So here's a rare treat; an all day Festival; day 2 of “Field Day”! A chance combination of circumstances led me to this one; I’d booked tickets to see reformed 90’s rock/ shoegaze legends Ride at The Roundhouse at the end of May, having won a bet with Rachel about whether/ how quickly they’d sell out – they all went within ½ hour, well below my hour limit (Rachel having said they wouldn’t sell out at all), and Rachel’s forfeit was to buy me the ticket! However, Swindon Town FC, whom I’d been intermittently following this season for the first time in years along with an increasingly interested little boy (Logan), then scuppered things by getting to Wembley for the League One Play-Off Final – on the same evening! D’oh! A quick look into this Festival, where Ride had also been announced as headliners, revealed that it was a) not sold out, b) blessed with a very enticing undercard, c) seemingly accessible, albeit via a lengthy tube trip across London, and d) relatively cheap, only £15 or so more than the Ride Roundhouse tix (which I then managed to move on elsewhere at face value) had cost!
So
after speaking very nicely to my dear lady wife, I secured tickets for
this and the footy, recouped the cost thanks to a (modest) work bonus,
then took Logan to Wembley on the clashing day, where
Swindon duly went belly-up and lost 4-0! D’oh! Still, hopefully Field
Day would make up for this… I was joined on the day by Rich May, who
also took his son to Wembley but wanted to catch Ride, and we set off at
9.30 on a sunny Sunday morning, armed with sunscreen
and water. Parked up at Osterley, under the Heathrow flight paths, then
tubed it over to Victoria Park, hitting the venue about 12.30 after a
short walk from Bethnal Green tube, but finding the arena not yet open!
We mused about the actual purpose of all the
variously fluorescent orange and green clad security bods, before they
eventually let us in at 1 pm via a thorough search, which stopped just
short of rubber gloves and cavities, I’m glad to say… We got our
bearings in the long but compact 10,000 capacity
arena, and headed over to the Big Tent (sponsored by the local
Shacklewell Arms venue) for our early wake-up call. EX HEX were still
soundchecking as we arrived into a deserted tent, but when they came
back onstage for their performance at 1.25, the tent was
respectably populated. The all-girl Washington DC trio kicked into
their scuzzy garage rock set with a groovy “Don’t Wanna Lose”, following
up with “Waterfall”, their best number, which for me sounded a bit
understated. However, they warmed to their task and
by “How You Got That Girl”, sung by bassist Betsy, they were their
usual kinetic whirl of lurid red lippy, sunglasses, hot pants and rock
poses. “We slept for one hour after our show last night – we’re in the
crazy zone!” announced Bets, and they proceeded
to invite us in! “So Hot So Cold” nicely appropriated a riff from The
Knack’s classic “My Sharona”, and the final number saw a lengthy rock
guitar workout, closing a fine opening set. A nice punctuation was
provided as, following my request for the list, Betsy
folded it up then executed a laser-like, “across the diamond” throw,
which I caught. Spot on!
We
headed out into the dusty, sun-drenched arena to check out the merch,
but were waylaid by some tough sounding soaring pop from BEACH BABY in
the small Verity Tent along the left side of the venue.
Their vocalist recalled Justin from The Vaccines with his
rabble-rousing howl, but after their early U2-like opener, their set
moved into blander Boo Radleys/ Britpop territory, pastoral and pleasant
but a tad forgettable. So into the main arena, where EAGULLS
were kicking off their mainstage rumpus with a song based on that “Come As You Are”/ “Eighties” growling bass riff…
I slathered up with sunscreen and
checked them out (only being distracted by a passing Betsy Ex Hex, whose throwing arm I complimented) enjoying their spirit and attitude, but their
resonant punky blast seemed promising but a little one-dimensional at this point. So
I gave them 20 minutes then headed back to the Big Tent to check out ALLAH-LAS,
who’d
been recommended to me by Mr. Dean Ford. They were also pleasant but
forgettable; jangly pop with both C86 and very 60’s Merseybeat
overtones, with one number recalling the languor of “Mayflower”-era
Weather Prophets, and others reminding me of the Searchers!
Their
set done, we passed by the Verity tent again for a couple of numbers
from LEOPOLD AND HIS FICTION, which were bluesy rockabilly struts,
albeit not particularly well done, then wandered to the
back of the arena to check out the merch – a pretty poor selection
really (sorry, I’m too old and messy for white t-shirts these days…!),
so the money stayed in the wallet! DIIV were kicking off their 3.30
mainstage set as I left Rich to meet up with his brother
and returned; they sounded more coherent than before, in a slightly
ethereal, Cure-like way, but I was back to the Big Tent!
