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 3rd 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 5th
member (which Butlins laudably did at no extra cost), then said 5th
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 4th
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 3rd
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!
