The Wickerman Festival is ten years old this year. Ten years of being Scotland’s friendliest festival, let’s see if they can pull it off again.
As ever itm?s centre of activities is the Solus new talent tent. And, first up are Fatherson, who, in the live arena, lean considerably more towards the histrionics of, say, Muse than one would be led to believe from their recordings. All underpinned with some kick-ass drumming, it really quite suits them. A looseness that bodes well for their future.
Confusingly, goNorth have decided to have a festival ‘tour’ this year, so are set-up next to the Solus giving very little breathing space at all. First up are Edinburgh’s (does it just mean north of here?) I Build Collapsible Mountains. Singer/song-writer types often descend into genericism. Luckily the twisted quality of songs such as Slow Approacher helps to keep him a peg above.
Trapped in Kansas are the first completely confusing band of the weekend. They’re like an emo take on a mid-western mid-80s college band. All twangled over with a weird and un-necessary type of finger-tapping. They never quite take off in the way they need to to be convincing with it.
More from the frozen north that is Edinburgh with Chasing Owls. They trade in a recognisably Scottish take on post-Mumford folk. They can swing from suitably grand to gentle easily enough and manage to avoid any easy trite pitfalls along the way.
Never been one for virtuoso flair. Take me to a Bach mass and I’ll be bored to tears during the soloists. So, performers that demand slack-jawed wonder at their technical proficiency leave me cold. Yet, despite this, there is something pleasant in RM Hubbert‘s package holiday flamenco. I’m just very much in the minority of not being blown away.
Last time I saw The Bluebells, I was majorly disappointed in their third-rate wedding band vibe. Put them on a stage in a field and it’s said band opening a village fete. Such a shame.
More proof that the whole world’s turning Mumford from Bear Bones. Of course it’s the nature of any new talent showcase that bands may still be wearing their influences on their sleeves. With this lot it seems a waste. There are sparks in there of real promise. When the Bonses (as no-one’s calling them) step out of the shadow of their record collections and find their own feet/voice, they should be something to behold.
Stonestreet (is Latvia ‘north?) claim to play disco metal. I’m not sure what that is, or if it’s any good, but they sure as hell make up for anything it’s lacking with the sheer energy of their performance. Worryingly dumb-ass exhilarating.
So, where does one start with Black Sun Drum Korps? The marching-band from the recesses of some dark, dark soul. Facepaint, bearskins and drums, drums, drums. It’s a big thumping sound, and probably illegal in England. Are they any good? I have no idea, but they were damned entertaining.
Last time The Noisettes played Scotland there was disappointment that the band were leaning away from the spiky rockabilly trio they used to be. 5 years and the car ads down the line, any resemblance to that band is purely coincidental. Which is not such a bad thing. Frontwoman Shingai Shoniwa was always set on stardom. And, she is a star. All glitter and glam these days, from the minute she takes to the stage she has the audience eating out of her hand. A very recognisable set culled from new album Wild Young Hearts. We get some proper showmanship. They even throw in a blistering version of Don’t Give Up to show they can still rock it.
Back at the goNorth stage, from the frozen wastes of Glasgow, we have French Wives. A band I’ve seen a few times before and it’s good to see them finding their own voice. There’s a confidence and swagger to their epic-tinged pop that was not their before. They remind me of Pulp, in the smart assuredness of their delivery. Expect to hear lots from them this year.
Endor are on fine form. Their folk-tinged rock going down a treat with the crowd. Kinda like subtle Frightened Rabbit; without the tubthumping.
Oftentimes, the Wickerman throws up the most pleasant of surprises from the most unexpected places. The heavy flyering, the horrible standard ladrock photo therein, and – let’s be frank – the dreadfully insipid name did not bode well for Homework. Certainly it didn’t prepare us for the hard locked-in kraut-y grooves we were treated to. They make me think of Holy Fuck, only with songs. But, kinda trippy chantalong songs. Sad to see them finish, but looking forward to seeing them again.
With the two tent assault on the new talent front, things get very hectic. It also means you can’t catch everything if you have any inkling to see anything on the other stages. As a result, we only catch a couple of tracks by The Led. It’s a guy in a crash helmet with a laptop. I think this might be what you young-uns are calling “the dubstep”. It’s pretty stomping, stuff. Will make time to investigate further.
But, nothing could hold me back from finally catching Echo and the Bunnymen. Wow. Ian McCulloch certainly lives up to all you would expect from him. A friend is convincved he’s been indulging a little too much in the hospitality. Others think he’s the kinda guy to punch a stranger back-stage. Either way he seems to have very little interest in his perfomance. Surely Bono taught the world that crowbarring other folks songs into your own was rubbish? McCulloch seems to have missed that meeting. When not, he seems to be having fun berating the soundman. Classic after classic gets thrown away in a mish-mash medley arsing-about way. It’s horrible. As darkness creeps in and the lights start to make a difference, they givve us the most astounding version of The Cutter. Maybe we misjudged. And, then they’re gone.
It might just be the band’s name, but I can’t help feeling I detect an African influence to Bwani Junction‘s guitar parts. (Although, I’m sure the film of the same name takes place in India.) This is just one of the elements thrown in to their pop-rock mélange. There are continental-sized harmonies and geological rifts of tricksy time-changes and judders. And, for the half of the set where it gels it is rather impressive.
Evidentally, the soundman took the hump at the abuse at Macca’s hands and has gone home. Unfortunately for James, the only person available to take his place is Norman Collier. Shame, beacuase Booth looks like he might have managed to change my opinion of the band.
Which means we get to catch Rachel Sermanni. She seems a strange choice to close the Solus tent. But, after such a long day, her gentle folky ballads seem to be perfectly placed.
Day one, done.