Richie Havens. Rest in peace.

I am in no way qualified to write anything really insightful or meaningful about Richie Havens – either in terms of the man or the music. Having said that, he has had a profound influence at various times in my life and it was with desperate sadness that I heard the news of his passing on Monday evening. So on that basis I hope you’ll indulge me a few words in that respect…

As those of you familiar with the Gig Almanac will know, my early musical life got off to something of an inauspicious start, albeit the world of hair rock remains to this day an only-just-guilty pleasure. Things began to change, however, when in late 1992 the BBC broadcast ‘Bobfest’ ((c) Neil Young) – a tribute concert in Madison Square Garden celebrating Bob Dylan’s then 30 year career in music. I had until that point rebelled very much against my father’s love of Bob Dylan – finding it easy to dislike the awful reedy voice played on poorly recorded cassettes in the car on long holiday journeys. This particular night though I was exposed to the genius of Dylan’s songs through some wonderful performances from the collective great and good who had assembled in his honour.

The roll call in hindsight was stunning – highlights including Lou Reed following Stevie Wonder, before Johnny Cash and June Carter, George Harrison and Roger McGuinn. My attention was grabbed initially by Eddie Vedder and Mike McCready (I was and remain a huge Pearl Jam fan) with an awesome mandolin-driven ‘Masters of War’ and then Neil Young, who I was aware of through links with Vedder & co.

In the middle of the concert, however, someone called Richie Havens took the stage – apparently a “mainstay of the folk scene” of whom I had never heard before. A big man, bald-headed with huge beard, with acoustic guitar, takes a seat centre stage – exuding a sense of strength and power combined with a gentle warmth in his smile. What followed – a rendition of ‘Just Like A Woman’ – remains one of my favourite live performances ever. I remember being simply taken aback by the sound coming from just one man and a guitar. Havens’ voice is perfect for the song and the guitar work was simply stunning – I could not quite comprehend the combination of speed and control that built up over the performance. I had never witnessed something so simple, so straightforward, yet so affecting and powerful. Through this song, and Masters of War, and Young’s ‘All Along the Watchtower’, and Wonder’s ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’, something clicked and my view of Bob Dylan would change forever.

The double CD of the night’s concert is the first I ever actively sought out on day of release, a few months later, and the Havens track is a favourite to this day. Following the formal introduction via his friends and peers that night, I have over the years fallen in love with Dylan and his work – which has become a very important part of my life. I became aware as well of many of the efforts made to cover Dylan’s songs and am convinced that, despite the likes of both Baez and the Byrds, no-one does it as well as Richie Havens. Judge for yourself:

http://v.youku.com/v_show/id_XMjY1MTI2OTY4.html

(excuse the odd host and oriental adverts, but the only version I can find)

Look also for Havens’ cover of ‘Tombstone Blues’ on the soundtrack to Todd Haynes’ Dylan biopic ‘I’m Not There’ (an overall amazing album of Dylan covers as it goes…).

Beyond that elemental point in proceedings, I had also discovered the work of Richie Havens – in many ways as powerful as that of Dylan. My next exposure to Havens would be the film footage from Woodstock – some 33 years before that night in New York, including the following (improvised) performance – one of the most raw, extraordinary things I have ever seen and probably ever will…

…and on that note, enough. Simply rest in peace, one of the most wonderfully talented, beautiful, gentle and genuine musicians ever.

It breaks my heart that I never saw you perform live.

Wounded? Very sadly it appears it might be terminal…

(Update: so apparently TWB have just announced another gig, which is lovely for them, albeit rendering this already hurried and somewhat flaky post a bit redundant)

I have never seen Two Wounded Birds before. I have however heard their songs on 6music and enjoy very much their sound and immediacy - sitting somewheres between the Ramones, Frankie Valli and Dick Dale.  When an invitation to see them a few weeks ago arrived I said yes right away.

Last night though, at The Lexington, something wasn’t quite right from the off. Stephanie, who’d bought me the ticket, informed me at the start it was a new bassist and guitarist, following a recent breakdown within the band, however expectations were still high and we took up our place in front of the stage.

Instead, despite me not having seen them before, something really appeared quite wrong. The new bassist looked out of place amongst the leather and black jeans of the others – looking (and dressed) like the brunette from Bros.  The new guitarist like Brad Willis just out of rehab. Neither were very good – certainly compared to frontman and drummer. And it seemed from the outset the former knew this too.  At the very least this wasn’t the band he wanted it to be and he couldn’t hide it.

The first few songs all had elements of the influences identified above but were slow and highlighted little conviction, together with a strange detachment between the band themselves and between them with the songs. The Ramonesy bit was there but less the frantic punkness and more Joey doing ‘Baby I Love You’, drunk, after a bad break-up.  I thought to myself early on that something was hinting it could be this band’s last gig – yet less triumphant send-off and more irretrievable breakdown.

