Finally…
it’s “2000 Trees”, Baby! My first time at this relatively local Festival –
indeed, my first trip to a multi-day outdoor Festival since Reading 2003 (gig
601) – was actually a bit of a late call. Over the past few years I’d entertained
the idea of going to either “Trees” or the similarly close-to-the-‘don Truck
Festival and had been checking out their line-ups for some years now, finding
Truck too mainstream (and dare I say, “landfill”!) indie for my tastes, and
“Trees” itself somewhat on the heavier side of my wheelhouse, despite the likes
of “Sheriff’s Dance Card” regulars Frank Turner, Jimmy Eat World and The
Menzingers appearing on previous bills. However, the 2024 “Trees” itinerary
featured a good solid dozen or so acts I had (or would) paid cash money to see
“live”, plus a smattering of others I’d been meaning to check out, amongst all
the potentially shouty nu-metal/ emo murk, so, after some negotiating at home,
I sorted out tix and worked out a daily commute route. No camping for me, of
course; I fucking hated camping at the one Reading I did that at (1991, gig
191!), and commuted to all the rest, so if I wasn’t going to camp in my 20’s
and early 30’s, I’m certainly not going to do it now, as a 59 year old “Trees”
virgin!
So, first day Thursday (for me at least, the Festy kicking off Wednesday late afternoon) dawned with a sunny (if a little achey, after last night’s Midway Still B’rum gig) vibe, and, aware that my first band of interest had an a.m. start, and cognisant of potential queues along small country lanes, I set off about 7.45 a.m. No need, as it turned out, as I zoomed there unencumbered, and parked up just after 8.30! The parking field was about a 10 minute walk from the Festy site; a little hillier than I’d anticipated, and with recent rain, the ground was soft underfoot although largely dry, the few odd mud patches being largely avoidable. I got my bearings: 3 distinct parts to the site; the campsite and the “Forest” stage to the right, an area to the left featuring two larger tents, Axiom and Cave, then through this and down into the main arena proper, featuring the mainstage and a smaller Neu tent. At 15,000 capped capacity, it actually seemed larger, but still eminently navigable. Lots of bar benches and hale bay gazebos around, for old gits like me to take the lead off as well… nice!
Took a seat on an arena bar bench (a recurring thing for me this Festy!) to while away the time, chatting to Tuppenny gig buddy Nick plus Josh, who’s working the Forest Stage sound, then checked out Neu tent openers BLANK ATLAS, on at 10.30. A respectable morning crowd was treated to some cobweb-dispersing punchy power chords, backbeat drum patterns and stretched, urgent emo vocals from a band clearly psyched to be playing the Fest at all (another recurring thing, as it turned out). Unoriginal but a decent enough start actually, at best approaching the likes of Biffy and SLS, the snappy “I Feel Great” also featuring some unexpected 3-part harmonies. Then wandered down to the main stage for my intended early morning call, and the reason I’d left home at the ass-crack of dawn, only to be told said band were delayed an hour and there was nothing onstage in between. Bah! Back to the Cave briefly then, with OVERPOWER living up to their name with some wall-of-noise shouty stuff, then over to Axiom for KNIVES at 11.30. An oddly attired 7-piece, they certainly put on an energetic performance, particularly the 2 female sax/ backing singers, but their rabble-rousing driving punk was slightly soured for me by the “oi oi” monotone rap/ vocals from the hefty vocalist. Still, they got a slamming mosh going – in the a.m., no less – so what the fuck do I know, eh?
Popped into Neu on my way back, where MENSTRUAL CRAMPS were dealing out some dramatic and dynamic bratty Runaways/ NYC gnarly punk in front of an appreciably bigger crowd, with a song about masturbation being embellished with Pete Shelley-esque squeals from enthusiastic and eye-catching vocalist Emelia. I also enjoyed the call-and-response old school punk of “Cull The Tories”, preceded by a tirade from Emelia about holding new PM Kier Starmer to account for the next 5 years. Damn right! Then down to the main stage for (finally!) my first planned highlight in CHERYM. Since catching this girl/ AFAB 3-piece recently supporting Indoor Pets (gig 1,330), their bright, snarky indie-punk CD has been in regular rotation in my car, and today they delivered a lunchtime Festy treat. Opener “Alpha Beta Sigma” was an irresistibly catchy opener; “Taking Up Sports” was a breathless Beths-like slice of punchy powerpop; and the gabbling Buzzcocks squall of “If I Was A Man” was preceded by buoyant vocalist Hannah announcing incredulously, “2 years ago we played the Neu tent and today we’re opening up the main stage! What the fuck!!” However, the best came last, with drummer Alana again leading the crowd in an “aggressive therapy” session, giving “fuck you!” shouts, “to all the exes that treated you like shit”, prior to the soaring backbeat hook of a best-of-set “It’s Not Me, It’s You”. Great stuff again from this increasingly likeable band.
