As I arrived onsite at the third End of the Road Festival I was greeted by a giant painting of a parrot squawking ‘Hey Ho Let’s Go!’.
In giant pink letters. The childlike quality of the paintings, and the fact that they bothered to do them at all in stark contrast to the portakabin in a field look of most festival box offices. So this is what makes it a ‘Boutique’ festival then, is it?
Having been to the previous two, underpopulated End of the Road’s I was keen to see how a sell out would change things. It didn’t look good. This year the camping area was sealed off from the arena, and as I tried to go through the security searched my bags, pointing at the NO ALCOHOL sign that had swifly been erected. So far so very un-End of the Road. However, it seems this was a short lived ‘misunderstanding’ on behalf of the security. One hour after gates opened and all signs were down, and it was business as usual.
Despite starting late, and initial soundproblems, Hereford’s Gossamer Albatross proved a good way to start the festival. With two violins, guitar and cello they came on like a cross between a British Beirut and the Magnetic Fields. Oh, and they also made me feel old at twenty six, which is just plain wrong. It was then over to the main stage to catch new Bella Union signings, The Acorn. In the rain. However, within minutes of the band striking up the field began to move, the irrepressible rhythms of ‘Crooked Legs’ sparking involuntary dancing around the site. Frontman Rolf Klausner proceeded to charm the audience as the band ran through most of their new ‘Glory Hope Mountain’ record. Despite being a loose biography of his Honduran mother, Klausner has a talent for making the specifics seem universal.
After putting up with the rain it was off to find shelter, and a very tasty Goan curry. And a Hot Cider. Then it was back into the rain again for Micah P Hinson. As I arrived he seemed to be more intent on wrestling with his guitar than playing it, but for all that his trademark world weary songs went down well with those who braved the rain, particularly when he duelled banjo’s with another of his band, as a rainbow rose up above the festival.
After the magnificently hirsute Josh T Pearson in 2007, this years Mr Beard End of the Road must surely go to Dirty Three’s Warren Ellis (although a commendation should be given to the spectacularly handle-barred Young Republic bass player). Ellis, like Hinson before him is another instrument wrestler, pulling soaring melodies and intense sounds that wash over the audience. Disturbingly, his banter pits him more as an antipodean Billy Conolley, somewhat at odds with the serious brooding of his music.
Coming on stage looking like the T-Birds in their matching bomber jackets, Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley band are something of a disappointment. Oberst seems happy to go through the motions and the band seem very much set to ‘professional’. Only when his band leave Oberst on his own with his guitar does he truly shine, despite inexplicably claiming to be other bands (The Killers, Wilco, The Arcade Fire) throughout the set. Leaving Conor to disappear into his own anatomy I catch the triumphant end of the Akron/Family set. The whole tent reeks of incense (which makes a nice change from the mud) as the band, plus numerous stage guests (including tour mates The Acorn) lead the crowd as they put up their arms in a circle, a square and a triangle.
Despite having a desire to see David Thomas Broughton at 1.30am, Hot Cider does for me and so I retire to bed.
