For a review of day 1 of the Haldern Festival see here
Haldern 2008
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Friday 08/08/08
Friday broke bright and clear, and with all memories of felt costume hell safely tucked away, the team wandered over to the Spiegel Tent to see the duo that is Dagons run through their trippy set. Starting off with a sitar and guitar, a set of droney, nihilist numbers were spat out. Half way through, the sitar was abandoned and drums were thumped. Incredibly, it made no difference. The songs seemed to sound exactly the same to what went before. A bit Gothic in spirit, maybe a touch of Mid-West cool and (as you may have gathered) very one-paced, Dagons didn’t really grab us, but didn’t really drive us to drink.
We don’t usually start off our reviews with recommendations, but really, you must go and see My Brightest Diamond. This girl can really deliver. Armed only with telecaster and a tiny drum machine, the artist otherwise known as Shara Worden knocked out a set of magical proportions and wide horizons. The great thing about her music is that it’s hard edged and thrashy as well as being complete dreamboat stuff. She clangs her guitar in a way we really like. And, as we’re sure you are aware if you have heard her two LPs, added to this brash, windswept and mercurial vibe is a voice that stops you in your tracks. Charming rather than kooky, she held the audience in her hand. Truly you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. Oh, and as a touch of light relief she electrocuted herself. Somehow this act only made the gig better if you know what I mean… What next? Bernd Begemann. Ah yes. Mr Begemann is a folk/cabaret singer of epic proportions. Imagine Barry from Eastenders finally snapping and running away with only a guitar for company, singing demented Jack Black-style songs of love and loss (but in German), and bouncing around in a way that signals his cares are far behind him and he’ll give you his underpants if only you’d ask… That is Bernd Begemann. On a more sober note, my limited German was enough to clock that he’s a funny, charming guy who likes a good time. Think about it, how many large, German-language only comedy singers hold your attention for a full set? Not many, fo’sho’. But he did. Well played sir!
Over to the main stage for Killians, who have been unhappily described elsewhere as the German Strokes. Luckily this Kiss of Death turned out not to be true. A good, powerful determined set showed them off to have more up their sleeve. Sure, they rocked out New Wave style. But it was far punkier and rougher edged than the Strokes, almost stepping into Damned territory at times. Top marks. More new wave came from White Lies who immediately set about sounding like the Cure, or a soft soap Bunnymen. Now, I have more Bunnymen records than most in my record collection, and I even have a Cure single or two. But my patience with bands that sound like them wore very thin long ago. And it’s not just considerations of fashion. The gig was alright, but so what? Until a band takes the Heaven Up Here template and goes one better (and sounds original and daring to boot) then I’ll just continue to play Heaven Up Here. Simple. It reminds this old man of all those C86/87/88 pop bands trying and failing to better Revolver. Luckily Jack Penate came on and cheered us all up. Penate’s enthusiastic pop and puppyish vibe is what anyone needs when the rain cascades. There was enough about his music to waylay any accusations of Kooks-style “Tommy Steele with leccy guitar” schlock. He was fun and talented for sure, despite not being our first choice on the old Dansette. Let’s hope he doesn’t go too far down the entertainer route.
Joan as a Policewoman encountered sound problems, so we repaired to the tent till things were listenable…
Interlude…
“And anyway I packed my case and ran to Dusseldorf airport, but I forgot to wear any shoes, and the man at security just looked at me… I got some very nice trousers, very expensive but beautiful material. And that’s the reason I got divorced... I was given this beret by a farmer, you can wear it for now but tomorrow I want to co-ordinate my clothes so you must give it me back... It’s raining, why is he eating gooseberries in the rain? He’s tripping. Yeah, but why eat gooseberries? And why clean the tables?”
Joan as a Policewoman’s set is now kicking in big time. The memories of her yawning one-paced chanteuse-athon in Den Haag earlier this year were utterly dispelled as the lady totally rocks out. Maybe it’s the massive afro perm she now sports. Whatever this was great, really great. Hell, how did we ever dismiss her as self-obsessed schlock? It’s cabaret to be sure, but committed, visceral stuff. This is the sort of eclecticism we like, rough and ready, trying new ideas with wanton abandon, hard headed and funny. More!
Kula Shaker
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It is early evening on the first day proper of Haldern. It is the time when this festival stops being gentle, stately and ordered and starts being loose. Even Kula Shaker, with their psych-by numbers colouring book sixties pastiche can’t spoil it. And whatever you think of them, they play a mean festival set, knowing when to slip out the hits, and when to go through the “I’m high and meaningful” routine. It’s them actor genes. We appreciate it and head back to the press tent.
