Is This The Way The Future's Meant To Feel?

London Fields # 92
First published Inpress (Issue # 1176), Melbourne on 1 June 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1062), Sydney on 31 May 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

I’d walked within a hundred feet of Placa de Catalunya only the day before. From a distance I’d seen banners flying and heard the sounds of speeches being made and murmurings of discontent. Not long before sunrise on Saturday morning I walked through the tent village set up in this square at the centre of Barcelona, trying to interpret the signs and placards. Elections are nigh and unemployment, particularly among the youth, is phenomenally high. What I hadn’t realised that an attempt to clear the area by police ahead of the weekend’s final between Manchester United and Barcelona had resulted in a reported 99 casualties requiring hospital treatment.

When travelling, you want to feel that you’re on holiday. Maybe a few days away from the misery of world news events can be a holiday in itself? So once the volcanic ash cloud had cleared, I was happy to blissfully spend a few days without radio, TV or rolling news. Yet this meant that it was only by the way Jarvis Cocker’s introduction to Common People at the end of Pulp’s first official reformation gig as part of Primavera Sound 2011 that I was aware of what had taken place earlier in the day minutes from where I was staying. With music happening on site for around 12 hours of the day, by the time you’ve commuted, eaten, slept and recuperated from the previous day, you’re heading back to the festival grounds again, leaving little time to partake of the host city. No one would think twice if you went to Reading and only saw the bands; but in Barcelona such an act seems almost criminal.

Primavera Sound takes place at the end of each May in Parc de Forum, a huge seaside construction of concrete bridges and piers - massive architecture that dwarves people that is sure to feature in dreams to come. Its location often brings a cooling breeze and even though it’s doubled in capacity since I was last here four years ago, the layout of the site means it’s pretty easy to get around most of the time. While the overall site has also expanded considerably, the area around the main stage can now barely cope with the sheer weight of numbers, so to get a decent vantage point (or at least one where you can see the stage and not just the screens) now means arriving considerably early for the biggest names. Despite all this the thing that marked it apart of UK festivals of a similar size was how aggro-free it was.

With stages programmed by ATP, Pitchfork and Vice, there was a wide variety of acts on show and a series of speakers placed at audience level in the pits on every stage meant that a stage-side view no longer involved sacrificing decent sound. But the biggest innovation this year was one which may change the face of festivals - the smart card and Portal system. This was effectively a way of making the festival cash-free; you transferred money electronically or in cash at paypoints at the festival and this was to be the only way you could buy drinks on site. To encourage you to transfer money in advance, the card was also to be used to pay for reserved spaces at size-restricted stages. The aim of this audacious plan to replace the previous system where you bought raffle tickets (that expired at the end of each day) to be used in lieu of cash at the bars. Any money put on the cards was non-refundable, so that which was unspent went into the organisers’ coffers. Yet many food places took cash only and the collapse of the entire wireless system on the first day meant the system had to be scrapped and bars started accepting cash. Yet despite the teething problems I can see that this will be the way that festivals will progress.

This week hasn’t just been about the bands. I’ll take home memories of the masses of men standing around outside the site running a cottage industry of beer reselling, the city-wide celebrations at Barcelona’s football victory, 15 foot marionettes negotiating the city’s narrow streets, crowds of leather men crowded into a small smoking area outside a gay club, a toy shop which had a train set running through the entire premises, and mostly what a wonderfully liveable city Barcelona appears to be (as long as you don’t partake in peaceful protest). And now when I should be out enjoying this brilliant Sunday afternoon, instead I’m inside writing this, listening to the city’s beating heart through my open window.

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 52
Drum: Published on page 58

Life In A Day

London Fields # 81
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 August 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

The English midsummer marks the height of the festival season - each weekend events jostle for attention and audience. Yet over the past few years there’s been a new type of event gaining popularity - that of the day festival. Usually at this time of year you’d find me at the Truck Festival at Hill Farm, Steventon in Oxfordshire. 2010 marked its 13th year, and it’s hard to think of a better combination of music, atmosphere and good vibes as this event continues to offer. But circumstances made it impossible for me to get there this year, so as compensation I decided to check out some of these newer day events. While these give you a festival experience without stepping out too far from home or having to camp, the trouble with holding them in urban parks is the enforced sound restrictions If it’s loud enough for the punters inside the fences, it’s probably a nightmare of shuddering windows for nearby residents. Yet when you use more high-tech directional PAs, it does really restrict the area in which paying audience can experience good quality sound.

