1,112 THE 2018 “SHIIINE ON” WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 16th – Sunday 18th November 2018

 

Back again for “Shiiine On” Part 3, although our third visit down to Minehead’s Butlins holiday camp for this annual Festival extravaganza, primarily celebrating the UK Indie/ Dance landscape of the 80’s and 90’s, nearly didn’t happen, for me at least… Our “core four” from last year enjoyed it so much, that we planned the 2018 return visit pretty much as soon as the initial headliner was announced, that being Shed Seven, who delivered a surprisingly (for me at least, again!) excellent headlining set on Saturday in 2016. Anticipating a further slew of more guitar-based acts to follow in Witter’s mob’s wake, we immediately booked our repeat attendance, only to recoil in horror when a more comprehensive bill was announced. Packed full of crappy baggy and trancey dance acts (Stereo MCs, Orbital), dull landfill Britpop (Ocean Colour Snore, and yes, I got their name right…) and again the ubiquitous Madchester village idiot Shaun Ryder, back again to make another wasted numpty of himself albeit with Black Grape this time, I seriously considered cancelling. I mean, it doesn’t say much for a bill when my 3^rd most anticipated act was the REM tribute band! However, my cohorts persuaded me otherwise, emphasising that there’s generally more to “Shiiine On” than just the acts themselves, and a bit of pre-Fest investigation revealed another, previously (criminally) ignored potential musical highlight for me, so it was all on again!

There were some late shenanigans involving us changing booking to accommodate a 5^th member (which Butlins laudably did at no extra cost), then said 5^th dropping out at very short notice, so Rich drove just myself and Rach down on Friday morning, hitting the ‘head just after 1. Met Matt, our 4^th member, for some provision shopping then the traditional seafront chippy lunch before booking into our accommodation. Thanks to us changing bookings, we had a smart 3-bedroom silver chalet. Nice! So, stuff dumped and loins girded, we headed off to the arena about 4-ish for the start of musical festivities. SALAD were first up for us, on at 4.30, statuesque ginger former MTV VJ Marijne Van De Vlugt leading her charges through a “best of” set of their pretty decent actually girly-fronted indie pop. I was actually surprised at how much of their material I remembered (the undulating tango rhythm of “Motorbike To Heaven”, the morose grunge of “Diminished Clothes” and lilting chorus of “Granite Statue”), although not as surprised as when Marijne introduced her band, featuring on drums, Julian Cope’s former 80’s wingman Donald Ross “Donneye” Skinner! Their final, best number “Drink The Elixir” had a false start due to a guitar issue, but was a metronomic Stereolab-style groove with a discordant climax. A reasonably good start actually, which would actually stack up pretty well when compared to similar acts later this evening… Plenty of room to move about in the arena at this stage, unlike the hordes here for Jim Bob last year! MY LIFE STORY, next up, plied a trade midway between widescreen 60’s cinema soundtracks, knockabout Kinks-ish mod and throwaway Britpop, with 3^rd number “Motorcade” still their finest hour by far. Jake Shillingford, resplendent in a check suit, was an ostentatious and slightly pretentious, but evidently crowd-pleasing performer, and some later numbers had the slightly faded grandeur of early Pulp, although their “All The Young Dudes” rip-off was more than a bit blatant.

I took time out to call Evan, then we bumped into Bath “Gin Window” buddies Kate and Ashley before SLEEPER, on at 7. Louise Wener sported a “Super Her” t-shirt in front of her Sleeperblokes, but despite a racy early “Pyrotechnician”, the sound was initially thin and took time to bed in. Their best number, “Delicious” was sadly lost to the poor sound, all discordant and a bit of a mess, but the singalong, breathy “What Do I Do Now” was fuller and punchier, heralding a sea change in the sound. Wener, the indie sex kitten turned soccer mom, pranced and preened onstage to the crowd’s delight as her and her band’s confidence grew, and they even chanced a new number, the glam strut of “Look At You Now” and threw in a “Satellite Of Love” lyric vignette into the subsequent “Peaky”. Set highlight by far, however, was their rendition of “Atomic” (“this one’s on “Trainspotting”, the bit where everyone’s shagging people they’re not supposed to shag,” announced a lascivious Louise), all pulsing and pulsating disco brilliance and the best sounding song of the weekend so far. By singalong closer “Sale Of The Century”, a big moshpit was bouncing along, so they’ll no doubt look back on this as a triumph; justifiably so, as it was some way better than when I last saw them (a dispirited 1998 Swindon Oasis showing, gig 368), although the numbers I’ll remember most from this set weren’t theirs…

The arena was quite busy by now, and the theme tune from “The Magnificent Seven” appropriately heralded the entrance of SHED SEVEN, prompt at 8.30. “The fun starts right here!” announced rakish, rock-star skinny vocalist Rick Witter after lugubrious opener “Room In My House”, introducing his brass section and giving them some well-natured shit-talking at the same time! “Where Have You Been Tonight” was the first real anthem of the weekend, Witter acting as mass singalong conductor with his usual swaggering confidence, and the blood-red lit “Dolphin” was a delight of slashing guitar and heads-down, no nonsense groovy rhythm with a lengthy, dramatic climax. Seahorses vocalist Chris Helme (whose solo set we’d missed earlier) joined the band on a swayalong “High Hopes”, then Witter quipped, “we’re talking about a new album… release date 2034!” before newie “People Will Talk”.

This was a more sprawling, slightly less focussed set than the bang-bang-hit-after-hit headlining performance 2 years ago, Witter also taking time to read out some twitter dedications (“if this bit’s boring, stop fucking tweeting me!”), but no less fun overall. Also, when Witter and the Sheds concentrate on the hits (a bolshy, shouty “Friday”, featuring the closing section of The Stone Roses’ “I Am The Resurrection”, a racey and superb “Bully Boy” and the epic closer “Chasing Rainbows”, f’rinstance), they’re the ideal headliners for an event like this, and Witter is a captivating performer with a larger than life personality – not bad for a skinny little fucker. A bit surprising that I took so long to get on board with Shed Seven, but they smashed it again, this being Friday’s best set by some considerable distance.

