I’d
been looking for an opportunity to take nascent gig-goer Logan along to his
first Festival – we’d considered a day at Reading this year but he wasn’t too
keen – and this small-to-mid size event seemed a perfect opportunity to start.
A well-established 3-day event down near Portsmouth, this one has its’ roots
firmly in the traditional folk and blues genres and still majorly catered for
those styles on its’ bill, but a few enticing acts peppered the Saturday bill,
none more so than headliner Frank Turner, popular folk/punk troubadour, live
favourite of ours and (given the proximity of his home town Winchester to this
venue) homecoming hero! Another advantage was that research indicated the 2
main stages were both under big top cover, thus allaying any fears Logan
particularly had about weather. The weekend also coincided with a visit from
Evan, my now grown-up son; he’d accompanied me to a Reading Fest slight return
in 2013 (gig 884) and was happy to subject himself to unfamiliar music for
another day, so it turned into a Boy’s Day Out!
So
we set off promptly just after 10, looking out for holiday getaway traffic but
avoiding a chunk of New Forest-bound stuff thanks to Evan’s navigation skills
taking us cross-country to Wickham village. Parked up therefore just before 12
in the hay field opposite the Festival site, wandering around to the entrance.
A compact, 7,000 capacity site clinging to the side of a small hill overlooking
a picturesque Hampshire valley, a quick wander revealed a bohemian collection
of Festival stalls and small side stages, and a wide variety of eats. The
clientele reflected this too; a wide spread of ages, families and styles giving
the Fest a relaxed and inclusive feel. After sorting the boys with Festival
sunnies (not much use early doors as it was overcast, but still…), we set
folding chairs up on the skirts of the smaller Village Stage tent for an
initial base camp. First act proper (we’d popped briefly into a side tent where
a makeshift band from local college St. Vincents’ music department – featuring
a female vocalist with an impressive strident range – were stomping over some
rock covers) were THE WILSONS, an acapella trio delivering some charming
lunchtime folky sea shanties. Nick Parker showed up, shaking my hand and
remembering Logan, and we also chatted to a fellow Nick fan Claire, who was
there for the weekend with her kids and who remembered Logan from his Gaz
Brookfield Southampton onstage antics! Second act WINTER WILSON, with their
more sparse and baroque, and occasionally almost medieval feeling, pastoral
folk, provided the background to our conversation, but thereafter Logan and I
were bound for the stage, front and centre!
Our
first act of interest, at 1.45, was indeed the aforementioned Mr. P, with his
full band. The first time, shamefully, that I’d seen NICK PARKER AND THE FALSE
ALARMS in all their glory, and they were great, the full band adding an extra
dimension to Nick’s easy folky-pop melody and wry observational lyricism,
“Never Been To Dublin Before” proved an apposite opener, Nick remarking, “all
the people mentioned [in the chorus] have played here!” the rendition featuring
some excellent sawing from fiddle player Ben Wain (also of Gaz’ Company Of
Thieves), much to the delight of a woman behind me, who’d recognised Ben from
school music lessons! “Down With The Yoof” was rambunctious and ramshackle fun,
an oldie “Jerusalem” (“from an earlier album – I found 250 copies of it and they’re
all over by the merch stand!” deadpanned Nick) featured a yearning and soaring
chorus, and “Departures” was my set favourite, slow burn and slow building, the
excellent lyric reflecting the glorious mundanity of an airport departure
lounge. Overall, cracking, joyous and uplifting stuff with huge smiles all
around; definitely not the last time I catch the full band, and I also
appreciate a performer such as Nick who sweats profusely for his art!
Congrats
afterwards, then whilst the boys went off to check out other attractions (Logan
to the bouncy castle laser tag, Evan to watch some circus jugglers), I caught
THE NEWCRANES set from base camp, as the sun attempted to break through the
hazy cloud cover. Festival veterans, they played a raucous and upbeat, slightly
punky fiddly-diddly set of the type which, post-Gaz, I’m much more kindly
disposed to these days. Shades of Pele and Mick O’Toole in a diverting set, my
favourite number being one which started slowly and funereally, but then sped
up to raucous moshpit catnip. The boys returned and we checked out LIL’ JIMMY
REED AND THE “A” TEAM, next up. Reed, an 80 year old old school Mississippi
delta bluesman, alongside his virtuoso pianist sidekick, played a mix of piano
and guitar-led tears-in-the-beers blues, proto-rockabilly and impressively
groovy and more upbeat honky tonk material. The first number reminded these
admittedly uneducated (in this genre, at least) ears of The Doors’ “Roadhouse
Blues”, and others recalled the likes of Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” and
suchlike. Not my normal cup of tea, but I enjoyed this and could appreciate a
master craftsman at work; as could not only a large crowd assembled in the
tent, but also Evan, who disappeared in after 2 numbers and emerged at set-end,
declaring Jimmy, “awesome!” So much so, if fact, that the next step was to join
a large queue to pick up a Jimmy Reed CD, for Evan to get signed, and to meet
the great man to exchange some words about the blues. Awesome, indeed!
