End Of The Road

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