All of a sudden though things picked up. Three songs that brought the whole place, band and crowd to life – a burst of energy and enthusiasm channelled right through the spine of lead singer and drummer. This was super punk-pop. It was also all they could manage though – one last effort of spirit, soul and being delaying the inevitable. Before introducing the next song the singer announced it was their last ever gig and things slowed down again – him maybe relieved to get it off his chest, the crowd in turn a little numbed but suddenly getting what was wrong.

I witnessed something incredibly sad yesterday, which I’ve never seen before - the live demise of a very talented band.  Steffo was a bit teary by the end, having seen them so much better so many other times. I think your men singing and drumming will be back soon either with this band or another – I hope so anyway and good luck to them. They deserve it.

End of the Road 2012 Top Ten

My favourite acts of EOTR 2012, in rough order of preference from 10 to 1.

10.          Jeffrey Lewis and the Junkyard (Sat)

Jeffrey Lewis and band proved a very pleasant surprise on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Knowing relatively little about him, beyond the odd session track from Marc Riley on 6music, I was brilliantly impressed by the wit, intelligence and recall of the man.  Subsequent research has highlighted his interests in comics, notably Watchmen, and his own work – all of which bears further investigation.

The set comprised a non-stop collection of largely acoustic numbers full of hope, laughter and sadness in equal measure.  Particular highlights included the Mosquito Rap and an example from the developing collection of Sonnet Youth pieces.  He also added to the argument that you can very rarely go wrong with artists modelling both truckers’ caps and beards (see also Jason Lytle closing Sunday night…).

The Garden Stage appearance was followed up by a semi-surprise midnight slot in a heaving Teepee Tent, including a wonderfully lengthy History of Punk.

9.            Graham Coxon (Sun)

Following an awesome set at Reading the week before, we made to the front of the stage (alongside the likes of Jeffrey Lewis, no less) for Graham Coxon (or “Blur, but not Blur”, according to Patti Smith, who would come onstage afterwards – praising his performance).

Despite seemingly damaging fingers on each hand, coming to terms with a new guitar and playing into driving drizzle for most of the set it was once again a brilliant performance.  On a bigger stage than the tent at Reading, and outdoors, the scale and benefit of the touring band was very much apparent – with a big psychedelic sound filling out, in an entirely good way, the skeletal punk-pop from across his solo canon.  I do wonder slightly though how much was lost on the EOTR main stage crowd who, bar a minority at the front didn’t quite seem to get it.

It is brilliant to see Graham so happy and clearly enjoying what he is doing.  Engagement with both band members and crowd was charming and warm – especially given the elements.

8.            The Mark Lanegan Band (Sat)

Mark Lanegan, again as with Reading the previous week, was awesome – both man and band on great form.

I, partly shamefully, left the set early in order to get to the front of the queue at the Rough Trade tent for Lanegan’s signing session immediately afterwards.  Overall I’m glad I did though as fifteen minutes later it was complete chaos when everyone else arrived.  And I got to meet him.  I met Lanegan.  Still a bit in shock about that.  He was much smaller than I imagined in both height and breadth, due to an aural illusion I suspect, although the speaking voice made no secret you were talking to the right man.

7.            Patti Smith (Sun)

The last time I saw Patti Smith I passed out after ‘a bit too much sun’ at Primavera in 2007, only to be awoken with both legs held up in the air by two off-duty Spanish nurses.

No such heatstroke- (or vodka-) related issues on this occasion though.  It had rained on an off for most of the day and I was sober due to having to drive home after Grandaddy later on.

One is never entirely sure which Patti will turn-up or which set she’ll play, which in part adds to the intrigue, although can ultimately be frustrating for those not acquainted with every b-side, poem and other project she’s ever done.  The Primavera set was great – all the hits – while a Meltdown performance a few years ago left the mind and senses utterly boggled.

Another festival though, and another storming performance.  I have to confess to only really knowing the big songs all that well, but I love them, and that is what we got – along with a couple of newies.  With a most-accomplished band behind her, Patti’s delivery was amazing with an energy and voice belying her advancing years – Because the Night, Gloria, Pissing In A River and Rock and Roll Nigger all tremendous.  Neither were we to be denied the odd outburst of commentary and philosophy regarding our lives, her life, that of the earth or the plight of Pussy Riot – all of which added up to the perfect Patti Smith gig.  A brief interlude with her leaving the stage to the band, led capably by guitarist Lenny Kaye, for a selection of sixties and seventies classics including The Seeds’ Pushing Too Hard, was in no way distracting or disappointing.

Outside of headliners, I think surely she got the best response from any crowd over the weekend.

6.            Islet (Sat)

I was encouraged to see Islet by my friend Stephanie who, while unclear as to exactly what they were like, was sure she had seen them at some point and that I would like them.

I’ll be honest, the soundcheck sounded horrendous, even from outside the tent.  A good two minutes of the snare rim being hit really really hard, followed by some very strange vocal exercises.

