In what must be the west and coldest ‘long hot summer’ on record, an apology to all the bands I missed in this year’s annual Wicker. I put this down to the organisers’ ability to read, pretty much what I want to see. Which combined with a sore foot means that sitting in one place and unexpectedly soaking up the sun becomes a preferred option to trekking around the site trying to catch maybe 5 minutes of Band X.
So our first port of call, is as ever the Solus Tent, the place to see emerging Scots-born talent.
And what might become dangerously close to being the weekend’s high mark, The Second Hand Matching Band.
Yes, they may have brought along enough friends and family to bankrupt BT, but there are enough casual onlookers for their early in-the-day set who will have been mightily impressed by their sound – at times unexpectedly massive, but often delicate with delightful subtle touches. GIven that mainman Pete is absent it’s a testament to whoever is second in command that they even got the band here never mind sounding so fresh – but still retaining that slight edge and sense that the whole thing could go off-kilter like a runaway Indian train at any second. apparently rehearsals are the key to this new-found confidence and competence. Readers should ignore any negative comments that appear elsewhere on the site 😉
To the Scooter Tent then to catch the tail end of Isa & the Filthy Tongues – for the uninitiated, basically the bones of Goodbye Mr Mackenzie with Isa replacing Shirley Manson. Which is a very unfair assessment as the band share little else with their previous incarnation. Instead of edgy and sometimes grim tuneage the Tongues make for a big bright pop sound with performance at the forefront – none more so in the closing tunes ‘Big Star’ and ‘New Town’ which they’ve thoughtfully saved for us, and combining Richard Jobson’s lyrics with their own tune in the latter turns the clock back further than even the days when it was Shirl stage front.
Our first taste of the main Summerisle stage hosts, so far, the oldest act – Zion Train, perhaps best-known as Peel show veterans. Shaky research doesn’t tell us how many of the band checked in at Maida Vale, but I’m betting that the lineup then was not the odd setup of brass, decks and vocals. Which makes for a slightly lifeless atmosphere in the bright sunshine, but still good for skanking as the party continues.
When we return to the Solus tent we’re frankly not even sure that it IS Meursault onstage as the folksh stuff heard elsewhere in an intimate Tigerfest show is at the moment subsumed by electronic rattles. Oh, and the singer’s not wearing a hat like he was last time. However, the appearance of a banjo for ‘William Henry Miller’ confirms that we are in the presence of greatness, as singer Neil Pennycook laments “Bury me face down”, silencing the crowd as much through presence as sheer power. Again a packed Solus tent witnesses something genuinely special.
Wickerman has, it must be said, a handle on what their audience want and they know how to party. And while selling ska records to the British public is a dying art, if you want to get this party started then take a 10-piece band, add a few off-beats and Rico’s your uncle. One downside is actually telling the various acts apart – I was convinced that this lot were going to present us with some very convincing cover versions as per last year but that may have been Root System. Either way, Bombskare play an all-original set, and a mighty impressive one it is too. Their dancing for which the epithet ‘energetic’ is woefully inadequate, only adds to the carnival atmosphere.
The one problem guaranteed at any festival is the inevitable overlaps and scheduling collisions. Billy Bragg, probably top of my list, has one such clash. With myself. Having promised to chip in with a reading at the 24 hour Burnsathon happening in the spoken word arena, my disappointment at Uncle Bill’s stagetime is palpable, especially as I’ve unwisely, I’ve chosen to do Tam O’Shanter, the 1700s poetry equivalent of ‘Supper’s Ready’. 10 minutes in, I’m glancing towards the main stage while my hardy audience – sadly not including Norris McWhirter – have stopped glancing at their watches and have started to refer to calendars. Happily we’re done soon with no injuries (apart from the GBH inflicted on the piece itself) and it’s a quick limp over to see Uncle Bill.
And it’s another blast from the past – grey of beard perhaps but it’s still one man and his guitar, and still preaching politics , all that has moved is the political landscape, typified by his between-songs ramble about how Alaistair Darling asked him if he was still gigging (“yes – are you still Chancellor?”). There’s a poignant ‘New England’ with the third verse added “for Kirsty”, and an encore of ‘One Love’ transformed into a call-and-response plea to ‘Drop the Debt’.
