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 40th 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 4th 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 30th
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 1,000th 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!
