With a more in-depth review, of Indian Summer here, this is more the diary of what I saw on the Sunday while taking photographs - fleshing out Stuart Purcell’s piece, and filling in the gaps of what one man couldn’t be expected to cover…
Sadly, due to the traditional ticket wrangling (I know, should have got there earlier and what do you expect from a freebie pass?) we miss Make Model, and catch only one tune from Maps on the main stage. They sound good (helpful, eh?). Annuals, who were part of our car journey (which saw us diverted through Bonnybridge and losing an hour…) are ok, they sound better on record, where they seemed a bit more Flaming Lips-y.
The Optimo tent has a fair old selection over the weekend and its pumping beats drown out many an act from the awkwardly-placed other stages, but won this occasion it’s Will Oldham which provides the interlude before Michael Gira arrives. Despite having been around ratther longer than, well, most acts, his time in Swans was a noisier more brutal affair, whereas his set today is just him and guitar, and could gain the epithet ’singer-songwriter’ if it wasn’t for the lyrics… distinctly Gira - less murder ballad and more serial-killer.
Reiterating that I’m From Barcelona were enormous fun does them a disservice even if crowdsurfing on an inflatable (should there not be warning notices around the arena?) is the visual highpoint among many derrigible-inspired gimmicks. But the band show that they’re not just gimmicks with a few good tunes, even ‘Collection of Stamps’ which it turns out is from a T-Mobile advert and has even those in the crowd who didn’t know this (i.e. me) singing along.
6music’s tent is the one which tries to bridge the obscure and the trendy, I suppose. And Correcto, it turns out, are their signature band in a way. Not that everyone would have known this, just another semi-familiar name on the running order, but when first Bob Hardy and then NIck McCarthy were spotted in the audience, it’s clear that something of note is going on. But where are the rest of Franz? Well, Mr Kapranos isn’t visible. But Paul is… on stage, behind the drumkit. And isn’t that the Royal We’s guitarist, and the singer looks familiar in a Glasgow indie scene kinda way. And the sound… very 80s, so not so much Franz as a band for people who like who Franz like… definite hints of Wire, the Wedding Present… and very good indeed.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah I have never got. So I’m unsurprised that theyare as underwhelming in the flesh as they were on telly, except the singer’s voice is perhaps even more annoying in real life. The crowd is again divided; anyone not down the front singing along is instead at the fringes waiting for something else to start and at the same time hoping they’ll do, as a passing writer helpfully puts it (it’s her day off) “the one that goes ‘ba ba be’.” Apparently they close with it.
Satin Peaches are surely another band touched on in Stuart Purcell’s mention of many interchangeable bands. This lot are ok, all noisy guitars, hair and an angsty growl. They’re however American which beggars the question: do we not have enough merely ok angsty noise bands in Scotland already without shipping them in? Maybe it’s some ‘new talent’ initiative sponsored by the Executive, in which case expect a slew of skinny-tied Franz clones with Polish accents to set up camp at the Note any time now..
I described Michael Gira as ‘downbeat’. Wait until you hear Elvis Perkins’ album. Then, wait until you hear his tale of woe. The missus was very interested in this more because she’s a film buff and Elvis is son of Anthony, of Psycho fame. Her verdict: a decent songwriter (er, haven’t we already got…) but not very cheerful. However, a little research shows we can forgive him this - turns out he wrote his album following the deaths of his parents - his father of AIDS, and his mother in the Twin Towers.
I reach the tent late so maybe there’s been 20 minutes of communal wrist-slitting, but it’s a decidedly and surprisingly jaunty affair. Rather than a simple acoustic set he’s augmented by double bass, and drums, and he’s joined by CYHSY, who offer guitar, trombone, and mercifully, no vocals, just guitar. It’s an oompah finale is great fun and, if you think back to the previous paragraph, completely surreal.
Swedes Lonely Dear have received B&S comparisons and I could again mention the plentiful supply of such bands on our shores, but to be fair I’d go for Herman Dune when pigeonholing them. Ok, what’s the difference, the cynics ask? Not sure, but they’re far from twee, but still with considered pop songs and harmonies among a bit of a din. They’re also very good. And they probably stowed away on I’m From Barcelona’s charter jumbo anyway.
While we’re fleshing out the festival with different opinions I may as well vent on Spiritualised. 3 words: Dull dull, and, yes, dull. A string quartet and choir are the de rigeur part of IS as Antony and the Johnsons did last time, but while he impressed and captivated (and perhaps surprised) an audience in darkened grand finale mode, Jason’s songs fail to stand out in the watery sunshine - it might be a festival set, with the hits, there might even be a version of ‘Revolution’ for all i know. Suffice to say, I don’t stay to find out.
Sadly, the Beanscene tent should be capable of provising an alternative, but their bands are largely drowned out by other stages and I’m not sure how Quinn would have copped in acoustic mode (though they are still smiling…) but, if Frightened Rabbit are buried by the main stage, what chance do a couple of guitars and a trombone have? Which is a shame, as we know what the Yellow Bentines can do and the set shows their songwriting off nicely when you get close enough.
(Quinn pic: Ian McFarlane - more at his flickr site)
However, to briefly expand on the ‘comment’ aspect of the main review, if Indian Summer continues next year, and I hope it will, it’s surely a few minor tweaks to the layout of the site that will make it a genuinely long-term addition to the festival calendar.
more photos from Indian Summer on Flickr
and some more from the Beanscene Tent, courtesy of Ian McF
//Stuart McHugh