Festival Review: Glastonbury - Oh Me Oh My What Can I do

Oh, the anxiety. I took my eye off the ball and missed Glastonbury Festival tickets going on sale last year. For the first time since 1991's naked adventures, it looked like I might not go. It sold out and my 'off the ball eye' is an idiot.

I set my mind to not miss the resale. For the past six months, Glastonbury Festival has been set as my homepage in Internet Explorer. I've witnessed every festival update and invite. I've hurt my brain with the detail.

The resale was today. Was I successful? I don't know. A friend got through to the website and entered my registration number. It's all Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four, these days. A confirmation email arrived within the hour.

Is that enough? Somewhat irrationally, I fear not.

Until the payment has gone from my account there are no guarantees. It could take five days, or so they say. Last night, I typed my bank details into notepad and checked them over 3 times. Today, it wasn't me copying and pasting, it was me hastily reading numbers over the phone and someone else typing. Personally, I couldn't get the page to load. Oh Glastonbury, you always do this... You leave us feeling insecure. Don't reject my card.

In anticipation of June 23rd - 27th, here's who I saw at Glastonbury Festival 2009.

Rating system (from very best to very worst):
Fucking Awesome, Ear Candy, Thumbs Up, Not for Me Thanks, Hideously Awful


Thursday, 25th June 2009

We Have Band (I saw 2 songs only), The Queens Head	Ear Candy
Kap Bambino, The Queens Head	Ear Candy
Stornaway, The Queens Head, The Queens Head	Thumbs Up

Friday, 26th June 2009

Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip, The Queens Head	Fucking Awesome
Who Made Who, Dance West Stage	Fucking Awesome
The Destroyers, Croissant Neuf Big-Top	Fucking Awesome
Metronomy, John Peel Stage	Ear Candy
The Horrors, The Park Stage	Ear Candy
Bombay Bicycle Club (acoustic set), The Guardian Lounge	Ear Candy
Lee Mortimer, Arcadia Stage	Ear Candy
Geezer, G Stage	Ear Candy
Slow Club, The Guardian Lounge	Thumbs Up
Bjorn Again	Thumbs Up
The Virgins, John Peel Stage (accompanied by fan shouting)	Not for Me Thanks
The Rumblestrips, The Queens Head	Not for Me Thanks

Saturday, 27th June 2009

M Ward, The Park Stage	Fucking Awesome
Peter Doherty, The Other Stage	Fucking Awesome
Speech Debelle, Guardian Lounge	Ear Candy
Metric, The Park Stage	Ear Candy
The Fire Tusk Pain Proof, Circus Big Top	Ear (Eye) Candy
Passion Pit, John Peel Stage	Ear Candy & Not for Me Thanks Mix
Micachu, Guardian Lounge	Thumbs Up
Brendon Burns, Cabaret Tent	Not for Me Thanks

Sunday, 28th June 2009

Joe Gideon and the Shark, Queens Head	Fucking Awesome
Alela Diane, The Park Stage	Fucking Awesome
The Magic Numbers, Queens Head	Fucking Awesome
Two Door Cinema Club, Queens Head	Ear Candy
Bombay Bicycle Club, Queens Head	Ear Candy
Fight Like Apes, Queens Head	Ear Candy
The Aliens, Queens Head	Thumbs Up
Reverend & the Makers & Friends, Guardian Lounge	Not for Me Thanks

Also written in my notes is Circus Cosakgvy – 4/5. I have no idea what this refers to!

Anyway, Glasto 2009 was the dogs. Absolutely fucking brilliant! I didn't see anything that anyone saw on the television, or so it seems. And I went on a little train!!!! A LITTLE TRAIN!!!!

Other weird and wonderful sights included:
* A lady swallowing a sword - ow!
* Two unsuspecting gentlemen being forced by a large crowd to take their shoes off and kiss with their feet, in the guise of Batman and Robin. Performance art indeed.
* The Trash City Car Rally. Always a treat
* The deserted Shangri La shanty town on Saturday night. That was during the headline acts. It's an amazing place when not overloaded by a maddening crowd.
* A stripper in a cat suit spitting milk all over herself and her audience. Yuck.

Fabpants Recommends: Let's go with one of the Fucking Awesome acts from Glastonbury and Latitude 2009, one that you may not have heard of. The Shark is the most eye catching drummer EVER. When she raises her drum sticks and whacks them together, my heart rises a little. Joe Gideon and The Shark's excellent album, Harum Scarum, is today's tasty treat. They used to be in Bikini Atoll and they have always been brother and sister. I prefer them now. Dark and gritty tales, dirty riffs and lucid gravelly voice resonate, entertain and inspire.

