Edge run with sweat. Fronted by a lead singer who finds it hard to stay on the stage if he can help it, and will take his microphone stand with him when he descends into the the crowd, chances are you'll most likely end up with him next to you even if you stand at the back.



Dead Rabbits - Little Johnny Russell's [1830-1900]
Shoegazey darkness from Southampton, flavoured with feedback and a sprinkling of psychedelia. Very nice.



Curxes - Southsea Social Club [1835-1905]
Describing themselves as a decorative set of bones, this Southsea/Brighton duo will mesmerise with their 80's flavoured electro pop. Imagine a Depeche Mode-powered freight train thundering towards you, with a winged valkyrie on the footplate crying out to the engine driver to fuel the firebox with his bass shovel.. there you go. Enjoy. 



Drenge - The Fat Fox [2220-2300]
From Derbyshire comes two brothers who make a lot of noise and make a lot of eye contact with each other. There will be moshing, oh yes, there will be moshing.



The B of The Bang - The Wine Vaults [1815-1845]
Southsea's own purveyors of alt pop rock, expect a selection of old and new material (their sophomore release having been released earlier this year on Pie & Vinyl's label).



So there you go, five of the best to see you on your way. To be honest it was very nearly a different list, as the likes of MMX and Misty Miller, Death At Sea or Eagulls could have made an appearance . If you ever owned a Commodore 64 then perhaps Anamanaguchi would be more your thing. Come to think of it I should've mentioned As Elephants Are and Splashh, or Titan, AK/DK, Veronica Falls, Battery Hens, Future Of The Left, Thumpers, Tripwires, Mugstar, The Family Rain or.. umm.. well, you get the idea. If you're still stuck then you could either give the SSF2013 Spotify playlist a listen or just toddle along to Albert Road and see what tickles your fancy. 

The Tenuously Festive Big Lyric Quiz 2011

Christmas. As Andy Williams noted it's the most wonderful time of the year; a few days of over-indulgence and wistful nostalgia, sitting in the bosom of your family whilst trying not to argue over who gets the last good chocolate in the tin of Quality Street. So then, what better time to blow the dust off of a stack of CDs, pore over sleeve-notes and scribble down lyrics? Yes, you're quite right, I've gone and knocked up a lyric quiz again.

In previous years I've given out suitably cheesy prizes for those returning the highest number of correct answers but, for this year, I think it'll be just for fun (although I might change my mind, it depends how well/badly people do). For those who are tempted to run to Google looking for help don't get any ideas about cheating (as every time you cheat an angel's wings fall off); there are rules, read the small print on the quiz for more information. It's supposed to be fun, honest, so massage your brain, click this link to download the PDF, and get cracking.

Good luck and have a very Happy Christmas.

Seth Lakeman on tour

Several years ago now, back in 2006, a chum and I hopped the bus to Wickham for a day out at the village's then fledgling festival. Having avoided the massed Morris Dancers (one of whom stopped traffic by trying to stare down a bus) we pitched up in the bar to enjoy the day's entertainments, specifically the mid-afternoon set from Devon's Seth Lakeman.

Of course, as events have a way of transpiring, I missed most (well, pretty much all) of Mr Lakeman's set as my chum and I were having a cheeky beer with Scottish songsmith (and thoroughly nice chap) King Creosote who, having just entertained the crowd with a large chunk of KC Rules OK, had strolled into the bar with his backing band. Oh well, these things happen.

Moving swiftly on, Seth Lakeman is, as he seems to be quite frequently of late, on the road again. His autumn/winter tour, in support of the forthcoming 'Tales From The Barrel House' album, makes a couple of stops on the south coast this December; the Mercury Award nominee will pitch up at Brighton's Concorde 2 on Wednesday 14th December (tickets are priced at £18 in advance) before moseying along to The Brook in Southampton on Thursday 15th December (tickets £19 in advance).



UPDATE: The tour now includes a date at The Wedgewood Rooms, Wednesday 29th February. Tickets are on sale now priced £18 in advance.

Jesus Jones - 'International Bright Young Things'

So there I was, wilfing across the vast expanse of the internet as I'm usually wont to do of a lunchtime, when I stumbled across the news that 90's pop/rock combo Jesus Jones have reformed. And yes, I may have done a little happy dance.

Mike Edwards and chums are planning two 'thank you for your patience' gigs in November, one in London and the other in Birmingham, with plans afoot to tour the UK next year [crosses fingers for Portsmouth Guildhall].

OK, so the gigs aren't local but, well, any excuse to play this..

UPDATE: The two November gigs have been rescheduled to January 2012; HMV Institute in Birmingham on Friday 27th, then the O2 Academy in London the following evening, Saturday 28th.

NME Radar Tour @ The Wedgewood Rooms 04/10/2011

The NME Radar Tour always throws up a mixed bag of musical delights; like a tin of Quality Street you're never quite sure if you're going to get the Noisette Triangle or the Peanut Cracknell. The bands on this, the Autumn leg of the tour, are not unknown quantities however, I'd made sure I downloaded the tour EP from the venerable music mag's website beforehand. Nice.