Unfortunately, their late-running set meant they clashed with the Forest Stage acoustic set from Spanish Love Songs’ estimable vocalist DYLAN SLOCOMB. I sprinted up and over there (as fast as my recently reconstructed knee would allow, anyway) and joined the edge of the overspill crowd for the man’s last 3 numbers, “Losers 2”, a tremulous “Aloha To No One” and the magnificent and genuinely affecting “Haunted”. The man also congratulated us on the election results (“[there’s some] hope over here, as my own country descends into fascism”) and bigged up his band’s full set later today (“we’re on the – it is Axiom stage? Oh, I can handle myself, I’m not a giant baby that needs help!”) which, after missing most of this set, is now an essential watch for me… Back to the car briefly then for lunch (bringing my own for days 1 and 2, as I suspect day 3, featuring extra added hungry 17 year old son, may prove quite expensive), then back to Neu for MERYL STREEK, an angry shouty chap laying out his manifesto over an aggressive Krautrock/ early Killing Joke synth backing track. Didn’t stay long, as I was up for a main stage treat at 2 p.m….
Ran into old Level 3 friend Lou and her bestie Emily before DEAD PONY hit the mainstage hard, with opener “Ignore This” a hooky and colourful electro/ krautrock/ emo pop punk collision, and the subsequent “MK Nothing” itchy in-your-face agit punk, delivered by vocalist Anna Shields, one of the most kinetic and captivating frontperson performers I’ve seen since Savages’ Jehnny Beth. A proper trouble-making rabble rouser too; “are there any Scots in the park? Identify yourselves, brothers!” After asking – and getting – a circle pit for the undulating “23 Never Me”, “About Love” was a moody, slightly darker change of pace and my set highlight, then the anthemic “Mana” concluded a dynamic and energetically delivered set of strident rock tuneage from this highly promising new bunch. Nice! Needed a breather after that, so passed by AWAKEBUTSTILLINBED and ENOLA GAY in their respective tents – both bands sounding incoherently power riff-led, overlaid by low register vocal shouts, but I’m aware I only heard a couple of minutes of both at best – before stopping for a chat and a rest in the comfortable tyre chair by the Greenpeace stall at the back of the venue. It’s OK, I’m a member!
I grabbed a drink before heading into the already rapidly-filling Axiom, as Mr. Slocomb and his charges set up for the full band set; an eagerly awaited one, if the amount of SCS t-shirts on display was anything to go by! Sure enough, SPANISH LOVE SONGS sauntered casually onstage, plugged in, and started as they meant to go on, with “Lifers” a brilliantly-delivered, huge-chorussed, emotive and emotional rocker, Dylan’s charged, yearning vocal sucking the audience into his own personal trauma and exorcism. “Losers” saw a mass communal singalong, Dylan seemingly humbled and genuinely affected by the reception, commenting, “we’ve wanted to play 2000 Trees for about 6 years now – thank you for making it worth it!”
Spanish Love Songs absolutely took a step up tonight, the set as robust, heartfelt and anthemic as I’ve ever seen them, and the connection with the crowd undeniable. “This feels like someone took the inside of my brain and put it in a show!” Dylan appositely observed after a bleak yet soaring singalong to “Pendulum”; “North Of Buffalo” was another all-inclusive anthemic roof (tent?) raiser; yet “Haunted”, fully amped up, delivered with potent seething passion and conviction, was again magnificent, the highlight of a set replete with many. Finally, “Brave Faces Everyone” was the roaring punctuation of what ultimately proved, for me, to be the Set Of The Weekend, Dylan handing me his own list personally only making it more special. Wow!
