How much music is too much? As a habitual single-day festival-goer, the prospect of staying for a whole weekend is a daunting one, even if we’ve bottled out and taken a room in a hotel a drive away from the Dundrennan site. Anyway, we can blame checking-in and the Friday start for our late arrival, when really the fact that the 12 noon slot for Jesus H Foxx is the only really major attraction in the early part of the day.
So despite the speediest entrance ever we still fear we might have missed the Main Event as we reach hospitaility. Fear not however – a battered leather jacket and the back of a familiar-looking head means that we’ve got there just in time for The Fall. It’s my first experience of the MES Showband for several years (more by design than accident) so I’m unsure what to expect. As it happens, the music seems entirely predictable as they chunder through several songs from the new album. Smith’s hired hands continue stoically, presumably the job description they signed up for included an ability to ignore the foibles of MES which include swapping microphones around, ‘helping’ the guitarists by tuning their instruments for them, and ignoring the audience (largely, see other review).
The most salient point as we head up the hill from the main stage, is that in the past, Fall shows have always been tight tense affairs, musically explosive (circa Dragnet and Hex Enduction Hour or indeed unwittingly generating mindless crowd violence (circa Shiftwork). Or, Smith’s interaction with his hired hands making for an awful show (Queens Hall, mid-90s, anyone?) Of course, it may be the fact we’re in a big field in front of an audience some of whom may not even know the band but the result is, rather than the usual polarised thumbs up or down, more a resounding ‘meh’.
Now, if you want to grab an audience by the ‘nads then Phil out of DeSalvo knows how it works. Admittedly the singer’s terrorising of the audience sends them scattering from the tent as the band’s unique take on… metal? punk rock? I’ve never been quite sure – whatever, the volume alone is enough to make grown men cower in the Scooter tent. There’s almost an industrial punk version of ‘Cars’ but sadly DeSalvo don’t do tunes as such, That said, their habit of showing up unexpectedly on bills across the country means they’ve ended up quite catchy. We whistle along to ‘Brown Swastika’ as Phil screams at another couple of unsuspecting punters and thanks to his extra-length mic cable chases them out of the tent . Now that’s entertainment.
From then on in, not exactly downhill, but the rain starts as Dodgy take the main stage and ‘Staying Out for the Summer’ seems less than apt as we scatter for cover in the Dub Tent. As with any journeyman popsters, Matt and chums are continuing when we emerge to the strains of ‘Good Enough’, a fine sunny pop tune. Though for the Wickerman’s audience of non-hotel dwellers, ‘Grassman’ is an apt and popular closer.
To the Scooter tent – something of a one-stop-shop for all your punk/mod/ska needs. Indeed, there seems to be a constant thrum of slightly off-the-beat punk rock from inside (which becomes an onslaught on the Sunday when they take down one of the ‘walls’ allowing the sound to bleed towards the main stage). Inside, Twisted Nerve, who if they’re anything that this tent ‘advertises’ are firmly on the punk side of ska. However, a quick refresher course reminds us that in the early 80s they made that kind of sombre-but-with-dance-beats sound that wouldn’t have been out of place on 4AD and gained them a Cure support slot. The singer, goth mullet long gone, could be on the main stage with his rock star looks and nice shirt and commanding presence while musically they do actually fit the tent’s ethos – punchy punk rock.
The Scooter tent to be fair houses more than its name suggests. It was supposed to host Glasgow jerky Devo acolytes We Are The Physics but the band – perhaps related to a reneged-on promise of a round of golf with Jimmy Pursey (more of which later) – have pulled out, to be replaced by The Vivians.
Who to be fair, clearly remember punk rock, or are well-schooled in it from parents or older siblings. However, despite all the right moves and looks – think pre-makeover Billy Idol – they’re musically less Clash or Damned and more Eater or The Drones – or a throwback to early Eddie & the Hot Rods when r’bn’b meant supercharged Rolling Stones covers.
