Saturday overview

The day begins with my one and only visit to the Sunrise stage, now shifted into the woods, making it the only stage off the main drag, and thereby ensuring I never go there again. This isn’t the plan for the weekend, but the fayre elsewhere meant that there was never the over-riding desire to move on across the lake. This is a shame because I loved popping in there and checking out unknown bands at last years festival, so maybe this would be a better spot for the theatre tent with music shifted back to the main arena?

To add insult to injury, the act I see (Andy Gower) turns out to be on his last song, but it was an interesting one. There are just two of them on stage, one playing a guitar with a bow with Gower on acoustic as they build up a frenzied shimmering end that sounds ecstatic but combines with lyrics about ‘caving his head in’. Quite a fascinating contrast that raises the curiosity, so when he leaves the stage I am cursing my timing.



Next, it’s off to hear Talk Taxis on the Lake Stage. Or at least I hope it will be as Satin Peaches are making quite a noise nearby, as are Abba, with ‘Take a chance on Me’ blurting from a nearby stall. Thankfully, the sound is more than capable of coping with these distractions, although in truth the band are fairly mediocre. There are hundreds of bands that sound like this, playing spiky guitar and trying to ape The Libertines, but what is required is some charisma. The Libertines had this in spades but Talk Taxis currently fail that test. I did like the NY Cab livery on the guitar though.


Opening on the now open air main (Obelisk) stage are The Rushes, and they turn out to be another band striving to sound like so many others, this time aspiring on 70’s Americana. The band certainly put everything into the performance – it is apparently so emotive that even the drummer closes his eyes for the words – but the most enjoyment I have is just after I write the words “like The Feeling without the hooks” when they introduced a track called ‘Get The Feeling’. I have a good chuckle to myself, I can tell you.

Having seen enough, I move on and already see more promise in the massive applause Elvis Perkins is getting in the Uncut tent than in the lukewarm response The Rushes have had. And for good reason too, as Perkins is great fun, from his fun-time stomp ‘Hey’ to the closing skiffle-esque ‘Doomsday’.

The percussionist gets to play from in front of his kit as certain tracks feature a Big Bass drum being marched about the stage, whilst bass is played on a Double and Perkins blows his harmonica while strumming. In addition, for ‘Doomsday’ Alec Ounsworth from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! plays guitar and 3 Cold War Kids mess about with percussion and what might have been a hurdy gurdy. At one point I notice a man back stage wearing a crash helmet, and expect him to be wheeled out and played at any moment, but sadly I think he’s just a courier as he stays where he is. And yes, it may be because I am getting on a bit that I find this step towards the alt-Country so appealing, but I finally feel as though my Saturday had begun, after a couple of false starts. Perkins only tries to be Perkins, ploughing his furrow in an established genre, granted, but at least he throws in his own performance ideas that make a style of his own.


Annuals are interesting, although never quite engaging. There is plenty of instrument swapping going on between the 6 piece, that gives it an experimental feel, and it all sounds a little like how Athlete should have turned out had they turned the other way from the ‘sales sales sales’ direction they went in after the first album. They have a quirky keyboard sound and a similar voice and tempo to ‘Vehicles and Animals’ and although a couple of the songs in the set were overlong, there is just enough to hold the attention but not a lot to take notes about.

The £8 programme provides some value for money when I discover that Herman Dune is not a fabulously named individual, but in fact a fabulously named family, as it is the surname of 3 of the band. Except only David-Ivar is here, as sister Lisa is AWOL and brother Andre has retired from live performance!

Until the lush recent single ‘I Wish I Could See You Soon’ was released, I confess I hadn’t heard of the band. It turns out that they recorded 12 Peel Sessions (more value from the programme there!), and how I wish I’d listened to them, because this performance is lovely.

In a truckers cap and with huge beard, the fey vocals would be a surprise to those that hadn’t clapped ears on them before, but combined with the Hawaiian guitars, bongos and some trumpet, all usually followed by an electric guitar solo, we have a terrific Jonathan Richman style sound.

Set highlight is ‘My Baby Is Afraid of Sharks’, in which David lists all the things that his baby is scared of – The Dark, Fire, Thunder, Strangers, Cars and of course, Sharks – then ticks them off as he sorts out her phobias just by being by her side. If you think that’s a tad self-aggrandising, it is put right during the next song ‘Good for No-one’ where he sings ‘I am good for no-one, and you…you are the perfect woman’.

A week before the festival kicked off, I asked on a forum which band they would recommend I saw without fail. One man said The Duloks, because ‘the front woman is a hoot’ - which was good enough to make sure that I made this the one not to miss - I like a laugh and the comedy tent was impossible to get into.



I don’t regret the decision. With one Dulok holidaying in Africa, Ken Stringfellow, of The Posies and REM, has been recruited to play the tunes on the Casio for the normally all-female 3 piece, and he still has to conform with the 118 118 chic image of sport socks, short shorts, t-shirt, headband and pigtails.