What followed, however, was forty five minutes or so of brilliant, bonkers, dischordant noise – only occasionally verging into ‘song’ territory in terms of either structure or sense.  Waves of drums, synths and bass washed around soundscapes reminiscent of, yet wildly different to, the likes of At the Drive-In and Crystal Antlers.  Frequently swapping instruments, all four band members displayed boundless energy – matched only by three girls in the front of the crowd who did an admirable job dancing at such an early hour in the day (who claimed they had only had ‘a half’…I since suspect my initial naïve thought they were referring to cider was ill-judged).

Like them?  I absolutely loved it.

5.            Jonathan Wilson (Fri)

Jonathan Wilson, as far as I can tell, is still to become anything like well-known in the UK.  He fully deserves to though and entirely justified it would be.

Far more prolific a producer and supporting musician than as an artist in his own right, Wilson’s part in reinvigorating the legendary Laurel Canyon scene (along with the likes of Black Crowe Chris Robinson) has culminated in the release of 2011’s Gentle Spirit album.  The record is hugely evocative of many of the names associated with the Laurel Canyon of the 60s and 70s without ever falling into pastiche, calling also upon on early elements of Pink Floyd and the British progressive scene.

Live, he was hugely impressive – the songs growing at times into full Crazy Horse mode from the rather more gentle and restrained feel on record.

4.            John Grant (Fri)

John Grant, along with Midlake and Grandaddy, was a big part of the draw for me with EOTR’s line-up this year.  His album Queen of Denmark, backed by Midlake, was by far and away my favourite album of 2010.  I’d seen him twice before, both brilliant performances and had high hopes for this festival set.

For a giant of a man, with an extraordinary voice and no little songwriting talent, John Grant is clearly a troubled and complex character and onstage his lack of self-confidence can be apparent (at least in between songs), if almost endearing, in terms of humility.  At EOTR though he appeared more relaxed than usual from the outset – looking smashing in athletic wear – as opposed to the usual smart dark suit.  He was brave as well in opening with a number of new songs recently recorded in Iceland – all of which bode well for the forthcoming second solo album (and score highly in their very adept use of swearing).

As the set progressed, the confidence and banter grew, in part to a very warm reaction from the crowd – with a noticeable partisan element for a festival audience.  The music as well was wonderful, with Grant ably supported by a violinist-cum-soprano and a piano/synth player.  Favourites from the first album including Sigourney Weaver, Marz and Queen of Denmark were very well received before Midlake joined the action for a cover of an Alice Cooper number I cannot for the life of me remember the name of…

3.            Midlake (Fri)

In ‘Roscoe’, Midlake have written, for me, one of the finest songs of the last ten years and are definitely in my top ten bands of the same period.

Closing Friday night in front of a packed Garden Stage crowd, the band lived up to all expectations with a set largely comprising numbers from The Trials of Van Occupanther and The Courage of Others albums along with some new material.

The whole Midlake package just works beautifully well – harmonies and melodies in perfect collaboration giving a warm and natural sound which allies almost magically with the lyrical matter.  There is in equal measure a strength and tenderness to the music throughout the set, with both elements amplified when the band let loose on numbers like Roscoe and Head Home towards the end.

I hung around for ages afterwards, a little bit overwhelmed by it all, watching as band and crew dismantle everything.

2.            Toy (Sat)

Toy were without doubt the ‘find’ of Reading Festival the week before and a must-see at End of the Road.

One of the great achievements of scheduling across the stages at End of the Road is the overlap (or rather lack-of between bands.  Yes there are inevitably clashes to deal with over four stages, however each one empties to virtually nothing after a band has finished – allowing fans of the next act, if so inclined, to get as near to the front as possible.

So I did.  At the barrier, dead centre, and boy was it worth it.  Watching them set up, I’m not sure where they got their kit from but there’s some lovely stuff onstage, including an awesome, battered, Fender Jaguar.

The gig, as at Reading, is a triumph – improved only in volume and sound terms by my advanced position in the crowd.  Alejandra Diez’s keys wash over increased depth of colour and noise across what would on its own be a ferocious shoegazey attack of guitars, bass and drums.

It’s worth noting as well that Toy are really lovely people, as evidenced by another encounter at the Rough Trade signing desk, almost to the point of being a bit over-awed by the pace and scale of their burgeoning success.  Quite how they are dealing with the torrent of attention they’ve received since the festival I don’t know…I hope they are enjoying themselves though and that they make the most of it – on recent initial showings they certainly deserve to.

I very much look forward to seeing them again at Heaven in October.

1.            Grandaddy (Sun)

Grandaddy were the reason I went to EOTR this year.  The line-up looked impressive beforehand but the day they were announced was the clincher in persuading me I could do two festivals within a week of each other – both financially and physically.  I’d seen Jason Lytle solo before but never the band as a whole and had become pretty much convinced I never would.

News of their reformation had been thrilling enough, but the chance to finally see them generated and sustained schoolboy levels of excitement for months beforehand and I wasn’t let down.

A last minute failure of the backdrop visuals did nothing to dampen what was an amazing set, finishing off a brilliant weekend.  Lytle and co confirmed their position somewhere way beyond ‘just’ Americana – weaving in ethereal and cosmic elements to lyrics and tunes painting the great American landscape.  A.M.180 was glorious to the point a very much sober me very nearly (and very embarrassingly) lost it in my reaction to the opening bars.  The Crystal Lake one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen or heard and everything else wasn’t far behind.