It’s at this point that the exact order becomes a little hazy and not due to the pear cider at all, just because of the almost constant stream of quality music. Certainly the Solus Tent was visited and The Seventeenth Century were there, entertaining with their uplifting, noisy folkpop. Comparisons will be made with Arcade Fire, but a closer parallel exists in Broken Records – big favourites at itm? of course but despite being on a major label, seemingly not exactly a pop act, given their predilection for elaborate songs and arrangements. Seventeenth are another matter – despite not sounding like the Waterboys, they do deliver rousing anthems that stick like treacle to the synapses.
Speaking of bands with big deals, as opposed to ‘big deal’ bands, We Were Promised Jetpacks are that rarity, a ‘signed’ act. Which means that a mix of long-time fans (the itm? crew) and curious newcomers to the Jetpacks’ epic indie rock are there to see what all the fuss is about. And neither are disappointed – they’ve developed over the past couple of years, always pretty tight but have fleshed out their sound and probably become more appealing to a more indie audience (we’ll let go their refusal to dip into the back catalogue…) Newcomers will have been impressed by the shoutalong tunes, the band’s interplay and Adam’s party trick, singing unmic’ed despite the full force of his bandmates behind him.
Into the sunshine again and the main stage, as Idlewild – newcomers compared to many on the bill – are festival veterans, and they know how it works. Thus, although not quite delivering a greatest hits set, there’s a peppering of these throughout as Roddy & co know how to please a crowd. Yes, there is a new single which sounds halfway between their folky stuff and the full-on rock of ‘Make Another World’, which may be a conundrum that faces the band every time they write a record. That said, playing a gig even to a mixed crowd live is no problem when you have songs like ‘I See Shapes’ and ‘Another Way Of Letting Go’ played loud and direct – every one is A Hit.
The UK Subs‘ hit – well, perhaps the one which received most airplay at a time when daytime Radio One treated punk as either Satan’s earthly envoy, or a novelty best humoured or ignored – was a cover of the Zombies ‘She’s Not There’. Part-time hairdresser, Charlie Harper was already 35 when it hit the chart, but oddly, as last surviving original member of the band he’s incapable of preventing their slaughtering said tune. So much for pop. The band’s encore steps further back in time, to first single ‘CID’, which is rendered rather more faithfully, to the delight of an mohawked audience not too far off the age of the singer.
Comparative striplings, The Dickies follow and deliver a set of chaotic oldies as Leonard Philips throws himself around, surfs with his, er, inflatable aid on ‘Waterslide’, careers through ‘Paranoid’, and demolishes ‘Nights In White Satin’. Again, Wickerman is the place to relive childhood memories for many, but for bands like The Dickies, it’s a place to showcase their talents. And hearing their set it’s apparent that they didn’t do all that many covers in their 30 year career. Which makes the listener realise that they were songwriters of the highest quality, even rivaling the Ramones for skill at the three-chord trick..
Pearl & the Puppets arrive onstage late due to some sort of sound problems they seem to still be struggling but somehow, this works out well – the grating vocal affectation Pearl displays on record is slightly hidden by the backing of her Puppets. The band’s Saltire-clad Pearl has a reputation to live up to with broadsheet supplements proclaiming the girl as our next Amy MacDonald or Sandi Thom, and while the band exude a level of confidence not always seen at his level, it’s unclear if they have the songs to back it up.
Being of the “I preferred their earlier stuff” persuasion where Sheffield’s top 80s pop act are concerned, the Human League offer us a quick gawp, really just to see how they’ve come on since last time we spotted them, before they got in “the girls”, as hardcore devotees term Susanne and Joanne. Sadly the crowd is such that we don’t really get close enough to see how much they’ve aged, but Phil’s voice has probably improved over the years. We catch ‘Open Your Heart’, or was it ‘Love Action’, but oddly enough they perform ‘Heart Like a Wheel’, was written by Jo Callis with Rezillo Eugene Reynolds. Which is a somehow apt close to our day.
Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.