Down
the front as the guys from VIET CONG, who had apparently only just
turned up to the festival site (“like, 3 minutes ago…!”) and were thus
still soundchecking, the blond moptopped drummer wandering
onstage, viewing the large assemblage and saying, “fuck, yeah!” to
himself. After thanking the crowd for waiting, vocalist Matt Flegel
referred to his band as, “sloppy Canadian fucks,” but their set was
anything but; bursting into life with the breathless,
Interpol/ Bloc Party-like opener “Silhouettes”, Matt’s vocals an even
more low, menacing growl than on their challenging, confrontational
current CD, they were taut, wiry and immediately conveying a sense of
early 80’s Cold War claustrophobia, an uneasy feeling
of impending doom which was both unsettling and yet, perversely,
appealing. The off kilter slashing riff of “Bunker Buster” followed,
moody, echoey and schizophrenic, then after a newie (“Unconscious”?),
they tackled their sprawling CD closer “Death”, both
absorbing and disturbing, building speed to a Husker Du-like crescendo,
cutting the speed in favour of mighty slashing guitar riffery mid-song,
then swooping breathlessly off in another direction throughout its’ 15
minute length. This climaxed a brutal, bruising
and uncompromising set of thrilling guitar noise from a very promising
new band. Good stuff!
Had
a brief conversation with beefy bassist Marty whilst packing his gear
up onstage (during the set, he’d alluded to his equipment getting fucked up beforehand), failing to scrounge a list as they
hadn’t used one (well, they only played 4 songs, so no surprise!), then
ran into Rich and scooted off to the food village , to grab pulled pork
rolls for tea. MAC DEMARCO, on the main stage, spun a Summery vibe that
was pleasant enough and appropriate for
the sunkissed arena, but was lightweight and gossamer thin, like
Toploader if they’d blanded out even more, and so inoffensive it was,
well, offensive! We gave him 10 minutes, by which time his onstage larks
were more entertaining than his music, then called
in on the Verity stage for the last couple of numbers from IN HEAVEN. I
liked their closer, as it had the scuzzy, sleazy loud-quiet-loud
dynamics of The Pixies, then was left frustrated as their set finished
10 minutes early! So with time to kill, we set up
on the fringes of the Big Tent awaiting former Supergrass man GAZ
COOMBES. However, the breathless, fast-paced and rocking opener aside,
his set was also largely forgettable, suffering from a general paucity
of quality material. It felt as if, in an attempt
to distance himself from those knockabout pop Supergrass days and go in
a more crafted, widescreen and “mature” direction, he’s lost his mojo
somewhat. A shame, but this performance (which also included a turn from
Ride drummer Loz Colbert) was certainly a
better use of his time and talent than his desperate Hot Rats covers
project. Took a break mid-set to check out NIMMO on the Verity Stage, to
find a terrible dance outfit, so ‘twas back to Gaz!
So, into the early evening and the main stage for US punk icon PATTI SMITH, touring her
piece de resistance, the 1975 masterpiece “Horses”, celebrating
its’ 40th (!) anniversary. Drawling the opening line, “Jesus died for
someone else’s sins… not mine” in her laconic New York tones, she held
the biggest crowd of the day captivated throughout,
as opening track “Gloria” swept from her shocking lyrical manifesto
into galloping primal garage rock, then “Birdland” sprawled, widescreen,
epic and fractured as Smith recited the extensive lyrics over this
jagged musical base with the aid of a slew of cribsheets,
and “Free Money” rocked like an absolute bastard, a galloping
fist-pumper.
“So,
the record “Horses”; that was side “A”, and this is Side “B”” announced
Smith thereafter, clearly a fan of vinyl! She allegedly fucked up the
intro to the strident “Break It Up” (“I never do
anything perfect… I only fuck up perfect!”), but no-one really
noticed, and again “Land” sprawled and rocked, taking in vignettes from
“Land Of 1,000 Dances” and “Gloria” again. A final “Elegy” (“written 40
years ago… when I was a toddler!”) was a touching
tribute to friends lost, and a reverential hush fell as Smith read out
their names, a cheer greeting each name (“Joe Strummer… Joey Ramone…
Fred Sonic Smith…”). Sombre and haunting, yes, yet it seemed totally
appropriate that this celebration of one of rock’s
classics should acknowledge those who walked alongside Smith on her
journey.
