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End of The Road (Friday): Yo La Tengo / Robyn Hitchcock and John Paul Jones / Jim White / John Doe / Stephanie Dosen
Larmer Tree Gardens, Dorset
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Article
written by Ged M
Sep 27, 2007.
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There are twice as many people at End of the Road as at its debut last year but with a 5,000 capacity it still feels small and comfortable. And it’s now taking on a distinct identity, a mixture of Americana and indie bands - that is, the ones who deserve to be called “indie” and not the indiekit mob with guitars and skinny jeans that clog other festivals like turds in a sewerpipe. This year there’s a comedy stage (which I never manage to see) and a cinema (ditto) plus the Somerset cider bus, giving you a choice of intoxicants. Latitude sounds like a contender but for me EOTR remains the smallest and best fest. One of the upsides of EOTR is location in the heart of the Dorset countryside. The lack of artificial light makes finding your car in the parking field a bit panicky after midnight but otherwise gives you the elemental pleasure of seeing a whole hemisphere of stars and the soft skein of the Milky Way running through it. As city girl Angela from Babyskins says (according to David Herman Dune): “it’s like a planetarium – but for real”!
But as Friday afternoon is wet, we begin the Howe Gelb curated programme in the Local tent. This is probably the best location of the week; with the capacity of a small club, it can quickly generate a good atmosphere and the line-up - especially on Sunday – is imaginative and daring. We start with It Hugs Back, a Kent band who sound like a mellow Pavement. Then the sound of ‘Comes a Time’ draws me into the Big Top where high school teacher by day, singer-songwriter by night (or in this case late afternoon) Kate Maki is onstage. She comes over as a countrified Neil Young or Jolie Holland and doesn’t need her behaviour management skills to force appreciation from the crowd for a smart and witty performance. Back to the main stage after that, but the initial buzz we get from
Willard Grant Conspiracy’s string-driven alt-country dies away as we realise it’s as dry as the deserts they sing about. The great thing about EOTR last year and this is how easy it is to move between stages when one act disappoints. Back in the Local tent, Napoleon III amazes all with his off-centre kaleidoscope world of pop. He’s now added a band but still cedes centre stage to his fine looking tape recorder. Then it’s outdoors again for Wisconsin’s Stephanie Dosen, just as the heavens start to open. I decide not to abandon her as other shelter-seekers do but it’s tempting. I can’t go much beyond singer-songwriter or “child of Joni” to describe her, and I enjoyed her expletive-laden banter a lot more than her songs.
John Doe is the legendary founder of X and now looks impressive with those Mount Rushmore features and the cold stare. He starts solo, with dusty tales of the West, before he’s joined by Howe Gelb and band and things just take off - the real band leader side of him comes out so well it’s strange he plays alone now. Following a quick departure to sort out accommodation in a village down the road (no cold and spider-infested tepee for me!) I return half-way through Jim White’s set. His Americana tales are told with real soul and enhanced by the personality of the man introducing them; once feeling cursed, even suicidal, he’s sorted it all out now and wants to share his good fortune with us. He’s honest, earnest, and incredibly funny in that understated way that keeps you chortling hours later even though you can’t remember what he said.
Midlake are a great disappointment. The magnificent ‘Roscoe’ is obviously a highpoint (a song composed in waves, not verses) but the other songs sound exactly like the records and it’s not helped by their static delivery. And does anyone need that many keyboards on stage with them? Another swift relocation; this is the week that tickets for Led Zeppelin’s show went on sale and two million people registered for £125 tickets; we’re able to see one-third of that famous line-up for a fraction of the price!
Robyn Hitchcock and John Paul Jones were playing together in the Big Top with Jones on mandolin and steel guitar and Hitchcock playing guitar, singing and chatting. In truth, it was a curiosity rather than a real pleasure. Hitchcock’s always been a favourite of mine but he’s gone through phases; he was the cheeky schoolboy in the Soft Boys days and iconoclastic artist with the Egyptians and now he’s into his elder statesman days, with a bit of rude uncle thrown in. He’s still got the surreal banter but his Barrett-touches are getting as grizzled as his barnet. The evening ends back in front of the main stage for Yo La Tengo. They’re confident enough (arrogant even) to play exactly what they want to, from loud grunge rock to quiet lullabies, bubblegum pop to extended krautrock drones and expect us to listen. Which we do, because it’s a lesson in musical virtuosity: James McNew and Georgia Hubley in particular are a killer rhythm section. For an encore they provoke a crowd singalong to their version of Sun Ra’s ‘Nuclear War’. I never thought jazz would be the last thing I heard (and was happy to hear) before I turned in for the night!
Untitled Document
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