Venue:
Victoria Park, London
Date: 01/06/2018
With security more akin to the Hyderabad/Heathrow flightpath, I joined the steady throng marching past the bemused shopkeepers of Bethnal Green, an area just beginning to display a beard or 3 of hipster gentrification. It looked like the whole of this delightful park was devoted to the 10 day extravaganza, that had begun the w/e before with a 3 day event, then 4 days of free and then a final separate trio of days. I had signed up for saturday and sunday, topped by the National and by Nick Cave respectively.
A little muzzy from a night on there lash with my son, where we had hit all 3 of the venues commended by Grace Dent in her Guardian resto review of the day later, I needed a little calm to start the day. So up first for me came This is the Kit, the excellent Kate Stables project for her quirky modern folk, offset by shimmering guitar in sharded chordwork, clattering yet taut drumming and the unusual pairing of tenor sax and bass clarinet, frankly the delight of the arrangements. Kate shifts twixt banjo and guitar, but, oddly, what works so well on record, somehow sounds like different bands playing at the same time. Well received but somehow an opportunity lost. Next up were Public Service Broadcasting. A sceptic thus far, I was prepared to give ’em either two pennorth or two fingers, rather being swept away, a delighted convert. Strangely, and as I have said elsewhere, they reminded me, sonically, of peak period Chumbawamba, albeit in a parallel universe, where they had come together in the Oxford Union rather than a Leeds squat. The sync of the screens and the onstage music/samples was astonishingly tight, with more than enough live oddness to show this was way more than press button and perform. A 3 piece brass section augmented the 4 piece band to moving effect: with much of the setlist culled from their latest opus, a paean to coal mining in Wales, the brass was a warm and evocative contrast to the sampled dialogue quirkery. Terrific and I definitely needed a beer to cool down afterwards. (And definitely needed some product, duly picked up at Rough Trade on sunday morning,)
A mosey over to the main stage had me just miss the start of Cat Power. With, I think, little new material, this was a wonderful hour. Looking distinctly fragile, and hot, in what looked like a velvet dress, sipping herb tea, she gave a hypnotic performance of bewildered beauty. Especial mention for the guitarist/keyboard player, who knew exactly how little to play to give the necessary ambience.
There seemed to be strong love for Future Islands. Knowing little I gave them my ears, lasting a song and a half, the posturing of the frontman and the plodding synth-pop doing nothing for me. Plus, of course, enabling me a prime site near the front for hotly anticipated War on Drugs.
And they were fucking brilliant! Hitting the ground running, all extended workouts (wig outs?) propelled by yankee motorik drums, often 3 keyboards, often 2 guitars, occasional sax and flugelhorn, it was hard to believe there were only 6 musicians on stage. I was honestly minded of an E. Street Band fronted by Neil Young at times, but Adam Graduciel has more than enough personality to be no mere copyist. Truly a defining moment. Shit, the National would have to be on top of their game to top this.
So were they? Possibly not, but enough memories filter back to say they were a credible headliner. With only one stage now active, it was rammed and I felt miles away, surrounded by well-lubricated enthusiasts who felt the point of the day was to whoop frequently and sing, in ragged “unison” at each other and at anyone trying otherwise to listen. Having first taken to the band from their televised Glastonbury show of last year, this was certainly not up to that standard, although ‘I Need My Girl”, like on that day, came close, and was my highlight. Matt Berninger seemed oddly subdued, his usual onstage wine swapped for water, a reverse miracle that had him minding me, vocally, more of Stuart Staples, and of how very good, on their day, were Tindersticks. Trumpet and trombone augmented the band, a recurring theme of the day, the warmth in that sound escalating the choral aspects of the music, particularly whenever the piano playing Dessner twin took to the piano. In the end it was the audience that annoyed more than the band enthralled, so I beat a sharp exit ahead of the uncertainties of whether they had time or permission not play an encore.
The audience:
Throughout the day a pleasant mix of ages and clans. Clearly a lot of beards and a lot of tatts, but spread from bumfluff teens to grizzled festival warriors. Good natured if overly so.
It made me think..
As experiences go, I have to applaud the organisers. The beer was good. OK, £6 a pint is steep for my midland pockets, but at least it was decent (natch) craft ale. A good selection of food outlets catered for any taste sought; I had eaten a massive egg, bacon and black pudding bap on the Roman road before, so didn’t need to try, but it looked decent fare and was priced without taking the piss.
Day 2 in comments.
So to day 2, and it was a scorcher. Food fans will want to know I again met my son for some brunch, this at the rather jolly NOLA, for eggs’n’gumbo, po’boys and a massive bloody mary. Suitably refreshed I made my way to the park and to front of the main stage to see what the fuss about Shame was. Noisy nonsense was the answer, meat’n’potatoes plodding around a singer doing his best to be channeling the ginger love child of Ian Curtis and John Lydon. Back to the b stage, where, just ahead of my dozing off, along comes @SteveT and brother, thence excellent company for the day. Nadine Shah kicked off the entertainment, a slightly less scary Bat for Lashes might be the lazy description, but her songs, sung in an agreeable low croon, were certainly decent. The band seemed a little too rent a session man, sterlingly competent just a bit bland. A special mention for the drummer who played the trick of both singing and clattering around the kit at the same time convincingly.