Special mentions for the weekend also go to…

• Hannah Cohen (Fri) for a completely beautiful stripped-down cover of Neil Young’s Transformer Man…
• Cashier No.9 (Fri) – for, as I had hoped, a stomping dose of amerindiecana to kick Friday off…
• First Aid Kit (Sun) for one last ray of (Scandanavian) Laurel Canyon sunshine over the weekend…
• Woods (Sun) for another complete surprise – stumbled upon them with no prior idea of a band sat somewhere between Buffalo Springfield, Grandaddy, Howlin’ Rain and British Sea Power.  Lovely stuff…

Reading 2012 Top Ten

My favourite acts of Reading 2012, in rough order of preference from 10 to 1 (in no way far less detailed than the EOTR ‘top ten’ due to alcohol intake).

10.          Star Fucking Hipsters (Fri)

Along with The Cast of Cheers, the best band name at this year’s festival.

Conveniently, this punk supergroup of sorts were also very good.  Playing to a busy Lock-Up Tent on Friday afternoon, the band rolled out a bracing set of New York punk sat somewhere between the bouncy fun of Fat Wreck Chords output and generally spikier lyrical content of Jello Biafra’s Alternative Tentacles label (they have recorded for both).  The band clearly enjoyed themselves and an infectious, smiley, approach throughout the set very much endeared them to an attentive crowd.

9.            Billy Talent (Sat)

Another Lock-Up act and one of my friend Tommo’s favourite bands.  Canadian band Billy Talent were a lot of fun.  Their sound combines a broad range of influences – from punk, through post-hardcore, emo, ska and indie – with a greater depth of subject matter than most peers, similar in some ways to the likes of Bad Religion.  Marginally unnerving that the singer speaks in exactly the same affected voice that he sings with.

8.            Cancer Bats (Fri)

Cancer Bats polarized opinion somewhat amongst our group and were for some ‘a bit much’ so early on the Friday.  I loved them, especially the hardcore version of Beastie Boys’ Sabotage.  Reading’s main stage, year by year, is increasingly devoid of heavier acts – giving way to the ‘hip’ – and Cancer Bats countered that trend beautifully.

7.            Mastodon (Sat)

Continuing in the vein of Cancer Bats, Mastodon brought a refreshing weight of noise to an otherwise fairly mainstream Radio 1 tent.  I couldn’t name a song (regrettably there was no outing for the recent Flaming Lips cover from Record Store Day) but it certainly felt good.

6.            Graham Coxon (Fri)

I am not, it should be said, the world’s biggest Blur fan.  I am however a fan of Graham Coxon’s solo output, which always appears to be something of a release for the Buzzcocks fan in him that is never quite let out on record with Albarn and co…

The most impressive thing with Coxon is him being so at ease with a guitar – ridiculously so.  If one were able to mute the gig I’m sure the assumption would be that very little at all was going on, when in fact he is generating waves of psychedelic noise filling out perfect little pop songs.

5.            Mark Lanegan Band (Sun)

The crowd was sadly very small for someone of Lanegan’s stature and heritage with arguably one of the best voices of the last twenty five years.  He is though very much the type of artist on the periphery of Reading line-ups these days with few early nineties acts ever getting a look in, however good they might be (Dinosaur Jr have faced similar issues here in recent years).

In spite of the modest audience though, Lanegan and band treated us to a terrifically dark and brooding set of material from across recent solo albums.  There was typically little engagement between songs, simply a seeming rise in volume and intensity with each track.  Finishing with a stunning ‘Methamphetamine Blues’ from Bubblegum, I know he’s attracted a few new followers from across my friends and I am sure a good few other folks.

4.            Me First & the Gimme Gimmes (Sun)

I have wanted to see Me First & the Gimme Gimmes for a long time.  For those unaware, the Gimmes are a US punk supergroup – catering specifically in punk covers of very much non-punk songs from the worlds of popular music and theatre.

I was thrilled when they were announced in the Lock-Up Tent on the Sunday night.  Slight annoyance at a clash with the Foo Fighters’ headline slot was reduced when it became apparent they would provide a welcome break from the Foos’ three hour set (I love the Foos and I love Grohl, but three hours is too long).

The hour or so’s set was tremendous fun and tongue-in-cheek to the end, performed in front of a small but committed crowd.  John Denver, Elton John, Judy Garland, INXS and R.Kelly never sounded so good at the end of three days of dangerously high alcohol consumption.

3.            Toy (Sun)

Toy had been recommended by a number of friends from a variety of quarters – the collective description distilled down to something like ‘Krauty Psychey Noisy Shoegaze’.  Which sounded great.

And it was.  They made a lovely noise, a really lovely noise.  Reading definitely needs more shoegaze.  See my End of the Road 2012 favourites for more thoughts on the band.