 
That was it for the main arena, so we grabbed a cuppa and a breather at the chalet before heading back into Centre Stage, the largest of the other venues, catching HELEN LOVE’s somewhat amateurish, DIY final number. THE DARLING BUDS were next up at 11.30, their first couple of numbers sounding wispy and insubstantial (and a little out of key too from singer Andrea Lewis). “I Don’t Mind” was however tighter, tougher and wah-wah infused, and Andrea greeted us with a Ruth Madoc homage of, “hi de hi campers,” before the fizzy “Hit The Ground”. Thereafter it drifted for me – a lot – with their 60’s-influenced girl pop innocuous and a whole mess of mediocre really, and I passed the time wondering whether Andrea, flapping her bingo wings furiously, might end up taking off. God, I’m such a bitch…! “It’s All Up To You” and set closer “Burst” were by far their best numbers – also the ones that sounded the most like 80’s DIY all-girl noiseniks The Shop Assistants. Odd, that…

Still, if the Buds were just mediocre, they were aural ambrosia compared to THE PRIMITIVES, on at a red-eyed 1 am. From the off they were utterly dire; a disjointed opener sounded thin, out-of-tune and very poor, and diminutive vocalist Tracey, sporting a Bacofoil dress and rather unfortunately resembling Theresa May, couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket. It actually took me at least halfway through the second number to even recognise it was “Stop Killing Me”, one of my favourite Prims tunes, shorn of all its’ dynamism and buzzsaw guitar. “Sick Of It All” was equally terribly ham-fisted so we got the hell out of dodge, and into Jaks for the last knockings of THE TRAIN SET’s passable 80’s indie rock fayre. At least they played in time and could hold a tune, which put them several steps above the Primitives! We pondered this on the walk back to the chalet – maybe The Prims were always shit, and poor 80’s “live” sound systems masked their deficiencies. Either way, they were well and truly exposed tonight!

Day 2 dawned with a late and lazy lie-in and a “Big Man Special” breakfast, prior to our first music of the day, in Reds just after lunchtime. Oddly enough for us, this was a couple of tribute acts! Even odder, it was a couple of tribute acts for US bands! First up, HEY! PIXIES, a Pixies tribute act (No. Really??!!) from Stoke, were actually great, allaying any fears I’d had about their ability to replicate Joey Santiago’s unique, savage guitar licks and Black Francis’ commanding vocals with a full, dynamic and thoroughly authentic set. The music at least… between songs, the tall, blond vocalist was a damn sight chattier than the usually non-communicative Mr. Thompson, and funny with it – quipping, “if you’ve not seen The Pixies, Frank Black doesn’t look like a cross between Myra Hindley and Paul O’Grady,” assuring us, “if you don’t know The Pixies, this is EXACTLY how they sound!” and lavishing praise on the backstage facilities (“you know you’ve made it when you’ve got towels backstage!”). And musically, they pretty much nailed every song, with “Nimrod’s Son”, a brilliantly chugalong “Head On” and the excellent, sinister segue between “Cecilia Ann” and “Allison” my personal highlights. Either way, a resounding triumph, as I remarked to the grateful vocalist afterwards. Well done folks!

After an interminable soundcheck which delayed their set by 20 minutes, STIPE were next up, an REM tribute band I’d seen and enjoyed last year at Level 3. Quite a contrast to the relaxed delivery of Hey! Pixies, Stipe were a study in authenticity, their vocalist assuming the moves and persona of idiosyncratic REM frontman Michael Stipe, including addressing the large crowd in a passable imitation of Stipe’s halting tones. Like REM, their set was constructed to please both casual punter and true fan, so I totally adored tracks such as an early “Gardening At Night” and a later “Radio Free Europe” whilst acknowledging they likely meant little to most of the audience. The likes of “Losing My Religion”, a stunning “Orange Crush” and a singalong “Imitation Of Life” (their imitation of “IOL”, according to the vocalist!) however, went down well, and closer “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” was easily the set highlight.

I left the folks to the main arena stuff at this point, and headed down to a packed Inn On The Green, where KINGMAKER (FOR A DAY) were just kicking off their set, slightly late at 4pm. Two thirds of the early 90’s Hull Indie jesters, this, they were unfortunately lacking their most important original member, vocalist Loz Hardy, and the replacement frontman was seriously bereft of Hardy’s charisma and flippant patter. A distinctly average “Two Headed Yellow Bellied Hole Digger” featured the chorus hook, “soon she’ll be inspired”, but this was far from inspiring; the upbeat dynamism of “When Lucy’s Down” was by far the best number in a workmanlike set.

The place emptied after that! Clearly a number of punters hadn’t done the pre-Fest research that I had on the next act… I’d slightly passed on DIESEL PARK WEST back in the day, remembering them as an okay-ish slightly-delic 80’s guitar band, who became quickly out of step with the likes of Madchester, shoegaze and subsequently early 90’s grunge, and had kind of ignored them since. After their addition to this bill, however, I rather absent-mindedly picked up a cheap copy of their “Best Of” CD, “Left Hand Band” and found it replete with easy melody, honey-throated harmonies and gorgeous late 60’s West Coast psychedelia inflections, similar to the likes of late Teenage Fanclub and Gigolo Aunts, even. I was well up for this one, then, taking a spot on the barriers as the band set up. Opener “Let It Melt” was however a startling opener, a new number featuring some old school R&B rhythms a la Dr. Feelgood, and surprisingly snarly vocals courtesy of trenchcoated Catweazle vocalist John Butler. “Pictures” continued this rootsy, Stones-like vein before the plangent picking of “Here I Stand” offered another dimension to the DPW sound. “Golden Mile” was optimistically introduced by Butler as, “a song about ageing – nothing you can do about it… except die…!”, but then “Like Princes Do” was fantastic, a tough-sounding galloping psych rock workout. The off-kilter growl of “When The Hoodoo Comes” ended the set proper, although time thankfully allowed for an unplanned “All The Myths On Sunday”, the tumbling harmonic hook causing me to lose my voice a little as I sang raucously along. Great stuff overall, from a band I now clearly need to make up for lost time on…

Starting now! I grabbed a list from a passing Butler then got it signed by his three bandmates; the vocalist himself had disappeared “backstage” so guitarist Rich Barton invited me back to complete the collection! Grabbed said signature, plus some pix and quick compliments with an accommodating band, after a circuitous journey through the bowels of Butlins. Nice! Thus buoyed, I wandered back in to meet the crew in the main arena at 6 for THE RIFLES’ mainstage set. They were an ok, slightly lightweight and largely forgettable Britpoppy/ 60’s influenced band who wouldn’t have sounded out of place in either the late 80’s or mid-90’s – odd then that they date from the mid-2000s! Their best number also had more than a passing resemblance to the taut rhythms of The Cure’s “Boys Don’t Cry”.