Sweden's Niki & the Dove are first up; lead singer Malin Dahlström appears to have raided Cyndi Lauper's wardrobe whilst keyboardist Gustaf Karlöf has come straight from the set of Miami Vice. These are good things; I liked Cyndi Lauper, I liked Miami Vice and, is it transpires, I really love Niki & The Dove. I could be objective and witter on about where the elements of their music have been lifted from, or make comparisons to other fine acts from Scandinavian parts *koff*The Knife*koff* but, honestly, where's the fun in that? Suffice to say that I thought their performance was excellent, powerful, gripping and delicate. So, after this wonderful start, what follows?

Next to tread the boards are S.C.U.M, a London-based five piece who [reads notes] take their name from Valerie Solanas' SCUM Manifesto. They're a hairy combination of pretentions and driving beats and, whilst I like the sound the band produce, I must confess I find it lacking when compared to The Horrors' current and similarly 80s flavoured tunes. Ultimately it's the antics of the lead singer that begin to disjoint my gigging experience; within two songs of their set the lead singer has appealed to the lighting engineer for the front of stage illuminations to be turned off. This, he assures us, will make things nicer. Subsequent to this he prances around the stage, barefoot, finally sitting down out of sight of the audience. Sitting down, on the stage, right where the singer from The Computers spat copiously several weeks previously. Oh dear.

The final band of the evening are Wolf Gang. Throughout the two previous sets my attention has been slowly drawn to a large white cube, resting on a keyboard stand, at the rear of the stage. Given that it was emblazoned with a large W and a large G I surmised, correctly, that it was part of Wolf Gang's stage accoutrements. Other than the natty scarf the lead singer employs to differentiate himself from the rest of his suitably attired cohorts, this is pretty much the most interesting thing I can say about their live set. Whilst I liked what I heard previously the live experience, especially after Niki & The Dove and S.C.U.M, is to my ears bland to say the least. I recall muttering something Coldplay related under my breath (I know, I shouldn't but...) before making for the door, it looked like we got the Toffee Penny in the end after all.

CHAOS: 20 years and out

It's hard to believe I know but Chaos, Portsmouth's legendary alternative club night, is 20 years old this year. Since its inception in 1991 its entertained thousands with its fresh and dirty approach to music, first at South Parade Pier and, more recently, at the Wedgewood Rooms. Along the way its twice won The News' Guide Awards Best Club Night & Best DJs and has quite comfortably become the South Coast's longest running independent club night.

The 20th anniversary Chaos is scheduled for Saturday 26th November but, before you get a hankering for a slice of cake, any celebration must be tempered by the knowledge that it will also be the last Chaos; after 20 years of outstanding club nights the good people behind the scenes have decided to call it a day. The reasons behind the decision are both straightforward (20 years is a long time) and logical (there are many more pubs and venues offering a wide choice of music, wider than when the club night started) and fully explained on their website.

Over the years I've had some very good and, on occasion, very bad nights at Chaos, pretty much dependent on the amount of alcohol imbibed (more beer = more jumping around like a loonie). I'm old enough to (hazily) remember loud and raucous nights at the Albert Tavern on South Parade Pier, hopping over the moat of broken glass at the bar to get the beers in (and never risking the Sangria). I'd awake the next morning a fetid mess, wreathed in the smell of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Good times indeed.

Before it goes the way of Topdoris there are still a few opportunities to experience 'that Chaos feeling' before the lights finally dim over the wheels of steel; first up is this coming Saturday 8th October (£5 advance), then there's the legendary Halloween Special on Saturday 29th October (£6 advance). That sets things up nicely for the final Chaos, a two room celebration featuring DJs both old and current, all of whom will be spinning a cavalcade of Chaos classics (fingers crossed for Limp Bizkit's cover of Faith). Tickets will be £7 in advance and should be available soon. 

See you down the front then, yes?

Ghostpoet at The Railway & The Registry

Fresh from playing Bestival singer/producer Ghostpoet has embarked on a tour of the UK which takes in two stops on the South Coast this week. The Mercury Prize nominee will be playing Winchester's venerable venue The Railway on Wednesday, 5th October, with support coming from from Craig's Band and Brighton's Woo!Worths. Tickets are available, priced £8 in advance, from the venue or Entertainment24.

The following evening, Thursday 6th October, the action moves to Portsmouth for the headline slot of Churchgonewild at The Registry. Support comes courtesy of Breton and Sumo DJs Kry Wolf. Entrance for this gig is FREE (no, really, I'm not making it up), which is nice.

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.

Fake Fest 2011

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 Queen at Wembley in 1986, 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 Glastonbury style toilets or Bestival style 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

Leonard Bernstein. Leonid Brezhnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs.

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 Greenpeace Rainbow 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.

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.

That's Me In The Corner

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.

The Cellars saved!

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 smörgåsbord of 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). 

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.

Southsea Fest preview

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). 

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?