Off to see them at Heaven in October and very much looking forward to it.

2.            Joy Formidable (Sun)

A fifth year in a row for Ritzy and co., by all accounts at the request of celebrity fan D. Grohl esq, playing later in the day.  The Welsh trio have become one of my favourites in my recent years, making big expansive pop songs which live invariably break down into bigger extended walls of noise.

Last year they did a more than admirable job of opening the main stage on the Saturday (which must be the worst slot to play at the Festival, after everyone has overdone it on the Friday) but it was good to see them back in the confines of a tent.  The set was great – what now feel like ‘classics’ from the first album alongside some lovely new material from the second – currently in production.

I reckon we’ll see a sixth straight year at Reading next year, much higher up the bill.

1.            At the Drive-In (Sat)

AtD-I were the band I was most looking forward to at Reading, by some distance.  I am a big fan but had never seen them.  I’ve seen follow-up project Mars Volta, including a thrilling 45min, 2 song, set at Reading maybe ten years ago, but never thought I’d get the chance to see Cedric Bixler-Zavala and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez in this incarnation.

There was a degree of risk to the whole thing.  Only recently reformed, they are a volatile outfit and I imagine it wasn’t out of the question the gig wouldn’t happen.  I’m so pleased it did.  They were amazing and everything I could have possibly hoped for – driving, screaming, noise melded with huge tunes and rhythms in structures loosely similar to songs.

I love this band so much.

A tale of two festivals – Reading and End of the Road

I go to Reading Festival every year, or at least have been for the last twelve.  I’ve been to a number of other festivals in this time, although by no means as consistently and certainly never at the expense of Reading.

This is in part laziness.  I live in Reading and so do a good deal of close friends.  The Festival is on our doorstep and has become something of an essential institution/event for a variety of overlapping social circles – no matter which bands are playing.  It is also an excuse to leave outside any sense of care for our livers, self-respect and general sense of good behaviour.  We camped for a few years but even then home comforts were never far away and nowadays it is just a fifteen minute commute on foot to the pub in the morning, prior to heading to the site.

Indeed, going to Reading has more often been at the expense of other, usually smaller, niche, festivals which has bothered me increasingly in recent times.  This is with particular respect to Green Man and End of the Road – each a week either side of Reading and presenting both financial and logistical challenges as a result.  Each though also always had a far more focused (and dare I say in recent years far better) overall line-up.  In the same way I am hugely envious when watching (a sunny) Glastonbury on the TV, it’s been gutting to miss Flaming Lips at Green Man or Wilco and Yo La Tengo at End of the Road.  Admittedly I’ve made up for it a couple of years with the brilliant Primavera in Barcelona but that’s a whole other story.

This year the decision was made for me.  I was definitely doing Reading.  At the Drive-In were playing and, well, why wouldn’t I…?  Then a reformed Grandaddy were announced for End of the Road on top of the likes of Midlake, John Grant and Jonathan Wilson.  Grandaddy?  Fuck.  I was definitely doing End of the Road.

I had clear expectations of both – the 90,000 strong mess that is Reading, followed by a sensible, mature, muso’s weekend in the rolling Dorset hills.  What follows are some thoughts regarding the two, having been to both a week apart, which are not quite the polar extremes I thought they would be.  My thoughts on specific bands at both festivals can be found separately on the blog…it is interesting to note though that three bands make my top tens for both festivals.

Reading

Reading is, to all intents and purposes, horrible –although this is by no means a bad thing.  One simply needs to be comfortable with being drunk, at best fairly grubby (all the way up to plastered in mud with a quite unique odour) and hopeful there will at least be a reasonable amount of music one likes each day.  Because there is nothing else to do.  You also need a fairly high tolerance of A-level students gone feral (or 30-40 yr olds gone feral, ahem).

Once you are OK with all of that, Reading is awesome.  For us it is an occasion where pretty much anything goes (and no-one minds), the music is at the very least sufficient and there is very little trouble for an event of such scale.  This is admittedly coming from someone who, along with a number of friends, maybe should have grown out of it all by now.  ‘Dress Sunday’ has been sadly absent for a couple of years now but I’m sure will make a return in the near future and in the meantime we will always have Bananaman dry-humping anything he can pin down.

I have grudgingly come to accept over the last five years or so that the Reading line-up is no longer specifically designed for me or my peers, being twice the age of a good deal of other festival goers.  The initial line-up announcement is invariably met with derision and upset as the Main Stage “just gets worse every year” (which, for the record, it does).  That said, by the time we’ve had the full line-ups for the tents there is always enough of interest – whether known or to be discovered – and when it’s good it’s very good.  This year we were treated to some wonderful stuff from the likes of Graham Coxon, Mark Lanegan, At the Drive-In and Toy.  In recent years, for every Bombay Bicycle Club there has been a Pearl Jam, for every Passion Pit a Morrissey, for every Yeasayer a Weezer (who gave us potentially the best Reading set ever).  Outside of the big names I’ve also discovered some of my favourite ‘new’ bands in this time lower down the bill at Reading – The Joy Formidable, Manchester Orchestra and The Hold Steady amongst them.