This
led us to a relative lull in proceedings, so we grabbed some tea (nice Thai
green curry for me!) and plonked ourselves by the main Valley Stage tent
overspill, chowing down with DERVISH’s more traditional and plaintive Irish
folk as a pleasant background. A trip back to the car to dump foldaway chairs,
and we were ready for the evening’s mainstage festivities. Back into the Valley
Stage tent just as the Dervish crowd were dispersing, so we got some splendid
viewing spots in front of the speaker stack, house right, for GRACE PETRIE, on
at 6.30. A soloist, political (personal and party) activist singer-songwriter,
she’d impressed mightily during her Frank Turner support slot earlier this year
(gig 1,121) not only with an excellent clutch of thought-provoking
folk/Americana tinged numbers, but also some passionate yet easy repartee and
connection with her audience. More of the same tonight with some witty yet
barbed comments (“[I’ve released] 6 albums about how not to vote for the
Tories; another one out next year – I’ve got a good feeling about this one!”
and “I’ve noticed a number of nippers in the audience; I’m sorry, but I’ll be
using bad words – I’ll be saying “Tories” a lot…!” were a couple of early
rejoinders), an anti-Theresa May tirade, and an excellent early “Farewell To
Welfare”, committed, impassioned and riveting. The one “happy” song, about her
niece, was dispensed with early so she could concentrate on the other 2 aspects
of her oeuvre – angry and sad! – yet most of the material was as uplifting as
it was pointed, “Black Tie” (preceded by the comment, “I’m dressed like this
[in black tie and waistcoat] because… I’ve got a snooker match after the gig!”)
being a case in point, a letter to her 15-year old self to say everything’s
gonna be OK. “Northbound” rounded off another fine set from Grace, after which
I noticed (during a quick loo trip) that she was utterly besieged at the merch
stand, having clearly resonated with a large part of this audience.
I
was back in, however, for my 2 highlights; firstly THE MEN THEY COULDN’T HANG,
80’s folk-tinged political punk rockers and class struggle historians, on at 8.
I’d been playing TMTCH stuff to Logan for years but this was the first
opportunity to subject him to a live performance (their clutch of 2010-13
Swindon gigs coming too early, and their more recent SLF O2 support slot
falling on a school night), and thankfully they delivered in spades. “Ghosts Of
Cable Street” was a brilliant singalong opener, pointedly dedicated by vocalist
Stefan Cush to, “Tommy Robinson and his ilk… it’s like Hitler never existed!”
and even more relevant now than ever, reflecting the tension of these troubled
political times. “Wishing Well” and “Coventry” was a superbly rocking double
salvo, “Bounty Hunter” slightly understated but still a raucous singalong, and
“Smugglers” likewise, Logan gleefully pogoing on his barrier spot. “Green
Fields Of France” was a gut-wrenching and poignant reminder of the horrors of
war, however “Ironmasters” was the brilliant highlight, the boys cutting loose
with a rabid and rattlingly good rendition, during which I conducted the crowd
behind me in the singalong chorus. (Evan had taken a loo break halfway through
the set and claimed he couldn’t get back… I suspect he didn’t want to hear his
dad singing embarrassingly loudly!).
Brilliant
stuff overall from The Men! A friendly roadie scrunched up the set-list and
tossed it over to me, and a quick loo break revealed a small queue at the merch
stand, so I got it signed by The Men, along with a hasty selfe with Stefan and
fellow vocalist Phil Odgers. Result! Back in to the increasingly busy
stage-front – Evan took a wander, deciding the Frank crush wasn’t for him, but
Logan and I stayed on out bit of barrier for the prompt entrance of FRANK
TURNER AND THE SLEEPING SOULS at 9 to a huge roar from the biggest crowd of the
day. Punk rock for starters; Frank led the band through rip-roaring versions of
“Get Better”, “1933” and a punky “Long Live The Queen”, racing around the stage
and standing on the bass drum to emphasise his already impressive height. A
breather thereafter allowed him to introduce us to, “show 2,372!” along with
the usual rules (“don’t be an asshole, sing along), and “If Ever I Stray” and
“The Road” really got the crowd roaring along, shaking this tent to its’
foundations.
Frank
was his usual buoyant and riveting self, a consummate performer, making light
of an early, erm, wardrobe malfunction during “Photosynthesis”, and declaring,
“My mum is here tonight!” thence organising a hardcore circle pit (“not a
Dorset circle, a proper Hampshire circle!”) in her honour. Frank introduced
stand-in bassist Cahir O’Doherty, covering from new dad Tarrant before a
poignant yet rocking “Polaroid Picture” and a funky “Blackout” which, as usual
saw Frank in the photog pit, communing with the faithful. A touching “Don’t
Worry” was preceded by an interesting exposition from Frank (“we were worried
about bringing out an album called “Be More Kind” – we thought it might be
out-of-date quickly as things might get better…
but it’s all turned to shit!”), and, as ever, a brilliant “I Am
Disappeared” was my highlight.
An
hour in, Frank paused for his usual solo interlude and we took a wander out for
a loo trip, catching another couple of numbers from the outskirts of the tent,
“Where I Tend To Be” and a manic “Try This At Home” being late-set highlights.
Logan was tiring after a big Festival day, so when Evan reported in at 10.45,
we took the opportunity for a quick getaway, those 10 minutes allowing us quick
egress from the car park and environs, a swift drive getting us home for 12.20,
reflecting on the day. Well done Wickham Festival, you were everything it said
on the tin; relaxed and inclusive with excellent facilities, and all the bands
we came to see delivered big time. A splendid first Festival for Logan and a
great Boy’s Day Out!
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