And that was it, for a few hours at least! No way was I going to subject myself to another Ryder car-crash, so I grabbed some tea and made good on my pre-Fest promise/ threat to go back to the chalet and watch “Strictly”! I was later joined by my dear lady wife Rachel and we popped over to Kate and Ashley’s chalet, Rach enjoying a couple of vodkas there before wandering back for the last knockings of OCEAN COLOUR SCENE. Strangely (to my ears at least), they attracted easily the biggest crowd of the weekend, with roaring singalongs to their cover of The Beatles’ “Day Tripper” and their own “The Day We Caught The Train”. A real crowd-pleaser this… can’t see it, to my ears they just sound bland and dull. Shortly afterwards, as the arena emptied, a drunkenly dancing Rach was by now showing signs of needing an early-ish night, so we all popped back to the chalet for food, and I eventually persuaded Rach to hit the hay. Stayed there to settle her down as the boys headed off for EMF, but I had other plans…

Back out into the inky blackness and freezing cold at 20 to 1, and off to Reds, catching the last number of THE GODFATHERS set, “Birth School Work Death”. Still don’t like them, but hey, I wasn’t here for them… Grabbed some barrier, front and centre, as my short-odds pre-Festival favourites hooked up for their 1 am. set. And gladly, CHAMELEONSVOX completely and utterly lived up to their billing and my hopes; from the off they sounded superb, opener “Don’t Fall” all seethingly dark and dramatic, “A Person Isn’t Safe Here Anymore” (dedicated, as ever, to the memory of Sophie Lancaster by mainman Mark Burgess, after he’d greeted us with an ironic, “good morning”) poignant and heart-wrenching (“what kind of times are these,” indeed…) and featuring some beautifully textural guitar work, and “Looking Inwardly” tense and taut, with the guitars here chiming and ringing out resonantly. The set was perfectly chosen – I’d probably liked to have squeezed in “Up The Down Escalator” but that aside, all my favourites were in – and punctuated with a number of lyrical nods to the likes of The Doors (“all our leaders are insane”), The Beatles and even The Fall, and the meandering brilliance of “Swamp Thing” was quite magnificent, the best song of the weekend. In fact, as the chiming opening to this number eased in, the bloke next to me put his head down on the barrier as his wife meaningfully rested her hand on his shoulder – when he rose, his eyes were misted over… that’s the effect this band have on its’ devotees, right there.

“Singing Rule Britannia”, featuring snippets of “White Riot”, “Transmission” and even “Rebellious Jukebox” (Burgess was confidently throwing the kitchen sink at this one, no messin’) rounded off the Set Of The Weekend for me, the one worth braving the chill midnight air to witness. I grabbed a list then headed wearily back to my chalet, vindicated by ChameleonsVox, and counting the days until I see them again, next month in Oxford!

Rachel had had a great night’s sleep (you’re welcome, honey!) so was up earlier Sunday than us boys, making us breakfast. Only a light one, though, as we had lunch plans! First, a quick trip over to Inn On The Green for some midday ukulele shenanigans from UKE2, this busking trio again playing Britpop and indie anthems on intertwining ukuleles as a wake-up call for the final day. In all honesty, not so much fun as last year (not so great a song selection either), so we were happy to leave them to it after half an hour, and wander off-site and into town for a big and very tasty carvery Sunday lunch at The Hairy Dog! Excellent!

Back onsite and Rach went off to see the mainstage SENSER. I joined her for a while before being put off by this disjointed, shouty and woefully dated rap/ metal mess, Senser setting a precedent for the final day of sounding like poor imitations of bands I either never liked or lost interest in. I never liked Rage Against The Machine. Luckily Hotshots were showing the second half of the International footy, so I watched that instead, before going back into the arena and enduring STEREO MC’s equally dated crap rap. Didn’t think much of the Beastie Boys, never needed a Sarf London version of them. Still, salvation was at hand…

“‘Avin’ a good time? I’m freezing my tits off [up here]!” the inimitable growl of the greater crested legend that is PETER HOOK with his band, THE LIGHT, today featuring old Wonky Alice sparring partner and erstwhile ChameleonsVox drummist Yves Altana! The equally inimitable growl of a clutch of Joy Division numbers kicked off their 6pm set, all dour, dark, menacing and monochrome, with “Transmission” an early highlight. “Anyone lost control this weekend?” Hooky glibly intoned before the synth snap of “She’s Lost Control” which was also pretty ace, but the overall tone at this stage was generally bleak and introspective. However, the coruscating synth pulse of “Blue Monday” altered all that, heralding a sea change in the set, the dancier, more upbeat and (dare I even say it) joyous New Order material igniting the crowd. “Regret” (“I’ve had a few,” deadpanned Hooky) and the scalding Ibiza disco beat of “Round And Round” were welcome additions to the Light’s canon this year, but once again a brilliant, haunting “Ceremony”, the tremendous pulsating “Temptation”, and the inevitable and lengthy celebratory “Love Will Tear Us Apart” won the day. Hooky knocked it out of the park in some style again, most people going for this brilliant 1 hour and 20 minutes as their Set Of The Weekend (I stuck my neck out and stayed with the Chameleons, but I’ve always been a contrary bugger, me…).

