Setting itself up as a northern alternative to the Camden Crawl, Sheffield-held multi-venue festival Tramlines looks to impress in its first year.
The event – a three-dayer, held July 24 to 26 – is curated by a trio of hometown talents: Arctic Monkeys’ Matt Helders, Jon McClure of Reverend and the Makers and local DJ/remix artist Toddla T. The line-up, though, is far from focused purely on the city’s stars, boasting a glut of imported acts alongside the assembled locals.
Kicking off proceedings are the twee-tastic antics of Sheffield’s Navvy, whose sullen Devo-esque vocals mingle with twirling keyboards to create a sublime racket. The diminutive figure of keyboardist Claire dances around behind her instrument, looking for all the world like Velma from Scooby Doo in her retro get up. Songs like ‘I Am Robot’ and ‘Disco’ wrestle counter culture to the ground with utilitarian chants, ultimately comprising a fine start to this inaugural festival.
Another home-grown act, Rolo Tomassi, are one of the few heavier rock acts on the line-up, and the five-piece play to a packed, sweaty crowd. Screeching like a zebra in the midst of a mauling, singer Eva Spence struts and thrusts her way around the stage, setting the teenage boys swooning. Like a computer game nerd taking on Bach symphony, Game Boy noises fire out between powering Children of Bodom-like drums on ‘Scabs’. With bodies twisting into exaggerated poses, Tomassi never let their audience get too comfortable, their sound far from easy listening. As brief moments of silence give way to frenzied chaotic riffing on ‘Nine’, Eva stands letting the noise wash over her like a proper rock goddess in the making.
The psychedelic musings of Maps fill the silence straight after Rolo’s racket, ambient sounds drifting over crashing drumbeats before branching out into a feel-good MGMT vibe. Many are craning for a better view, before Banjo Or Freakout’s distorted noises – like whirling wind tubes – contort the party vibe. Crazily out of control, from the outside looking in at least, it’s an early contender for set of the weekend.
Local darlings Slow Club are on roaring form, their shambling folk striking a chord with the crowd. People sing along, eyes closed, to classics-in-the-making like ‘Me and You’, as well as smattering of songs from their debut album ‘Yeah, So?’. Shifting from a stomping hoedown vibe to sweet vocal harmonies, they stay just the right side of twee. Shimmying about on stage to ‘Hands’, Rebecca and Charles really start to let loose, providing rousing end to Tramlines’ first day.
The main stage enjoys a shiny happy start on Saturday with the spawn of Scissor Sisters and Mika, Frankmusik. Lynchpin Vincent Frank bounces around to day-glo pop rhythms in front of a crowd of sugar-high kids, and songs like ‘Confusion Girl’ go down a storm. But while the front many lap it up, Clash makes a swift exit for something a little less sweet.
Solace is found in a stiff drink and a healthy dose of the snarling bass and vibrato vocals of Mairead. Watched by curator Helders, the local trio’s stripped down brand of rock pulls in quite a crowd. As their singer, named Mairead no less, launches into ‘For The Death of My Lord’, a little snarl creeps onto her lips. This girl is definitely not as sweet and innocent as she looks.
Back up to the outdoor stage and the gold lamé-jacketed figure of Raygun’s frontman is strutting around like miniature Bryan Ferry to ‘Just Because’. Their cheesy pop stylings are like catnip to local radio. Rest assured, these guys will be polluting the airwaves in the near future.
Taking things to an all together better place are local band Cats:For:Peru. Their songs range from the bombast of Elbow to the political bent of early Manics. Split into several parts, ‘Love In a Lift’ has an almost prog-rock feel, while ‘Cutting The Bridges In Half’ delivers doom-laden guitars that play off impassioned vocals. Compelling stuff.
The Chapman Family’s singer Kingsley shoots the crowd a sinister glare as ‘Lies’ fires out, a screeching ball of energy. Jerking as if controlled by invisible wires, guitarist Paul hurls himself around the stage and the crowd surges forward to join in as the zither-toned guitars reach fever pitch. Wrenching himself open until all his nerves are exposed, Kingsley endlessly wraps the microphone lead around his throat. Failing to suppress the demons, he tugs at his hair with maddened fervour. As ‘Million Dollars’ judders to a close, the stage becomes a scene of torture as he tugs at the cord around his neck, eyes rolling. The Chapman Family give everything of themselves and more: they are not a cult, but a family you’d be mad not to want to join.
After witnessing potentially the band of the festival, Pixie Lott is something of comedown. Strutting around the stage to her recent hit ‘Mama Do’, Clash notices that she’s borrowed Raygun’s golden coat. Sadly, her backing dancers and cheeky charm fail to distract from the fact that she looks, and sounds, like a hairdresser who thinks she has the ‘X Factor’. As the high-trousered one would say: “it’s a no from me”.