Download MP3: Joe Gideon and The Shark - DOL (toomuchhappiness.com)



Download MP3: Joe Gideon and The Shark - Civilisation (courtesy of toomuchhappiness.com)



Download MP3: Joe Gideon and The Shark - Johan Was A Painter And Arsonist (toomuchhappiness.com)

Catcher on the Run

The astute amongst you may notice that I've posted four gig reviews today. Well done me. The game of catch-up begins!

I also enjoyed a sunny seaside walk. And there, I was swiftly overtaken by a vest imprinted with 'Blind Runner'. On double take, I noticed that the wearers arm was wrapped in a strap and his co-runner was attached to him. Forget the three legged race, the three armed race wins. They were bloody fast, weaving through the throng like pros. Bank Holiday Monday, eat your shorts.

Gig Review: Crookes will Steal your Heart

The Crookes, Brighton's The Latest MusicBar, 30th November 2009

Anyone that knows me well, will know why I jumped up and down with excitement when I decided to see my pals Stick in a Pot play at The Latest MusicBar. It's all in the name, and that name is music press magic in 2010. It's The Crookes and if you haven't read about them yet, you will.

Unfortunately, due to the promoters getting in a muddle with the timing, I only got to see the two Stick in a Pot tracks. Oliver Barron's 'Alice in Wonderland Grin' made me wonder what I'd missed. It sounded acoustically wonderful and I was a touch gutted to not see the rest.

With the Sticks by my side, I stood mouth agog for second support act The Last Carnival. Russell Williams has swagger, rock moves and a drooling adolescent following. In my imagination, I could see lighters held aloft and the closing scene of a nineteen eighties American teen-flick. After the set, I listened as two girls excitedly discussed how to accost a Williams. Their time came and he was both charming and courteous. Damp knickers and star struck smiles melted in his wake.

Oh what a genre jumping journey this night would be. The corners of my mouth turned upwards and thank Apollo, the God of Music and Poetry, for entering the ears of fresh-faced Sheffield boys. The Crookes indeed.

Superior memories of the 1980s music scene flashed before my eyes. The Housemartins risen again, in new skin, new turn-ups and with a touch of skiffle up their sleeves. The jangly guitars of this new band took me, held me and gently battered me with love. With absolutely no idea of what to expect from The Crookes, I was as chuffed as a chaffinch on heat.

The near extinct BBC6 Music love 'em, The NME has started to court them and independent music stations across Europe and the USA are giving them air-time. They've yet to release an album and Steve Lamacq can barely contain himself.

The music halts, George Waite steps forward. As he claps and he sings, it becomes apparent that his voice alone could stop traffic.

The Crookes will steal your heart. It's 1986 all over again and Johnny Marr plays guitar.

Fabpants Recommends:

Download MP3: The Crookes – Backstreet Lovers (courtesy of primitiverecords.co.uk)

Gig Review: A Fistful of Titties

Bang! Bang! Eche!, Brighton Freebutt, 22nd November, 2009

Bang! Bang! Eche! had a hard act to follow.

Son of Robot were in support. Son of Robot are a Brighton band that seriously like to party. Swinging from the lighting rig and leaping about like apes, they don’t believe in playing second fiddle. They combine The Macc Lads humour with high energy rock. Songs about accidently falling for drag queens and chants of ‘Get Your Nipples Out’ attract a large local following. Son of Robot left and the room rapidly emptied. One hundred sex starved groupies were probably backstage with their baps out.

A timid Bang! Bang! Eche! took their place. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know that Bang Bang Eche! are known for their spiky live shows back in New Zealand. A long way from home and playing to a mostly empty room is a tough card to draw. Holy fuck eyes and youthful faces belied their skanky lyrics and electro-punk riffs.

James Sullivan was not to be beat. He led from behind, hitting the shit out of his drum kit and sending out a fierce rhythmic lesson to the non-believers in the room. The band followed suit, and self-belief slowly took control. By the end we were all dancing, all fifteen of us. They were the superior act, and those of us left behind basked in our secret knowledge.

They are young and they have promise. Time will tell how much. With Bang! Bang! Eche! it could go either way. They’re not there yet, but they should keep trying.

Fabpants Recommends: I’m not going to recommend Bang! Bang! Eche!’s Fist full of Dollars. There are far better tunes. I watched A Fistful of Dynamite (Duck You Sucker) again on Friday. Now, this is music.

Download MP3: Ennio Morricone - Giù la Testa - Titoli (courtesy of dinosaurgardens.com)

Gig Review: Middle of the Road

Dan Michaelson and The Coastguards, Brighton Albert, 20th October 2010

Unfortunately, I found this whole evening a little bit middle aged and middle of the road. The Absentee EP Donkey Stock, first alerted me to Dan Michaelson, and because I love it so, it has coloured my view of everything that he does. Dan Michaelson and The Coastguards released an album called Saltwater in March 2009. It didn't blow me away, but is lovely in its own right. Well, in the end the highlight of my night out at The Albert was the cover of The Velvet Underground's Pale Blue Eyes. It shouldn't be that way. Dan Michaelson and The Coastguards can do better.