Took a breather before popping back into the early evening sun-kissed arena for KIDS IN GLASS HOUSES on the main stage. Their bright, tuneful millennial pop punk was eminently serviceable, but somewhat insubstantial after Spanish Love Songs’ towering set. I did take in most of their set, however, before hiking it back to the car for tea and a sit down on the tailgate. With the gradients, particularly back up to the car park, I’m feeling my age a little right now, and its only day 1! Yikes! Still, thus fortified, I headed back into the arena to listen to… a rather fiddly vocal sound check! So MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA eventually took the main stage at 25 to 8, some 15 minutes late, with main man Andy Hull noticeably trimmer than previous sightings, and sounding a lot like Grandaddy’s Jason Lytle, with his soft, high pitched Southern drawl overlaying MO’s usual huge, pounding, ball-crunching riff-heavy granite slabs of songs. “Pride” set the tone with heavy rock-hard riffery underpinning its self-loathing lament; an early “I Can Hardly Breathe” featured some quiet/ loud respite with a strident choral hook; and oldie “The Mansion” was an eerie Pixies “Where Is My Mind” death march clone. Brian Fallon from tonight’s headliners (more on them later, of course), was introduced as guest vocalist for the strident “The Gold” – my first impression was that he’d put on all the girth Hull had lost! – but subsequent jagged, slashing oldie “Shake It Out”, featuring a lyrical nod to kindred spirits Biffy Clyro’s “Mountains”, was comfortably my highlight of this typically dramatic MO set.
Wandered back to the Forest Stage a couple of numbers before the end so I could happily catch all of LOS CAMPESINOS! A band I’d picked up on briefly a few years back then neglected to follow up with, they made me realise my error with a splendid set of angular, jangly Martha-esque hard-rocking yet buoyant agit-politico indie pop. Early “Romance Is Boring” saw the hook sung back by their knowledgeable crowd; “Avocado Baby” was a jolly upbeat number with an almost calypso vibe; and after impassioned vocalist Gareth Paisley introduced the band with, “we’re called Los Campesinos! and we didn’t come here to fuck around tonight!” he was true to his word, jumping into the pit and getting in the faces of the front rows during the bratty, anthemic “For Flotsam”. A new, slower build number, featuring some “ooh ooh” haunting harmonies, was a mid-set highlight for me, and after Gareth regaled us with some Free Palestine/ trans rights messages, closer “0898 Heartache”’s descending hook led to a punkish thrash ending to a fine set. Glad I booked to see them in Bristol next week!
So,
to see out day 1, it was back into the main arena for headliners, the recently
reunited THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM. I’d last come across mainman, the
newly-monolithic Brian Fallon, during a verbal diarrhoea-fuelled carcrash of a
solo gig in Bristol in 2018 (gig 1,074), so I was hoping for some serious redemption
tonight. As the light faded in a packed, crepuscular arena, it initially seemed
I’d get it, as the band entered to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and ripped into
the breathless blue-collar anthemic punk of “Great Expectations”, followed by
the expansive, slightly melancholy but still rip-roaring “Handwritten” and a Springsteen-esque
breast-beating, fist pumping “American Slang”. Great start; surely they can’t
keep this up?
The answer, sadly, was no… the pace and song quality dropped noticeably for the bluesy bar room “Biloxi Parish” and slow, stripped back “The Weatherman”, and again, Fallon skirted around the overly chatty, collectng signs from the crowd and chatting to a little kid in the front row (“do you reckon you could take me on int a fight?”). The mid-set punkish blast of “High Lonesome” threatened briefly; the circular piano refrain of the cover of Mother Love Bone’s “Chloe Dancer” was rather lovely actually, but the set (booked for 1 hour 25 minutes) seemed overlong, and the mid-set, largely bluesy/ countrified heartland rock material pedestrian. So I wandered off about 15 minutes before the end, and heard the taut, wiry Senseless Things-like riff of “45” and the rockabilly-tinged closer “59 Sound” whilst circumnavigating the arena back to my car. So a part redemption for TGA: great start and finish, shame about the mid-set sag, would have been a blistering 45 minute set! Easy egress (despite not picking up a satnav signal until I was out of the dip and by the airfield!) and home well before midnight for a kip in my own bed, after an overall very successful day 1!