At the opposite end of the female pop star spectrum is Little Boots. Fusing disco grooves with choruses catchier than swine flu, she skips around like a sparkly Barbie doll. With single ‘New in Town’ breezily accessible, it’s easy to see why this diminutive performer has real crossover appeal. She may not be as edgy as Le Roux or as glossily retro as Ladyhawke, but standout effort ‘Stuck On Repeat’ is a stomping dancefloor-filling tune that sets the crowd bouncing.
Across town in the tiny Stockroom Johnny Foreigner is a decidedly messier affair. With new single ‘Feels Like Summer’ out of the way early, the real business begins, many at the front indulging in a sing-along with frontman Alexei Berrow. With sweat dripping from the walls, ‘Salt Peppa and Spinderella’ gets the hips shaking. Frantic and fast-talking, the comparisons to Dananananakroyd are obvious, but not absolutely misplaced.
Doom mongers The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are seriously fired up. Bassist Sym eyeballs the crowd as the bass rumbles dangerously. Classics like ‘Mister Mental’ rub shoulders with songs from the outfit’s forthcoming third album. Launching himself into the first of many stage dives, singer Guy McKnight has the moustache of a Victorian dandy and the eyes of a serial killer. As the guttural rumble of ‘Horse of The Dog’ reaches its climax the crowd surfers react to their cue. Like Nick Cave cloned by Jack the Ripper, ‘So Long Goodnight’ is a more mature direction than their Mighty Boosh-loving fanbase might expect (huh? – Ed). A welcome return from the proto-Horrors, and a triumphant end to the second day.
The weather on day three is dreadful, rain hanging over the festival like a constant grey mist. Most sensible people would be tucked up at home, but the Sheffield crowd are made of sterner stuff.
Local band The Backhanded Compliments wake things up with their pseudo Arctic Monkeys rhythms, but it’s the samba rhythms and stonking Roni Size beats of Sheffield super group Lords of Flatbrush that get the main stage buzzing. Featuring ex-Arctic Monkey Andy Nicholson and Steve Neil Edwards, a.k.a. Bob Sinclair, songs like ‘Stereo Lightening’ have soul at their heart. Finishing on a rousing version of dancefloor classic ‘World Hold On’, the crowd bounces hands aloft, oblivious to the pouring rain.
Possibly the most anticipated act of the festival, Reverend and The Makers attract a huge audience, which bounces around to the songs on the PA as they wait for festival curator Jon McClure to take the stage. New single ‘Silence Is Talking’ gets a warm reception, and as the band moves onto ‘The State Of Things’ McClure changes into prophetic mode, gesturing the crowd to join him. Boisterous teenagers in the increasingly tense circle pit get a stern talking to in typical no-nonsense Rev fashion: “I don’t care if you’re a Blade or an Owl, it’s all Sheffield”. Classics (classics?! – Ed.) like ‘Heavyweight Champion Of The World’ have the desired effect as Jon compels us all to “fuck the BNP”. Shimmying along to ‘I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)’, it’s clear the new album will be hitting the festival grounds and football terraces with the same impact as the first, and that the dedicated flock will follow wherever the band leads.
After a battering by the wind and rain, Clash seeks respite in the confines of The Bowery to enjoy the DJing delights of two pink-haired lovelies. Several fairy cakes later, it’s back up to The Harley for the end of Miracle & the Soul Interpreter. With vocal acrobatics comparable to Mark Ronson favourite Daniel Merriweather, they make for seriously feel-good listening.
Dancing around the stage barefoot, Airship’s guitarist maintains the loose, good-time feel that’s settled. Starting off gently, the shimmering guitars of ‘Kids’ build to a swirling crescendo. With atmospherics similar to those conjured by The Big Pink, ‘Algebra’ has a euphoric, rush-of-blood-to-the-head quality. With a solitary drum whacked centre stage, like a brass band gone renegade, the set is brought to a close. Ones to watch out for.
Cats In Paris fire up the intensity with their off-kilter melodic ramblings. Hovering over his keyboards with a shock of orange hair, singer Michael draws the crowd in. As the band switches deftly from keys to violin, ‘The One’ fractures out into innumerable directions as the frontman shouts: “You dance like a woman possessed!” It’s pure audible magic.
Despite their top billing, essentially rounding off the festival, The xx look miserable. Their monotone vocals and shuffling beats turn the air a dark shade of grey. With guitars borrowed from Bowie classic ‘Heroes’, ‘VCR’ is about as animated as it gets, and the Ladytron harmonies seem lifted straight from a French noir film. As they whisper, “I think I’m losing where I end and you begin,” their understated charm worms its way into the heart. ‘Stars’ adds a heavier, shuffling beat that presents an opportunity for some dancing, but still comprises a slightly subdued ending to an exciting weekend.
As the crowd departs for some well-earned sleep, one chap remarks: “I’ve lived in Sheffield 20-odd years and never seen ‘owt like it”. Couldn’t have put it better, and bring on next year.
Words: Kate Parkin
Photograph: Bart Pettman – full gallery HERE