Up in the Solus tent, a considerable crowd has gathered to gawp, and, hopefully, listen, to Beecake. Featuring film star Billy Boyd (actual size) they start promisingly – in the sense that any act led by an actor harbouring pop star pretensions can be. They’re no Dogstar, thankfully, with the impression always given that Boyd is simply having a bit of fun – so their agreeable Snow Patrol-tinged indiepop is fine, though there’s the usual late-set tendency towards slightly overblown.
Rodan however take that OTT rock vibe and raise it to 11 -seemingly trapped in the 70s they’re heading for Bon Jovi territory as we, er, heads for 1983.
As previously suggested, finding a segment of the day where there’s not a ‘ska’ band playing is a task in itself, though much of the Scooter Tent lineup verges towards that curious area where the genre collides full-on with the skinhead moonstomp. Thus, Root System play breakneck punk rock with an ska beat, and can’t fail to get the sizable crowd dancing.
Though if you want crowd-pleasing then original material can’t cut it, frankly. AKA Ska take the blatant approach and do it brilliantly – basically they run through a set more suited to a 40th birthday than a festival, but when they do ‘Gangsters’ and ‘House of Fun’ with perfect Suggs and Terry Hall accents, you get precisely what it says on the pork pie hat. There is a twist however, with versions of ‘Turning Japanese’ – complete with excellent brass arrangement – and the Teardrop Explodes’ ‘Reward’ will never sound the same without an offbeat.
“I can’t believe it’s not Biffy” remarks a passing emo kid, and yes, Twin Atlantic (apart from the extra members) could pass for the Ayrshire threesome on many counts, even down to the bared torsos, beards and hair. Continuing to damn them with faint praise, they are very good at what they do, and anyone hankering for the days when edgy and complex rock was played in small clubs rather than massive stadia could do worse than check out this lot.
The skies darken over the main stage as Alabama 3 – take to it to hammer out dance-friendly tunes which to be fair are ideal for this point in the proceedings (or would be were we watching them in hazy summer sunshine). Larry Love – I’m sure that’s him, how many singers does a band need? – is resplendent in a white suit which at least makes him highly visible to the audience. The archetypal festival band – no festival is complete without this lot on the bill it seems – they do That One Off The Telly, and we are free to go.
Anyone who remembers the 70s will recall the gobby (in all senses of the word) young fellow who led Sham 69 – black hair, physique like a coiled spring. Though Jimmy Pursey’s most distinctive feature may have been his cockney (Hersham) accent so when the slightly portly chap who leads the band regales the audience looking like a grey-haired Johnny Rotten, we simply ignore the march of time and tap our feet to ‘Hurry Up Harry’ & ‘Questions & Answers’ with only the slightly nagging doubt that something’s not right.
Of course, later we discover that this is no real Pursey but a visually unconvincing doppelganger recruited by sole remaining original member Dave Parsons. Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?
There must be some rules of festival ‘artistry’ which The Fall disobeyed as the day kicked off. In particular – surely The Hits are a prerequisite for any contract issued to a decidedly mixed audience in terms of age, musical taste, and general mental alertness after a day’s solid revelry? And with Gary Numan having recently completed punting his Tubeway Army album Replicas he is surely tuned up for some electropop action. Nope. Seems that Gaz has decided that the audience – containing admittedly a fair proportion of Numanoids – should be treated to what they want to hear. His look – spiky black hair, t-shirt and leather trousers rather than the Machman tunic of yore – signals a thudding industrial take on his back catalogue (and specifically the less ‘back’ numbers). Put it this way, Trent Reznor would have been nodding, or flailing, approvingly while Phil Oakey would be taking off to the nearest Retrofest, as ‘Cars’ gets the full-on metallic treatment.
Broken Records are that rarity, a band that always sound good. In the sense that despite their being a 7-piece, the blend of traditional and electric instruments always seems to hit the spot, with soaring strings and rattling percussion making the obvious ‘ folk rock’ epithet redundant. Oh, and ‘good’ also in the sense of top tunes. ‘If The News Makes You Sad’ is a mighty opener to the set which closes the day for us.