Day 2 Friday (initially designated “Mainly Hanging Around The Arena Day” but ultimately changed to “The Day Bob Vylan Tore The Festy A New One…”, read on, folks) saw a later departure, 20 past 9 still getting me parked up about 5 past 10. Despite foreboding clouds enveloping the skies as I left last night, the site was largely unaffected by any overnight rain; still soft underfoot, but no additional muddy bits! Into an amply-attended Neu and in place for BUDS at 10.30. A band I’d been meaning to check out for some time, they were short their guitarist Sunny, absent for a family issue, and featured a number of guest twangers instead, including a couple from recent tourmates Michael Cera Palin! Their set was a melting pot of easily spotted grungy/ emo influences (a Pixies-ish ascending bassline in the early “Grit”, some thrashy but thankfully not screamy emo-punk elsewhere, some 90’s grunge in the rambunctious set highlight “Happy” and subsequent, mosh-inducing “Progress”), but delivered with a self-effacing attitude and no little enthusiasm and tuneage. “It’s 10.30 in the morning; this turnout is fucking incredible!” the vocalist incredulously exclaimed at one point, and the crowd responded with a singalong to hooky closer “Building Blocks”. Another band delivering their own flip on that 90’s grunge template, one to potentially file alongside Teenage Wrist and Been Stellar in that regard, and ultimately my Best New Band of the Festy. Great start to the day!
Popped down the hill where goth toy doll BEX was leading her 3-piece band through some in-your-face emo/goth soundbites, giving me serious Daisy Chainsaw vibes with her bratty and squealy vocals, and firing off a bubble gun to the delight of the early comers. Not my thing, but as she said in one of her numbers, “no problem with my attitude, the problem is with you!” so I considered myself well and truly telt! Took a rest by the bar afterwards, chatting knees with a lady awaiting surgery on hers, in earshot of ARTIO in Neu. They brought a different slant to the Festy with a dark dancey electro groove to their sinister emo tuneage, but I was enjoying the conversation more, to be honest… down to the main stage however for midday, and the indie punk powerpop stylings of Norwegian rabble SLOTFACE. Opener “Ladies Of The Fight” was a bright, bouncy opener, followed by the joyous riff of their best number, the serious Popguns-esque Indie Banger that is “Telepathetic”. Fears that they’d shot their bolt too soon proved unfounded, however, vocalist Haley Shea then leading her charges through an upbeat, brain hugging and kinetic set of frenetic indie pop, touching on Blondie, C86, The Beths and all points in between! The tongue-in-cheek “Tired Old Dog” was taut, Buzzcocks-esque punk; the millennial pop punk of “Magazine” saw Haley call for a lunchtime mosh and featured the great line, “Patti Smith would never put up with this shit!”; and buoyant closer “Just Wanna Be Happy” saw both Haley and her bassist jump over the barriers and into the mosh, the bassist doing so right next to me! A proper lunchtime wake-up call from a band I’d love to see in a small club (Joiners, Thekla?).
Talking of lunch, I had mine back on a bench next to Neu, in earshot of PROBLEM PATTERNS and their bolshy, growly and almost Crass-like anarchist punk sounding set. A bit screamy for my liking but I liked the attitude; “we’re a punk band which means no terfs – and if you don’t believe in a free Palestine, don’t watch our fucking set!” Stayed there as RUMJACKS kicked off a high-velocity, tin-whistle propelled fiddly diddly punky folky Dropkicks-like mainstage set; the kind of stuff I expected to hear more of on this bill, but it just seems to be them and tomorrow’s Skinny Lister… still, they were ramshackle and rambunctiously entertaining, and I tapped a toe to pass the time until IDESTROY, next up for me in Neu. It’s been awhile since I caught up with Bristol guitar stalwart Bec Jevons and her day job – 7 years, in fact, since that 2017 Rolly gig (gig 1,026) when only 4 punters attended! – so I was happy to see them in front of an appreciably bigger crowd. In the intervening years, IDestroy have honed their sound from feisty NYC Runaways punk to include smoother, more tuneful powerpop, whilst losing none of their verve and energy. Today they were in no mood to fuck around either, attacking the set from the off with the amphetamine blast of “Petting Zoo” and the sleazoid Iggy strut of “100 Sounds”, bassist Nic particularly a high-jumping kinetic whirligig of perpetual motion throughout. “We’re gonna give you as much energy as we’ve got!” exclaimed Bec, and they certainly delivered on their promise with a dynamic set, the likes of the amped-up and relevant indie banger “Headphones”, the snappy, snarky “All My Friends Are Plastic” and the old school Doors-esque bluesy growl of closer “Playing With Knives” very promising precursors for a new album later this year.
