The Wing- Commander and I (together with YD and chum) arrived at sunny Chelmsford a little after 12:00, in time for the first acts of the day. This year, as per last, it was spread over five stages: two out-of-doors (the main stage and the Channel 4 stage) and three tents of varying sizes (Vmobile, JJB, and the little one with the folk acts on that we never actually got to). The JJB tent was about twice the size of last time as presumably they learnt their lesson from the sheer number of people who attempted to get into see Girls Aloud and increased its capacity. In fact, the festival overall seemed a lot more crowded and as both were sell-outs it would seem that they have been given permission to grow the number of attendees.
Right – so who did we see then. Well, first up with The Dodgems, a kind of straight-ahead rock band with a John Bonham copyist drummer (he even had the Bonham logo from the Led Zep IV album tattooed on his arm). Enjoyable enough but a little one-dimensional. We then headed over to the main arena as that is where the only decent coffee vendor is located. where Rodrigo Y Gabriela were playing their Django-esque gypsy guitar thang, dropping a few classic rock riffs into the mix as audience pleasers (e.g. ‘Wish you were here’; ‘Smoke on the Water’). Enjoyable enough but not quite in the same league as the sublime Jimmy Rosenberg who I saw in Amsterdam a few weeks back. Fully caffeine charged we then went to the C4 stage in time for one of the tips of the day, The Hours.
Now I have a friend who loves The Hours. In fact, OD really rates them too, but watching them live just confirmed my view of them. They have all the right components to make a fantastic band but there is something inherently soulless about them. They have songs which should soar but instead meander; they have lyrics which are clever but not as clever as they think they are; and rhythmically they are just too rigid – they sound like a band who record with a drum machine (which clearly they are) so everything has a kind of metronomic click to it. It is a bit like having partner who feigns passion but you know that in their heart of hearts they’d rather be screwing someone else. So, in other words, disappointing.
We then took a little stroll around, catching the last numbers of both Passenger and then The Goo-Goo Dolls before descending on Vmobile tent where we encountered Unklejam. Who, I hear you ask? Exactly. One of the things I like about festivals is going to see bands that you have never heard of and being pleasantly surprised. So were they good? They were blinding. A kind of cross between Sly and the Family Stone, Cameo and OutKast, and led by three camp male soul singers, they had great tunes, great musicians and posed like crazy. And the whole band wore sequins, just because they could. Highlight was a funked-up cover of ‘Seven Nation Army’, but their own tunes were just as strong, especially the closer ‘What am I Fighting for’. Splendid stuff.
After that high, and with nothing particularly taking our fancy (well, we saw the opening number by The Cribs but they sounded as awful as they looked), we strolled over to the packed-to-the-gills JJB tent for the last half of the human lollypop, Sophie-Ellis Bextor. She was much better than I would have expected; very confident on stage, a very slick band, and a rather sparkly blue dress. She played her two biggest hits so we were happy. We then moved off to the second ‘tip of the day’, current press darlings Cherry Ghost back at the Vmobile stage.
Having never heard them (or at least, that was what I thought until I recognised the two songs which closed their set), I was a little cautious when for their opening number they sounded like join-the-dots Echo and the Bunnymen tribute act. However things got better and despite the singer’s vocal similarities to Ian McCulloch/Adrian Borland, the songs were very strong and they invoked an atmosphere that was sad yet uplifting. A bit lacking in stage presence but an act you could easily see had spent a long time developing their craft. A kind of more serious version of Keane, only – thank God – less obviously commercial. Certainly worthy of the plaudits they are currently receiving. We liked them a lot. After we then sauntered back to the main stage to catch the last half of a dull and workmanlike KT Tunstall before The Fratellis hit the stage.
Now I am rather fond of The Fratellis. Their album was one of my favourites of last year. To me, they are in the tradition of good-time pop-rock outfits such as Slade, Madness, and, well, possibly Mud. What soon became apparent is that they have become the anthem band for the beer-swilling twenty-something for as soon as they hit the stage the crowd went nuts. Bodies were crowd-surfing, beer was flying through the air, and everyone was singing along. It reminded me of a Saturday night in a seaside resort town centre. Good natured, good humoured, but pissed and noisy. Enjoyable enough but not particularly somewhere I’d want to go back to. I’d look at the photos once in a while and smile though.
