World leaders: If you want to solve the problem of water supply for the earth’s deserts, book a bunch of Scottish bands to play in the arid areas. It’s a surefire guarantee that the rains will come.
Then again, I’m from the school of thought that music should only be heard in a basement pub, and if it has to be outdoors then preferably somewhere warm and dry.
It seems that on Friday Doune has been cursed with, well, being held in Scotland in what passes for summer. Thankfully, its clientele are made of stronger stuff than myself. Oh, and the majority of the performances are, in a sensible move, under canvas anyway.
For example, on arrival we’re greeted by a jammed tent, its occupants being treated to some real fiddle-based folk by Isla Fyfe, which sets out the stall of Doune the Rabbit Hole.
Similarly, Howie Reeve has gathered a following for his solo… well, singer-songwwriter would be too easy a description. The ‘RM Hubbert of the bass’ might fit – patter aplenty and much virtuoso work on his four strings as he ends his set with something of a growl-along, having “run out of metaphors”.
However, venture into the rain we must. De Rosa are playing on the main stage to a small but hardened crowd, and as becomes clear, a larger less hardy audience gathered under one of the massive mature trees growing in Cardross Estate. ‘Spectres’ gets the set off to a slow start given the gloomy skies, byut augmented by Gillian Fleetwood on keys, harmonies and sunny disposition, the band move into some crowd-pleasing tunes from debut Mend, doubtless unearthed in preparation for that album’s 10th anniversary show later this year. ‘Father’s Eyes’ coaxes a wasp onstage, encouraging singer Martin Henry into something resembling a jig. There’s even time for new material, standout being the bright head-nodder ‘Whispering Easy’.
Realising that typing notes on a wet phone while holding an umbrella is not being helped by my attire, it’s a quick dive to the car park for long trousers and waterproofs. Immediately I’m warmed by the Bowie choir, where a throng of wet punters are enjoying a bouncy ‘Let’s Dance’. ‘BlackStar’ is less chipper but works well with some nicely executed harmonies.
However, we’re here to seek out new music, and Herschel 36 can provide that – despite performing in front of a German silent movie about astronomy. A couple of Scottish jazz stalwarts (Stu Brown and Paul harrison) presumably on their day off, they concoct a Throbbing Gristle-alike soundtrack further emphasising the eclectic lineup – T this ain’t.
The white reggae version of ‘Blue Moon’ in the Tweedledum ska tent similarly makes this point. To be fair, there are some authentic sounds and smells in the tent all day, which is a busy venue until two of Scotland’s finest appear on a routine patrol of the area, and emerge from said arena smiling.
Another notable feature is the eco-friendly nature of the event. Take the toilets. Or maybe not. The gents is ‘organic’ in some way – basically you pee on a straw bale which (we assume) is disposed of safely at the end of the weekend. The cubicles are non-flush, instead being neutralised by a handful of sawdust dumped on top of your business, its neutralising and possibly cure-all properties learned from the jannie out of Still Game.
Meanwhile, down the hill there’s what appears to be a homage to Ibiza – an under-5s foam party with some very soapy kids and parents probably half pleased that their offspring are voluntarily engaging with soap. Is this unusual behaviour for either children or for festival organisers? I’m no expert, but despite the rain, everyone seems to be having a grand time.
Back to the main Jabberwocky stage, where the sun is peeking through the clouds for Rozi Plain – again, she kicks off her set with a languid number in ‘Marshes’, but things soon pick up – formerly part of the Fence Collective and very much part of the alt.folk scene, her move to a full band with twin vocals gives an almost Stereolab-like feel.
Local-ish council-run arts venue The (Stirling) Tolbooth is also involved, curating a stage – it’s a mixed media affair we’re told, though the art installation element was lost on me (perhaps later in the evening things would become clearer and indeed artier). What we have on the stage may be some sort of situationist scheme though – basically it’s 2 Morphs and a Kendo Nagasaki. With syncopated drums and dentist drill synths, Barberos are rather like a like a French ninja version of This Heat. If they actually are French – you never can tell where art rockers are concerned) .
Speaking of la France, I hear something resembling The Slits from the far end of the arena. That’s even before I enter the Baino tent and the female vocals kick in. Even down to the cowbell-powered rhythms, and sprightly offbeats, it’s like all our lazy stereotyping has come at once. Although to be fair, the violin suggests The Raincoats, while the accented vocals lean towards Kleenex, although Massicot , it turns out, hail from Geneva rather than Zurich. (Apologies, struggling to find an Au Pairs or Delta 5 reference, though, must try harder). The Swiss outfit make an impressive racket much lapped up by the crowd and it’s good to see an act with influences like these – makes a change from the Beatles after all.
There’s a moment to investigate the site some more grab some pakora (note: decent enough, but it’s technically tempura) and snack on this, soundtracked by some very capable white reggae from Glasgow act Skayaman.
The sun finally kicks in just in time for C Duncan and indeed for night to start its descent, but first, some sunny Beach Boys-esque harmonies in the rare heat. The Mercury-nominated act draws out a crowd keen to see what the fuss was about and the chatty, disarmingly polite singer doesn’t disappoint, delivering an album-perfect version of ‘Architect’.
The beauty of DtRH is that despite there being no sound bleed, the stages are a minute’s walk apart, so catching Damn Teeth‘s, set is a piece of ethically-sourced, gluten-free cake. The band, as it turns out, include former members of Pennycress, Billy Ray Osiris, Black International and Salò as well as engrossingly mad-eyed vocalist Paul – previously a terroriser of audiences at the Solus Tent at Wickerman 2013 as a member of Thin Privilege. Despite teetering on the edge of complete chaos, their acerbic racket just fails to obscure a fair few tunes making for a visceral experience dulled a little by the open-air setting. So if the thought of a slightly psychotic version of Clinic appeals to your sense of adventure, go see them in a sweaty club and they might be one of high points of the gigging calendar.
It’s a skip and a hop back to the main stage where we’re able to catch our breath, and the end of C Duncan’s set, the contrast summarised by his dedicating a song to his parents. And the sun’s out – as are the crowds.
But no matter the power of the Mercurys and the sun on the main stage, if you want crowded try party act and TV stars Bombskare, their set surprisingly scheduled under canvas. It’s so crowded we have to watch from outside, a bit like when Coldplay played 1999 at T, the only comparison we can make with the ‘other’ fest. The go-to ska party act relive their Best Band award in a tent that’s fit to burst.
And it’s not even raining!