The place actually notably thinned out for the headliners therafter! Trance dance act ORBITAL plied their bleeps and bloops onstage, as we decamped to Costa around the corner for a sit down and chat with Kate and Ashley. The onstage fayre sounded to me like sci-fi film soundtracks – I kind of lost interest in Jean-Michel Jarre in my teens – but according to Matt and Rach, who popped down for a watch, it made more sense with the accompanying visuals of film and slides. Not my stuff though…

Back to the chalet one final time for a cuppa (phew, rock’n’roll festival life, eh?) before girding our loins for the last lap. Into a sparsely populated Centre Stage, where only the truly dedicated and hardy (and utterly pissed) were toughing it out to the bitter end. That meant firstly dealing with former Senseless Thing Mark Keds’ new charges DEADCUTS, on at 11.30. Somewhat of a departure from the brisk indie pop of da Things, this was more slightly proto/goth with stompy bluesy rock inflections, like maybe Piano Wire crossed with The Bolshoi, though nowhere near as good as I just made that sound. Some chunky driving beats propelled some of their numbers, but they were well short on memorable tuneage. Thereafter, old Carter USM back-up guy (if it’s possible to be the back-up guy in a duo!) Les “Fruitbat” Carter joined us with his band ABDOUJAPAROV, who then subjected us to largely tune-free thrashy workouts, featuring lyrics which were seemingly formed by throwing random things together that just happen to rhyme, the less sense they subsequently make the better… I lost interest rather quickly in Half Man Half Biscuit, and this lot seemed a parody of them, or Sultans Of Ping. Their best number was a C&W style Wreckless Eric like ditty featuring a lyric that actually seemed coherent, about monsters in the garden.

But finally we reached the endgame, the reward for our persistence being a solo set from Wonder Stuff mainman MILES HUNT at 12.45. “Good people of “Shiiine On” Weekender! Why the fuck are you still up?!” he quite rightly queried, then gave us a brief synopsis of his premise for his current “Custodian” tour, which we thoroughly enjoyed in Swindon the other week (gig 1,110) and which this date was ostensibly still part of, before announcing to general approval, “but I’m going to skip [the last] 20 years and just do Wonder Stuff material!” Know your audience. Sensible boy!

So, once again we had a chronological acoustic run-through of the career and canon of one of indie rock’s most enduring bands, The Wonder Stuff, delivered by Milo in a relaxed, inclusive and entirely fun manner. We’d heard the accompanying stories a couple of weeks ago but were entertained again all the same, and we and the remaining “Shiiine On” stragglers involved ourselves heartily in the “audience participation” elements of the likes of “Unbearable” and “Ruby Horse”, determined to squeeze the last ounce of enjoyment out of Miles’ set and the weekend in general, and prompting a compliment of, “you people are in fine voice!” from the great man. Miles concentrated on a set of nailed-on crowd-pleasers (the likes of “Piece Of Sky”, “Golden Green” and “Can’t Shape Up” all received warm singalongs and receptions), and I particularly enjoyed “Caught In My Shadow” after its’ omission from the Vic set, as well as his shout out for Peter Hook’s set earlier (“I’ve seen him 3 times in the last 2 years – best gigs I’ve seen in my life!”).

“We’re nearly done now,” Miles eventually announced to a chorus of boos, prompting a rejoinder of, “I thought you’d be like, “we’ve only just turned up [here] out of respect, we’ve been at this for 3 days and we’re fucked!””. A debate about “Size Of A Cow” preceded a fun, knockabout and singalong rendition of the Stuffies’ maybe-millstone number, then I gave a shout out for “Disco King” when Miles asked for what he’d missed, my wish being granted with a superb version. An almost-perfect way to finish off the “Shiiine On” musical festivities – of course the perfect way would’ve been a full on Stuffies band set, a point not lost on Miles as he said his farewells.

Game over! Time to be handed the list by the great man, then off to bed and off home the following morning after a rousing final breakfast. The worst bill of the 3 so far, maybe, but sparkling performances from the likes of Hooky, Milo, The Sheds, Sleeper, the Diesels and particularly ChameleonsVox made it well worthwhile musically for me. Furthermore, my cohorts in crime were utterly right in their assertion that there’s much more to it than the music; a great relaxed vibe, (mainly) spot-on organisation, good friends, good times, a chance to unwind for a kiddie-free weekend by the seaside, and (this year) a bloody good Sunday carvery nosh! I think we’ll check the bill next year before booking, but I’d lay pretty short odds that we’ll be back for another “Shiiine On” in 2019!

1,009 THE 2016 SHIIINE ON WEEKENDER, Various Venues at Butlins Resort, Minehead, Friday 11th to Sunday 13th November 2016

My first 3 day “Festival” since Reading 2003, but this is one with a difference, the second “Shiiine On” Weekender being part of an increasing trend for indoor themed festivals held at holiday resorts during their off-season, with bands and accommodation thrown in! A most attractive notion to those non-campers such as myself, “Shiiine On” in particular celebrates the 80’s and 90’s British Indie scene, encompassing late 80’s indie guitar, “Madchester” and baggy dance/ indie crossover culture, and delving into the early stages of the 90’s Britpop guitar pop explosion. An overall scene which I confess I skirted around rather than diving full-on into, I nonetheless investigated the inaugural “Shiiine On” bill last year, finding it a potentially attractive notion but with too much dance and not enough indie guitar rock for my narrow-assed and narrow-minded tastes. I was however very happy to see a more balanced bill this year tailored towards my more guitarry tastes, the likes of the Bunnymen and House Of Love piquing my interest considerably.

Rachel went to Iceland earlier this year with her mates on a 40^th birthday holiday/ celebration, so I negotiated this as payback! All I needed were a couple of wingmen, and happily, after a chat at the Wonder Stuff gig earlier this year, I was able to recruit the Big Man, plus my friend and former boss Matt, Matt also sorting a 4^th person for our chalet share in his old school pal Ian. Thus it was that Rich picked me up on a chilly but bright Friday November morning after the school run, fuelling up then hammering down the M4/ M5 and A roads to get to Minehead easier and quicker than expected, rocking up just after midday to find our chalet already prepared and ready for us. Good stuff! Checked in, dumped bags and took a quick walk around the very quiet early doors site (guessing most people are either travelling from further afield, or only booked Friday afternoons off work!), then, as we were by the seaside, we hit the sea front for fish and chips! Took a wander back and got squared away as Matt arrived, just in time for the first music of the day!