The first thing that greets me as I arrive at the dusty expanses of a very dry Shoreditch Park in Hackney is an enormous queue. This it turns out if for VIPs and those on the free list . As I’ve bought my ticket for the third Shoreditch 1234 Festival it turns out I can walk straight in - well almost. The security searches are vigorous, and apparently they’re under strict instructions not to allow any food or water entering the arena. In front of me a woman gets into an argument with them as they take exception to a small box of nuts in her handbag. Her friend diffuses a rapidly escalating situation by taking them herself and tipping them into the bin. Nearby someone says they have special food with them due to a gluten intolerance - they’re told they have to eat it now or toss it. God help a diabetic carrying an emergency Mars bar. Inside are three tent stages, and one main outdoor one. Some of the acts I catch during the day include S.C.U.M, Dum Dum Girls, Vivian Girls, Rolo Tomassi, and Bobby Gillespie’s new covers supergroup The Silver Machine. Later I wait fruitlessly for These New Puritans to fix a catastrophic equipment failure which sees everything seize after a single song; it is in vain. But the real reason I’m here is to catch the only London performance of Peter Hook’s take on Unknown Pleasures. On the whole it’s better than you’d think it might be, although Hooky’s air punching gets a bit tiresome, and it is weird that his son who plays the iconic bassline to She’s Lost Control.

You’d be hard pushed to find a more corporately branded event than Ben & Jerry’s Sundae On The Common, yet the way it is done doesn‘t make it feel too much of an imposition. Like the end of an episode of Sesame Street, it‘s continually drummed in that today was bought to you by Fair Trade and a multinational company which loves the planet. This is the sixth year of Sundae and my third visit and while ticket prices may have nearly doubled in the last two years, at around £17 they’re still very reasonably priced. You couldn’t get an atmosphere less like the 1234 Festival After yesterday’s experience I have nothing with me; of course today anything is allowed other than drugs, glass and alcohol. It’s is genuinely a family-friendly event, and early in the day the bands tend to be seen as a mild distraction - the real attraction is the free ice cream.

Although officially opening the day, Barnsley’s Exit Calm are my main draw card and they play a headline-worthy set. Rob Marshall’s anthemic guitar lines are loud and clear whilst singer Nicky Smith paces up and down like a caged tiger, seemingly ready to explode into violence at any moment. Simon Lindley’s fluid bass and Scott Pemberton’s tight stick work complete the sound and it’s really damn impressive. When an act can hold a stage with such well-informed self-belief, it won’t be long before they’re topping the bill at events larger than this. Later in the day Frightened Rabbit explain that even though this is a family event if they only chose numbers with G-rated lyrics they’d be down to a two song set. So it’s business as usual - thankfully. Billy Bragg doesn’t have his hands down the front of his trousers but his undies on the outside of his jeans - for Pants For Poverty. His set includes a sublime rendition of Must I Paint You A Picture? as its subject used to live on the other side of the Common. doves close the day, and this is their penultimate set before going on a long hiatus. It all feels a little tired, and only on Kingdom Of Rust do I see again the band I used to love so much.


© James McGalliard 2010

Three Seasons In One Year

London Fields # 47
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 26 December 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

If you look at the news cycle, it was as though nothing of note happened in the world in 2007. Blair may have abdicated and passed the throne seamlessly to Gordon Brown (the invisible PM), but things seem mainly unchanged. Yep, there may well have been wars and disasters, but most of our attention was seemingly drawn to Celebdaq-style events.

Amy Winehouse may have ended the year Back To Black as the best selling album of 2007, but sometimes it was hard to remember that she was a musician (except when it came to odds on whether she’d show up at her own gigs). Pete Doherty, who must have been well aware of the pattern, then became part of the Winehouse saga when he paid her a visit. Earlier in the year the vexed question of whether the various z-listers had been racist came from the misleadingly named Celebrity Big Brother. And the year ended with outrage that Fairytale Of New York had to be censored for play on BBC Radio 1, but they soon backed down from their immovable stance. Were these all distractions from the real news?

Over on TV, Spooks has spent the last nine weeks preparing us for the breaking of ties with America, and Iran gaining nuclear capability. Is this TV drama preparing a complaint public for possible futures, a production trying to be gritty and edgy, or just another distraction? The TV networks have been a news story in themselves this year, with rigged results from premium rate phone lines. While this has spared us the late night horrors of Quiz Call and The Vault, over at Aunty it’s caused the BBC to suspend all competitions. Their studios must be overflowing with promotional tat, as they’re not allowed to give any of it away.

While some got hooked on Heroes, it faded into insignificance next to Battlestar Galactica, which, after stumbling slightly in the second season, came back with some of the tightest drama on screen this year. Summer Saturday evenings meant Doctor Who, which returned with a very strong season, marred only by a messy(anic) final episode. But the great British public were obsessed with reality shite like I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, talent contests like The X-Factor, or worst of all, series to cast West End musicals (Grease and Joseph And His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat). Yeach! Only The Apprentice seemed to rise above the mire, but even it had been dumbed down in its move from BBC Two to BBC One; its repetitive formula saved by the candidates and Sir Alan Sugar himself. Charlie Brooker continued to relentlessly dissect the medium in his weekly Screen Burn column for The Guardian, and on his own show Screenwipe on BBC Four. However the best thing on TV this year was Skins – proof that drama can be innovative, involving and original, even if its target is ‘only’ adolescents.

