The dust has settled, the neoprene-polyester tent fires have finally been extinguished, the scrats have been disposed of in huge refuse pits, too drunk on casual violence and Stella to care… no, that was just one of my darker dreams… and a month-long clean up campaign will be underway from Festival Republic. The festival season is nearly over (Bestival is still to come for all you die-hards) and it has corporate rocked. By way of penance and payment for my place in the hallowed grounds of the guest area, behold! My long-winded review, précis, summary, self-indulgent dry hump lig fest. Enjoy!
Thursday 21st August
And you all thought it started on Friday – wrong! For the last two years, Dance To The Radio have generously curated an evening of label/Leeds orientated entertainment for the festival early birds.
The guest entrance is closed due to mudding, so after a long trek and having to down my wine at the entrance gate, we manage to catch the last two songs of Wintermute, who seem to be owning the stage when we get there (please note: the Introducing stage has the best sound all weekend – natch). Dan is so in the zone that a can thrown at him is dodged ten seconds before it arrives. Yah boo sucks, you non-fan of nerd rock. Chris and Dave rock out regardless, prompting the mythical unprompted clap along; Ben is so surprised he misses a beat. Rounding off the set with ‘Jambon Jambon’ (it’s French) I get a slight lump in my throat. These boys have grown; soon they’ll be flown.
Dinosaur Pile-Up, featuring ex-Mother Vulpine frontman Matt, come as a bit of surprise – sorta like hearing Mars Volta after loving At The Drive In. They’ve got drop D pop down to a tee, but it sounds pretty standard and fairly pedestrian if well written. Matt looks all floppy fringed but the sound has gone more rawk… it’s satifying but shallow. I will need another band ten minutes later.
After a brief respite to smuggle more wine into the site and meet up with Adam TiNTV, we fight back through the mud to find that the Pigeon Detectives are playing next – a surprise gig from one of Leeds’ favourite bands. Unfortunately, they are not one of mine, though I must admit they have one or two good, albeit moronic, songs. Boy, that hurt. Having taken an age to set up (not really their fault) their sound is the worst of the evening (not really their fault) but Matt Bowman struts around the stage with arrogant flair, stirring up the now familiar chants of ‘Yorkshire’ and ‘Leeds!’ The wine is kicking in hard at this point and I am in danger of coming out the worst at the hands of Pigeons fans. Thank goodness Adam is still sober.
Broken Records, playing to a much depleted audience after the triumphant and magnanimous Pigeon Detectives leave the stage, have many players and many instruments. Violins, guitars, drums, keys, vocals… yep, it’s a bit Arcade Fire. Even more than that, they’re a bit Levellers and a bit Dexy’s Midnight Runners. Folksy and innocuous, they entertain without leaving the slightest imprint on my mind, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
What is a bad thing is the length of the Grammatics’ set. Three measly songs with Owen doing his level best to make the most out of a bad situation. ‘Polar Swelling’ is a great warm up, ‘D.I.L.E.M.M.A.’ is the best I’ve ever heard them do it and ‘Shadow Committee’ cranks up like a Bond theme should. They even make reference to Justice’s ‘We Are Your Friends.’ Then it is all over and the foppish four are no more. I am left with a semi-on and a rekindled hatred of the Pigeon Detectives. Rob is robbed.
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