Day two began with a return to the Spiegel Tent. SoundsXP should have thought that something was up when a gentleman looking like Wurzel Gummidge on day release ushered us cheerfully in. Once sat down, fortified against any future shocks with a glass of something or other, we proceeded to sit through TonFisch, which turned out to be a children’s show. We should have known. Ah, it was fun, until the song about washing up at least, and no amount of indoctrination is going to make washing up fun…
Over to see Asaf Avidan & the Mojos who (from the distance we were at), initially sounded like a mix of Joan Jett and Joan as a Policewoman. And for a band boasting a very male lead singer that is no mean boast. They were good, mind; in a very AOR rock way. Let’s revise the initial judgement and say they sound like a mix of Joan Jett and Joan as a Policewoman, with a bloke singer who’s sucked on a helium balloon. Okay what next? Port O’Brien, that’s what. Yet another band digging on the wholesome country rock seam, and another one with a plaintive vocal attack that isn’t a million miles away from Neil Young; Port O’Brien actually started to craft a very good set out of initially unpromising beginnings. In a nutshell, they just keep plugging away. They have good songs (‘Sour Milk/Salt Water’ is a cracker), a modicum of charm and enough presence to keep an audience interested. On this showing, they were okay.
Temper Trap
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Back to the Spiegel Tent to see the Temper Trap; a band who many have hailed as the new “Bright Young Things” of guitar rock. At this point the sun had definitely got to me, as I thought someone had slipped a CD of U2’s Boy LP on. No, impossible… And anyway, no Bono-esque bawling, as the lad on vocals has a voice very reminiscent at times of Roland whatisname from Fine Young Cannibals, (or even Jimmy Somerville). The music is that classic major chord surge stuff, it’s been done a million times before but there’s no point complaining; essentially this is Music for the Young, full of hope, bittersweet love and tremolo ‘brangs’ and judders courtesy of the guitars. Like that can of fizzy pop, there’s a limit to what us oldies can take. But it’s great pop music and I wouldn’t be surprised to see this lot make a big mark.
One thing you can say about Haldern is that it is no respecter of reputations or sensibilities. This is sometimes seen in the (frankly) bizarre stage times or indeed stage billings given to artists. Still, sometimes these strange tactics bear surprisingly good fruit. Final Fantasy’s gig on the cavernous main stage was (after a very nervous opening) nothing short of magnificent. After all, it’s one fella, the gaunt, gauche Owen Pallett, with a loop pedal and a violin. How he kept a crowd with him was by sheer force of nerve (and some charming songs like ‘Hey Dad’ which SoundsXP have always enjoyed). How the crowd could see the stick-thin, wilting Palett (enveloped as he was in that vast space) was a mystery in itself. Still, by the end, this was a triumph, and a true festival moment. Back in the Spiegel Tent, Woodpigeon were proving themselves as a very good live act too, in that wholesome, rootsy way that seems to mark every band from Canada. Great tunes, thoughtful approach, a sense of space and melancholy with nary a hint of spite. Can’t any of them play with their mam’s make up bag or something?
This melancholy thing in music, there’s a lot of it about. Haldern was sweaty, drugged up with late summer sunshine and beer. It couldn’t move if it wanted to. The feeling of drowsiness was perfectly captured by both Noah and the Whale’s and Anna Ternheim’s sets. Two thoughtful acts playing somnolent, “widescreen” music. Ternheim has something, mainly a gift for melody but needs something else, as the gig lacked enough light and shade to make the perfectly enjoyable songs memorable. Noah and the Whale plodded on in a graceful manner, now and again throwing something strange and acerbic in their stew.
Being easy going was not on the agenda in the Spiegel Tent, where Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros were laying down a show of some thump and verve. A visual mélange of the travelling troubadours in Easy Rider and a Southern Baptist love-in, (albeit without the Christianity), Edward Sharpe’s band draw on the very ‘sixties, Hapshash and the Coloured Coat/ Amon Duul I tradition that sees lots of people playing lots of instruments, whilst jumping around in unison. We’re always very suspicious about these kind of acts (the Polyphonic Spree springs uncomfortably to mind too), as it all seems too bloody forced. But who are we to argue with hundreds of delirious Germans who had all seemingly decided to run off and start growing beans and living in caravans? Ah, unfettered, unbridled Youth…
Loney Dear
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Patrick Watson had also decided that the afternoon torpor must end. His main-stage set, (in which his band was eventually aided by members of Loney Dear), can only be described as cataclysmic. And it wasn’t really planned… Still, it did seem that the sound problems that had bedevilled the first 20 minutes or so, proved to be the set’s salvation. Watson decided that the best thing to do was to invite most of Loney Dear to join in a near half-hour impromptu jam that eventually saw Mr Watson and his guitarist in the crowd, singing along with some gusto. Following that brouhaha, Loney Dear played a standard Loney Dear set. For those who haven’t heard this, imagine folksy, very lovely, very winsome pop with plenty of crowd participation on the vocal parts (that’s one thing you can bank on with Loney Dear, crowd participation on the vocal parts). Patrick Watson’s band then trooped on, to augment the sound and bring the show to a tremendous climax. A fabulous two gigs.
SoundsXP can’t really say that Colin Munroe’s poppy muse grabbed us, suffice to say its smooth, lush textures had a good following in the Spiegel Tent. Once again, who are we to judge? Athlete, too, aren’t really our cup of tea, but we were surprised by the calibre of their new tracks, which have more character and bite, so fair play all round. More in our line was the magical Gravenhurst who has the rare knack of mixing a slightly irascible stage presence with some magical song-webs that leave the listener transfixed. The Spiegel Tent was half mesmerised and half high off the Patrick Watson gig, and to hear what was going on needed a fair degree of patience. Still, by the end, and a climactic guitar burn-out, even the chatterers were utterly won over.
After this we partied as those out in the sun all day can party, and listened to the ethereal sounds of Alexander Tucker and the Decomposed Orchestra in the backstage area. No stars to notice (save those in the sky), but given an illicit keg of beer and pleasant conversation who could wish for more? Et in Arcadia ego.
Words: Richard Foster
Notes and Revision: Ma
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Golden Grrrls - New Pop 7” 