Summer was a lukewarm washout; Glastonbury was a mud bath, July’s Truck Festival was washed into September, and other festivals were postponed or cancelled, while some went bankrupt. In the high street, record shops went belly up, or were bought out, sending us back online to buy specialist items. There were some great songs this year, but few great albums. Many of the previous hopes released lacklustre second efforts; only Bloc Party produced an inventive and mature follow-up to their debut album. Similarly Devastations may have alienated some with Yes, U, but it was the most rounded original and consistent work of their career. But The Twilight Sad was easily the highlight of 2007; their debut album displayed a new original voice and their deafening live shows were each special, different and unique.

The introduction of a total smoking ban was the biggest change for gig goers, and caused problems in venues with a strict No Passouts policy, particularly where this was more a matter of protecting their high bar prices rather than anything else. A continuing pattern was the firework career arc - acts get too big too quickly, and may sell out large shows but can’t satisfy the crowds they draw. This hype also plays into the hands of the scalpers - and prices go up, and gigs are full of idiots who have no interest in the music. These large gigs then become a chore, so I’m almost glad that some acts never broke big so I can still see them in smaller venues. While iLiKETRAiNS’s debut suffered from being too much at the one pace, their live show is still great; Fields are another band that sadly didn’t cross into the big venues, but put on a great live show. Sadly no-one but me picked up Apartment’s The Dreamer Evasive and it seems that they’ve now gone into indefinite hiatus. But some of the best bands of 2007 were an older generation, raging against the dying of the light - James, Grinderman, The Blue Aeroplanes and Gallon Drunk.

2007 was the year summer never came; the year Tony Wilson died; a year that we focused on the wrong things; and a period when BBC 6Music lost many of the presenters that made the station special; a time that dumbing down seemed to be the order of the day. It was a year with few highs or lows. Yet some of the new acts I’ve seen recently at least give me more hope for 2008.


© James McGalliard 2007

Here Comes The Flood

London Fields # 42
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 8 August 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

While no one thinks of England as a warm, bright, sunny country, this non-summer is getting beyond a joke. Already the days are getting shorter, and each week presents another cloud-filled long-range weather forecast. On the few days the sun has shone, the pollen count has been sky-high, which has been great news for manufacturers of antihistamines, and other allergy relief, but awful for the rest of us.

I’m sure the flooded areas of this country will fail to see any humour in a poorly timed release of a film where Steve Carrell has to build a second ark. People have died; families lost their homes. The Truck Festival was washed out, and will now take place in September. Lodestar was cancelled, and the site of the Reading Festival is under inches of water.

But is this lack of a summer making folks gruff and moody? I don’t know if it’s sun depravation, pollen allergies, irritation at the smoking ban, or just something in the water, but I keep witnessing scenes of unprovoked sheer bloody-minded behaviour. Like the mindlessly aggressive bloke at the recent Grinderman gig – although he could have just been drunk.

Grinderman have grown and progressed from their live debut at All Tomorrows Parties back in April, and you shouldn’t miss the chance to see them when they tour Australian in October. What they do is dark and primal, but it’s the palpable menace that makes it so good. Live they are the house band from the Titty Twister of From Dusk Till Dawn – a band for which cage dancers would seem right and just! While Get It On and No Pussy Blues are obvious standouts, the opening Grinderman instantly sets the mood, the maracas sounding like a rattlesnake preparing to strike.

For Go Tell The Women, Nick Cave struts along the front of the stage, holding his guitar like an assault rifle, picking out the three note riff as though he was an axe god. This is visceral, energetic and vital. This is about living dreams – during the encore Cave momentarily becomes the vocalist of Suicide. While Marty Casey’s bass is the glue that binds it all together, this is the sound of a unified purpose, but not one lacking in humour. Yep, they were so good that even an aggressive idiot who made me disappear to another part of the venue couldn’t detract from the evening.

Meanwhile, at a recent show at the Barfly, I came across the worst audiences I’ve experienced gig-going this year. Like the woman who pinched inside armpits as he drilled her way though, followed by an ‘excuse me’ over her shoulder. Or the coiffeured idiots talking really loudly during the quiet support act. Oh, hang on – those insensitive chatterers are the headliners – Palladium. There’s always a risk in seeing a band blind. Now Palladium have already had coverage in national papers, even before their first single is released. Even though the band is on a major label, this first single is a limited run of 500 on 7” vinyl only. This technique in generating hype was spearheaded by The Bravery, and makes your first release rare even before it’s released, and hence worthy of attention.