That took us to just after 2, and a 3 hour lull for me! AS DECEMBER FALLS – a.k.a. the band who keeps offering me a free copy of their CD on Facebook – were next up on the main stage and underlined why I haven’t picked one up. Formulaic female fronted emo/metal, they sounded like a safer, more sanitised Evanescence to these ears. THE OTHER HALF were next up at Neu, delivering some clumsy, noisy nu-metal, so I played “Spot The T-Shirt Slogan of the Weekend” (remember that from bygone Reading Festivals?), giving honours to “Sorry Princess, I only date crack whores”… Eventually took a wander out of the main arena to Cave, where UNPEOPLE were doing a more than passable thrashy cover of Nirvana’s “Territorial Pissings”, which was a step up from their subsequent equally thrashy terrace chant rock. I then sat down on a hay bale listening to Philadelphia’s SWEET PILL in the Axiom tent, their angular and melodic stop-start US alt-rock, plus the vocalists’ tales of trying Greggs in the UK, ultimately enticing me into the tent. A pleasant, lower-key change of pace for this rock and riff-orientated Festy, this lot, so when they did rock out (e.g. the penultimate, shouty “It Comes From You”) it felt more dramatic and startling.
Anyhoo, I was in the right place for my next lot, albeit an hour early! Whiled away the time people watching, then popped into Axiom to grab a barrier spot. I was on a mission for the next lot, namely BEARS IN TREES, my daughter’s favourite music makers (the ubiquitous Tay Tay notwithstanding) and a band going up in my estimation too of late. From the off, they were on a clear mission to bring some simply unabashed fun to the Festy, with opener “Things That Look Like Mistakes” laying out their colourful, warm and homespun DIY/ C86-tinged indie jangle pop manifesto, and the self-confessed “dirtbag boyband” already making use of this large stage by bouncing about like deranged dirigibles. “We’re Bears In Trees, and we’re here to make you think about death and being sad and stuff!” announced main vocalist Callum, totally tongue-in-cheek, before the bright indie bounce of “Fresh Concrete” and huge yearning, “it’s just moments passing” hook to the excellent “Injured Crow”. After a debate about how many Bears was right to bring to 2000 Trees (“we [brought] 4,000 bears backstage and we’re ready to set them loose!”), the irresistibly groovy “Hot Chocolate” saw the 4 boys line up abreast and perform a goony dance to the outro, and the spritely “Heaven Sent Is A Coffee Cup” saw Callum abandon his onstage keyboards and key-tar to join in the merry mosh. The most fun, sunshiney and smile-inducing set of the weekend was then capped by my doorstepping Callum afterwards, to record a brief video for my school-bound daughter. Result!
A sunny yet hilly walk back to the car for tea then, also negotiating a closer parking spot thanks to the Oxfam parking lady taking pity on my recently reconstructed knee (hmmm, I’ll try that again tomorrow), before a nice chat with a steward on the way back about The Wonder Stuff (I’m sporting my “ID30T” tee today). Past the surprisingly disco-oriented stylings of TURNOVER in the Axiom tent, to my Neu arena bar bench, where CLT DRP (apparently pronounced Clit Drip – yuck!) were also churning out some surprisingly electro techno stuff. Did I take a wrong turn and end up in Creamfields, or what? Thankfully (?) the Clts eventually reverted to Festy type with some slow and eerie stompy goth metal, with Sioux-alike atonal vocals from the singer. The Bears In Trees lads then wandered by, so I doorstepped them again for a nice chat with a fan-friendly and caring bunch, all claiming to remember meeting my daughter at an earlier BiT gig in 2022 (gig 1,230), which was nice. I also had a long and entertaining chat with Mel, a fellow Shiiine On regular from the Rhondda, after we’d complimented each other’s old school indie tees (Mel seeing my “ID30T” tee and raising me his own Carter USM “Anytime” effort).