Into the Skyline Arena, the entertainment centrepiece of the Butlins camp, a large central area under huge tented covers and skirted by bars and eateries. It looked considerably different from when I brought the family here a couple of years ago, with the arcade entertainments largely removed from the back, and the Skyline Stage and soft play areas behind it taken out, in favour of a more conventional festival stage pushed to the far end. So here was our main entertainment location of the weekend, kicking off at 3.15 with a sadly sparsely attended set from THE RAILWAY CHILDREN. A real shame, that, as they were excellent openers; kicking off with the smooth, plangent and yearning “Brighter”, they played an intelligently crafted, hooky and memorable set of mature 80’s Indie rock, which had Rich and myself musing why they weren’t massive back in the day. Too “Indie” for the mainstream and too polished for the underground, perhaps, they would have crossed over superbly had they emerged in those 90’s Britpop years. Nonetheless, today’s set was a bright reminder of what was lost, with the smooth chorus of “Another Town”, the New Order-esque rhythm of the more upbeat “Every Beat Of The Heart” and the deliciously morose and brooding “Big Hands Of Freedom”, delivered by the svelte vocals of the equally broodingly handsome Gary Newby, all memorable highlights. Another shame was that they ran over time and had to cut 2 numbers, including my favourite “A Gentle Sound” from their set – I was looking forward to hearing it, and the drummer remarked, as he handed me their list, that they were looking forward to playing it!

We then ran into old Level 3 friend Kate and chatted with THE HIGH’s identikit baggy guitar noise as a backdrop. I remembered the breezy “Box Set Go” from those late 80’s baggy days, but nothing else stuck at all, so we then popped back to the chalet to regroup in anticipation of the evening’s events. Back in to a happily respectfully busier venue for THE HOUSE OF LOVE at 6. Opener “Never” was dedicated to the great Leonard Cohen, lost earlier this week, before the boys threw us a splendid curveball with “A Baby Got Back On It’s Feet”, the excellent opening track from their recent album “She Paints Words In Red”. However, the crowd were here for the oldies, and Guy Chadwick, Terry Bickers and co didn’t disappoint, delving repeatedly into their eponymous, Byrds/ Bunnymen inspired debut, with “Christine” slightly lacking in the wall of sound but nonetheless pristine and delightful, and “Road”’s wry and conversational verse leading to its’ powerful strident hook, guitarist Bickers high-kicking and throwing shapes in the process!

“I Don’t Know Why I Love You”, always a favourite of mine, was an incendiary delight, and an unexpected “Destroy The Heart” was a galloping, whirling thing of jagged beauty. After a moody and inevitable “Shine On”, Guy Chadwick pointedly thanked, “those who didn’t talk through the gig,” before closer “Love In A Car”, backlit by strobes, built from a slow burn, understated opening to a splendid, lengthy and absorbing crescendo. Suffering slightly with poor, thin sound at times, this was still a damn fine set, a nice punctuation point coming when we took a break outside afterwards, and I ran into Mr. Bickers, who remembered me from his set in Swindon with Pete Fij last year, chatted briefly and signed my list. Result!

Back in after our break for THE WONDER STUFF, who were “on it” from note one, carrying through the incendiary form demonstrated in their 30^th Anniversary show in March, and delivering a serious early contender for Best Set Of The Weekend. From the outset they were excellent; a dark and dramatically cascading “Don’t You Ever” from their new CD was followed with an incendiary, speaker-shredding “On The Ropes” (I shit you not – midway through the song the speakers fed back an appalling groan as if they were about to blow, catching Miles’ attention but not causing him to miss a beat, consummate pro that he is…!), before Miles Hunt the genial host asked, “how’s your day been, Shiiine? Great to be with ya!” The day’s getting pretty good now, Milo!

The Wonder Stuff were the perfect party festival hosts tonight, covering all bases, delivering old Groove Machine favourites such as “Red Berry Joy Town” with the same gusto as the joyful fiddly diddly singalong mid-set material such as “Circle Square”, the “C&W hoedown” of “Golden Green” and the unannounced but unashamed communal singalong to “Size Of A Cow”. “Are you looking forward to the Bunnymen? To be honest it’s the only reason I’m here!” remarked Miles flippantly, which was clearly bollocks – tonight he was here to entertain, and give Ian McCulloch some pointers in holding a crowd in the palm of one’s hand. The tumbling fiddle of “Welcome To The Cheap Seats”, expertly provided by the eye-catching Erica Nockalls, resplendent as ever in a puffy Queen of Hearts dress, was again dedicated to Leonard Cohen (“to send [him] on his journey”), before Miles teased us with a singalong request; “I want one word – Dizzy! No not dizzy… Gently!” This was followed by another series of superb knockout blows, with a slightly messy “Unbearable” giving way to a superb “Give Give Give Me More More More” and the lengthy, pounding and powerful “Ten Trenches Deep”. Breathless and excellent stuff from the Stuffies, concluding a perfect all-inclusive festival set.

So, time to gather thoughts and wander forward, leaving the boys for ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN’s set, amazingly prompt starting at 9. To be fair, the Bunnymen’s presence on the bill was the one which really tipped the scales in favour of my attending, and a brilliant set for my 1,000^th gig a couple of months ago showed they were on top form currently. In all honesty, they never really scaled those heights tonight, their more serious, studied oeuvre a complete contrast to the ebullience of the Wonder Stuff, and this felt more of a set for the aficionados rather than the festival goers looking for a beery singalong good time band. Worked for me, though; the dark psychedelia of “Going Up” melted into the plangent chime opening of “Rescue”, vocalist Ian McCulloch interspersing vignettes from “Broke My Neck” into the middle 8. An excellent, piano-embellished “Villier’s Terrace” went further, departing midway through into a part-cover of the Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues”, and the subsequent “All That Jazz” was probably my highlight, dark, menacing and pulsating. A couple of looser, dancier mid-set numbers in the Doors-y “Bedbugs And Ballyhoo” and the lengthy “Never Stop” led into a stately “Nothing Lasts Forever” and a shimmering, dreamy “Bring On The Dancing Horses”. Then, after a hushed, naked “Killing Moon” (announced by Mac as “the greatest song in the world” and dedicated to Leonard Cohen), an unexpected “Over The Wall” was a purist’s delight, the slow, drum machine intro and menacing, spoken vocal easing into the galloping widescreen and epic part deux. “The Cutter” closed the set, Mac really cutting loose with his soaring voice, before a messy encore of “Lips Like Sugar” was preceded by Mac announcing, “you’ve just seen a masterclass in… what we do.” I dunno Mac, tonight was a great set for us purists, but you gave us the true masterclass back in August…

