Festival Reviews – All the Latest Global Music Festival Reviews

Iceland Airwaves 2009

ClashMusic — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 13:15:36 +0000

It’s the land of ice, fire and one of the most effortlessly hip festivals in the world but, while ‘Iceland Airwaves’ is not necessarily the coldest anymore thanks to global warming, it’s up there with the coolest; inexplicably it remains a small and perfectly formed music industry secret.

Initial concerns over the future of Airwaves proved to be unfounded. Phew! With undoubtedly furious activity backstage, this highlight of the Icelandic music scene emerged relatively unscathed from its country’s economic meltdown, which made international headlines the week before last year's festival. Revellers stumbled through Airwaves 2008 in a state of numbness and shock as the reality sank in. But Icelanders are nothing if not resilient in the face of adversity. And one year on, the anger may not feel as visceral to the festival tourists, but there is a bar with pictures of Iceland’s most wanted bankers in the men's urinals for target practice. Well they did piss their country’s finances away….

For Airwaves 2009, once again musicians, fans and the immaculately dressed beautiful people rose to the occasion. There were as many international bands as usual (everything at the Clash night at Nasa) – and the home grown talent was positively bursting at the seams. This exceptionally patriotic country has a love of music at its very core. Everyone seems to be in a band (or three) or with the band; Par for the course when the population of your entire country is 320,000 (half the size of Nottingham). And now thanks to the financial freefall, it’s actually affordable to buy a drink. So let’s toast a shot of apple schnapps to the 10th year of the shebang. And what a triumph it was. Tickets sold out weeks before the event and it seems there’s nothing like a country in crisis to make the kids party like its 1999. Jumping spontaneously from venue to venue as the day became night and the night became day, the Icelandic kids run riot and chaos rules.

Explore in and around the main drag downtown (Laugavegur) and you’ll find most of the shops, cafés or art galleries double up as a performance space. There are happenings ago-go in every nook and cranny and it’s entirely possible to stumble across low key sets by artists due play a bigger gig later on. Some you may have heard of, but mostly it’s like a box of chocolates Forrest. You never know what you’re going to get.

My voyage of unexpected discoveries began on a sofa at Nordic House, the venue for a special program of intimate acoustic performances followed by a Q&A. The opportunity to get under the skin of these talented musos was not lost on some. Following an astonishing set from the Danish four piece Choir of Young Believers – stripped back orchestral pop with soaring vocals from a heavily bearded lead singer - one woman wanted to know what the band ate for breakfast. And no she wasn’t testing their sounds levels on the mic. For the record the bassist is a muesli kind of guy while the others like fruit, or was it toast?

I have no idea what Casiokids sing about because they sing in Norwegian. Nor do I care after witnessing their explosive electro pop rip up the Art Museum. The band comes from what’s turning out to be a hotbed of talent, Bergen. Earlier that day, they’d given little away of what was to come in an acoustic set. Who knew (not to be confused with Who Knew? also in this years line up) these seemingly introverted nerdy keyboard merchants would transform into serious contenders for best live act of the festival. Not me. The clincher may’ve been the stage diving, crowd surfing, monkey suit wearing band member, who literally went ape.

One of their main rivals for stage supremacy was Metronomy. Brit Joseph Mount and his outfit brought the house down with their quirky electronic dance pop and their light show. They have the honour of being the only foreign band that has been asked to play Airwaves twice. After this performance, next year could be the hat-trick.

The Clash night at Nasa was mental even by Icelandic standards. By the time Jessica 6 came on and revealed herself to be a man in drag, it was a question of survival of the fittest. While singer Nomi Ruiz prowled the stage with her dark club grooves, the 100% proof Viking teenagers took going mental to a whole new level. Next on were the 'Ones to Watch', Retro Stefson; All under 19 and there are loads of them. Last count 7. The day before, they’d played a set at a clothes shop and made every one sit down and do weird dance moves. The clearly like a bit of audience participation and at their big gig, there seemed even more of them jumping around to their calypso infused melodic indie pop rock. And I swear I heard a line from ‘Pass the Duchy’ somewhere in there.

With queues of teenagers round the building, the club was stuffed to full capacity by the time local heroes FM Belfast took the stage and blew the roof off with their catchy electro indie pop featuring 'Underwear' – an aerobic session of a sing a long featuring the lyric “running down the street in my underwear”.

The eagerly anticipated – some might say overhyped? – The Drums from Florida gave an energetic performance, especially the dude with the tambourine (he must have had three shredded wheat for breakfast). While not massively original, their sound was reminiscent of The Cure (the early poppy years) crossed with in places a bit of Martin Fry.

Outside the confines of this frozen landscape, the names of the Icelandic musical offerings sound, well a bit random. Like a list of phrases a la Bowie channelling William Burroughs. Where else are you going to get to hear Sudden Weather Change (guitar ninjas); Sing For me Sandra (no frills pop rock); Me, the Slumbering Napoleon (post punk) , Hello Elephant (goth folk), Don’t Dance Darling and the fast and furious Bummer (who played at a club called Sódóma. I kid you not) to name but a few. And let’s not forget Smoking with Mittens, Nana Wants to Know and Hot Pocket... Okay those last three were may not be strictly true but you get the picture.

Despite the culture, the food (still dreaming about that lobster soup) and the eccentricities (well everyone’s a little bit bonkers and not in a Dizzee way), this festival's main USP has to be the geothermal spas. It’s the law that everyone who goes to Reykjavik must visit the Blue Lagoon. And so with ones civic duty in mind, even the most sleep deprived drag their weary bones to the hangover party. It’s really a pool party in a lava field where the steam from the hot milky white water to create nature’s very own smoke machine. Excited swimsuit clad revellers clutching beers, doing the conga and basically accessing their inner child in a grown up's playground. Even the techno sounded good and when 'Love is in the Air' came on, the euphoria was palpable. This is what heaven must be like for clubbers. If God was a Dj, this is where he’d spin his discs.

Words by Sharuna Sagar

End Of The Road

ClashMusic — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 13:04:54 +0000

It’s my fourth time at End of the Road. Every year I think, "Maybe Bestival next year. Maybe I should join my friends, dress up and watch Lily Allen". But no, I just can’t do it. Why would I torture myself by going somewhere that wasn’t End of the Road? I couldn’t do it. It would hurt too much.

Why? Because End of the Road is the most beautiful, magical little festival you could possibly imagine. The dreams of organisers Simon and Sofia have come true…and thank God for their vision. Uncommercial still, not a chip in sight, secret sets in a tipi, resident peacocks, a secret wood with a light up dance floor and giant jenga, and some of the finest bands you’ll ever hear, even if you had never heard a whiff of them before they take to the stage.

The three-day festival started with Mumford & Sons. A lot has been bandied around about these boys of late and the massive crowd that gathered on the sunny Friday afternoon showed it. Even they were amazed by the turn out. It was a great start to EOTR09 – a mix of county, rocky, folkiness as the first cider slipped down.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with a last-minute Euros Childs set, always pleasing, but he brings out way too many albums to keep up with, making his set a bit ramshackled. It was a far cry from the amazingly weird Dirty Projectors and their vocal ping pong. It was a bit like watching Barbie robots and a woolly-jumper clad Edwyn Collins on stage: fascinating, but odd. Then there was the tighter than tight Vetiver, with their harmony-infused country pop, and tighter than tight Get the Blessing, bringing a bit of a jazzy vibe to the day.

As the sun went down and the stars filled the sky (and it got bloody cold), the night belonged to Herman Dune, playing a collection of songs from 'Next Year in Zion' and a few new numbers. "It’s the best festival in England" drummer Neman said to massive applause.

Saturday was a scorcher and the garden, surrounded by strange Victorian pavilions and stages, was packed by midday ready for a set with The Leisure Society, fronted by Ivor Novello nominee Nick Hemming. His sweet songs accompanied by cello, ukulele, violin and flute went down amazingly well. Next for those camped out in the sunshine was EOTR regular Darren Hayman, singing his hilarious observations. "You look like the lesbian off Brookside", was a particular favourite.

A welcome surprise had to be the Big Top afternoon set by Brooklyn’s Motel Motel, a mix of avant garde indie with a rocky edge, yet still with a folky hint every now and then. Imagine Tim Buckley joining Vampire Weekend playing indie prog. They were definitely one of the highlights of the festival.

The Low Anthem brought those who remained at the Garden Stage to tears with their gentle, delicate folk, especially with the soothing and rich clarinet. Simply beautiful.

It was difficult to find any time away from the music with all the other amazing acts – The Acorn, Laura Gibson, Malcolm Middleton, Zun Zun Egui and the fabulous Stardeath and White Dwarves, keeping the Flaming Lips sound in the family (the singer is Wayne Coyne’s nephew).

Fleet Foxes pulled the biggest crowd of the weekend, as expected, and didn’t disappoint. They took their time and played softly and sweetly, including a few new songs. You could hear a pin drop for most of the set, but it didn’t stop the crowd going mental for the bigger hits 'White Winter Hymnal' and 'Mykonos', and a cover of Robin’s favourite, 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac (I enjoyed it almost as much as the hilarious tone-deaf X-Factor wannabe behind me. He knew EVERY word).

Strangely, one of the highlights of the day was the Jarvis Cocker and Richard Hawley DJ set, not because of who they were (to be honest, they looked like a couple of middle ages 50s throw backs discussing last night’s telly on stage…and they were rubbish DJs!), but everyone was in that party mood. The right side of drunkenness and the summer we all longed for had arrived and everyone was loving it. There was much dancing to be had. Thanks guys.

An extremely excited and thankful Bob Lind set the mood for Sunday. He was so happy to be performing and we were more than grateful for his sunny disposition. His lifetime of folk songs, some played with an accompanying Cocker and Hawley on guitars, put a smile on everyone’s face. "Yes, yes, yes" he said, punching the air, as he finished his set. Bless!

After the garden crowd tried their hand at acting (Swipe will live on forever!), we all sat for an afternoon of gentle and inspiring music. Nah! Bob Log III came on stage, stripped and played the dirtiest, sexiest blues guitar I have every heard. Even though his face was masked by a crash helmet and even though I could see way too much through his gold cat suit, I fell in love. ‘Shit on my leg’ was a particular favourite of the all dancing crowd. Absolutely amazing.

The rest of the afternoon was a little more soothing, helped by a dose of comedy and book readings before the glorious tales sung by Alasdair Roberts warmed those feeling the early evening chill. His nerves got the better of him a little, but the beauty of such songs as Hazel grove shined through.