By now it was nearing six and we’d been standing-up for ages so it was time for tea, doughnuts and a sit down. We did this whilst listening to Mika warble his ‘camp-as-Freddie’ glam hits, occasionally looking at the screen to see lots of people on-stage dressed in comedic costumes (hello… Flaming Lips anyone!). The kids loved him, and by that I mean the mentally under 12s. Oh, and Scissor Sister fans.
From then it was off to see Bedouin Soundclash do their reggae ‘ting. What a popular band they are! The Vmobile tent was packed to the gills and everyone was singing along like crazy folk. They do reggae like The Clash used to do reggae, i.e. almost there but not quite, although that is meant as a compliment. From there we moved back to the C4 stage for the last half of Lily Allen (the WCs a fan; don’t ask me why). She finished with a rather insipid cover of ‘Heart of Glass’. What the reasoning of this choice was lawd alone knows (perhaps she is trying to establish a link to female pop acts of yore, or is it just because it is an easy song to sing?). Either way, it was a lousy cover. Then it was back to the tent for the first half of Tiny Dancers set. I really like this band, in a cheesy, Radio Two, pop stylee. I saw them at the ICA earlier this year and they were fab. However they suffered from what we may call ‘Kasabian’ syndrome (i.e. the most popular band playing the entire festival which meant that everyone else’s audience diminished greatly). So whilst Bedouin Soundclash had the place packed to the gills thirty minutes earlier, it was virtually empty when they took the stage. “Thanks for coming to see us”, the vocalist said. “We appreciate it. I know Iggy and the Stooges are playing so if anyone would rather see them, we understand if you left”. At this point their keyboard player got up, and walked off stage (ahh… but he came back on again). Its moments like that which endear you to a band. That and the fact they stuck in a verse of ‘Afternoon Delight’ mid-way through their best known number ‘I will Wait for you’. However, they were of course right, and the reason we only watched half of their set was because as far as the W-C and I were concerned, Iggy was to be the highlight of the day. Thus we sauntered over to the JJB tent in time for the start of his set.
Until we arrived, we were concerned we might not get a good view, but the pulling power of Kasabian meant that we got quite close to the stage before he started. And were The Stooges put off by the fact the tent was half-empty? Hell no. They were dynamite. Pop was all over the place like a madman. Climbing the lighting rig, jumping onto the bass stack, throwing himself into the crowd. And rather than stand at the back and clap politely, John and I opted to mosh and so, for the first time in many years, I found myself in the middle of the leaping throng, just a couple of bodies away from the stage barrier, as the Stooges delivered in supreme visceral style. Ignoring their new CD, they focused on tracks from their first two albums and so we were treated to thrashing, feral versions of songs like ‘1969’, ‘No Fun’, and a sublime ‘I Wanna be your Dog’. Their 45 minutes flashed by, closing with the title track from Iggy’s last solo album (although they all played on it) ‘Skull Ring’. He may be 60 but by God the years haven’t phased him. An abject lesson in what rock and roll should be: no pretensions, no artifice, just loud guitars and passion. Supreme.
So, how do you follow The Stooges? Well, back to the main stage for the day’s headlining act, The Killers. Very enjoyable, very slick, very pretty. Crowd loved them and we thought they were good too. They surprisingly encored with a cover of Joy Division’s ‘Shadowplay’ as the W-C and I headed out of the throng and back to the Vmobile for the last four numbers of Graham Coxon’s “hello, I may have been in Blur but now I am re-writing the Buzzcock’s back catalogue” set. Good stuff, in a music-hasn’t-progressed-since-the-late-seventies style. By then it was 10:50, the festival was closing and time to go home. We met up with YD and her chum Kiara who described the day as ‘amazing’ and the best act as Basement Jaxx (who, of course, I didn’t see). It did take us nearly two hours to get out of the car park though, which was a bit of a bummer (especially as last year we just drive straight out).
Same time next year? Ooohh… I think so.
PS The Wing-Commander took the photo of Iggy with bassist Mike Watt in the background. Splendid snap or what!
The Wing- Commander and I (together with YD and chum) arrived at sunny 
