there’s nothing like a wet tent to keep the spirits up.
there’s nothing like a wet tent to keep the spirits up.
Day the third; Saturday 5/08/06
Christ there’s nothing like a wet tent to keep the spirits up. Still once awake it was time for our annual schnitzel eating competition in the village and suitably stuffed, we set off back with hope in our hearts. After yesterday’s Warning from On High we were weirdly confident that not a drop would fall today. And we were right. A golden day ensued, enhanced considerably by the acts later in the day. We got there in time to miss GEM and in time to see the Rifles, who made a pleasingly thrashy, Weller-esque noise for half an hour. Good stuff!
At first I enjoyed them but then after about three or four songs they started to turn into a poor man’s version of the Jam. Once that happened, they just headed into the middle of the road and drove along there for the rest of the set. Shame.
Then it was time for one of the highlights of the weekend, Islands. Dressed all in white and pleasingly with two violinists on stage, they smashed out a passionate set built mostly around their debut LP. Their musical nature is evident, as their hard edged side, Where There’s a Will There’s a Whalebone was quite magnificent. You must go and see them soon.
Islands were bonkers.They are the world’s greatest school band. Proven by the fact that one of them played a recorder at one point. I didn’t see a triangle though.
Sadly Guillemots produced a stop-start, baffling set and seemed somewhat over-awed to be honest, I don’t think they suit a big stage as it has the effect of dissipating their quirky edges, which can be one of their strongest live suits. A band for you to check on a smaller stage no doubt. Still, on the evidence of last years London Calling in Amsterdam, they have something about them.
Following that was another disappointment, The Wrens who can be so uplifting and so much fun live, blew it all by starting with a disjointed and ponderous slow number which completely put the dampeners on the rest of their songs. Even hollered affirmations from the singer about how great Germany is couldn’t completely lift the sense of underachievement.
Ah now we must give them credit for inviting about thirty people onto the stage and asking them to hit the floor with drumsticks. They deserve points for effort, if nothing else.
All a bit of a damp squib so far, barring Islands. And next up were The Kooks, who ain’t exactly my band of choice. They are too obvious for my palette – without being talented enough to get away with it – too much like an indie McFly, I have to say.
The sooner they learn to write songs about anything other than an ex-girlfriend the better.
However on this occasion, rather like the moment in a football match when the flash young kid on the bench who all the older players really hate is introduced to pep things up, on they came to save the day with a great set. Their power pop nods to Televison were just what everyone needed, and the crowd visibly lifted. Fair play Kooks, I shall reluctantly hand you a gold star.
Paolo Nutini, have to say, never heard of him, but more fool me. If the Kooks were good, this lad was incredible, a future Van Dyke Parks? Well, maybe. Maybe his set was coloured for me by the fact that during the Kooks set I had indulged in a very surreal conversation with a legal advisor to the Austrian Government about squirrels (leaving me temporarily bereft of my senses) but hell he was good! Impossible to explain coherently outside of VDP/Macarthur Park references, this fella is going to be bloody massive. Incendiary were mighty impressed.
Following Paolo was the Manics’ front man James Dean Bradfield, who gave a very good set; I’m no Manics fan, I leave that to Mr. Leslie of this paper to love them; but hell, even I have to unreservedly say that there isn’t a better rawk voice around. Bradfield can holler with the best of them. Playing mostly his new stuff (with the odd Manics number thrown in), he left a very favourable impression on yours truly. Good band, tight sound, and even the odd grufty remark thrown about. One thing to mention is the presence of the highly gifted and utterly irrepressible Ed Harcourt on keys, who came on stage wearing what could only be a tye-die poncho… More of Harcourt later.
JDB was excellent, but then I suppose I would say that. Kicked off with a rousing Run Romeo Run and that just set the tone for the rest of the set. Very anthemic and quite lush sonic wise, JDB’s voice just deserves to be blasted out of large PA systems. Émigre was fantastic, as was the wonderful An English Gentleman but the highlight of the day and the best song played at the entire festival in my not so humble opinion was a quite brilliant This Is Yesterday. I even had a little cry at that point.
By now, sufficiently inebriated and freaked out by squirrels and Austrians, we settled in for some good old fashioned entertainment courtesy of The Divine Comedy. Oh how I love Neil Hannon, a true hero and surely a National Treasure. Possibly the best writer of intelligent standard MOR pop around, and a real successor to the likes of Bacharach in my books, The Divine Comedy tend to get dismissed these days as loungy and boring. How wrong you idle doubters are. I mean, for one – any band named the Divine Comedy are not exactly going to be short of ideas now, are they? New stuff was in order this evening; Mother Dear and Die a Virgin were obvious highlights as was National Express. Mr Hanlon took off his jacket and rolled around a bit too. A brilliant, brilliant gig.
Incendiary sadly missed The Twighlight singers so as to get into the Spiegel Tent to watch the genius of Ed Harcourt and the wackiness (well they had to be, their press photos showed them wearing bear costumes) of Kante. After a bizarre moment of disco dancing in the tent to Nick Drake,
Another highlight, Richard and myself pretending to be trees whilst listening to Pink Moon. Richard does one hell of a Silver Birch, I can tell you.
We prepared ourselves for Harcourt.
Despite utterances to Incendiary earlier in the day as to the state of his wellbeing, Harcourt was on top form; a passionate, loud and very emotional set including the stellar Born in the Seventies.
He sweated a lot too…
At one point he was rather bizarrely joined by James Dean Bradfield on maracas. That doesn’t happen every day does it? How in fuck’s name Ed Harcourt isn’t a star is beyond us. He’s got talent in spades. Sadly we missed Kante as Mr Harcourt’s boundless generosity meant Incendiary were able to taste a great deal of his whisky backstage. Kante, according to reputable sources, rocked. What a day. Squirrels, ponchos and Austrian government health warnings. It doesn’t happen anywhere else but Haldern, let me assure you.
If we’re ever allowed out again we’ll be back, that’s for certain.
Words: Richard Foster and Damian Leslie
Click here for Day Two