There followed the country-rockier sound of Richmond Fontaine and the more psychedelic Archie Bronson Outfit while The Hold Steady brought the festival to an end on the main garden stage, but none could step on the toes of the almighty and mental Quack Quack. I’ll have some of what they’re having please!

Words by Gemma Hampson

View a gallery from End Of The Road HERE

Bestival 2009 - Part 2

ClashMusic — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 13:39:22 +0000

Clash casts it's eye over a further selection of bands who played at last weekend's Bestival.

Massive Attack

The Bristol godfathers of trip-hop have spawned a thousand imitators, none of whom quite compare to the group themselves – but was this status as legendary innovators secured on their Saturday headline slot at Bestival? Well, kind of… Massive Attack did indeed show why they’ve gathered such a revered reputation, but it didn’t quite get me or most of the crowd as excited as was hoped.

They rolled out many of the classics – ‘Teardrop’ (which still sounded lovely to be honest and incited a nostalgic singalong. Highlight of the set), ‘Unfinished Sympathy’, ‘Future Proof’ and the rest were there, and were definitely enjoyable to listen to, but we were all gagging for something a little more…

A fine performance, for sure, but trip hop by its very nature isn’t necessarily the best thing for a Friday night festival headline slot, even if it is played by the best in the business. Not a bad set by any means, but the band ended up as victims of their own downtempo brilliance.

2ManyDJs

After playing a storming set of electronic-rock with Soulwax on the main stage several hours previous, the Dewaele brothers moved over to the Big top tent and adopted their 2ManyDJs moniker to aid the tent’s nightly transmission into a dance haven. Hard workers, these chaps.

Playing a marathon set, 2MDJs worked the crowd through a variety of uplifting electro, straight-up dance tracks and remixes, splicing everything and anything (in the style of their acclaimed ‘As Heard On Radio Soulwax’ series) to a rapturous reception from the rammed-to-the-rafters tent, accompanied by some nice twisted backdrop visuals.

Finishing the night with beatified mashups of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ and the Prodigy’s ‘Outer Space’ – a nice nod to Bestival’s space theme – everyone left the Bigtop danced-out but thoroughly satisfied, especially this writer, whose rum and cider-filled legs were screaming for rest. Watching 2MDJs seemed a suitably high point on which to end the fun. For now…

Squarepusher

Sporting a new look of cap and ghetto-orange jacket, Tom 'Squarepusher' Jenkinson arrived on stage looking as up for it as ever, and put in a predictably superb performance. Though his was a late slot on the last day of the festival, he even managed to incite an almost partied-out crowd into having it for one last time – no mean feat considering the energy-draining debauchery that had occurred since Thursday.

Also on stage was (fantastic) drummer Alex Thomas, who has now become a staple part of Jenkinson’s live show, expanding his role into providing live beats for older Squarepusher tracks (giving them a new lease of life) as well as cuts from his underrated ‘Just a Souvenir’ album. Of these newer songs, ‘Delta V’ and ‘A Real Woman’ sounded particularly good live, showcasing the tripped-out jazz-rock that Jenkinson has mastered.

There were, of course, also the Squarepusher classics, including ‘Hello Meow’ and ‘Come On My Selector’, which sent the crowd wild enough to chuck around a giant inflatable phallus. By this point in the festival, these sorts of occurrences (worryingly) didn’t really seem that unusual. Jenkinson also performed a particularly energetic and suitably jaw-dropping bass solo and some new material, both of which went down a storm. Quite simply, the man never lets up and never disappoints. Legend.

Rizla Arena

Providing a fantastic intimate vibe throughout the weekend, the Rizla Arena was quite often the place to be for a party, proven by the queues of people waiting to get in on the action. Luckily, the open-air setup meant that all and sundry could – and did – enjoy the irresistible beats and bass flooding out from the mini arena. An eclectic selection of beat-heads from Micachu to Jazzie B steered the musical content over the festival, but here are a few of my personal highlights. Opening the stage was Shuttle (Passion Pit’s drummer Nate Donmoyer) – a very talented new signing to Ninja Tunes who managed to stir up a bloody great party at midday on Friday through an excellent set full of dirty breaks infused with bassline, dub and grime. Perfect start to the weekend.

After more treats on Friday night, including Jon Carter and Optimo, Saturday saw the arena host hip hop karaoke, some of which was surprisingly good. Some, unsurprisingly, not quite as good but highly entertaining nonetheless. I then managed to catch a slither of the excellent Ragga Twins, who ripped things up with their heavy, digital take on beat-led ragga. Marvellous. Space-disco don Lindstrom headlined the Saturday night, and would have been a sure thing for me had the mighty Kraftwerk not been playing their incredible main stage set, though I’m sure Lindstrom struggled on without me.

Sunday’s Rizla highlight was the legendary Greg Wilson taking the main slot. As professional and entertaining as ever, his distinctive mix of ‘proper’ funk, soul and classy party beats was the perfect uplifting end to the festival. Part of Wilson’s charm has always been in unearthing tracks you’ve never heard before that simultaneously sound like solid gold timeless tunes, and his set tonight was no exception, mixing in these hidden gems with a selection of classics. This ensured that everyone staggered out of the arena with a smile plastered to their face.

Words by Tristan Parker

Bestival 2009

ClashMusic — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 15:12:04 +0000

‘2009: A Space Oddity’ was the fancy dress theme for this years Bestival. And it’s pretty much the most stunning place to transform yourself into an other-worldly creature such is the passion that Bestival goers apply to their outfits.

Of course with headliners Kraftwerk, whose futuristic and robotic visions kicked off so much, the thrill of seeing 40,000 people dressed as robots was mouth watering.
And so as the varying space travellers landed in the sunny fields, glimpses of the hilarity and puns to do with space started to show. Characters abound. From Mars bars to space bars to disabled parking spaces and onto Fidel Castro-nauts, Johnny Cash-tronauts, Mir Cat Space Stations and almost every character from Star Wars, Star Trek, The Clangers and Button Moon. The invention was as endless as the universe itself.

Possibly the prize for the best costume was a nine foot high Aliens cargo bay lifter robot. The type of thing you fling aliens from airlocks with. Clearly, a very, very impressive amount of work was put into it.

The DJs were having a field day with the theme too. With tunes from from David Bowie (who applied much subtext to the event thanks to his Ziggy Stardust phase and his request for Kraftwerk to play with him) to the Prodigy’s ‘Outta Space’ and onto Ash’s ‘Girl from Mars’, every space themed song got massive cheers from the cacophony of spaced-out revellers.
Clash even had the luck to land a ‘Squrt’ which is like a mini Yurt (In other words a fancy place to camp). This was fantastic and has set a trend for our future as we were camped right by the main arena in a quiet Tipi field. Warm in the cold, yet cool in the sun they were a godsend after the haunting memories of last year’s battlefield-like trench war with the elements.

Further reviews from Bestival will follow but right now we must focus on Kraftwerk.

Kraftwerk

At a time where the Beatles are back with their Rock Band games and iTunes releases there is no better time to reflect on the German’s achievements in kickstarting electronic music and their continued influence over the last 40 years.

With all six of their key albums being released on October 5th it’s hard to see when they have sounded better or more relevant than in 2009. Their themes are enduring and were clairvoyant to the point that they haven’t dated. ‘Vitamins’ anticipated the deluge of supplements including dance drugs and their retro visuals are keen to enforce this. ‘Radioactivity’ ‘Robots’ and ‘Techno Pop’ were so far ahead of their time in vision and sound that the rest of the world have only just caught up.

When the Kraftwerk robots were ‘unleashed’ from behind a human operated curtain (the charm of human need remains deep with Kraftwerk’s retro futuristic world) there was never a better time for the gathered droids in the crowd to scream back ‘We are the Robots!’ This was one of my favourite moments of the summer.

It was in short an honour to have been influenced by this group so much over my life and yet see them still so simple, pristine and funky in minimalism, was a fine hour. Add to that the fact they have rebuilt their studio, Kling Klang, and are making fresh music makes the prospect of their continued dominance even more inviting. Look out for Clash issue 43 on October 8th where we delve deep into their history.

The Horrors

'I'm standing well back as I don't want to get caught in the moshpit' said one impressionable girl as Clash stood waiting for the UK's skinniest band around to take to the stage. The poor dear obviously hasn't heard second album ‘Primary Colours’, for the set was more shoegaze than shoe throwing.

Playing a set which saw no material from their debut, The Horrors' performance was beset by sound problems, which saw singer Faris shouting instructions - off mic - at the soundman. An echoey big top tent made for washy sounds and lost vocals, meaning the carefully constructed atmosphere of the band's latest material was lost to the ether.
Clearly frustrated, they gave up rather than battle on, playing a lacklustre clutch of tunes including crowd favourite ‘Sea Beyond the Sea’. A disappointing end to the season for a band that had been one of Clash's favourite performers on the festival circuit this year.

Fleet Foxes

As a low moon rose over the main stage of Bestival, raising the curtain for the penultimate performance of the weekend, the magical fleet foxes took to the stage.
It was only a year and a half ago that Rob da Bank was tipping this relatively unknown quintet from Seattle to Clash - how quickly their star has risen is of no surprise given the performance they pull off tonight.

Sporting puffa jackets and beards and lit by fairy lights dangling above, Robin Pecknold and co lull the crowd into a state of drowsy hypnosis with their lush harmonies and accomplished playing, resulting in a set which feels like a performance at an intimate garden party.
Playing songs from their debut, including White Winter Hymnal and Mykonos, the band also showcased new material which appears to promise more of the same woozy, hypnotic playing that the UK hasn't been able to get enough of.

The perfect way to salute the end of the summer.

Doves

It is with trepidation that fans of Doves wait for the band to take to the stage. A weekend which saw the main stage experiencing constant sound problems does not make for an ideal scenario with this group who are notorious for hating sound fuck-ups. Things don't bode well as Jimi Goodwin grinds to a halt during opener 'Jetstream', due to a lack of noise coming from the keyboards. Striking up again, this is thankfully the last issue in a set which harvests across all four albums. The trio plus unofficial fourth member Martin Rebelski on keys are on good form, bantering with the crowd. "What's the theme this year? Space? Then what did you come as?" joshes Jimi, before launching into 'Pounding'. Particular highlight was set closer 'There Goes The Fear', with it's signature percussive samba rhythm finale getting everyone dancing in preparation for the last evening of festivities. Professional and perfectly pitched.

Words by Laura Foster

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Read more of ClashMusic's Bestival coverage HERE.
View ClashMusic's photo galleries from Bestival HERE.