Equally it could be said that Reading has lost its identity a little over the years as well.  I’m sure this isn’t quite the case, but there is a slight sense that, at the end of the season, Reading loses out on the first pick of artists to the other big festivals earlier in the year – certainly to the likes of Download and Sonisphere.  Long gone are the days of ‘Reading Rock’, or even the tradition of an overall heavier day on the Sunday (or indeed anything that is very heavy at all).  The concentrations are by and large these days either emo or deck-shoe’d-indie but there are always surprises and standout artists to hold one’s interest.  The Lock-Up Tent is curated brilliantly from a punk perspective and retains a fiercely loyal following year after year (I’m sure there are some folks that don’t leave it all weekend) and the other tents retain an eclectic mix of artists away from what is generally a pretty mainstream main stage.

(as a point of interest, as I finish writing this, Gideon Coe is replaying a glorious Mercury Rev set from Reading 2001 – oh for the days)

As noted above, there’s not really a lot else to say about Reading once one is done with music and friends and alcohol.  The food is pretty terrible, the beer not much better and both are savagely over-priced.  As far as camping goes, it is bearable as one gets further away (no, a long way) from the arena – anywhere central and you will not sleep unless completely comatose, but the kids are OK with that, which I suppose is fair enough.  The key point here is that Reading is ALL about music and friends and alcohol – and long may that be the case.

End of the Road

It was always my intention for EOTR to be a far more sober affair than Reading, just a week earlier.  This was in part anticipated, and ultimately determined, by the fact Reading turned into five full days of drinking which would take its toll on my physical, intellectual and emotional states.  Initially, it was even the case that I was just going on my own, as opposed to with a group of twenty to thirty friends.  In the end I went along just with my friends Stephanie and Theresa – an occasionally sober and always entertaining pair (think the Odd Couple but with added Chanel).

The EOTR line-up, for me, always looks brilliant – everything loosely hanging off an Americana core – hence the longstanding frustration of not going.  I am convinced even that I will never again get a festival bill constructed as perfectly for me as I did this year.  The signs had been especially good this year since Bella Union announced an increased presence of acts by way of their 15^th birthday and boy did they deliver.  The likes of Midlake, Grandaddy, Jonathan Wilson, John Grant and Patti Smith amongst many other provided for a truly brilliant line-up and the various organisers/bookers should be very proud of what they achieved.

EOTR is much smaller than Reading, in terms of both population and geography – the time it takes to get from any stage to your tent wouldn’t get you out of the arena at Reading – let alone near a campsite.  It is also a far more pleasant setting, in the rolling hills of north Dorset.  Everything seems so well thought through – nothing is too far away yet it never seems crowded, albeit for a relatively small number of people.  Even the scheduling of bands on the day, whether more by luck than judgement I don’t know, seems to work perfectly.  One is rarely, if ever, prevented from seeing the acts they want to with each stage emptying almost to nothing after a set and allowing fans of the next performance to take their place.

It is more than just about the music as well, with a variety of quirky activities hidden in amongst the trees to cater for gaps in one’s clashfinder (admittedly I passed on the elvish massage, taking solace in the Rough Trade Record Tent – which was genius, albeit financially damaging).  The bars are awesome, with a genuinely wide selection of decent beverages, and the food even better – no bog-standard burger vans or chips with toxic curry sauce to be seen anywhere.  All of the food stands were independent artisan affairs and very good quality.

Camping, admittedly in fairly decent weather conditions, was comfortable with reasonable facilities and showers.  An unexpected downside to the whole experience though was the inability of families to make use of the ‘family camping’ area – itself equally as big as the main area.  This may sound petty, however I think it’s fair to reserve the right not to be woken up in your tent by the screaming toddlers next door at 7.30am.  You cannot ever get back to sleep in a tent, let alone with a hangover.  I’m sure equally that Mum and Dad weren’t thrilled when we returned to the tent a bit pissed and little bit noisily at 2am each night – however it was their decision to camp there.  I’m not sure whether it was a degree of thoughtlessness, defiance or even arrogance that they wouldn’t be resticted to a different area?  Thoughtlessness at best…  I won’t go on about it, I have no problem at all with children going to festivals but the pushchairs in general were a shock – the fucking things were everywhere – and when the rains did come the poor old Teepee Tent near enough became a crèche/pram park.  I didn’t really ever see there being that much enjoyment in the overall situation for either the kids or the parents.

It was a certain level of arrogance that left me with my one overall reservation about the festival.  There was an underlying sense of misplaced cool across festival goers of all ages – as if it were the place to be, as determined by The Guardian.  Don’t me wrong, the majority of people were lovely, but another section seemed to hold a certain degree of ‘entitlement’ with respect to whatever they were doing or wherever they were.  I honestly hesitate to use the phrase, at the risk of accusations of inverse snobbery, but there was a genuine sense of it being a bit of a ‘must-do’ middle class weekend away (I’ve heard similar, and stronger, reports about the likes of Secret Garden Party and Wilderness).  It was obvious as well that as good as the line-up was (and yes I am most definitely a music snob), it was apparent that the real qualities and talents of many of the acts was lost on a proportion of the EOTR crowd – to the point one wondered whether they were having that much fun at all.

