If you aren’t currently au fait with Oslo’s excellent Oya Festival, worry not, as they’re doing their utmost to fill us all in. Held at a picturesque city-centre park in late August, this annual event invariably features a line-up chock-full of bands you thought you might never see, or who would normally only grace bigger-capacity fests and arenas. The likes of Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine pitched up two years ago, Arctic Monkeys and Vampire Weekend were on hand in 2009 and on this year’s checklist are Pavement and Iggy and the Stooges. Oh yeah.
Then again they also feature a good smattering of up-and-coming talents too, from Norway and beyond, and that’s the theme of this special showcase. Oya have brazenly taken over one of London’s more popular indie nights to spread the word, and while the kids may take a while to get warmed up, eventually they’re pogoing away to bands they’ve probably never heard of. Hey, that’s what festivals are all about.
First up it’s I Was a King, who may not have many teenage fans here yet but are certainly indebted to Teenage Fanclub – not that this is a bad thing. Where each member of that fine Scottish quartet took turns at being frontman, IWAK are very much the vision of Frode Strømstads, who wears a jaunty hat and does a fine impression of early Norman Blake. The music is suitably jangly, infuriatingly catchy but has enough rough edges to suit edgier tastes.
Next up, slightly randomly, are Goldhawks, from London, who sound a bit like Supergrass if Supergrass were American and trying really hard to get played on rock radio over there. Certainly singer Bobby Cook could do a fine karaoke version of Gas Coombe’s growl, although the songs are more earnest and the outfits more refined. They’re fairly entertaining if also deeply unremarkable.
Finally it’s The New Wine, who would more accurately be called No Wine given how much a glass of the stuff costs in Norway (“Seven quid – you’re shitting me?”) This Bergen four-piece are the most visually entertaining of tonight’s acts, chiefly due to the bass player’s enormous mop of curly blonde hair, which seems to be dancing independently from the rest of his body.
The New Wine are, in essence, the new Whitest Boy Alive, with a similar geek-chic outlook and a set of splendidly danceable synth-driven pop songs that force those onstage to jig away throughout and the kids in the front rows to do likewise while turning to each other for confirmation that everyone else is doing the same. “Good this isn’t it?” “Yep.” “Where are they from?” “Haven’t the foggiest.”
Give it time, give it time.
Words by Si Hawkins
Photos by Helen F Kennedy