Then down to the main stage, joining the anticipatory hordes killing time by cheering a red kite soaring above the crowd (!), for some hardcore punk/ grime/ grunge-rap truth bombs from BOB VYLAN. I mused; how long would it be before vocalist and rabble-rouser Bobby abandoned the stage for the photo pit – or even the mosh itself? Answer – not bloody long, 4 songs in fact! Bobby and drummer Bobbie took the stage with a strut and a swagger, Bobby tapping into the rapturous audience reception with a pithy, “I think we should call this VylanFest!” (a sobriquet he proceeded to use throughout), before leading the crowd in some light stretching. All warmed up, it was straight into the confrontational growling grungeathon of “Bait The Bear”, Bobby striding the stage with furious purpose, dropping his message to all and sundry. After the primitive Crass-like punk blast of “Northern Line” he introduced his “band of many names” (“Metallica Killers, because fuck Metallica, Slam Dunk Hooligans, Fred Perry Mafia, The Most Important Band in Britain…”) before finally abandoning the stage and crowdsurfing to “Ring The Alarm”. The brilliant “We Live Here” followed, Bobby then bringing his daughter Moonrise onstage to duet on an anthemic, affirming “Dream Big”. Finally, “Pretty Songs” saw Bobby venture to the mixing desk at the back of the arena pit, “to visit my mate Grant!”, then crowdsurf all the way back to cap a quite breathtaking performance. And if that wasn’t enough, a few minutes after laying waste to the Festy the boys came out to meet and greet with all and sundry for at least 20 minutes or so. Chaps! Not normally my thing musically, but Bobby’s charisma, chutzpah and general dynamic presence sells it totally; no mistake, Bob Vylan owned this Festival today!
One more planned port of call after that; to the already heaving Cave for EMPIRE STATE BASTARD, Rose household favourite Biffy Clyro’s vocalist Simon Neil’s hardcore side project. After a fiddly soundcheck, the band came on at 9 to chants of, “here we fucking go!”, Neil dressed in medieval monk gown and last to take the stage, before the first “song”, which was a relentless pounding superfast hardcore blast, Neil screaming incoherently over it. No words, no discernable tune, just sheer overwhelming and palpable noise… I gave it a couple of numbers then decided to protect my ears, popping into the loo behind the Cave (the corrugated fencing of which was shaking nineteen to the dozen, due to ESB’s loud, low bass) before shlepping it back to the car. I heard enough of headliners THE CHATS during said walk to validate my decision to head off early, what I heard being amateurish fourth division tinny ramshackle punk, as if they’d been rummaging through UK Subs’, The Fall’s or even The (“Batman At The Launderette”) Shapes’ dustbins for song ideas. Nope, that was enough for me for day 2 at “2000 Trees” – or should I say (for today only) “VylanFest”?!
So,
on to Saturday and Day 3! And, happily, I had company today in the form of my
17 year old son Logan, up for a bit of Frank today amongst other things. We set
off at 10, encountering a bit of drizzle on the way but things were ok on
arrival; I used my recent knee op story to negotiate a parking spot close to
the exit before showing Logan the Festy site, catching the last knockings of
AFFECTION TO RENT’s decent-sounding high-pitched shoegazey goth set in the
Forest, then calling in on the Greenpeace tent for a chat with the reps, who’d
been doing sterling recruitment work throughout the Festy. Nice one! Passed
PIZZATRAMP in the Cave; they were knocking out 10 second hardcore soundbites at
a furious pace (“this one’s called “Frank Turner is a Fucking Cunt!” [rant rant
rant] this one’s called, “Silent Discos Are Fucking Shit!” [rant rant rant]”
etc. etc.) but we kind of got the idea and moved on to the arena for big
fuck-off hot dogs for breakfast, sitting and eating by the Neu stage as MOULD
were playing a quite respectable actually Pixies-ish jagged US alt-rock set, featuring
a surprisingly softly spoken vocalist. Then to the back for a bit of INHUMAN
NATURE in the Cave, their shouty low-register old school metal quickly wearing
thin on me.