When mentioning EOTR to folks at Reading, very few knew anything about it.  When talking about Reading at EOTR though the invariable reaction was one of either dismissiveness or even disgust – by and large in ignorance.  There is no such sense of pretension at Reading, which seems odd to me, given that actually we are all more less going to either festival for the same thing.  Overall I know which crowd I felt more comfortable in – End of the Road though won on the music front by a mile.

Summary

So there it is.  A rushed, wildly subjective, all too personal and probably at times unfair view of two festivals which I’m not sure actually says very much at all.  Sorry.  I had an amazing time at both for very different reasons but am struck, caveats aside, that they are not so different as I originally thought.  Music is the most important thing, food and drink next and the folks at both are an acquired taste.

There’s talk of us (the Reading lot) also doing Glastonbury next year.  I’m not sure if that will be a step too far to be honest.  I last went as a teenager in 1995.  Is it too big now?  What is the ratio of pushchairs to adults there?  Can we cope with a whole week’s camping anymore?  Can we cope with a whole week drunk?  What if it rains?

We’ll see…what’s fairly certain is that of course I’ll do Reading and very likely EOTR as well.

Carter USM…thoughts from a thirtysomething…

So the Pynchon project is still very much alive, but in a prolonged state of hibernation – hopefully back up and running in a couple of months time.

In the meantime something of an artistic departure with a few thoughts on Carter USM, following a thoroughly entertaining Friday evening seeing Jim Bob on the ‘Touring Jarvis Ham’ jaunt at Play in Reading.  I have already written this piece once, never mind if only in a Peroni- and Red Stripe-fuelled head walking home, and I am pretty sure that version was better than this one will be.  Still, I will do my best to recount the more pertinent points.

What became clear on the night was the extent to which Carter have been an enormous influence on my love of music, from formative early teenage years of the nineties onwards, and remain important to me today.

My friends and I, around age 13/14, first became aware of the band around the release of The Love Album in 1992, largely through a number of elder brothers – all part of West Berkshire’s burgeoning but sadly short-lived UK indie scene (post-rave, pre-grunge).  ’Scene’ is also probably a bit much as no-one played any instruments and bizarrely we didn’t even take in any of the now fondly-remembered local Thames Valley movement – rather everybody was into Neds, PWEI, EMF and Carter.

We quickly fell in love with everything grebo – even if in part through fraternal peer pressure and the ongoing quest for adolescent acceptance.  Carter were favourites by a distance though – not least because the singles were overall more accessible to young ears – and through the stories passed down of the danger and excitement in braving the moshpit at their gigs.  The songs also were our first exposure to anything other than largely mundane pop lyrics and subject matter, instead providing witty, acerbic, sometimes political views of life.

As brief a period as it was, for a year or so not a school or youth club disco went by without requests for Sheriff Fatman, The Only Living Boy In New Cross or similar – resulting in the evacuation of all girls from the dance floor along with what now I can only imagine was a hilariously lame attempt at moshing.  All of us were also in proud possession of Carter t-shirts – generally 101 Damnations, 30something or as in my case the Test Card.  We all had the albums on cassette but none of us would see them live at the time being that bit too young.

There was a parallel influence for me at that time as well, involving the likes of Guns n’ Roses and no little amount of hair metal, which resulted in a somewhat schizophrenic confusion in musical appreciation for a while – but that is a story for another time.

Grunge and Britpop came and went throughout the rest of my teens and slowly but surely I discovered the things I was really into.  For a long time Carter were no longer at the forefront of playlists or mixtapes for me but remained all the same amongst the punk, folk, psych, soul, rock and metal underpinning my collection today – if only through a second-hand CD of Straw Donkey and the odd frantic drunken airing at indie discos.  I’d make many new friends in this time, generally a bit older, all of whom had grown up smack bang in the middle of 90s indie and from whom I would both learn from and share with a love of Carter and much more besides.

So by 2007, with news of a formal reunion following a one-off performance in memory of Wiz from Mega City Four, the announcement of a Brixton Academy gig signalled enormous excitement and anticipation amongst a group of us.  Some friends, who’d worked with both bands in the 90s, had been at the tribute gig and reported back its success.  We duly got tickets for the ‘one-off’ reunion gig at Brixton, and what a night it was – everything 13 year old me could have hoped for and more.  The energy of both the band and an adoring crowd of all ages was awesome and the songs timeless.  We’ve subsequently been to three out of the four ‘one-off’ Brixton gigs in the last few years and have loved every one.  I confess I can’t really remember all of them, thanks to always hitting the Red Stripe rather harder than necessary, but I know I enjoyed them.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from last night’s gig, beyond it being both spoken word and songs, though had an inkling it would work.  And work it did.