Electric Picnic -The Clash review

ClashMusic — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 13:58:18 +0000

It takes more than a little rain to dampen the party spirit of over 30,000 Irish revellers, and the few inches of mud seemed incidental to the fun to be had at this year's Electric Picnic festival.

Now in its sixth year, Electric Picnic perfectly straddles the line between large corporate-sponsored festivals like V and T, and smaller, more intimate boutique gatherings such as Bestival. Separated into two main areas (the main festival site and the Glastonbury-inspired Body & Soul area) the line-up is rich and diverse, and the atmosphere is fun and friendly. There's much more to see and hear than just the bands, from the 24 hour cinema and circus to the myriad smaller bars and tents with unannounced live guests.

Friday is kicked off in style by the excellent DJs of Horse Meat Disco, who know how to start a party, and the dancing continues in the Little Big Tent to Diplo/Major Lazer and the current king of electro-house Fake Blood. Over on the main stage MGMT disappointingly fail to translate the excitement of their debut album to the live arena, but the revellers are undimmed as the wait for Friday night headliners Orbital. In the Electric Arena the music is more acoustic based but the atmosphere is no less raucous, with large crowds enthusiastically greeting Seasick Steve, and the Mexican wunderkinds Rodrigo y Gabriella, returning to their (European) homeland to an ecstatic response.

Saturday sees newer stars such as The xx and the excellent Chew Lips shine to large crowds in the Electric Arena, while Marina and The Diamonds and The Whitest Boy Alive impress on the smaller Cosby stage. There's a palpable air of disappointment at the cancelling of Bat For Lashes, though our dancing shoes are kept moving by DJ sets from Optimo and LCD Soundsystem. Over on the main stage both Kid Creole and Brian Wilson bring a bit of aural sunshine to cut through the grey clouds and drizzle, while sets from Four Tet and Explosions in the Sky (in the Crawdaddy Tent) take things in an artier direction. With a choice between ska heroes Madness (on the main stage) and the Irish debut of disco legends Chic, I opt to see Chic and am not disappointed. They prove to be the highlight of the festival - evidenced by the almost hysterical whooping and cheering that greets them.

Sunday threatens to rain all day, but just about manages not too. Maybe the Fleet Foxes and The Flaming Lips managed to fend the wetness off with their harmonious American pop, though the most popular act of the day is surprisingly Florence and the Machine who play to a beyond-capacity Electric Arena tent. Capacity crowds also turn out for local heroes Laura Izobor and Bell X1, rounding off the weekend in fine style. And I haven't even mentioned the reggae village, the all-night rave, and the attractions in the Body & Soul arena.

Oh well, more to report for next year then!

Words by Niall Connolly
Photo by Dara Munnis

Hove Festivalen - The Clash Review

ClashMusic — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 07:31:58 +0000

Norway, know for its love of wood, black metal and beer, also possesses an eclectic and burgeoning national music scene. From rock to indie, hip-hop to electro and beyond, our Nordic brothers appreciate the fine blending of modern, cross-genre musical breeds.

But far from musical hot-spots Berghain (a city oozing new talent) or Oslo, Hove Festivalen is unique. Set around a woodland in Arendal, on an island just off the mainland coast, the festival is akin to Eurokeennes in France or Glastonbury back home. Except the scenery is unrivalled, and with surprisingly non-Scandinavian weather (29c!), we were poised for a real feast of the senses.

The campsite more akin to a family Summer-jaunt spot, we were lucky enough to be based next to a winding, dreamy forest and a startlingly clean and fresh beach – inside our traditional Norwegian log cabin. After a short walk, the festival site was clean, large and diverse with a range of stages, all differing in shapes and sizes and flanked by the friendliest nation of people - all simply smiling, saying hello and passing you a beer.

Spanning four days, team Clash went to work and went hard. From a flat main stage set by White Lies, to a triumphant and confident set by Franz Ferdinand, the first of the four day festival felt like a warm up, rounded off nicely with Josh Homme’s Eagles of Death Metal in a natural amphitheatre, plus US hip hop man Jadakiss and Ed banger electro-mentalists Yuksek.

Possibly the only bad aspect of Hove was discovered on day two. A cashless festival, Hove patrons were encouraged to bring cash and exchange them for credits on top up cards. A nice idea in practice, it didn’t help if your English cards weren’t working or the bars top-up card reader failed to work. Alas all was not lost, as we checked pitch perfect sets from Fleet Foxes and Norway's own budding pop stars The New Wine – all in-between begging for change. The night was rounded off in dimly lit, warm Summer night style with Crookers, Casiokids and a loud, funky set courtesy of Golden Silvers, their low-end bass grooves and their exceptional knitwear.

Day three brought Clash back to its 90s roots with a blistering set by thrash/nu-metal titans Slipknot, who worked every single member of he crowd with their terrifying mix of raw aggression, spinning drum kits and chunky riffs. The Gaslight Anthem wowed a dubious crowd, but the highlight of the day had to be Q Tip rocking the Amphitheatre, sporting tracks off his latest album and classics such as ‘Bonita Applebum’, ‘Jazz’ and ‘Can I Kick It?’. After some fresh prawns and downing lots of whiskey, we went for a long ramble along the sea shore, before heading back for a little midnight soiree courtesy of dubstep aficionado Rusko and his extra hype, new live dubstep show.

The last day saw energy levels dip, (Hove, with all the walking and plenty to do is also a test of endurance), but went out in style. Our time in a paradise was brought to an end by the almighty rumblings of Faith No More, Mike Patton and his deranged troupe as barking mad and as uncompromising as ever. Fujiya And Miyagi’s set was tighter than a ducks behind, but it was a shame no one was there to witness it. The Prodigy however, was exactly what the crowd had waited for. Inspired by old rave classics and the usual ingredients of a manic mash-up, the amphitheatre filled up – from he top of the hill, all that could be seen was a semi circle of people, slanted toward the ground, jumping in unison to the storm that The Prodigy whipped up.

A friendly atmosphere, an eclectic and refreshing line up and one of the most beautiful, natural and unique settings in Northern Europe, Hove Festivalen seems to be going from strength to strength. If you want a festival with a slight difference and a certain air of pride, then head to Norway next summer for an eye opening experience. But watch that wallet – it’s damn pricey but oh so worth the effort. Top marks for a fantastic, eye opening experience - and the local beer is exquisite too.

Words by Joe Gamp

Get Loaded In The Park

Tristan Parker — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 08:17:38 +0000

Bank holidays are clearly there to be celebrated, everyone knows that. And so it was that thousands of people gathered on Clapham Common to load up and enjoy the hell out of the last Sunday of the year that didn’t involve the dire trudge to the office the following day.

A quick peruse around the sold-out site of Get Loaded in the Park allowed me to wisely settle at the Clash stage, where Chase and Status were proving that drum and bass can indeed sound great, especially if you mix it with some tasty breaks. They were followed by the excellent Magnetic Man – consisting of producers Skream and Benga – who provided some heavy, bassy dubstep, full of deep and dirty electronics. Very welcome.

Temporarily wandering elsewhere, I caught the last part of Miike Snow’s set. Sounding just as interesting as they do on record, the band showed why their quirky, electro-tinged indie is creating such a buzz of late.

Back to the Clash stage was next on the list, in order to hear the dark, French electro of Miss Kittin and the Hacker, giving a rare UK performance. Playing some of the finest cuts from their sublime album – including ‘Life on MTV’ and the wonderfully twisted‘Frank Sinatra’ – the crowd lapped up the synths and razor-sharp lyrics of the duo.

Next up was more electro, but of a different nature, courtesy of Peaches, who relayed her distinctive brand of punky electroclash to the gathered masses. Peaches has never been one to shy away from the spotlight and tonight was no exception. She and her band sprinted on stage to the sound of the A-Team theme-tune, looking like extras from Flash Gordon, and then spent most of the set climbing on the rig and clambering through the crowd, all the while hitting every note spot on. Brilliant. Material from new album ‘I feel Cream’ also went down just as well as old favourites, showing that Peaches is still very much on the ball.

Doing some more flitting allowed me to catch some choice moments from electro-house stalwarts Booka Shade (who were in fine form), and Royksopp, whose bouncy, enjoyable electropop seemed to put all attendees in a thoroughly good mood.

Over on the main stage, Detroit techno maverick Carl Craig was giving a rare live outing to his reformed Innerzone Orchestra. Accompanied by percussionists, a sax player, pianist and full string orchestra, Craig and his team expertly blended electronics and live jazz, giving a superb, thoroughly professional performance. Much excitement had surrounded Innerzone’s performance at Get Loaded, and thankfully their set exceeded even these high expectations.

More live musicians could be found adding their magic to a dance soundtrack at the other side of the festival, where French house legend Laurent Garnier was playing the headline slot to what had been a formidable line-up on the Clash stage. A popular choice with the crowd, Garnier seamlessly mixed classy electro-house, skittish drum breaks and jazzy textures, aided by several very capable musicians. A stellar performance from a true pro, Garnier worked the crowd and created something that was at once engaging, intelligent and highly danceable throughout. Marvellous stuff and undoubtedly a big highlight of the day.

And what better way to close a dance festival than with the duo who did so much to bring dance music into the spotlight back in the day – Orbital. Still masters at what they do after all these years, they rolled out all the classics, sounding as good as ever, with personal highlights being the wonderful ‘Halycon’, ‘The Box’ and – of course – the Doctor Who theme, given the obligatory breaks treatment. A fantastic set.

Realising that we had just witnessed a one-day event with a killer line-up that bettered many full three-day festivals, we – like many others present – reflected that we would most definitely be getting loaded once again next year. And with these happy thoughts in mind, we stumbled off the site to find just a little more revelry before bedtime. It was, after all, a bank holiday weekend…

Reading Festival - Day Two

ClashMusic — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 18:15:50 +0000

This was truly Josh Homme’s day: from the band wot he used to play drums in (Eagles of Death Metal) and the band featuring the bird wot he’s married to (Brody Dalle’s Spinerette), the uber-group wot he’s formed with Dave Grohl (These Crooked Vultures) to the band who’s latest record he produced (headliners, Arctic Monkeys). There was certainly no doubt that Josh Homme and his crew was taking over 2009’s Reading Festival. But that’s not to say that the other bands didn’t put up a damn good fight.

The Bronx topped and tailed day 2 with their alter ego group – Bronx El Mariachi…the mexico-latino mariachi band by day, hard n heavy rockers known simply as The Bronx, by night. Think 3 Amigos soundtrack after one too many tequilas – this is it. They even have the outfits to back it up.