So, t’was into Axiom for our first planned band; “we’re MICHAEL CERA PALIN from Atlanta; it’s time to prove love is real!” announced MCP vocalist Elliott Brabant. Their taut, itchy emo/ US alt rock featured shades of Pup, Carseat Headrest and even (going back some here) the gabbling herky-jerkiness of Primus, with occasional spritely Modern Baseball overtones and yelping, stream of consciousness vocals from Elliot. “Murder Hornet Fursona” (!), about, “when Pride Month is only over when you say so!” was wry and laconic laze-core; “Southern Comfort” was a groovy slab of Violent Femmes-like Appalachian hillbilly indie; and “Go Home Play Music Feel Better” featured a big Pixies-ish ascending chorus, followed by a tuned down, grungy cover of Sheryl Crow’s “If It Makes You Happy” which turned into a self-loathing death march! Overall, another intriguing discovery, this lot…
We stayed in Axiom for a final day highlight from our “live” favourites, the returning INDOOR PETS, the boys noticing and briefly greeting us in our front row spot as they set up onstage. Kicking off prompt at 2 and straight into the itchy stop-start “Fidget Panic Restless Static”, followed up by a lazy, laconic “Hi” with its nonetheless soaring helium hook and a quite brilliant amphetamine luge-ride through “Pro Procrastinator”, it was clear they were here to rock, their performance easily continuing the great “live” form evidenced on their recent Louisiana show (gig 1,330). “The last time we played here there was only one tree!” quipped all-action, livewire vocalist Jamie, before delivering some powerful off-mic vocals during “Dopamine Girls”. “Barbiturates” was a huge, first-pumping indie anthem, sung back by all and sundry around us, then, all too soon, the epic, almost widescreen stop start meander and well-observed pregnant pause of a best-of-set “London” closed out a breathless and splendid set. Still saying it; it’s so great to have you back, boys!
No time to stop; quick greetings and a list later, we were off toot sweet to the utterly rammed Forest Stage, where FRANK TURNER’s acoustic performance and Q&A with podcaster Mark Woodyatt was already under way, actually being midway through second number “The Way I Tend To Be” as we arrived. Frank, as ever, was totally at ease in this environment, chatting with clarity and honesty about subjects including an alleged mid-career lull (didn’t notice it, myself…), his and his music’s connection with the audience, the crazy recent “24 gigs in 24 hours” event (of which Logan and I were a small part – gig 1,327) and the forthcoming Gig 3,000 next year at Ally Pally (we’ll be there too!). This was interspersed with 5 acoustic numbers (to make this performance an official FT show!), including a lovely “Somewhere In Between” and finale “Yellow Bike”, a Pedro The Lion number, Frank citing PTL mainman David Bazan as his favourite songwriter. Prior to that, Frank took questions from the audience (I had one, but wasn’t picked), the only one stumping him being the final one; “do you realise how much you are loved?” Wow!
Time
to feed a hungry boy then, so Logan grabbed a chilli dog and pulled pork fries,
before we headed back into Axiom and took a barrier spot for LA’s premier heavy
shoegaze/ grunge outfit TEENAGE WRIST, on at 3.30. These guys were brilliant –
if seriously loud! – at the Louisiana at the end of 2023 (gig 1,310) and
certainly kicked off in a similar vein, the T Rex strident roaring riffery and
towering, fist-punching chorus of opener “Sunshine” a quite majestic starter.