This took us to 10, and with a couple of interesting things to come later, we grabbed a cuppa back in the chalet and watched the England football highlights, before popping back into the arena, this time into a smaller side-bar called Jaks, where we waited for the entrance of MARK GARDENER, spot on at midnight. The frontman of splendid reformed shoegaze/ guitar dreampop ruffians Ride, Gardener tonight was in full-on acoustic mode, remarking, “I’ve never been here before – it feels like I’m on acid!” then informing us as to his intentions – a few acoustic solo compositions, some material from his recent acoustic collaboration with Cocteau Twins’ Robin Guthrie, and some Ride songs. Inevitably it was the Ride material which went down the best, the elongated notes of “Polar Bear” an early highlight, although as Gardener himself recognised (replying to one punter’s request with, “impossible mate – some things are possible like this, but not that…”), he needed to carefully choose the Ride songs which would stand up to this naked treatment, stripped off all the heavy guitars and effects. A desolate and bare sounding “Chrome Waves” worked perfectly, then, after set closer “Dice”, from his recent album, he was persuaded to give “Vapour Trail” a go, the “woah-oh” outro a lengthy and excellent communal singalong vibe to finish a nice little set well worth staying up for. Not that we could say the same for our 1 a.m. treat in Reds: THE SEX PISSED DOLLS sounded a reasonably fun idea, a bunch of leather clad girlies playing old punk classics, but in reality they were a horrendous mess, particularly the lead vocalist, whose rasping vocals sounded as evil as she looked with her smeared make-up. Some covers were competent (“Ever Fallen In Love” and “Hanging On The Telephone” largely escaping unscathed) but others were utter carnage (“God Save The Queen” and “Sheena” being particularly trampled) and I couldn’t help thinking that “Dolls” wasn’t the key word in their name, more so “Pissed”, as you needed to be completely off your swoft to cope with them! Sadly, that was not me, and, tired of these punk rock classics being reduced to amateurish and gaudy pantomime (at one point, the vocalist held up a charity puppet and asked us to “make a wish,” so I did, but she was still there…), I called it a night, heading back to the chalet and taking advantage of the best part of his festival – a bed for the night!

A relatively quiet night as well – I’d expected some lairy hubbub into the night or even nearby chalets playing music into the small hours, but thankfully there was none of that! So a lazy morning saw Rich rustling up a cooked breakfast (nice one Big Man!) and, suitably refreshed, he and I went to Hotshots bar at 12 to see Swindon Town beat Charlton 3-0 live on the big screen. Result! JAMES ATKIN of EMF, plus, apparently, his wife on keyboards/ samplers and cousin on drums (“a family affair!”), were kicking off a tight and dark indie dance set on the Skyline stage, which was better than I thought and included EMF’s ubiquitous hit “Unbelievable” mid-set but which still didn’t float my boat. Instead, we were off to our first Centre Stage visit, the large evening function hall where I saw a Scooby Doo show on my last visit (!), but which this afternoon hosted THE KAR PETS. Featuring former Inspiral Carpets vocalist Tom Hingley and a whole chunk of young pups backing him up, they played a jolly organ-fuelled set of Inspiral Carpets material, ranging from the hypnotic psych-trance of “Commercial Rain”, through the knockabout pop of the likes of “Joe” and the groovy, fast-paced “Find Out Why”, to the more melancholy such as the delicious “Move” and the inevitable, somewhat elegiac yet singalong “This Is How It Feels”. A popular set, unsurprisingly given the Carpets (minus Hingley, who left, somewhat acrimoniously, in 2011) had headlined the Skyline stage one night last year, and one which Hingley, bowl-haircut and mad as a balloon, delivered as if his life depended on it, feeding wine to the front rows, rabble-rousing and exhorting terrace chant sing- and clapalongs throughout. “I’ve lost weight,” he declared, “I had a medical condition, which was that I was a fat bastard!” “She Comes In The Fall” got the joint jumping – quite literally, given the springy floor! – and “Dragging Me Down” was a chaotic ending, with Hingley howling the hookline to its’ conclusion. By no means note-perfect from his young band, but Hingley was fierce, energetic and committed; not bad for an old bloke with a dodgy haircut!

By now we’d been joined by Matt and his friend Ian, who was at the international football last night, so we popped back to the chalet during a lull, bumping into Kai, an old Swindon friend, who had the chalet next to us! Small world! Back in for the evening’s long haul, starting with MIKE FLOWERS POPS on the Skyline stage filling in time with easy-listening, saccharine-overloaded versions of the likes of Prince’s “1999” which no doubt had the Purple One turning in his sadly fresh grave. That joke wasn’t funny then, and for me it sure as shit isn’t now. Luckily we didn’t have long to put up with this nonsense before ECHOBELLY took the stage at 6. A fine, sparky and confrontational indie guitar band back in the day, their adversarial nature and particularly the overly political attitude of vocalist Sonia Madan probably precluded them gaining the more mainstream breakthrough success which came the way of contemporaries such as Sleeper, but after giving their CDs a whirl recently and finding they’d held up well, I was looking forward to the set. However the sound was murky and thin on occasion, lacking the beef that tracks such as racy opener “I Can’t Imagine The World Without Me” required. Sonia’s voice, perfectly enunciated, idiosyncratic and fairly unusual for a rock vocalist at the best of times, was flyaway at best and often completely lost in the mix (she in fact pretty much completely handed “Great Things” over to the audience to sing; one way to make up for the poor vocal mix, I guess!). Also Sonia herself was oddly simpering and coquettish throughout, very unlike the impassioned and polemic frontperson of old, the lioness losing her growl, perhaps? “King Of The Kerb” was the best sounding number on show, punchy and drum-beat dominated, and closer “Dark Therapy” was a moody, sombre piece to finish an oddly disappointing – and at 40 minutes, short – set.