Yes, I’ve been to the year 3000, not much has changed but they live underwater. Fair play…Charlie Busted has done a pretty good job of making most of us forget that he used to be in a rubbish boy band that were copied by McFly in a similar sort of bad photocopy way that Westlife copied Boyzone. Having said that, clearly not all of us have forgotten. Not me, anyway. And I’m not that much more enamoured with Fightstar than I was with Busted. Still, I applaud him for making the effort. Check out the mosh circles that form swirling dust clouds in front of the main stage. Ooh.

Dave Grohl sits to the side of the stage watching Eagles of Death Metal. And though the audience are clapping along and singing the words with wrapt attention, the minute the cameras whip round to reveal Mr Grohl with his daughter watching from the wings, the crowd goes nuts. Who doesn’t love Dave Grohl?

Former Hot Water Music frontman Chuck Ragan is over in the NME tent playing punk acoustic folk with a guitar and fiddle. It’s ok in a fiddly folk acoustic sort of way, but Spinnerette seemed like a better choice. It wasn’t. Dull, dull, dull. Oh Brody.

Thankfully Marina and the Diamonds put a bit of sha-zamm into the early afternoon with a bit of keys and funky dance moves. It’s not the most impressive Marina set I’ve seen, but when she looks that hot, who gives a shit.

Hushed whispers and eventual firm confirmations from the back stage area of Reading sprouted excitement that spread like a raging inferno throughout the rest of the camp site that yes, These Crooked Vultures would be playing a secret set sandwiched between Patrick Wolf and some other band that I, and surely no-one else will ever remember.

What could be more perfect? The sun was cooking, the time was approaching. As predicted, hordes of people turned up in the hope of seeing the much-hyped super-group. Even Clash wasn’t sure whether it would really happen.

There was talk of photographers not being allowed to take pics of the band performing, and the tent was so packed that it was hard to see the stage. The festival cameras focussed on the crowd, even when cheers from the front indicated that the band were there. Cruelly, the cameras remained firmly rooted to the faces of the first few rows of screaming fans leaving us unsure as to what was going on.

Then a teasing shot of John Paul Jones (formerly of Led Zep) – the crowd cheer. Josh Homme: roar! Then finally we see a raging ball of hair and drum sticks. It’s Dave Grohl. Like the sound of Wembley Stadium bellowing in unison, the captive audience erupt!

Could there be a cooler group? These are true rock n roll heavyweights, bearing the shields of Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Led Zepellin, QOTSA and Eagles of Death Metal. And Grohl is at the centre of it all. As legendary Nirvana drummer turned lead singer of the Foos, he went on to propel QOTSA’s success with his percussive appearance on Songs for the Deaf. Then, Josh Homme followed suit and played drums for Eagles of Death Metal. Now we’ve come full circle with Grohl back on skins along with Homme on lead vocals and guitar, Jon Paul Jones on bass and keys, and Queens’ guitarist Alain Johannes on lead guitar. This music is hard, bass heavy stuff, blistering with stoner, desert-rock cool.

After that, Hockey made the most of the sunshine with their summer indie-pop. Song Away and Too Fake were both singalong classics that had the crowd reaching for the band with outstretched arms.

An interview with Beth Ditto fell by the wayside, but there was still time to catch the rest of the Maccabees’ set. It’s been 2 years since they last played Reading, and here they are, playing to even bigger crowds with even stronger, newer material. Toothpaste Kisses remains one of the best ever set-closers.

The Bronx are a lesson in how to really fucking rock the house. Matt Caughthran is one of the most energetic front men you are ever likely to see. Refusing to let the crowd down, he gives as much as he expects from his fans. That’s everything, if you’re wondering.

Backstage during the Prodigy, Clash caught up with The Maccabees’ Mr Orlando Weeks, fresh off the stage after their magnificent set. Buzzing their approaching Malawi charity gig and their soon-to-be-biggest ever gig at Brixton Academy, he mentioned the possibility of a mash-up with Roots Manuva for their next single. Watch this space. As for the bands he was gonna see? Arctic Monkeys. So that’s where we went.

Arctic Monkeys were SHIT. Lacking in any charm, they were off their heads on something or other. And not in a cool way either. It was boring as hell. Didn’t help that the wind was blowing the sound all over the place. It was an unfortunate end to a practically flawless day. As the cloudless sky ensured a freezing night for all, we drank to the sound of Ultimate Power’s relentless power ballads as I argued into the night with other journalists about which Radiohead album was the greatest of all.

Dave Depares

Reading Festival - The Horrors / Soul Savers

Clash Music — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 15:45:02 +0000

Soulsavers with Mark Lanegan

While the majority of reading has congregated in front of the main stage to watch the Kaiser Chiefs and Kings of Leon, the more discerning have gathered at Festival Republic to watch Soulsavers with Mark Lanegan. Nevermind gravelly voiced, this man has a pebble dashed larynx and sets about bringing the mood down, then down further with tales of loves lost, loves never won and general misery and doom all wrapped in the most beautiful melancholic parcels.

The Horrors

A festival, let alone a festival tent, is never going to be the best environment to see a band like The Horrors deliver a set made up entirely of one of the most sophisticated and beautiful albums of the year. A great chasm divides them from their followers and the detail of the music gets lost somewhere up in the tent’s stripy canopy. Neither of these facts, however, dent anyone’s spirits. The audience embrace the band with a fervour so enthusiastic that by the third song people are flinging themselves over the barrier begging for water and air. All the time encouraged by a goading Faris, standing on the monitors to get closer to his fans. Smiles break out across the band when during the Ronnettesesque break in Who Can Say the whole crowd simultaneously claps the beat. Everyone is under his control, from the 15 year olds getting crushed at the front to the cynical music photographers dancing in their pit.

Words and photo by Elinor Jones

Reading Festival - Day One

ClashMusic — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 15:31:06 +0000

I don’t know why I bother with festivals. Man, I hate the queues. Thousands of people trying to get to the bar, queues to get into a fucking TENT to watch Florence and the Machine. Ugh. I hate it.

I hate it.

However, once you get past the hordes of drunken revellers and manage to escape the chaos, gather your thoughts, and re-enter the chaos, you realise why it’s all alot of fun. Yes, fun! Yes!

My late start to this year’s Reading Festival was not the best, and after my disappointingly limited view of Florence and the Machine I thought I’d try Kings of Leon.

What a peculiar set! Like a captain who puts all his heaviest cargo at the front of his ship, Kings of Leon loaded the front of their set with some of their biggest songs: Red Morning Light, The Party, Revelry, Sex On Fire. Piled into the first half instead of distributing the weight evenly, they forced themselves into an inevitable nosedive that made em sink and crash. Their set finished early. Fans left disappointed. Moohahaha.

Which is why I’m glad I darted between KOL and the magnificent Faith No More. Ah, memories of youth – Angel Dust, Live at Brixton Academy…a much smarter, cleaner and young-looking Mike Patton than 15 years ago roared and wailed through a kickass set that peaked with their awesome cover of ‘I’m Easy’ followed by ‘Midlife Crisis’ which sent the crowd wild. Job done.

Hearing the post-Friday night conversation in nearby tents this morning, among comments that included ‘did I get my cock out last night?’ and ‘I’m not that bothered about Kings of Leon…once you’ve heard his voice, you’ve heard his voice’, a couple of kids mused on tonight’s headliners Arctic Monkeys while listening to Scummy Man on their ipod. ‘Ere, what’s he going on about them Montagues and Capulets, like’.

If Latitude is the most middle class festival, and V the most mainstream, then Reading must surely attract the most stupid.

Words by Dave Depares

Photo by Max Tollworthy

Green Man

Rob Dabrowski — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 15:57:53 +0000

With three days of alternate light rain and heavy rain forecast, 10,000 people made their way to the Glanusk Park Estate in the Brecon Beacons loaded with wellies and cagoules for the Green Man festival.

But instead of the predicted downpours, the scenic site was bathed in sunlight with only the occasional shower, until the heavens opened on Monday morning as the weary festival-goes packed-up their tents.

The first act of the festival Clash caught were Pivot, Warp’s only Australian signing, who unleashed a barrage of prog-rock with pounding beats and scratchy melodies clawing their way through the mix. After their onslaught of a set on the Far Out Stage, it was over to the Green Man Pub for some more relaxing alt-folk in the sunshine. After a handful of lesser known acts, including up-and-coming folk star Mary Hampton and Erland and the Carnival, who play contemporary versions of traditional folk songs, it was over to the main stage in anticipation of Friday night’s headliners, Animal Collective.

But before the New Yorkers took to the stage came one of the highlights of the festival - a set by the incredible Roky Erickson, founder of the 13th Floor Elevators. After spending three years in Texas’ Hospital for the Criminally Insane – due to a penchant for copious LSD consumption – and a couple of decades battling the his demons, Roky took the stage with his flowing grey beard blowing in the wind and grinded out some immense blues riffs. His set varied from dark, heavy musings on the occult, such as ‘Night of the Vampire’ through to the yearning ‘Starry Eyes’, which nodded in the direction of Neil Young at his most tender.

Then, with darkness setting in, it was time for Animal Collective. After garnering rave reviews across the boards for their last album ‘Merriweather Post Pavilion’, the bar was set high for the psychedelic explorers. But, sadly, they fell short of the mark. The three piece opened with 20 minutes of ambient krautrock noodling, which left much of the audience underwhelmed, with the music sidelined in favour of drinking and conversation. They managed to claw their way back towards the finale of their set with a couple of off-kilter, harmonised vocal-drenched numbers, but after their meandering start, failed to live up to expectations.

Stornoway were the ideal way to ease the excesses of the night before, with 45 minutes of slick, pastoral pop balladry, before the brilliant Jonny took to the stage. Don’t be fooled by the purposefully run-of-the-mill, mundane name, Jonny are anything but. It’s the collaboration between Norman Blake of Teenage Fanclub and Euros Childs, formerly frontman in psychedelic Welsh pioneers, Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci, and is in equal measures lovelorn finger-picked numbers and quirky Casio keyboard based tracks, dripping in melancholy. The duo haven’t released a single note on record yet, but have been working on the material for the past few years, and when it does see the light of day – which is expected in 2010 – it’s set to be something very special.

As darkness started to set in around the festival site, Grizzly Bear took to the Main Stage for a set of inch-perfect folk-rock, shot through with fizzing guitars and – one of the staples of this year’s festival – emotive harmonised vocals. They were followed by Bon Iver, whose delicate album of heartbreak ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’, was transformed live. The gentle log cabins strum-alongs were shifted up a gear and given some punch by his backing band, as Bon Iver’s falsetto vocals sounded every bit as much a call-to-arms as a means of conveying isolated introversion.