Interlude 2
“You know, I live a boring life but I am wild, so to help things I like to take drugs... That woman is eating a candle with a knife and fork… can’t you stop her?... In the Ukraine, they throw money at you. I have seen this… Do you remember barking like a dog? Ah you must excuse me, for I am incontinent… Rolling Stone mag sucks, man… they say they’ve paid 100 grand for two tables, cordoned them off with tape and stopped anyone sitting there. I mean, how symbolic is that? And now they have the cheek to make up to us. We told them you could buy a cheaper set of tables on Bury market. And I told them their mag was like Antiques Collector, but it went over their pretty heads.”
Guillemots
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“Guillemots? Huh, boring text book eclectic merchants. Part of the New Studiousness. Unhip, man. Remember when they were here two years ago? Awful.” But wait, this gig was in no way the Guillemots we all hated. Shit they rocked out! The whole smug vibe has obviously been battered out of them if this performance was anything to go by. So transformed were they, we were convinced there had been a cancellation and a late line up change. And the singer had got rid of that loathsome hat. We left whilst they still battered the audience with their spacey sound, just to keep the memory intact, like.
In the Spiegel Tent, DJ St Paul deejayed. It was the teenage stuff you’d expect; and to be honest we instantly hated him and his smug “I know all about music” playground vibe. It’s just a continuation of the “I’ve got parents who buy me better toys than your parents” rap you were subjected to at school. Why don’t deejays realise this? There’s something so self evidently controlling about deejaying that brings out the twat in all of us, we admit. It’s the biggest teen power trip. And we’ve fallen for it too. So, our plea to all deejays? No-one knows everything about music. Even you. Still, we danced to Blitzkreig Bop and the kids enjoyed themselves enough to give Gisbert zu Knyphausen a great reception.
Savour this name for a moment; Gisbert zu Knyphausen.
Gisbert is a German-language singer-songwriter whose band is great and who sings like he means it. You know, straight down the line stuff with guitars and drums. Satisfying meat-&-two-veg rock. We’re struggling to think of any sonic comparison we could make, but the set had that “desperate in love” vibe of Elvis Costello’s I Want You about it. After the existential sneering of the deejay, this was refreshing stuff. Again, like Bernd Begemann, such was this lad’s inner power that we stayed the entire gig, despite everything being very, very German. If there was one criticism maybe he was a bit too earnest and at times mid-tempo, but we’ll forgive him that.
Off to Kate Nash, who was fun, fun, fun as a late Spiegel tent replacement last year but frankly shat herself on the big stage this time around. To be fair to her, when the sound boys wreck the opening two or three songs, it’s bloody hard to hold a vibe that thrives on intimate reflections and girly observations. Still, bless her, she summoned up enough pluck to do her hits justice and the audience were gentle and appreciative. Back to the Spiegel tent to see Lykke Li, who came on and began to play some very Maclaren-esque rhythms. It was all very BowWowWow at times, (which we like) but just the wrong side of clever/knowing/press the right buttons if you know what we mean. Why oh why do musicians nowadays feel the need to throw every sonic kitchen sink at their muse? This girl has bags of talent, and has phenomenal stage presence and is certainly no mug, but sometimes doing the dumb stuff is needed to get things going. And just as we disappointedly thought “wasted opportunity” the last two tracks blew the tent away. A cover of Can You Kick It? and a loosening of the vibe proved that sometimes being obvious is so much better.
Now we’re not bitter, hung up people, but there was no way certain members of our team would grace Editors with our presence. It’s just that we find them utterly devoid of charm. Before Loney Dear came on in the Spiegel Tent we popped out to get some air, only to hear enough of their lumpen, museless karaoke-Joy Division sound floating over from the main stage like a deflated gasbag to last us the weekend and more. All I can say is, like an old Trabant, they have two speeds: fast-ish (in a plodding way) and grindingly slow (in a constipated way). ‘Nuff said.
Back to Loney Dear. Now we’re a bit tired of all these soulful country tinged singers that are seemingly de rigeur nowadays, but we have a huge soft spot for Loney Dear’s hippy charm. After a lot of fussing with the sound, the band came on and played a beautiful set, a sticky-sweet paean to teenage love and hope. It was so clear-eyed that it almost made me want to be a teenager in love again. Even the comedy moment when Emil Svanängen (impossibly) fell over a huge balloon added to the event. Sticking around for the brilliantly named Bohren & der Club of Gore turned out to be a major disappointment. With a name like that you do not expect jazz; even if it is jazz with a doom metal sensibility. And just having the instruments visible in what was otherwise total darkness is really the stuff of sweating nightmares. Okay, maybe we’re being a bit harsh. It was a bit too existential for 3 in the morning.
Interlude 3 “… and there’s this glowing man coming out from behind a tent. And he’s selling beer. It’s 4am but I need a drink, and this man is huge, orange and glowing. I don’t know why he’s glowing. He’s just asked me if I want a beer, and I say, well, we’ll take four and he says, get this… he says, “why not have five?” It’s either utter nonsense or he’s incredibly sussed about something…”
Words: Richard Foster, Damian Leslie, Mariska van den Hoven.
Pics: Chris Mcdonnell, Damian Leslie
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