However, this was as good as it got, musically at least; “Dark Sky” was hard
and heavy, with a reverb-drenched shoegazey middle 8, “Humbug” was a low,
angular growl, propelled by the bassist’s very loosely strung instrument
and dedicated “to the banana!” (one of a few guys dressed up as bananas today)
by the as-ever impressively tonsilled vocalist Marshall Gallagher (surely the
most talented Gallagher in rock!), and “Mary” delivered a relatively light
touch before the towering hook. All well and good, but all the reverb-heavy,
mid–paced material felt a bit of a muchness, and it would have just been nice
for a more upbeat rocker such as “New Emotion” or the wonderful “Taste Of
Gasoline” to change things up a little bit… “I’m not going to lie, it’s been
okay…” deadpanned Gallagher before the savage, Nirvana-esque “Earth Is A Black
Hole” concluded proceedings with a snarling, cacophonous finale, and that
encapsulated how I felt a little. I don’t want to say I was disappointed; I
still thoroughly enjoyed it, but they were much much better at the
Louisiana…
No list either (it’s all in Marshall’s head, he advised!), so we then quickly hot-footed it over to the main arena, arriving just as THE MYSTERINES kick-started their set with the herky-jerky glam of “Sink Ya Teeth”. Their subsequent set was an object lesson in “be careful what you wish for” for me… I’d previously commented on the uniqueness of singer Lia Metcalfe’s low, sonorous and mahogany rich voice, reminiscent of the likes of PJ Harvey, Patti Smith and even Leonard Cohen, and completely at odds with her tender years (and obvious scouse speaking voice!) and wondered whether The Mysterines would be better off tailoring their songwriting to produce darker, more morose and mysterious late-night bar blues or murder ballad material more suited to Lia’s tones. Well, on today’s evidence the new “Afraid Of Tomorrows” album material does just that, whilst unfortunately losing a lot of the upfront dynamism of the debut “Reeling”. Again, don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed this set and it was nice to finally see them fully amped-up after 2 previous acoustic showings, but my set highlights were easily the older stuff, such as the sleazoid march of “Dangerous” and their best number by far, the dark hooky indie banger “All Those Things”…
This took us to teatime, so we got some Pad Thai and ate it on our usual bench by Neu, before heading off to the Cave for ANGEL DUST on a recommendation from a fellow punter yesterday. Unfortunately, they were incoherent punkish noise, so we headed back into the arena, where CLEOPATRICK were serving up some more palatable motorik Krautrock/ grungy stuff on the mainstage. Had a nice father/ son chat on the usual bench while PANIC SHACK were in Neu, seemingly covering all of the first Foo Fighters album (!) and actually dishing up some melodic and listenable popcore guitar stuff in the process, then greeted a passing Ben Sydes and Evie. Ben’s doing a set at half past midnight at Camp Turner (following an act billed as “Giant Fucking Moth” and rumoured to be Frank himself), but honestly, there’s no way I’ll last that long…
We took a wander down to the mainstage as a (very) light drizzle started falling (the first such precipitation onsite for me this weekend, so mustn’t grumble really), and anticipation grew for FRANK TURNER AND THE SLEEPING SOULS, up next at 7. The black-clad band and Frank took to the stage at the appointed hour, Frank immediately demanding, “get the pit going! Let’s fucking GO!!!” and rampaged straight into the savage, acerbic terrace chant opening hook of newie “No Thank You For The Music”. The cry of, “banana guys [them again!]; you’re in charge of the pit!” preceded a similarly frantic “Girl From The Record Shop” and the pounding anthemic “Get Better”, and it was clear Frank was intent on delivering a proper punk rock show, with moshpit catnip numbers aplenty. I’d already lost Logan by this point, and the next time I saw him he was hoisted aloft the mosh, crowdsurfing and conducting the singalong. Parenting goals achieved!
“It’s
a punk rock show – I want shit to get rowdy – but with respect!” announced
Frank before a singalong “If Ever I Stray”, then newie “Letters” was preceded
by Franks story of a childhood pen-friendship; “and she got back in touch a
month ago!” “Polaroid Picture” was huge and anthemic yet beautiful and
affecting, then after a brief acoustic interlude it was back to the punk with a
vicious, biting “1933” and the frantic hoedown of “Never Mind The Back
Problems”. A final circle-pit infested section of “wall to wall Hitsville!”
singalong folk/ punk rockers (“Photosynthesis”, “Recovery” and “I Still
Believe) led into Frank’s final number, a frantic punk blast through “Four
Simple Words” which saw the man crowdsurfing to the end. Great stuff as
anticipated; an astonishingly quick 1 hour 25 minutes that really should have
been the headline set!
The drizzle by then was slightly harder, so I gathered up my errant crowdsurfing son and we headed to Axiom with the intention of catching CREEPER and their pseudo cartoon goth shenanigans. However, the tent was jam-packed, with serious amounts of overspill, recalling memories of Foo Fighters’ utterly (and dangerously) rammed 1995 Reading debut in the Tent. So we reviewed our options and, getting slightly wetter too, decided to call it a day… Back to the car, then easy egress and back home by 9.30!
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