Play is a great venue for this type of night – small and intimate enough for readings, yet with enough space for the songs to shine.  I have not yet read the new book, however the excerpts we heard were engaging and funny and I most certainly will.  The songs, both solo and Carter material, come across tremendously well in an acoustic setting.  Stripped back from dirty guitars and drum machines (themselves always entirely welcome) the stories and messages stand out in a way I’d never stopped to consider before.

There is always a sense of the shambolic – not least with the closing Carter song raffle – however it fits with memories of the band and the scene and only serves to charm – never frustrate.  My friend Pete and I both left the gig commenting how impressive it had been and how it had affirmed our longstanding love of the band.

All in all, I now feel like I have experienced three ages of Carter – from the clumsy introduction to indie in my early teens, through raucous middle-aged nights at Brixton Academy to Jim Bob doing the literary acoustic thing (and even a recent cover of Mr Blue Sky).

Anyway, enough.  This is far longer than I had planned and probably too personal and occasionally fawning to the point of disinterest.  So one last observation…A number of friends never ‘got’ or ‘don’t get’ Carter, which is their prerogative  of course.  However they are wrong and those of us who do are right.

Ben (still 13 yrs old…sort of)

PS Oh. Also – Jim Bob – something that’s been bugging me for a while now – I think shortcrust pastry will serve you better than flaky for that tart…

Soundtracking Gravity’s Rainbow…

Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon is my favourite book.  Published in 1973, it is a wondrous, sprawling, hysterical, disturbing, metaphysical satire set in and around both imagined and real events of World War II – notably the German development and deployment of the V2 rocket bomb and its impact upon the lives of an enormous number of people.

I was introduced to it (and Pynchon) by someone I met on my gap year in 1998, while staying at a bush camp near Halls Gap in the Grampians National Park – about 150 miles west of Melbourne.

She was English, tall and attractive in a laid back, intelligent, stoner, fashion, and I’m pretty sure her name was Rebecca, although she was known as Wallaby and was going out with the camp leader, having settled there for some time on her travels.  Slightly older, she was ridiculously intriguing to teenage me – both physically and intellectually (girls I had known growing up in rural Berkshire had generally been horsey, occasionally good looking, but never remotely arty and even less interested in me) - and on my travels all sorts of artistic and cultural leanings were stirring (I would very soon after discover Jeff Buckley’s Sin-e ep which would change many things going forward as well).  Our brief encounter lasted all of three days, but has stayed with me forever – largely because of this book – introduced around a drunken campfire evening as something, wide-eyed, I simply had no choice but to try.  A week or so later I arrived in Adelaide and sought out a copy…

Gravity’s Rainbow is hard work, be in no doubt, and not conducive to completion without the recognition you need a significant amount of time to get through it and maintain engagement without too many interruptions.  Certainly not when travelling around Australia with only random opportunities to visit the book.

Over the next month or so I probably started it a dozen times, never getting past the first fifty odd pages before having to start again after some time away.  The vast array of characters; jumps in and out of their consciousness; and myriad plot lines were partly responsible for this, together with an overall level of complexity - sentences seemingly pages long, that with any other book would result in giving up completely after a couple of attempts. What keeps you going though is the quality of writing and level of detail, which for me at times verges on the magical.  It was actually the case that continually revisiting the first few chapters was on one level frustrating but never ever a chore - a perverse pleasure despite desperately wanting to get further in.

There are moments throughout the book where a couple of pages, or even a couple of paragraphs, could be removed and, out of context, stand alone as pieces of art.  I could read them over and over, again and again and again.  In the same way, I suppose, that one can listen repeatedly to the same song of a favourite artist or album, without tiring of what it gives you in any or all of emotional, physical and imaginary terms.  This is proving not unhelpful with respect to the ‘soundtracking’ concept of my current efforts.

Moments such as:

- Pirate Prentice’s banana breakfast – covering all of the historical, the horticultural, the haute (cuisine), the hungover – amazing the reader with wondrous smells and textures.  More to come in the next post around the soundtrack, however I have (and I have no idea how) happened upon a period 1940s piece – Ausgerechnet Bananen – a Germanic version of Eddie Cantor’s ’Yes We Have No Bananas’.  I cannot tell you how pleased I am with myself about this. It will be on the final tracklist.

- Or the bureaucratic smegma of Slothrop’s desk – almost verging on the geological or archaeological in layers and ages - physically placing you amongst it all, a la Land of the Giants, to explore a new world before returning to the story.

Such instances are just stunning, beautiful, in both their craft and its effect.

Eventually, exasperated, I packaged Pynchon up with a consignment of souvenirs, photos and travelling paraphernalia to be sent back to England.

I arrived back home about nine months later.  The box with the book turned up, after seemingly a longer overall trip via SeaMail than I had undertaken on my travels, about six months later.  I like to imagine it travelled for a while with pirates in the south seas, maybe experienced the wonders of the Orient, saw Suez, wintered in the mediterranean, before arriving back in the home counties.

Some time after its return to me, around the turn of the century, I finally set about the book in a concerted effort to finish it…