I’m sure that the tent-dwellers in the campsite will all be up bright and early but for those in executive accommodation (er, not us) the lure of a longer lie and breakfast are a temptation. This I have no idea when we roll into the site, but anyone with a running order can work out our tardiness from the fact that Sarah Gillespie (who?) is wailing on the main stage.
In the Solus Tent, Fangs are our first port of call proper. Believe what you like about our other review of them - but the fact that they ARE very ‘NOW’ is indisputable. More importantly, the disclaimer that they have been ‘NOW’ for quite a while should be made. They predate the Ting Tings - with whom they’ve been compared - by quite a bit, and it’s worth remembering that two members previously served time in Motormark (who were pretty now back then). Now a four-piece, they’ve added keyboard, but may well be less raw than previously. They are having enormous fun onstage, that is clear, Mark especially hamming it up and pouting at anyone who dares catch his eye. Whether they’re nu-glam ™ or a punk rock version of Goldfrapp remains to be seen, but ignore them at your peril.
Whether Damian Dempsey is a name I know or just one which sounds ‘right’ is unclear but yes, he is an Irish singer-songwriter, in the vague vein of Squeeze or even David Gray. Well, until he performs a cod-reggae tune which - naturally - demands Sting-style patois. Unfortunately, the accent remains stuck for the next few numbers as he struggles to escape and reclaim his natural brogue.
Following yesterday’s great Punk Rock Swindle, we check twice lest Hugh Cornwell has been replaced by some evil doppelganger. Nope - unlike the sham Jimmy Pursey he is the real deal, even if he does disguise his back catalogue by altering some of his Stranglers hits, which work to an extent - ‘Straighten Out’ a high point - though ‘Duchess’ in particular shows up the lack of keyboards. He seems keen not to dwell on the past too much - plus he has new material to punt, though as he informs us, new album Hoover Dam is a free download. Though he now may shift a few copies of its predecessor Slow Boat to Trowbridge, which does hark back to former glories.
The aim of festivals (apart from getting out of one’s face as quickly as possible) is to discover or failing that, rediscover new bands. The Lancashire Hotpots’ album was pretty funny, but seemingly a bit of a one-joke (pit)pony. Today, they’re a revelation. Seemingly having brought a massive following with them to the Acoustic (?) tent, their album works in a live cabaret sense, and that’s even without being able to hear the words all that well. WIth knowing lyrics about technology, emos and self-effacing local gags about chippy teas and mild, it’s clear that they are not the cloth-capped old duffers that their persona and outfits suggest. With a drummer called Willie Eckerslike and a Chemical Brothers-aping finale with a “Bitter Bitter Bitter” chorus you may get the general idea. But rather than me explain them, I’d suggest visiting their website or better still, catching the live whenever you can.
De Rosa are, for myself at least, not a new discovery. They went down pre-festival as being probably highlight and happily, they don’t disappoint, even if their delivery is pretty far-removed from that of the Hotpots. However, ‘New Lanark’ is as ever, even after so many listens and live viewings, still a jaw-dropping piece, while new material like ‘Love Ecomomy’ bode very well indeed for their forthcoming album. So it’s a pity that closer ‘Cathkin Braes’ somehow seems to offer little of its usual light and shade, instead being a full-on morass of noise. However, I think we can forgive them that one…
The Cuban Bros are one of those acts who keep showing up on bill posters and like the Alabama 3, they seem to be carving out a name as festival staples. I know nothing about them, though come the end of their set I am clear that they’re not Peel veterans and ‘Hamster Dance’ kings the Cuban Boys. In the event, they are a comedy funk band (whether intentional is unclear) - a particularly sweary and also full of unlikely tales about how “I wrote this one for Lionel Richie”. There then follows a note-perfect rendition of some Lionel Ritchie tune. Conversely, ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ turns into a foul-mouthed rap which incurs a warning from some official at what is after all a family festival. Head Cube decides that this bar is surmountable by adding ‘o’ to every expletive e.g. “fuck-o”. Some scatological jobby-talk leads inevitably to a finale of naked press-ups.
I think I expected something more from the Dub Pistols, who are neither dub or, er, (Sex) Pistol-y - they’re more electro if anything and ultimately beggar the question “why?”. They do a version of ‘Gangsters’ which is just one great big sample of the original, which makes them, in my book, no different from AKA Ska. Actually, given that they’re not even playing instruments, quite a bit different…
The climax of Wicker is traditionally the lighting of the Wickerman itself, but as the mist descends, it’s clear that we’ll not even be able to stick around for headliner KT Tunstall, thanks to the mist that has descended on the site. So, ‘our’ headliner is Attic Lights, but they make for a fine end to the weekend’s proceedings. Their more recent material is showing signs that they’re more than a Teenage Fanclub soundalike act, with some Beatles-y and Beach Boys-esque touches as well as a fine ear for a tune. For a band so hotly-tipped, this should stand them in good stead once the gimmicks have run out. (Thankfully, no sign of David Gest in the audience.)
With that we hit the road with good memories of the weekend - the family atmosphere never ruined by any excesses - despite booze being no dearer than an Edinburgh bar and with complete freedom to being in your own drink and indeed food, it’s a testament to… well the punters as much as the organisers that those ‘monged’ are few and far between. Even those staying on the campsite.
more photos from Wicker 08 on Flickr
//Stuart McHugh