This actually left nearly 50 minutes until the next act due onstage, and with nothing going on elsewhere, we chilled at the Burger King at the back of the arena and had some tea, once again ignoring MIKE FLOWERS POPS doing some unexpected fill-in material on the Skyline stage. None of us were particularly interested in THE BLUETONES, next up at 7.30, so we stayed put within hearing distance of their inoffensive but dull (or should that be dull but inoffensive?) set of post-Oasis mainstream guitar pop. A cover of Elton John’s “Benny And The Jets” and the ample crowd singalong to a dreamy-sounding “Slight Return” were the only numbers to rise above the mediocrity for me.

However, SHED SEVEN, despite my having a similar modest level of anticipation for them, were an entirely different kettle of fish. They’re a band whom I’ve not really rated in the past, finding them a fairly generic mix of identikit 80’s/ 90’s indie sounds, from the undulating guitar jangle of The Smiths (“Mark”) through the hollow anthems of Oasis (“Chasing Rainbows”), via the angular dance rhythms of New Fast Automatic Daffodils (“Dolphin”) to the bouncy Britpop of The Boo Radleys (“Getting Better”), but without an identity of their own. However they well and truly put me in my place tonight; coming on to the “Hi De Hi” theme and a spaghetti Western backing track through the billowing dry ice, they were straight into their stride with the loose-limbed “She Left Me On Friday” and a Morrissey-esque “Where Have You Been Tonight”, the soaring hook eliciting the first huge communal singalong, which included myself! “Are you all fucked? You all look fucked! [Playing here] is ace!” announced annoyingly skinny vocalist Rick Witter, as teasing, taunting and mesmeric a festival frontman as Miles had been the previous night, performing with a strut and a swagger and clearly loving it up there tonight. Following the extended rhythmic workout of “Dolphin”, Witter dealt with a heckler with, “ “come on you bastard?” Where are we going then? All back to your chalet is it?” and prior to “On Standby”, he flippantly held the crowd singalong back with, “not yet, not yet…. Oh, you’ve fucked it up!”

Before that we’d had a quite brilliant reading of “Bully Boy”, my set highlight, then “Going For Gold” was introduced with, “I’d have thought you’d have heard this song a lot over this [Olympic] Summer, but oh no, Spandau fucking Ballet!” Finale “Chasing Rainbows” threatened to unmoor the tent with a massive and celebratory communal singalong to close out an unexpectedly excellent set. Credit where it’s due, Shed Seven were utterly superb tonight. Never thought I’d be typing that!

That was the end of festivities in the Skyline arena as the clock struck 10, but we were in for the long-haul tonight! So, into the Centre Stage hall for some lesser but still worthy lights of the Brit/ Indie scene of the period, starting with THOUSAND YARD STARE, on at 10.45. They kicked off with an instrumental opener before being joined by intense vocalist Stephen for a rocking and impassioned “Version Of Me”, which had no little power and pace. Pace seemed to be the operative word for this performance; not only did they crack through the set like men on a serious mission, not only were individual numbers such as “Heimlich Manoeuver” and the excellent, sinewy “Buttermouth” delivered with the ubiquitous baggy “funky drummer” drumbeat reaching exit velocity at times, but also the skinny, red-clad Stephen paced along the perimeter of the stage throughout, often chatting away to himself off mic and, more bizarrely, eating apples and kicking them into the mosh! The relentless rhythm, aligned to some driving guitar and hooky tuneage, got the late night crowd jumping throughout, and after a splendid “0-0 After Extra Time”, TYS concluded a fun set with their debut single, “Wonderment”, which saw Stephen pile into the mosh. I grabbed a list and a word with the man afterwards, and he reflected on the simple joys of playing music again, a joy which certainly manifested itself in their performance. Fair play to you, boys!

THE FRANK AND WALTERS were next up; taking the stage at quarter to midnight in matching orange shirts and black ties (apart from the vocalist, who in lieu of a tie had a strip of black masking tape stuck to his shirt instead!), their set was a mix of their better known jaunty, Irish-tinged knockabout pop with either emotionally honest or faintly wry subject matter, or less familiar and darker, more punchy powerpop. Opener “Stages” fell into the latter category, although the likes of “Fashion Crisis Hits New York” and a splendid, singalong “Walter’s Trip”, later on, really engaged the crowd. The in-between song banter was equally wry and engaging, their Irish wit shining through as they addressed the size of the crowd (“my eyesight is poor, you’re sound like a bigger audience than the 20 of you I can see!”). A ramshackle and surprisingly affecting “After All” degenerated into a bouncy mass singalong, and closer “This Is Not A Song” was a mass love-in to end a jolly entertaining set. Shame about the lack of “Happy Busman” though…

Nonetheless, the night wasn’t over, and as the clocked ticked to a red-eyed 1 a.m., CUD took the stage. C86 veterans, their sound thereafter morphed from oddball backwards rhythmic math-pop to more straightforward funkier and powerpoppier fayre, whilst retaining their quirky humour and off-the-wall lyrical subject matter. Stars of Reading 1994 thanks mainly to an exemplary performance from frontman Carl Puttnam, they signalled a powerful statement of intent tonight with opener “Hey, Boots”, the insistently catchy hook underpinned by a racy upbeat rhythm which got the crowd bouncing again. And Puttnam was again on it; cutting an extraordinary figure, paunchy yet unabashed in skintight black, handlebar moustache and Ray-Bans, he threw shapes and bum-wiggled his way through a fine hooky set, his deep and dolorous baritone an unorthodox feature throughout. “Heart” featured a “Rebel Rebel” vignette for good measure, “Only A Prawn In Whitby” was a startling rhythmic delight, “Eau Water” and “Rich And Strange” were powerpop singalong delights, and “Magic” featured some creepy and slinky guitar work.