Fabpants Recommends: Listen to Absentee:

Download MP3: Absentee – You Try Sober (courtesy of acertainromance.com)



Check out the album Saltwater:

Download MP3: Dan Michaelson and The Coastguards - Bust (courtesy of memphis-industries.com)



And always make time for The Velvet Underpants:

Download MP3: The Velvet Underground - Pale Blue Eyes (courtesy of tsururadio.com)

Gig Review: Here's One I Made Earlier

Wavves, Brighton Audio, 17th November 2009

A colleague declared that Wavves make a horrible noise. She might be right. Their latest album is blindingly bad, but their debut had an edge to admire. Was it worth £8 to find out? Yes, it was.

I would have happily skipped support Teen Sheikhs. Horrible noise = tick.

Wavves Brighton Audio set was fantastic. It was also awful. It was fantastically awful. Totalling twenty-five minutes, including much onstage banter about which songs they could actually play, the set was eight times as long as the time we waited for it, and a delight.

I stood before them, with an inner smile, throughout. For two out of the three band members it was their second Wavves show, after one practice ever. Drummer, Zach Hill, had broken his arm, and Jay Reatards former band mates stepped up. Fair play. I admire their balls.

Wavves may have been ramshackle, but they were much better than one might imagine. The drummer, Billy Hayes, was damn tight, maintained a fast pace and used his bash cans well. The bass guitarist took his lead, and well, Nathan Williams was so open and honest about the general disarray, it was charming. He rocked out in the way that makes him unique and special. So what if the music lacked cohesion. Unity came in the form of three lads giving it their best under adverse circumstances. They made a ramshackle row, but it sparkled.

The show must go on and, in a rough and ready way, it did. Requests were taken and played, perhaps not perfectly, but...

... Wavves did their best. Some bands don’t even try.

On my way out, a disgruntled punter was begging for a refund, ‘But, I came to see Zach Hill’. Why didn’t he ask for a refund twenty-five minutes before? He watched the band throughout, because on a night of no rules, you never can tell.

Fabpants Recommends:

Download MP3: Wavves - Wavves (courtesy of thefader)

Thursday Mountain Bridge

It’s April 2010. This year I have slept in a real bed for nineteen nights; in total. Those were the last nineteen, and – boy – does it make a difference? Does it ever!

At the start of March, I enjoyed a magical and perfect week in Munich, and the local surrounds. A crisp white sheet covered the land and made my eyes simply ping with delight. Walking through the Englischer Garten, Munich’s beautiful and quirky playground, lost in my own world, I involuntary kissed the air. Life at its most simple can create an unexpected moment of awe.

In Munich, existence was perfect. In the care of fine friends, I enjoyed a tasty snow-b-q, embraced snowboarding for simpletons and a spent a leisurely day bobbing about in warm water and rushing down slippery slides.

Shortly after returning to Blighty, my family was hit by great tragedy. My rush to tell you all about the joys of being back in a real bed and of idyllic snow-capped holidays was halted. But here I am. I’ve brushed myself down. I’m back on the saddle and as in love with life as ever.

The jumble of emotions that I feel, interlaced and concurrent, is touchingly wonderful. Sometimes I’m like an outsider looking in at myself, whilst simultaneously being. The gnawing loss, that bubbles up and down, makes every moment that has been, and will be, more precious. My cousin is gone, but so many reasons for awe and wonder are not. Warts an’ all life is spectacularly blinding. It’s blinding, my cousin would fervently say, in a glorious allusion to the fucking fantastic.

One day soon, I plan to tell you all about the many, many gigs that I’ve failed to share - but not now.

Instead, with just over 2 weeks left to see the show, I want to recommend ‘The Real Van Gogh: The Artist and His Letters’, at the Royal Academy in London. Back in February, I saw the show with a friend that I had not seen for many years, and, combined, the venture proved a real treat.

Usually, as I stumble through an art exhibition, my feet and mind tire, and I lose all focus. The first efforts get my full attention and the last a dismal attempt not to yawn. Not so with ‘The Real Van Gogh’.

As soon as I read the first of Van Gogh’s letters, I was hooked, as if reading a life affirming book. Quite inspiringly, Van Gogh only started his vocation as an artist aged 27. From there on it he made it his mission to master the tools and techniques of the trade. Like me, he came from flatlands and countryside, and at times his early attempts made me joyously homesick. It wasn’t the final, bold, art on canvas that struck home for me, but the delicate sketches wrapped in the love and exultation of merely trying, wrapped in the words that he would craft and send to his dear brother Theo. Van Gogh shot himself dead, aged 37.