Jarvis Cocker brought Saturday night to a close with a set of material from his recent album and the rockier numbers from his previous solo outing. With a drum-heavy sound and buzzsaw guitars it was the former Pulp frontman at his heaviest in years, but the grinding music was perfectly set off by his effete dancing across the stage as he tossed lollypops into the crowd.

Zun Zun Egui provided one of the most experimental sets of the weekend on the final day. The Bristol four-piece tread the surprisingly fertile ground between discordant Fugaziesque hardcore and tropicalia, with periods of avant-garde noise merging into quirky funk-driven sun-kissed moments of reprise. Then it was time for lulling in the sunshine as members of Fife’s Fence Collective collaborated for a couple of hours of sweet, understated folk tunes with the occasional hum of subtle electronics. It was a rare opportunity to hear versions of a range of songs from the collective, many of which were covers originally penned by artists who refuse to perform live.

Camera Obscura took to the main stage in the afternoon with a crowd pleasing set of intelligent indie, with slight leftfield leanings and vulnerable vocals encompassing heartbreak and drawing strongly from their enchanting most recent album, 2006’s ‘Let’s Get Out of This Country’. At 10.30pm on Sunday night, with the Main Stage field packed, it was time for some of the founding fathers of modern day alt-country, Wilco. With seven albums under their belts the six-piece worked their way through a disparate range of material, veering from gentle country ballads through to up-tempo strum alongs, ending with an encore of a climactic volley of distorted guitars, driving drums and impassioned vocals.

Summer Sundae - The Clash Review

Nick Annan — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 08:38:42 +0000

Sandwiched in the middle of the festival calendar between Glastonbury and Reading/Leeds festival, Summer Sundae manages to be far cooler and more interesting than both, choosing top quality talent in favour of the latest ‘buzz’ bands.

Friday evening was met with immediate disappoint by many due to the unfortunate cancellation of main-stage headliners The Streets. Scottish indie folkers Idlewild took their place, a last minute decision that left many bemused and disappointed.

Earlier in the evening, Mystery Jets delivered a crowd pleasing performance with songs from their last album, 'Twenty-One', as well as treating the audience to a couple of tracks from their long awaited, as yet untitled, new album.

Dan Black took to the indoor stage in front of a gaggle of screaming girls as the Sun set over Leicester, however it didn’t take the teens long to realize that he is very much a case of style over substance. Tracks such as ‘Symphonies’ were well received but even Black seemed to be struggling to stay interested as he jumped around the stage to little or no reaction from the increasingly dwindling crowd.

Perhaps one of the finest and most sought after line-ups of the weekend was to be found at The Musician stage, a tent showcasing the very best of acoustic and world music and located ideally next door to the real ale tent. Shropshire based singer/songwriter Jake Flowers was first on Saturday, to open up another gloriously sunny day and he didn’t disappoint. Drawing crowds from afar as his folk-tinged songs of love lost and won, he drew a sizeable crowd for an act so early on in the day’s schedule and deserved a slot far higher up the billing then he was rewarded.

While The Charlatans performed a hit-laden set on the main stage, the younger members of the crowds could be found at the indoor stage, where ‘man of the moment’ Mr Hudson performed an entertaining, (if slightly self-indulgent), set that silenced anyone who doubted his talent. Rather annoyingly many of the audience seemed to be there for one track, his current chart hit ‘Supernova’ and overlooked the beauty of some of his earlier work from his debut album, ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’. Mr Hudson however, is in every sense a showman and had the crowd in the palm of his hands. The future looks incredibly bright for Mr Hudson, he just needs to ensure he can succeed in the mainstream without Kanye West holding his hand.

Sunday saw Skint and Demoralised pack out the tiny Phrased and Confused tent with what was probably the biggest crowd it saw all weekend. The Sheffield poet performed a unique set that was an interesting combination of spoken word pieces and songs. However as the festival came to a close, while the majority of the audience waited for The Zutons to take to the main stage, once again The Musican Stage had the stronger act in the form of rockabilly songstress Imelda May. Imelda’s mix of rockabilly/country/bluegrass, splashed with a hint of the contemporary, made for a perfect festival closer. With toe-tapping tunes like ‘Johnny Got A Boom Boom’, her performance left a smile on the face of ever single audience member.

The Summer Sundae weekender may not have the biggest names, the craziest crowds or the most money, but what it does, it does incredibly well, showcasing potential stars of the future with a good blend of more established acts.

Words by Kevin Angel

Oya Festival - Friday/Saturday

ClashMusic — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 13:09:41 +0000

After the mixed delights of Friday where the likes of ska legends Madness succeeded dubstep overlords Benga and Skream who in turn had taken queue from Lily Allen and national treasures Datarock, Saturday was equally appealing. Shake it up baby!

Friday was characterised by blissfully persistent sunshine. Saturday however witnessed a level of persistent rain that even the Scottish highlands would have been scared of. Consistently dropping rather large levels of water onto the revellers - it was a day for the ubiquitous poncho.

The proceedings were opened early by the talents of Bob Hund, a Swedish act who our photographer Joni was most smitten but was on devilishly too early for these ears but we promised him a mention on the basis of sheer passion. Our first main target was comparing The Big Pink’s recent impressive recordings with their live show. The Big Pink (for those unfamiliar) forge large walls of near psychedelic indie. Think a more grooving My Bloody Valentine. The debut LP, out on 4AD in September, has some great moments and a few that swerve strangely close to replicating Kasabian’s more mundane moments. You can’t have it all I suppose. Live though this London four piece put in a robust showing, more electronic than the recordings, there are dirty synthesized passages which are the perfect foundation for their towering edifices of guitars. Very, very promising.

Much entertainment was brought by Bergen band The New Wine, fascinating alone for having their English band name hungry to catch the eye of marketing executives following the successes of Casiokids, (from the same city), who have hit UK chart positions and regular BBC airplay without the need to resort to the Queen’s English. Bergen is regarded in Norway as the more musical city it seems and the scene thrives proudly. Established acts include Datarock, Annie and The Whitest Boy Alive. Clash had the fortune to be in the eagerly touted ‘Vahmoose Bar’ on the Monday before Øya kicked off for what can only be described as an open mike night for bands to openly collaborate. From the exploding youth of Broadway Gangsta Disco fiends Kaaakmuthafucka to the King of Convenience, Erland Oye, the scene is stitched together with creative and dazzling bonds.

However, The New Wine, as much as they are part of a healthy background won’t break into the much drooled over UK market on the strength of their Øya showing. Sounding like Phil Collins programming the ‘rock’ demo tracks in a Korg factory in 1997 their music only marginally shone by virtue of the shadow from the singer’s lyrics. Rhyming ‘danger’ with ‘stranger’ and ‘angel’ his call to sonic arms makes Bon Jovi look like Plato. If I was their, significantly talented, keyboard player and had to give up every Tuesday of my life to rehearse I’d demand more than what the singer could provide or at least switch fully into singing in Norwegian.

Crystal Castles were quickly within our range surfing along with their ever buoyant popularity which beggars to some degree the integrity of their dance music. At times they significantly lack depth yet the bonus of having a three-piece band with a near hysterical singer means there is always room in someone’s drunken pair of ears. Maybe this is harsh yet anyone remotely bothered in following the flowing delta of electronic music or even club music of any shade must recognise the frivolity of Crystal Castles noisy and crass synth stabs at electro. Yet we had fun deconstructing the history of drunken foot shuffles in questionable locations.

Into the main Øya programme, it was left to Beirut and Röyksopp to take us home. Beirut, a fantastic quirk in the annals of music history, were just the tonic for the wet weather as their flashes of brass conduct the stage’s orange lights, tricking the eye that we may indeed be bathing in the Sun’s rays. Their music is from another world. Balkanised, gypsy lore drips from their accordions and trumpets as Zach Condor makes us swoon with his faux baritone. It’s a heady mix, capable of whisking us away to a place near Yugoslavia which never existed, as these New Mexican troubadours deliver tunes they made up on the wrong side of the Atlantic. Such anthems as ‘Post Cards from Italy’ were beefed up thanks to the inspired addition to Beirut of a double bass, filling out their sound and counter balancing of all the trembling brass. This band can only getting better, and seem to at every sitting.

Norwegian northerners Röyksopp then take over the honoured business of closing a festival. Taken from a hallucinogenic substance grown very far north in their country these lysergic dance dons know a thing or two at the subtlety of enduring electronic music. Favourites from their ‘Melody AM’ era mingle well with their newer material from 2009 giving an concise picture of a band that might go on for many more years with a hardy harvest of tracks to chase the small pack of other main stage dance acts about the globe.

On the strength of this 11th year, 2010’s Øya is already assured. With a compact yet distinctive site, insightful booking policies, a kicked after party scene across Oslo’s better night venues and a switched on and hungry crowd Øya will be dealing yet again a great game. In such an expensive locale . . . just make sure you are feeling flush.

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Read a review of Wednesday HERE.
Check out the accompanying photo gallery HERE

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Read a review from Thursday HERE.
View an accompanying photo gallery HERE.

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View an accompanying photo gallery HERE.

Oya Festival - Thursday

Matthew Bennett — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 11:56:56 +0000

Clash were trundling round a sunny Øya site before any of the bands had even cracked their riders such was our thirst to hear some indigenous noise. The gentle festival area, which runs along a strip of water to the rights and the city to the left, was filling up nicely with sunshine and people as openers Fjorden Girl strode into their edgy and electrified stride coming across at times like a much more rounded Sensor of 90s rapped up rock fame. Other bands of note were the experimental shoe-gaze Huntsville who at times were formless, at others inspired. Norway’s answer to Lily Allen; Marit Lersen, who gave us a saccharine shower with her sweeping folk fazed grandeur before the first main destination band plugged in: Ungdomskulen.

This Bergen band (meaning ‘Middle School’), who’ve previously played the Clash Saturday Social gig at London’s Notting Hill Arts Club, are something of a prospect. Their debut album was released via !K7 wrapping up a precise post rock sound that is most easily compared to Battles. Whether Math Rock is comforting for this trio is not of their concern as they storm a glam path across taut guitar structures and gargantuan percussive edifice. They really are rather captivating. Teasing out their sound at times they plunder dainty and restrained passages before unfurling their huge and angled planes of sound at the fast swelling audience. At points it feels like they are throwing monumental slabs of sound like pale Frisbees into the sun. Bergen’s music scene is thriving and this band look set to lead the next charge.