Glad
though I was to have witnessed all of “Horses”, I was eager not to miss
a second of my potential highlight, so after “Dancing Barefoot” and an
impromptu “Happy Birthday” to her bassist, I cleared
off to avoid any possible rush back to the Big Tent, pitching up stage
left, 3 rows back for the Tent headliners, due on at 8. SAVAGES, all
dressed in black, duly arrived at the witching hour and burst into
impossibly dramatic and strident life, vocalist Jehnny
Beth remarking, “let’s pick it up where we left it, right?”. Hoo boy,
did they ever… opener “City’s Full” was thunderously powerful, Fay
Milton pummeling the beat like a muscular blacksmith pounding on a red
hot anvil, “Shut Up” was snarling, startling and
dramatic, the pseudo Goth guitar licks circling the tent like a
conspiracy of ravens, and a clutch of new numbers showed promise and
progress, whilst thankfully not straying from Savages’ harsh, jagged
post-punk 80’s rock sonic template (one brutal newie featuring
some resonant riffery which almost recalled Killing Joke!).
But
this was all about Jehnny Beth. Prowling the stage, snarling and
spitting like a cornered wolverine, wild eyed and scarily intense, she
gave an unsettling, threatening yet totally captivating
frontperson performance throughout, abandoning the stage to lean into
her frenzied and adoring public, challenging them to generate noise and
fury (“we’ve just come back from Greece… you need to be louder than
them!”). “She Will” (“one you might know…”) was
brilliant, their best number being delivered with aplomb, building
relentlessly into the crashing, cymbal-led chanting chorus crescendo,
Beth hunched over onstage just like Seafood’s David Line used to, during
their equally intense “Folk Song Crisis”. A simple
but effective message prefaced the lengthy absorbing workout of
“Fuckers” (“I know these are hard times
and we’ve signed up for another 5 years… but looking at you all, I
think we’re going to be alright… don’t let the fuckers get you down!”),
then morphed into the all-too-soon set climax, the careering hellride
of “Husbands”, the Dead Kennedy-like bass
riff propelling the song to a breaktaking climax, bringing the Set Of
The Day to a close. Brilliant.
I
gathered my thoughts and a set-list (yay!) before returning to the main
arena for the Main Event… As dusk (and the temperatures!) fell,
headliners RIDE were just easing into their set opener, the
stretched, loose-limbed and libidinous guitar workout of “Leave Them
All Behind”, then into the groovy descending verse of “Like A Daydream”
from their sophomore “Play” EP. The subsequent set drew almost
exclusively from those youthful spiky early EPs and
the first two albums, the heady amphetamine rush and shimmering guitar
effects and reverb of “Nowhere” and the more expansive “Going Blank
Again”, which saw them as the darlings of a new vanguard of British
guitar rock, rather than from the troubled pseudo
Britpop of their later work. Give the people what they really want,
indeed… Drenched as much in their influences (the effortless cool and
widescreen expanse of Echo And The Bunnymen, the smothering reverb
dreamscapes of My Bloody Valentine, the juxtaposition
of squalling feedback and easy melody of The Jesus And Mary Chain) as
in their guitar effects, they were nonetheless a shining star in that
early 90’s period, another band who should have been stadium massive
back in the day. Still, there’s yet time…
Tonight
saw them deliver a faultless, professional and perfect sounding
performance, a little understated at times but thoroughly absorbing and
eminently listenable throughout. “It’s been a great
bill; I can’t believe Patti Smith went on earlier [than us]!” remarked
vocalist Mark Gardiner before the wah-wah of “Seagull”; “Dreams Burn
Down”’s normally powerful crashing drum intro seemed a little
understated, but the song ultimately soared to a chiming,
plangent crescendo; the splendid jangle of “Taste” (which Gardiner
dedicated “to anyone who’s had a tequila slushie today!” and which I
almost missed thanks to a pre-emptive loo trip) brought to mind those
early 90’s Level 3 nights, and the sinister, spooky
march of “Drive Blind” featured a thunderous, drawn out and thrillingly
thrashing middle 8, which Andy Bell subsequently announced was, “for
the Valentines!”
The
chiming, echoey opening riff of “Chelsea Girl”, their debut EP’s
leadoff track and the scheduled last number, resonated around the arena
at 10.20, prior to which Gardiner announced that this
was, “the beginning,” of a new phase for Ride, which was good news.
During “Chelsea Girl”s noisy JAMC feedback stomp, we moved to the back,
getting a jump at the end back to the tube station, then back to the car
just before midnight after a relatively smooth
cross-town journey, and home for a red-eyed 1.15 am. I think Mark
Gardiner put it best, having incredulously remarked, “what a time, what a
gig!” and I can only echo that. Good company with Mr. May, at a
splendidly organised, generally very friendly (slightly
over-zealous security at the entrance notwithstanding) and all
inclusive Festival in Field Day, featuring great sets from Ex Hex, Viet
Cong, Patti Smith, Ride and my Band Of The Day, Savages. I’d certainly
recommend it, and I hope to be back in future. A great
(Field) Day out!
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