But that precedent should have been warning enough. A mate who regularly attends gigs with me bailed by their third song. Hoping for a glimmer of light, I resolutely stayed until the end. It’s a great idea to mine the path of the big rock of the late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s – think Supertramp, think the theme from Cagney & Lacey. But while this could be so good, the band has forgotten to write any tunes. What you’re left with is rock - Alan Partridge style! Yet they already have a devoted following and maybe a great producer will even manage to find a seam of gold amongst the quartz (though they’re going to have to be bloody lucky).

However this month both the biggest disappointment and the greatest joy came while seeing The Blue Nile close the Manchester International Festival. At times this was heartbreaking, like watching a prize racehorse run lame. Maybe after some perfect shows previously, my expectations were too high? But the live mix was bass heavy, with the vocals and guitars mixed down, and the drums way too high in the mix. Which only served to emphasise some unnecessary business by the man behind the kit, which distracted and detracted from the whole. There’s an old joke that runs “the difference between a drummer and a drum machine is that you only have to punch the beats into a drum machine once!” Maybe they needed to punch a bit harder? Still, it was a joy to hear Stay, and the rendition of Family Life, with Paul Buchanan’s outstanding voice complimented by a simple piano accompaniment, was an emotional and musical highpoint, and easily my gig highlight of the year so far.

© James McGalliard 2007

Sorted

London Fields # 40
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 13 June 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

I remember my first Glastonbury Festival. It wasn’t planned - I only bought a ticket a few days before. We heard the world premiere of the new Stone Roses single One Love on Radio 1 while driving down from London, and then hit the four hour bumper-to-bumper crawl to get onto site. As night fell I was separated from my friends, and then the rain began to fall. I spent that evening sheltering inside my sleeping bag, cocooned within two black bin liners. When I caught up with my mates the next day, it turned out the ‘tent’ that they had for me had no floor and a ‘Cowboys and Indians’ motif on the side. Luckily it didn’t rain again. Those were amongst the most enjoyable days of my life.

Of course, Glasto now sells out in a matter of hours, and it’s a lot bigger than Pulp’s twenty thousand people standing in a field - this year 175 000 people are expected for that weekend at end of this month. Watching the TV coverage of the 2005 event, it seems our former camping pitch has become part of the crowd area - video screens allow a much bigger audience to feel they’re part of the event. You’ve got to admire the Eavis family for keeping it all together, but the real joy of Glasto was the community spirit. And when things get so large, it’s hard to keep that intact.But there are still smaller gems to be found.

The end of April found me at the Dirty Three curated All Tomorrow’s Parties event at Butlins holiday camp in Minehead. It was a surreal experience, holiday ‘chalets’ from a Carry On film, a real mix of people, a proliferation of beards, and best of all, no aggro. The audience ATP attracts is there for the music, not to be a prick.

Then earlier this month I was in Barcelona for Primavera Sound, which was easily the most trouble-free and organised event of this kind I’ve ever attended. Sure there were minor quibbles – the queues to buy vouchers to exchange for drinks, the late nights [bands coming on at 5 in the morning catches up with you by the third day], and the sound spill onto the Rockdelux stage [at one point so loud that it stopped Warren Ellis midsentence]. But although there were no outstanding highlights, it never felt overcrowded (except during The Smashing Pumpkins), and (like ATP) it was great few days with nice people and good music.

This month marks 18 years since I left Melbourne, and three years of writing this column. And following some recent discussions with readers, artists and promoters, I think it’s important that I make this point: I’m a punter! Nearly everything you read about here has been paid for; I’m a long way from the ligger’s list {which is a shame, as all the press bods at Primavera enjoyed free local brew in their own enclosure for all three days}. So I write about what interests me, and what I spend my money on – so it is from a limited perspective.

But perhaps you too get annoyed at exorbitant booking fees for gig tickets, or idiots who talk all the way through gigs, or folks who block your view by taking crappy pics on their phone every 20 seconds. That’s why big gigs are out - no V Festival or Reading, and although I enjoyed it last year, I’ll even be giving the smaller Get Loaded In The Park a miss. However, in July I’ll be heading to a farm in Oxfordshire for the relatively small Truck Festival (which has sold out before the line-up has been announced). And I’ll be descending with 5000 others on Hackney’s Victoria Park one Saturday in August for the inaugural Field Day, which aims to create a village fete atmosphere in the heart of the East End (and it has a great roster of bands over four stages).

Maybe if things keep getting too big, people will revolt and make their own way. Whispers are making even the mainstream press of free parties in the English countryside. Forget nu-rave – could 2007 turn out to be the third summer of love?

© James McGalliard 2007