Cosmic Disco. The Norwegians definitely love it, and in fact have been guiding this splintered direction of house for a while. Lindstrom and Prins Thomas are the gods rounds these clouds yet The Mungolian Jetset are bringing a much more exciting live branch to this dance tree. Featuring a trio of backing singers, three part brass, an Egyptian air hostess styled transvestite bassist and the main lynchpins of Pal and Knut electronically holding it together - it’s a studio project that’s grown claws and climbing out of its own pit. If you like Balearica, jazz, grooving house and a bit of a laugh then go seek them out.

After the limp mediocrity of Wilco (who are neither here, there or anywhere remotely stimulating on an indie map) we were propositioned with a set from Mercury Music Prize Nominee Florence and the Machine. As one of the hot favourites to win the Mercury this year (suspicions abound that its going to be a female winner) Florence’s debut album ‘Lungs’ is a well-crafted stage from which to launch her voice. Live however she lacks impact. Her band look a little ragtag and as if they’ve been assembled by someone at her major label whilst her sound engineer struggled at times to balance her bland cacophony of bass and drums in any measured or slick way whilst at points you could almost hear Florence over her own mike. Either way one thing is irrefutable: Florence can sing and she’s got character. Recent single ‘Dog Days Over’ sounded noticeably better, with more depth in sound and her confidence reigned leading us towards the notion that if she can hit the right balance with the song practiced the most then maybe the whole live set up just needs a lot more work. The pressure of Mercury triumph may sort that out either way.

Scandinavian chanteuse Fever Ray was on the same stage as the joint headliner whilst the Arctic Monkeys held their spot on the main stage. Any idea that Florence was suffering from a ropey sound system was dead and buried the moment Fever Ray opened her Pandora’s Box of digital delight. It was loud and full and hit us in the bottom of our dancing belly. It was also all about lasers and lamps. This sums up Fever Ray. Not so much as coming on as rising up out of a mist of smoke it was two piercing lasers beams alongside a collection of old Victorian lamps that set the scene. This dovetails well with Karin Dreijer Andersson’s new project. It’s both retro and nostalgic at the same time as sounding futuristic and apocalyptic.

Her warped and tribal songs are similar in tone and texture to one another. Her voice is as powerful as it was with her last acclaimed band The Knife as she rides a nomadic landscape of chants and low frequency folk. It sounds as if she’s 10,000 years old and speaking from within a mountain. The procession of her sounds though is slow. It is 30 minutes before there’s a shift in her hypnotic grooves, briefly purging the tension with an acidic passage of electronics that would make Leftfield look glance right twice. Percussive, incredibly well sequenced and dark Fever Ray’s sound is riddled with presence. But with Fever Ray’s style of singing, her dark programming of sound and light and the tribal flourish of these Northern skies it would be all too easy for her to seem to be following in Bjork’s delicate yet massive footprints. But where the Icelandic nymph uses clarity in her stage show, incredibly precise lighting and all sorts of landscapes, Fever Ray uses obscurity, buckets of smoke, huge headdresses and a near anonymous approach to giving us her love. She neither acknowledges the crowd nor wants to be seen preferring her disembodied voice do the talking. At it works. Less a festival performance than a unique experience her closing of this side of the Øya Festival marks it out as yet another distinct slice of Oslo’s essential musical date on the calendar. Bring on Friday!

Check out the accompanying photo gallery HERE

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Read a review of Day One at Wednesday HERE.

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Read a review of Friday and Saturday from Øya HERE.

Oya Festival - The Clash Review

Matthew Bennett — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 12:47:48 +0000

The 11th Øya festival kicked off on Wednesday as Scandinavia’s finest talent rubbed shoulders with their international brethren over six stages down by the beach in Oslo.

Day One

The likes of Bon Iver, Vampire Weekend, Mew and Monotonix all put in robust performances revealing hard played Summers at numerous festivals previous to this Norwegian adventure. Indigenous highlights included Captain Credible’s unique, rapid and well attended delivery of hilarious electronics and Clash highlight Ulver whose dark panoramic bass heavy excursions were akin to walking through Norway’s stormiest fjords with the devil in hand. Surprisingly captivating. Ulver also boasted, apparently, the nation’s most adept drummer which added to their addictive thrust.

Clash as ever, never one to be accused of being wall flowers, were hosting a joint party in the evening as part of the Øya Natt evening programme after the main site closed. Curated alongside Norway’s cool smuglesning.no blogger the launch evening witnessed live performances from Pow Pow, keen heirs to Tortoise’s precise post jazz crown and a set from hyped electro figure Grum ensuring the first day of Øya was out the blocks and flying high.

View an accompanying photo gallery HERE.

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Read a report from Day Two at Øya HERE

Belladrum - The Clash Review

ClashMusic — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 09:17:38 +0000

What with the global financial bedlam caused by the credit crunch, many had predicted disaster for the nation’s slew of boutique events. However nestled up in the Scottish Highlands – and living in the shadow of its big brother RockNess – Belladrum has not only increased its capacity but sold out as well.

Arriving early on Thursday afternoon, a healthy crowd are attempting to negotiate some tent erection. Who writes the instructions for these things? As the shoddy efforts begin to pepper the rolling Scottish landscape we enter the arena for the opening night’s ceilidh. Way back before rave ever got off the ground the Scots were holding open air parties just like this one, and little has changed with local band Rhythm ‘N’ Reel getting the party started in a packed Grassroots tent.

When the Sun peers out from behind the hills the following morning its possible to get a full grasp of the work that has been done on the Belladrum site. Taking over a former country estate this year’s event boasts a dance stage within the ruins of a manor house, while the Heilan Fields bring a touch of Glastonbury to the North. However Belladrum isn’t a mere retread of Worthy Farm – it has its own identity, one that means you can walk from a screening of Noah And The Whale’s new film straight into a speech by Loyd Grossman.

Friday opens with acoustic sets in the Grassroots stage before a visit to the main arena to watch Kid British. The Salford lads revel in the sunshine, with their street level vision of British life hitting a nerve with the Belladrum crowd. The Holloways unveil their long awaited second album in the Hot House tent. A last minute replacement, the band nearly cause the tent to collapse as fans go ballistic to early hit ‘Generator’, though time will tell if the Londoners can recreate that sublime dose of indie pop on their forthcoming record.

Broken Records are on sensational form on the main stage, proving that their rather limp debut album really doesn’t do the Edinburgh band justice. Midway between The Pogues and Bruce Springsteen, it is an impressive offering by the multi-limbed Scots. Sergeant seem to have become trapped on the toilet circuit, which is surely an injustice given their singalong breezy guitar anthems. The La’s if Mavers had screwed the nut a little, the Fife lads nonetheless earn a hearty slagging from the locals after producing a Dundee United top.

All the festival chatter revolved around Editors. The band’s debut album saw them tap into Interpol’s love of the dark yet with the redemptive romantic edge of Morrissey. Rushing through a series of early anthems Tom Smith reaches out into the crowd, bathing himself in the Highland harmonies. The band’s new material, while not as immediate as their debut, immediately clicks into the set. Returning a three song encore Editors bow before the Garden Stage crowd, with the natural amphitheatre succumbing to the fading sun.

Saturday is shocked into life by local group Theatrefall. With a new singer and an entirely new set the band earn an impressive crowd at the main stage, who defy the early morning weariness to get the party started. Orkestra Del Sol are Belladrum legends, having returned year in year out with their Balkan party music. After trooping around the site the horn-heavy group receive a rapturous reaction in the Hot House tent, with fans queuing up outside to catch a glimpse of the band.

Back on the Garden Stage, the Treacherous Orchestra play a stunning set placing traditional music in an experimental new setting. With so many members the royalties cheques will be sliced into confetti, but with such exuberant live energy its well worth catching a glimpse of this spectacular group. The Saw Doctors are long time favourites in the Highlands, having toured ceaselessly for years. Bringing a touch of the old fashioned showband era to the Garden Stage, the band blend humour, rock and traditional songwriting to raise the mammoth crowd to their feet with a varied set.

Inextricably linked to TFI Friday, Ocean Colour Scene are one of life’s guilty pleasures. Sure, its all a bit hairy-knuckled in the cold light of day but albums such as ‘Mosely Shoals’ remain prime pub-rock fodder. Opening with ‘The Riverboat Song’ the band did not disappoint mixing their guitar slinging anthems with some lesser known material. Simon Fowler’s penchant for protest song results in a mid-set lull but Steve Craddock comes to the rescue, pounding out the riff for ‘One Hundred Mile High City’.

With the festival circuit under siege, it is heartening to watch the growth of Belladrum. Set in a wonderful natural arena the event has expanded without losing its small and familiar charm. With summer events falling by the wayside, the Tartan Heart keeps on beating.

Words by Robin Murray

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View a photo gallery from Belladrum 2009 HERE

Glastonbury 2009 - Trash City Reviewed

Mark Millar — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 12:52:05 +0000

Just when you thought Glastonbury couldn’t get any stranger, wilder, or mind-bendingly entertaining, they go and turn it up to 11.

Trash City, the area introduced just three years ago, has come of age. This is Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome-type entertainment, interspersed with the kind of visual, aural, and interactive enjoyment that busy little minds looking for kicks and thrills can only dream of.

There’s bombed-out helicopters high above us; to the left there’s what looks like the helm of an abandoned warship, jutting into the skyline and housing one of the best little club deck areas to be found on site - as is evident by the amount of people queuing to get on board. Over there, we find the smashed-out wreckage of a New York city apartment, transvestite showgirls pirouetting and prowling over the chasm, inviting revellers to enter below and into NYC Downlow: the world’s first travelling gay disco. These are only things that hit us instantly as we walk through the gates, but there’s much, much more going on in this hive of activity and wonder.

After watching a fire-breathing display from a mammoth steel and metal sculpture, we decide to join the queue for the Drag Strip, which has the look of a gothic cathedral of sin from the outside. The outside is impressive, but it’s inside where the fun happens.

Onstage to our right is what we initially think is two girls from the crowd, dragged up to do karaoke, complete with cute and furry costumes. How wrong could we be?! The beats kicks in and the two fluffy creatures break into a unified erotic dance, grinding their hips together to the tune of Nine Inch Nails growling, “I wanna fuck you like an animal”. “You don’t get this shit in the Healing Fields!” says the wide-eyed punter next to me, and as the bunny and bear zip off their costumes to reveal themselves I nod in agreement. From then on it is general sleazy cabaret mayhem, dancers taking turns to delight the crowds, flicking the middle digit at any fool that dares cross their spiked heels.