“You’re very well behaved for 15 hours of drinking before you!” announced Puttnam as the angular, grungy guitar of “Strange Kind Of Love” kicked in; then the soaring set highlight chorus of “One Giant Love” again saw the floor pulsate under us. “I’ve Had It With Blondes” closed out another fine set, proving these so called lesser lights of 90’s Indie still have what it takes. Well done chaps! Shame I missed out on the sole list (Steve Lamacq, up next for a late night DJ set, gave it to a fellow front row punter instead), but this was a fine way to finish a long evening, as we hit the hay gratefully, well past 2 a.m.

A very lazy Sunday morning was called for, therefore, and we didn’t bother getting into the arena until early afternoon, following another splendid Big Man-supplied fry-up. By this time we’d also said goodbye to Ian, off for a prior appointment, so it was down to the core 3 again, as we chilled in deckchairs at the back of a sparsely populated arena, our guess being that some festival-goers were heading off already. THE STAIRS opened up the Skyline at 2, with a very Rolling Stones proto-blues 60’s sounding set, albeit through a nasal 90’s Mancunian filter. They covered psychedelic legends Love’s “Little Red Book” early on, plus Them’s “Gloria” later, nailing their colours to the 60’s mast throughout, although one number (immediately following their Love cover) was a tough powerpop tune which made us sit up and take notice. Their final number also resembled a remake of The Stones’ “The Last Time”, so the overall verdict was alright but somewhat plagiaristic.

We did want to take notice of the next band though, that being JESUS JONES at 3.15. Of all the 90’s dance-influenced/ sampler featured bands which skirted around the perimeters of what constituted “Indie”, Jesus Jones were initially probably my favourites, retaining a guitar rock sensibility along with the pseudo rave dance elements of their sound. This afternoon’s set reflected that, as they lined up with a conventional “rock” band backline with the addition of one white-clad keyboardist who regularly went walkabout onstage throughout the set. Vocalist Mike Edwards, still as skinny and handsomely young-looking as back in the day – bastard! – led the boys through a good rhythmic set of their dance/ rock collision; “Never Enough” was a tough, hard-rocking early highlight, after which Edwards introduced “Who Where Why” with, “I’m still trying to find the answer – maybe it’s shoved down the back of the sofa!” Even the sample-heavy numbers were tougher, rockier and more energetic, with “Bring It On Down” another guitar dominated highlight. The inevitable “Info Freako” ended yet another sparkling set, after which we dashed into Hotshots to try to catch the opening stages of a very wet Brazilian Grand Prix!

Back out for early evening (at which time the GP was still, annoyingly, in its’ stop-start early phase), and made our way surprisingly easily down a fairly gappy front of stage, for our final musical highlight. ASH, late additions to the bill, greeted us with a “Kablammo” intro, then blasted straight into the buzzsaw youthful spunky opener “Jack Names The Planets”. “I’m impressed you’re all still standing!” announced vocalist Tim Wheeler, before gunning straight into a superb “A Life Less Ordinary”. That was it for me, I was straight in down the front, rocking away in a rambunctious yet happy big-boy mosh to the soaring hook of  my favourite Ash number, grabbing with both hands my last chance to dance, and hang tomorrow’s aching knees! Ash’s set followed a similar pattern to their recent Bierkeller jaunt, with the grungy growl of “Oh Yeah” merging into the joyous surf punk of “Walking Barefoot” and a slicing, slashing “Kung Fu”. The boys were on fire tonight, and hit followed hit, with a couple of numbers from recent “Kablammo” thrown in for good measure and stacking up well against the more familiar material. A spritely “Girl From Mars” was brilliant, the set highlight and one of the best numbers of the whole damn weekend, and all too soon the chiming opening guitar riff heralded the manic thrill-ride of final number “Burn Baby Burn” to end a superb set, the boys taking a deserved bow at the end. And, despite my usual bad luck with Ash set-lists, I managed to grab this one. Result!

Sweaty, dishevelled and a little sore having taken a hit to the side during the Ash mosh, I met up with the boys afterwards and caught the end of the Grand Prix in Hotshots, before grabbing some pasties and chips for tea and reflecting together about the weekend’s highlights. The terrace-chant baggy dance of BLACK GRAPE was an annoying backing track to our chat, and we did our best to ignore them. I then nipped out for a brief call to Rachel, and spotted Ash drummer Rick McMurray on his way out of the arena, so got my list signed. Double result! This took us bumping up to final day headliner CAST’s arrival at 9, so we wandered down to catch some of their set. The Byrdsian jangle and nasal hook of “Fine Time”, the only Cast song I could recall beforehand, was third number in, with subsequent material pleasant enough, but sounding curiously old-fashioned; very Beatles/ 60’s influenced, but also very dated, with nothing of the band’s own identity to commend it to me. I was astonished to read that Cast actually had 10 top 10 hits in that 90’s period, a prodigious amount for a band so ordinary. They clearly totally passed me by then, and gave me absolutely no reason to do otherwise tonight, so we headed off midway through for a relatively early night.

So, packed, breakfasted and out by the required 10 a.m. the following morning, Rich and I bade farewell to Matt before hitting the road and heading off home for a weary early afternoon arrival home. They’d been great company throughout, and in all honesty, Rachel aside, I couldn’t think of two better people to share this particular weekend with. Thanks guys. Furthermore, this was a splendid weekend’s music, pretty much every band I wanted to see delivering big-time (Echobelly probably being the only disappointment of the weekend for me), with one big and very welcome surprise in Shed Seven, who for me ran The Wonder Stuff close for Band Of The Weekend, with Ash a similarly close third. Also, the venue, location and facilities were top notch, the vibe relaxed and friendly, tribal but inclusive, with my fears about too many lairy bag-head beer monsters off the leash for the weekend ultimately proving unfounded. Plus a comfy bed to go back to each night after the rock. What’s not to love? So Kudos to the “Shiiine On” crowd – I’m already making plans to be back next year!