oneintheear: Fat White Family

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Wednesday, 1 October 2014

Beacons 2014

I can't stand the rain ... against my window - that's Tina Turner for you but it's obvious that the bow-legged one with the large pipes has never camped. Rain against your window is fine but rain inside your tent is not. Beacons, a three day festival in Skipton, offered some of the most challenging camping conditions we'd ever encountered in the form of the fag end of Hurricane Bertha. This flatulent beast ran amok through the site on Sunday evening, shutting down areas, causing mass muddage and big leaks. Camping in it on the night itself with the legs of the tent going all akimbo was an act of extreme endurance. Thank god for downers otherwise the puddle in one side of our temporary home could have been called a problem.

At the same time, while we'd never been wetter, Beacons was a totally fucking wicked vibe which made you remember that London is not the centre of the universe. Far from it. This event, catering for a fraction of the size of the audience crammed into similar musically bent parties in the capital, showed you could get fairly splattered but without feeling like a bog eyed hen in a really small cage. While it was a highly debauched couple of days, it was all tinged with an air of the civilised. Our trip from the train station to pitched tent took minutes rather than hours. The beer (the beautifully titled Ringmaster) was much nicer and cheaper than the Turborg we’d become accustomed to. No queues for either the bars or bogs was another large tick in the Beacons box for sure.

The music was also totally on point with the likes of Fat White Family, Neneh Cherry, Ralph Lawson, A Love from Outer Space and Jackmaster filling our ears and minds with total stimulation. Sleaford Mods also kicked some serious arse with their twitchy, speed-fuelled rage against the 9-5.

While the day after the (final night) before was hard, it also meant we got to experience the joys of Skipton. Turns out you can get a full English for less than £3, a juicy pie for less than a pound and a three bedroom mansion with a yard and garden for the same price tag as a bread bin in Stoke Newington. To Right Move and don’t spare the horses.

Vera Lynn

Wiggy

Looking fresh

Steez

Saturday, 31 May 2014

The Great Escape 2014

If you'd gone down to Brighton during the start of May for a certain whole weekend, then you'd have been in for a mild surprise. Instead of the chip engorged seagulls swaying above you like obese pterodactyls, bickering familes and braying vegans, you may have bumped into another demograpic - it would have been there skulking about the Lanes, doing the zombie shuffle and masquerading as the music biz. At least what's left of it. For it was the weekend of the Great Escape conference, an event which likes to describe itself as the UK's SXSW (supposedly the ultimate such event of its type - mainly cos it's in Texas), but in reality isn't quite as good. There are loads of bands playing. Loads. Many of them are pants. The few good ones shine like such oases of talent that your chances of getting in to the small venue to see them are slim to totally 'no chance mate you might as well go throw yourself into the sea'. So queuing is what you do. Then queue again. Then queue a bit more.

But we did have a good time although this was due to the sheer depravity of some of the behaviour on offer. Many, many drinks were free as, due to the generosity of few big brands (I'm looking at you here Heineken - thanks!) branding everything so we could toast the biz and the seaside. Drink is what we did, the freer the better. The first day was all about the conference, then drinks, then more drinks, then finding the cosy hotel, then really going for it with the beers. At half one in the morning we were roaming the beaches shouting. At five tings had got slightly more sedate with the Radio 4 podcast coming out. 6am was sweet oblivion before the alarms went off at 8 and it was time to get up for breakfast. Friday (and in fact the next few days) were quite a struggle. This struggle was made slightly better by not visiting the press room. If you ever do go to TGE, then try and avoid the press room. The amount of air kissing in there is off the chain. It probably does one good to cosy up to some of the mothers in there but, to coin a phrase, you can't put lipstick on a snake and pretend it's not a snake. Can you? Even if you close your eyes you'll still here it slithering.

The best thing we saw by miles was the Fat White Family - the queue was ridiculous but the creeping sense of dread, seediness, plus song quality put everything else in the shade. Even though they must reside in the dark. But they blew us away big stylez. Big up the Fat Whites...