Throughout the weekend there are performances and sets by well-known and underground names – on the Drag Strip stage on Saturday we witness a climatic performance by Ebony Bones, whose madcap electronic funk and colourful costumes provide a perfect soundtrack for the surroundings. She climbs the framework of the tent as the crowd scream its adoration, pulling everyone into her hypnotic spell, including the Clash team.

When we finally give up the ghost and decide to reluctantly move on, we stagger outside into the early morning sunlight, blinking and sweating, but with huge, satisfied grins on our dirty, mixed-up faces.

If you were dumb enough, too inexperienced, or too out of your skull and you somehow managed to miss Trash City this year, be a wise one and make it your first port of call in 2010.

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Find further Glastonbury 200 coverage HERE

Glastonbury 2009 - The Clash Review

Matthew Bennett — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 11:04:15 +0000

The weathermen were fucking with us, randomly changing their little map symbols every 22 minutes knowing the flighty would flock. The run up to Glastonbury used to be dominated by the mystery of the programme as Michael Eavis would never tell you who was playing; these days that info is broadcast far and wide, leaving matters of a meteorological nature the only uncertainty.

2009 as an atmospheric phenomenon was one that you’d take: a bit of rain, mud underfoot for a day and the rest was easy wandering on the massively differing plains of Worthy Farm with the sun making his most welcome appearance during various blessed bands sets.

2009 was also the year of country. With Crosby Stills and Nash and Neil Young on the Pyramid and Bruce Springsteen as the main festival headliner (What? The Boss is country now? – Ed), this festival was definitely looking over its 39-year-old shoulder to the past. Up at the other end of the site (nearly an hour-long walk), Michael’s daughter Emily continues to dominate with her organically sprawling ‘Park’ area. With more stages, BBC Introducing, the surreal Rabbit Hole and decent food, Glastonbury is ever growing in an era when festivals are dying.

Hype bands this year were The Specials (Sorry – The Specials, a hype band? Someone needs some perspective – Ed), Dizzee Rascal, The Horrors, Animal Collective and, understandably, Neil Young. Of these, each smashed it in their own way and completely on different terms. Neil Young waited ‘til the last three songs before unleashing the more familiar material, whereas Dizzee came out all guns blazing with a surprisingly crammed Pyramid Stage hill bouncing as one: his tune ‘Bonkers’ is clearly 2009’s biggest so far.

The Specials, despite all the controversy surrounding Jerry Dammers not being allowed in the band, were tight, tight, tight as the near 20-year gap from split to last year’s revivial has served their sense of rhythm and confidence well. They even hurled in a mild political jibe, retaining their rep as a band of the people. Previous to this Fleet Foxes had lulled us into their own unique thrumming trance as this Seattle band weaved their magic about the Ley Lines of Glastonbury.

With Fleet Foxes, The Specials, Lily Allen (whose fluffy noise was barely passable) and then Neil Young, whose esoteric set was one for the die-hard fans, there was as much for everyone as ever. Those that made it to the end of Neil Young were treated to a smattering of classics, yet by this point some of the Clash squad had split for the Queens Head Pub. Rather than being after more booze, though, we were keen to bask in the freezing new talent of The Big Pink, pivoted by the leader of Merok Records. Their icy and psychedelic walls of noise and soulful, ephemeral vocals look a good bet for the future, and we await their debut very shortly on 4AD.

A quick bump up to the Park, near the ancient stone circle, brought us Animal Collective in all their tempered glory. They teased out a high, taut and relentlessly unforgiving set which, through percussion, looped vocals and distinct electronics, refused to break or kick in. Raising the expectation and tension over long periods, sometimes up to 15 minutes without their refined indie breaking, the crowd were gently baying for the mercy of a kick drum of deep thumb of the bass.

The Rabbit Hole saw the most action after this. Completely under-the-radar bands such as the Mad Cows and Dogshow blasted their understated talents into our minds without a care in the world for a recording contract. Dogshow are a duo with drums and organ pacing out the world of dance in their own edifice of space-age kitsch and were the best band we saw all weekend, in full acknowledgment we may never see them again. Sure is the fleeting beauty of Glastonbury.

Undoubtably the best element to Glastonbury is the many small chai and cake tents scattered around the healing fields, green fields and the Avalon area: each a gentle world with tiny folk bands ploughing their own melodic furrows for hour upon hour. Most of Saturday was taken up getting lost in the worlds of kora orchestras, didgeridoo dance dudes with looping and effects pedals recreating early Warp Records classics, or clarinet trios taking requests for their melted interpretations of everything from Roobarb and Custard to McCartney. Eventually though Bruce Springsteen called us away for main stage dominance. As a non-card-carrying Boss fan I was there to be impressed and sing along, yet his delivery wasn’t particularly electrifying nor were his classics cranked out. At the end one neighbour was demanding the three hours of his life back, and if rumour was to be believed and Springsteen didn’t even know about Glastonbury until two weeks before his date, then it showed in his enclosed set which offered little past the inner core of his fans. Though watching him it did mean that we didn’t have to endure Dan Black: officially the worst act of 2009 so far.

Sunday’s music twisted more to the Clash palette with Bat for Lashes, The Prodigy, Noisettes, Joker, Madness, Tunng, Bon Iver and Cold War Kids all screaming our names. Clash managed the first three alone, such is the tricky size of Worthy Farm, bumping into many a random person befriended the night before. Bat For Lashes ruled the day musically, and with her style flying so effortlessly she’ll go a long way – her fan base is just so wide and diverse, and her music simply captivating.

Glastonbury in its 39th year may have been the best Clash has been to in ten years of attending. What separates them? Very little as each memory rolls into the next and its vibe and honesty as a place permeates your every pore. Rumour even has it that it’s on next year, despite a policy of having every fifth year off. It would mark the event’s 40th anniversary, and excitingly word has it that there will be a (previously headline) act performing from each of the 40 years. My Lord, I hear you say… imagine the splendour of this. So get those boots oiled and saddle up to our old donkey called ‘fun’ as we’ll be wandering round the fields, tiny nooks and invisible worlds reporting on talents hidden at every turn at the world’s greatest arts festival.

Avalon: you have my soul forever.

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Find further Glastonbury coverage, photo galleries and video content (coming soon) HERE

Photo: Al de Perez

Sonar 2009 - The Clash Review

ClashMusic — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 15:55:13 +0000

Maybe it’s the sunshine, maybe it’s the kaleidoscopic streets of Barcelona itself, or maybe it’s the evaporated fug of chemical stimulants clogging the festival air, but Sónar has a perverse effect on people.

Amidst the innumerable photographers, outlandish stage outfits and ridiculously high drug consumption, the weekend finds artists and festival-goers oscillating between two general electro stereotypes. Firstly, the try-hard intellectual-exploration-of-sound group: quiet men with computers, trendy-looking tall people in expensive glasses, sporadic whoops. Secondly, the day-glo, MDMA’ed, styled-in-Dalston group: fake glasses, photographed for obscure Danish style magazines, gurning at 4am to SebastiAn.

Yet the festival’s gems are to be found somewhere between these stereotypes, as well as between the event’s two poles of commercial appeal (Grace Jones, Orbital, La Roux) and eclecticism (the fantastic Mulatu Astatke and the Heliocentrics, whose celebratory Thursday set kicked the shit out of Omar Souleyman’s similarly-billed yet disdainful performance a day later).

The best set of the weekend was not, as some will undoubtedly argue, Deadmau5’s triumphant, compulsively danceable hour deep into Sunday morning. It was a 45-minute blast on Friday afternoon from a pallid-looking Austrian that provided the most unpredictable highlight. Appearing as a shyer version of The Breakfast Club’s Anthony Michael Hall (born ten years later, grown an emo-fringe and played computer games instead of fussed with that elephant-trunk lamp), Dorian Concept managed to fill Sonar Dome in the blink of an eye.

His performance deconstructed the very idea of electronic music and simultaneously proved the family connections between hip-hop, techno, glitch and breaks. It was an intellectual master class and an invitation to dance; thanks partly to the uncontrollable enthusiasm of the artist himself. He looked like he had spent the past ten years sitting in his bedroom practising every move, conducting the drops and breaks as they happened, interpreting them into signs for the crowd, and all the time looking so surprised and embarrassed that anyone had bothered to turn up. We lapped it up.

What a contrast at the Sónar Village that same afternoon, where Huw Stephens showcased the BBC’s talent, which felt cynical and one-dimensional in comparison. Young Fathers hopped about for a painful few songs looking like Cool Kids trying to be a Beastie Boys covers band. Their aping begged the question: what is the point in having a branded UK showcase if the first band might as well be from Brooklyn? (And if they were representing Brooklyn, they wouldn’t even be getting as far as JFK.) Ditto La Roux, who were offensive simply because copying Annie Lennox is just not trying hard enough.

Instead, the UK artists who got it right were at the cavernous Sónar Nit complex (a series of intimidatingly vast hangars in the city’s industrial graveyard), with Joker and even Beardyman going hard. Though he looked like he ran through Timmy Mallett’s washing line, Rustie got the crowd sufficiently hyped for a very promising Crystal Castles set early on Sunday morning in SonarPub.

Unfortunately for Crystal Castles, their Sónar was not to be: devastating mix-ups with sound and vocal levels meant that their set was severed as abruptly as singer Alice Glass’s fringe. It was a shame for the group, whose energy, gothic monochrome aesthetic and stark lighting was tipping the crowd into riot mode. Instead, Glass lost it, trashing the set and being dragged off stage. Perhaps their boundless energy had been cursed by the disappointingly lacklustre Fever Ray, the post-baby project from The Knife’s Karin Dreijer Andersson.

There were plenty of other success stories to assuage the disappointment. Orbital had their desired headliner effect, as their calculated beats attracted swathes to the SonarClub zone (‘room’ seems humiliatingly inadequate for a space which is more like the back end of Siberia, or Hamlet’s ”undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns”).

The rest of the second night was typified by standout sets from younger upstarts who should become idols: namely, Moderat’s utterly beautiful, incredibly composed hour of considered electronica. Without ever dropping the energy and enthusiasm built by the DJs before them, they recalled the ambience and complexity which had been captured earlier on by Animal Collective (who themselves played a spellbinding set marrying latest offering ‘Merriweather Post Pavilion’ with twisted, sparkling versions of earlier classics; opener ‘My Girls’ was almost tear-worthy). What’s more, the 3am Moderat billing was a stroke of genius on the organisers’ part. Placing a live act just before the non-stop hands-in-the-air mania caused by Deadmau5 somehow made perfect sense, providing the punters with an arresting break from dancing, and once again proving that Germany has got its finger firmly on the pulse.