No room for equivocal views were allowed for our next treat, which indeed it was. Baxter Dury was a revelation, clearly enjoying himself to the max, as in can I have what he’s having. Vocally the spit of his dad, sharing also his dancing skills, he gave a huge performance, the band coming over like a cross between the Human League and Wire, 2 women on synths and vocals at stage front, Dury lurching between them and his piano. Ideal outdoors drinking music.
There now came a dilemma, as it was a toss-up between Patti Smith and St Vincent. Steve and I persuaded his brother to stick with us, but the worthy nature of Smith eventually drove him away. I guess starting with a posthumous birthday recital of Allen Ginsbergs’s Howl was always going to be asking for trouble. She falls into the category of someone I am glad exists for what she does, but she can, can she not, be a little difficult? However, via an inspired cover of ‘Beds for Burning”, actually @junior-wells, making it listenable as compared the original, she loosened up considerably, shaking herself and her grey mane as she launched into the prolonged intro to Gloria. By the end I was loving it. And she didn’t, astonishingly, play Because the Night.
Up last, with a return of our prodigal from the arguably comelier delights of St V: he said the musicians all wore funny headpieces was all we could get by way of commentary, came Cave. He and the Seeds a dot on the horizon, we could have done with the screens being bigger and being less artily B&W. But we got the gist, seeing that crazybeard Warren Ellis gurns and postures more than he plays and that more bands should have a dedicated tubular bells player. He was terrific. Launching with Jesus Alone, the opener from Skeleton Tree, he started with a selection of more his tone poems, all building up to frenetic cacophonous crescendos, almost over egging this facet of his style, before shifting into greatest hits territory, with a powerful ‘Red Right Hand’, with, a little later, a near solo ‘Into My Arms’, the audience needing little encouragement to join in. A surprise guest appearance, a very surprise guest, then appeared, Cave’s introduction of Miss Kylie Minogue invoking audible gasps from the crowd. And the version of ‘Wild Roses’ perhaps drew the biggest cheer of the night. Drawing to a close and it was another murder ballad, a long drawn out, quiet-noisy-quiet-noisy rendition of ‘Stagolee’, Cave extraordinarily bringing up the first hundred or so from the audience onto the stage, squeezing and tip-toeing between them , as he sat them all down, shushing them down, be quiet, be quiet. With a rapt sea of faces thus behind, to the side and, for miles, in front, all were left satisfied by a sterling closer of ‘Push the Sky Away’.
Cue, I don’t know, 40 maybe 50k people all leaving slowly and contentedly. I’m smiling more I’m memory than at the time. A consummate showman, I am glad I have finally seen him. A great line up, all in all, over the 2 days, and a good setting. Rain might have been a catastrophe, given the lack of cover and the limits on personal baggage, but, line-up willing, I would certainly come again.
Good review @retropath2.
Despite leaving before the end we had a little bit of an issue as we couldn’t find the car – we eventually located it just as the closing notes of Push the Sky away ended his gig. It was strangely loud outside of the park which I guess was indicative of the stillness of the air.
Was a splendid day made better by the weather.
Baxter Dury was the highlight for me plus the finale of Patti Smith’s set and Nick and his band. Thought the sound was excellent. Courtney Barnett a disappointment as live you miss the humour of her lyrics which are replaced by thrashing guitar which is not what I like most about her.
Disagree about Nadine Shah – by the way her drummer has apparently been with her since the start and writes a lot of the arrangements. Like her a lot.
Jings, forgot about Courtney Barnett, telling in itself. Her hypnotic and slightly compelling story tales came late in the set, by which the bombast had soured the taste.
Good review. Someone at work was telling me about this today, he echoed your thoughts about the boisterous sing-a-long-a-National crowd.
Curious line up in terms of how it pans over the 3 days -https://www.allpointseastfestival.com/presents/
Day one looks to be for 15 year olds (Blossoms…grrr) Day Two looks to have been programmed by the 6 Music playlisting board, sort of bands that wouldn’t scare the horses two much for older folk and would be lovingly embraced by 30-somethings who are thinking of ditching their Spotify account and buying “more vinyls” instead – and Day Three looks aimed at yer more mature crowd who wish Word Magazine was still going (cough).
Is the idea that you take your kids, endure horrific millennial Faux- Indie-Landfill bands like The Hunna on Day one and then by day 3 go “now then listen kids – here’s some proper music – The Psychedelic Furs..”
It’s more that it’s three separate one day events that take place consecutively in the same location. They’re ticketed as individual days, and I don’t think there were any multiday tickets on offer.