The songs are all performed with a simple arrangement featuring the aforementioned Casio, drums, and singer Mira Manga, who lives up to the pre-festival billing. They are gloriously bad, musically (deliberately) amateur with a slightly unhinged inter-song chat that matches the lunacy of the songs themselves. When Manga spots her ex-boyfriend in the crowd, he is pointed out immediately and asked ‘why did you stop loving me and stuff?’ In one song she is among the audience exclaiming ‘I saw you eat the fish - You are a BAD vegetarian’ and there’s another ditty, just a minute long, called ‘Help I’m Turning Into Mick Jagger’ which draws as many smiles.

By my reckoning, the maximum number of times you could watch The Duloks is probably only two - but the first time is brilliant.

I am quite enjoying The Hold Steady’s show when I suddenly feel a burning sensation on my leg. It isn’t the sun, although that has thankfully been out all day, but a spare battery for my radio that has heated up a £1 coin to what appears to be 100 degrees Celsius. I can’t empty the pocket quick enough, burning my finger in the process.

The reason for telling you this is to point out that it’s not all plain sailing for your efests correspondent; it can be dangerous out there! But mainly it’s to explain why the review for the band is rubbish – I am a bit distracted and my writing finger hurts!

Anyway, it is an enjoyable set from the oldest new band out there (bar The bloody Zimmers of course) and whilst it is yet another American indie-rock band in a festival that had been dominated by American (or wannabe American) indie-rock bands, it is a superior version…with an impressive moustache.

As they wrap up what is the final show of a 3 month tour, they confess that they only started the band so they could drink beer two nights a week, which reminds me of the woman I used to work with whose husband went out for a football paper on a Saturday and never came back. I wonder if the Hold Steady’s wives know where they are? Imagine how much trouble they are in for when they finally get home! In the meantime, as they smile broadly and high five onstage, they cannot believe their luck.



Next up were Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!, whose records I adore. Tonight though they are dull, hampered by sound gremlins but that’s not the problem. As is a regular bugbear of mine, there is barely an acknowledgement of an audience – they might as well be playing in a basement to themselves.

I try so hard to enjoy it, I truly do. But despite Alec Ounsworth’s unique sounds-as-though-he’s-desperately-constipated voice eventually coming to the fore in the mix, it is simply more boring indie-rock. It isn’t a difficult decision to make half way through their set my dinner time.

There was never going to be a dull moment with CSS though, not unless there had been a radical change in direction in the last two weeks. Lovefoxx bounded onto the stage, sparkling, literally from her catsuit and metaphorically with her attitude. This band are all about having a good time, and making sure you join in with them.



From the first note the feet are shifting and the head is bobbing as Lovefoxx choreographs the crowd to do her bidding through ‘This Month, Day 10’ and joins the barrier throng for ‘Alcohol’, letting them attempt the ‘woo woo’s at the end.

New track ‘The Beautiful Song’ is no great departure from the successful formula applied so far - Lovefoxx sing/rapping over funky guitars - but why should it when it’s lapped up. There is even a cover of L7’s ‘Pretend We’re Dead’ thrown in, during which the singer peels off the catsuit…to reveal another catsuit. For a moment I thought she was about to emulate that infamous L7 moment on ‘The Word’.

Naturally it all ends with the danciest record of the last 12 months – ‘Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death From Above’ and the whole crowd is frugging. This includes Mark Steel and Jeremy Hardy who, quite surreally, are now standing next to me. As the song closes, the diminutive front woman is swallowed up by the crowd whilst the rest of the band wig-out with their instruments before filling their lungs from helium balloons and issuing high pitched ‘thank you’s, and reluctantly leaving the stage. Now that’s how to entertain!

It’s a pity The Good The Bad and The Queen weren’t taking notes. Their set is musically impeccable. Damon Albarn’s voice is in fine fettle, Paul Simonon’s reggae bass is heart-pumpingly moody and the bolstering string quartet play gorgeously, yet people are talking among themselves because sound is all that is coming from the stage – the band gives us nothing extra.



So whilst ‘History Song’, ‘Herculean’ and ‘Kingdom of Doom’ are brilliant tunes and ‘A Soldier’s Tale’ hauntingly stunning, this isn’t a main stage headline show. They are too uber cool to show that they are openly enjoying themselves - even if the Simonon strut and Albarn grin give the game away a little, they lose their audience bar those that are fans of the album.

In the encore the band plays a Bedouin sounding song, and brings on a rapper orating in what I’m guessing was Arabic for one verse. In his two minutes on stage he encourages more audience participation than there had been for the whole of the last hour and a desperate crowd lap it up.

The next day Marcus Brigstocke pronounces the show to be ‘mediocre’ during a Literary Tent show. If he is talking about what he heard he couldn’t be further from the truth, but if it’s what he saw he is referring to he is spot on. A headliner needs to combine those senses and thrill at least both, and simply putting on a top hat won’t cut it, Damon.

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