In contrast to this late-night finale, the majority of Friday provided big names and on-trend party-makers without giving too much genre-bending or jaw-dropping experimentation. We had Grace Jones being Grace Jones, in a series of headpieces, demonstrating that sometimes personality and a little bit of performance art is all you need to distract the crowd from a lack of material (she should have done her cover of ‘Warm Leatherette’).

James Murphy and Pat Mahoney played a taut, humorous set of minimal techno and Italo-disco, and while they are no longer punk-funk flavour of the month, they have a few more tricks in the bag. Erol Alkan, unfortunately, tried to play the same set about two hours later, and didn’t produce the same effect. Meanwhile, at SonarPub, Buraka Som Sistema did a Grace Jones and proved that being a bit musically one-dimensional doesn’t stop you having a good time. They hauled 25 girls from the crowd on to the stage for a streamer-laden, Afrobeat ass-shake session to the thousands of waving hands seemingly propping up the murky Barca sky.

That first night was rounded off by a couple of accomplished, very popular sets by two Frenchmen. Black-clad, chain-smoking Ed Banger hero SebastiAn played his muscular electro from a black plinth, his trademark cartoon image adorning the back screen as Busy P handed out matching masks to the crowd, until the enigmatic DJ played to a room of Mini-Mes. The enduring image of the festival came at 6.30am at SonarPub, as Brodinski closed the Friday session with an intelligent, well-judged set of deep techno. As the sun pushed through the clouds, delicate splatters of rain began to fall and the thousands of very happy ravers basked in a gentle downpour as soothing and invigorating as the music accompanying them. Perfection.

Whilst Sónar’s self-proclaimed forward-thinking ‘snapshot of the present’ inevitably led to a few wayward errors of judgement, the 2009 weekend successfully straddled experimental abstraction, foot-stomping dance music, and ambient delights. A few fell by the wayside, and a few need to go home and try harder next year (Erol, BBC showcasers: we’re looking at you), but we are willing to forgive and forget.

And to the very small Scottish man who talked to my chin whilst I lost all my friends in Moderat: no I don’t have any Ketamine, and you’re right, I really didn’t want to talk to you. I hope you found your friends.

Words: Lowri Jenkins

Isle Of Wight 2009 - The Clash Review

Damian Jones — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 10:04:54 +0000

The Isle Of Wight Festival has always been renowned for pulling in legendary acts, ever since its early beginnings in 1968, with The Stones, Jimi Hendrix, The Who, The Doors and Bowie all gracing the main stage.

In 2009, it’s the turn of country crooning folk hero Neil Young. But more on that later. First, the Friday night, where we find Basement Jaxx second in command on a dance-heavy bill which has already seen Pendulum and Ladyhawke whipping up pockets of wild throngs on the opening day. The duo, who are flanked by a full live group tonight, smash out their hits tremendously as they reel off 'Romeo' and 'Where's Your Head At?' in front of their screaming supporters. Their performance climaxes with a dancefloor-denting version of 'Rendez-Vu', and then…

And then, The Prodigy make their apocalyptic entrance.

Two months ago the firestarters slayed Wembley Arena with a hit heavy show that harked back to their hey day in the mid ‘90s (read our review HERE). But tonight something's missing: their set is too bass heavy, often drowning out their usually smouldering anthems, and the energetic atmosphere they whipped up at Wembley isn't quite recaptured, despite both Maxim and Keith Flint's best efforts to set the crowd on fire with their high-kicking and shadow-boxing antics. Sure, the set is every Prodigy fan’s wet dream as they throw out ‘Firestarter’, ‘Breathe’ and ‘Omen’ to wild applause, but too many of their hits fall flat and it's not until 'Voodoo People' kicks in that the Essex boys finally ramp up their set up to the level we've come to expect.

'Smack My Bitch' up, as ever, is disturbingly stunning, and 'Out Of Space' does enough to send the islanders spilling into the bars to satisfying chants. But for headliners we expect something more.

Come day two, Saturday, and the sun is shining down on The Solent. Local newcomers The Majortones kick off the morning with their blend of electro pop, sounding like Foals fronted by Jack Penate. Battle of the Bands winners at the island's Medina High School, the electro four-piece put in a fine performance in front of early festival risers.

They’re quickly followed by The Yeah You’s, who arrive onstage dressed in horrific polo shirts and black suits. Their music isn’t much better either, as they bash out the most awful pop songs since God invented Keane. Fortunately over at the Big Top there's some young talent brewing in the form of angsty rockers The Arcadian Kicks. Handpicked by Charlatans guitarist Jon Brookes, this unsigned five-piece are a girl-boy combination worth keeping an ear out for. Like The Subways and Blood Red Shoes before them, this Birmingham bunch spit out spiky scuzz-rock with soaring sass.

Up and coming Isle Of Wight disco types The Operators follow with a set which sounds impressively tight, but devoid of any real tunes. The day’s first ‘big band’ arrives in the shape of The Maccabees who've had a second wind of late after Arcade Fire producer Marcus Dravs sprinkled his magic all over their new album 'Wall Of Arms’ (REVIEW). Pulling in one of the largest Big Top crowds of the weekend, even they seem surprised by their appeal, as guitarist Felix White modestly shouts: "Thanks so much for coming. We really didn't expect to see this many people." They put in a solid performance mixing frenetic pop ('Precious Time', 'First Love') with gut-punching love songs ('Toothpaste Kisses', 'Love You Better'), but The Rakes blow them off the stage with their fantastic blend of angular guitar pop. Eccentric frontman Alan Donohoe flails his arms around the stage like a comedy Ian Curtis as he warbles his way through '22 Grand Job', 'We Danced Together' and '1989'. He ain’t short of a few jokes, either: "We played on the main stage three years ago. Now we're back here supporting McFly." They end their set with a rollicking rendition of 'Strasbourg' thus confirming their status as one of the most underrated bands around at the minute. Mercury Rev's hypnotic space rock meanwhile is a joy to behold, capped off with the spine tingling beauty that is 'The Dark Is Rising'.

Over on the main stage west London gloom-rockers White Lies are overwhelmed as they face the pressure of "playing their biggest gig ever" in front of a live TV audience. Harry McVeigh and company fail to crack though, instead blasting out the likes of ‘To Lose My Life’ and ‘Farewell To The Fairground’ with more determination than The Wire’s Jimmy McNulty (well, that’s not a weird parallel at all – confused Ed). Their best song by far though is the guitar-stomping kidnap anthem 'The Price Of Love'. Maxïmo Park were the unfortunate sufferers of second album syndrome back in 2007, but they've recently got their mojo back with the success of their third album 'Quicken The Heart' (REVIEW). Tonight finds 'Going Missing' 'Our Velocity' and relative new effort 'The Kids Are Sick Again' all sounding like the pop classics we fell in love with when the five-piece first came scissor-kicking onto the music circuit back in 2005.

Over at the Big Top, a glowstick-waving armada is spilling out of the tent in anticipation of the second coming of Calvin Harris. Thanks to the chart topping success of his recent single 'I'm Not Alone', the Scottish dance wizard could literally fart into the microphone tonight and the crowd would still go mad. Which is a shame because his complacency lets him down to begin with, as his set is hampered by poor sound. But when he does get going, he plays one of the most memorable shows of the weekend with the tent descending into a mass pogo frenzy for the smouldering 'Acceptable In The 80s' and the sex-tastic 'Girls'. But it's his dancefloor-slaying number one hit that creates one of the defining moments of the festival as the whole tent chants the chorus in unifying ecstasy.

And so to Saturday headliners The Stereophonics. Let's face it: the Welsh trio haven't really released a decent album since 'Performance And Cocktails' back in ‘99. But they've had their fair share of worthy singles over the years and tonight that works in their favour as virtually the whole festival descends on the main stage. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, they sound terrific, firing out a greatest hits set which, bar a few awful singles, sounds water tight. 'Dakota', 'Maybe Tomorrow', 'Same Size Feet' and 'Traffic' all sound tremendous as Kelly Jones belts out track after track with anthemic aplomb.

Sunday at the Isle Of Wight Festival could be seen as the day of legends given the bill, and they really don't come any bigger than Neil Young. Unless of course you happen to be some band called Pixies. First up though, it's time for a bit of tracksuit rapping form Newport stoners Goldie Lookin Chain.

They haven't had the best of time of late. After being dropped by their label, it seemed like the joke was beginning to wear thin for the Welsh comedy hip-hop stars. That isn't the case in the Isle Of Wight though, as a massive crowd turn out to cheer on the Kappa rappers. Admittedly the newies - 'Space Police', 'By Any Means Necessary' and 'New Day' - don't have the same side splitting charm as their oldies -'Guns Don't Kill People Rappers Do', 'The Maggot' and 'Your Mother's Got A Penis' - but the Goldie Lookin crew are made for festivals like this, and you can't help but chuckle every time Adam Hussein and Dwain Xain open their mouths.

Old-timers Simple Minds attract a similar size crowd but they're clearly past their prime. After kicking off with the pulsating 'Waterfront', their set quickly goes downhill as Jim Kerr's boys proceed to kill their Breakfast Club anthem 'Don't You Forget About Me' and 'Promised You A Miracle'. Across the way, garage-rock revivalists Black Lips pull a few cheers and jeers when frontman Cole Alexander marches onstage in a pair of skimpy white shorts. Their lo-fi set is impressive though, as they rattle off the likes of 'Drugs' and 'Katrina' in self-destructive style.

And so to the band of the weekend, the Pixies, who as ever don’t disappoint. The same can not be said of the crowd though, who seem totally bemused throughout their blinding set. Playing their first UK show in nearly four years, even Neil Young must have been quaking as Frank Black and Kim Deal effortlessly knock out jaw-dropping anthems for fun while Joey Santiago shreds bone-crunching guitar riffs with his eyes closed. As a mark of respect to the legend, the Boston rockers play a creditable cover of 'Winterlong', which was originally recorded on Young's 1989 tribute album 'The Bridge'. But it's their monster classics that really shine tonight. The growling 'Monkey Gone To Heaven, the tremendous 'Here Comes Your Man' and the crowd-pleasing 'Where Is My Mind' put the Pixies in a category worthy of any legend. It really doesn't get any better than this.

Even Neil Young, for all his talent and charm, can't match them tonight. But he has a damn good go as he smashes out riff after riff on 'Hey Hey, My My (Into The Black)' before crooning magnificently on 'Rockin' In The Free World'. He offers up a charming cover of The Beatles' 'A Day In The Life', but it’s his songs that make history tonight, sitting pretty with past and present legends.