A Lorra Lorry Laughs

I missed Truck last year, and by all acounts it was one of the best, so I've already procured my blagger's journalist guest pass for this year's. I'm also going to review Cornbury, which is less exciting (imagine a festival created by the deli counter at Somerfield after 10 minutes looking at the Times colour supplement and a copy of Q from 1991).

Truck 2006, Hill Farm, Steventon


There’s nothing so civilised as sitting out in the sun with a can of beer at midday waiting for a band to come - none of the old smoky backroom ambience for the Truckers. Our festival starts with Technikov, and what may be the sound of a twenty-five year old Wasp synthesiser. Or possibly just the sound of a twenty-five year old wasp. Whichever, there’s plenty of niggling buzzing noise in evidence overlaying a spunky post-punk rhythm. Whilst this style of ranting jerky dissonance is very much Fall funk fodder for a Vacuous Pop frat party, it’s all very well done, and topped off with an eloquent architectural treatise called “No More Fucking Ugly Buildings”, which would get them Prince Charles’ vote if nothing else.

Their rise through the local hierarchy has been such a blur, it can be hard to remember for certain whether Harry Angel are any good or not. A sparking set on the main stage lets us see them in a fresh light. And don’t they look great? They’ve lost most of the early Radiohead flounces that used to define them, and hit the ground running on the dark side of the gothpop fence. If the guitar noise is like a huge slab of concrete then the vocal howls are deep cracks running through it. Melodic, imposing and impressive, Harry Angel sound powerful enough to coax some overcast darkness into the piercing sunshine. Surely not….

Everytime we see The Drugsquad we like them more, and today we’re especially grateful that they’re playing in the most watertight tent of them all as the heavens open. They may have two new members today (one tragically died and one foolishly moved to France) but the gist is the same - country coated ska punk delivered in a manic cutprice cabaret style. Imagine Murph & The Magictones jamming with Merle Haggard and Primus and you’re edging towards it…so long as you add some squeaking, wonky keyboards that could even teach Technikov a thing or two. A year ago we rather dismissively wrote, “it’s good, but it’s not rocket science”. Well, such is the audacity of arrangement underneath the tunes on display today, we’re tempted to imagine some NASA scientist, crouched over racks of monitors, mumbling to himself, “It’s good, but it’s not The Drugsquad”.

A desire to stay dry eventually wins in a battle with our desire to explore the festival, so we end up staying around for Jacob’s Stories, who trade in plangent vocal loops, aching viola and tinkling keys. We’re very annoyed to find that this delicate little show is actually pretty good and rather eerie in the midst of a raging storm, because it stops us using our close, but no sigur gag, which we were so looking forward to.

We suspect that A Silent Film’s first number was intended as epic Radioheaded piano rock, but from the back of a steaming Trailerpark tent complete with sound problems, it sounds oddly stoned and irie, like Muse covering The Orb’s “Towers Of Dub”. An interminable delay wringing rain from the PA later, and we get another track with a whiff of early 70s funk rock about it. It actually sounds very promising, but this is sadly not the gig to start judging. One to stick behind the ear for later, we feel.

More rebellious equipment over at the main stage, where Get Cap, Wear Cape, Fly has given up on his machines and simply strapped on his acoustic for a wee singsong. Pretty decent it is too, but too twee for this rain drenched reviewer, who decides a dancing bear might wake things up.

Oh dear, The Walk Off seem to have grown up. They’re even beginning to look like a real band now, with a sober vocalist and upright musicians. It’s still a damned fine punk trip through the Digital Hardcore mangle, but anyone who remembers the sheer exhilarating chaos of older sets might feel there’s something missing; quite possibly something distilled. But the bear is still the hardest working performer at the festival, and he didn’t even need a soundcheck.

We pop into the end of Danny Wilson’s set, hoping to hear “Mary’s Prayer”, but it turns out there’s just this one feller called Danny, not a troupe mid-80s washouts. Good news too, if what we hear is anything to go by, alovely slice of laidback country, like a barnyard Steve Harley, backed by some serious fiddle by Truck’s very own Joe Bennett.

We think we saw Jakokoyak playing solo earlier in the year, but we can’t be sure because the music we’re hearing today is so vastly different. In fact it’s a sort of tidy dull 80s rock that that Danny Wilson might have enjoyed, hideously reminiscent of an unplugged Aztec Camera. Quick, let’s get some metal down us.

Roughly everyone in Oxford has advised us to see Sow, such is their presence on the scene, even old ladies in Co-op. In a surprisingly sparse barn, however, their lead-heavy music doesn’t have much presence and all sounds somewhat polite and tinny. You can tell that it’s properly brutal stuff though, and it simply makes us even sadder that we missed their Punt performance.

Last year, Motormark entertained us with some camp techno goth tomfoolery. Whilst it at first appears that : ( might do something similar, they merely sound like two members of a tired emo band jamming along to an Amiga. But not as much fun.

We’ve run out of words to describe Fell City Girl. Of course, they’re a sheer joy today as ever, but you’ll know that if you’ve ever seen them; if you haven’t, are you sure you’re reading the right website? As we’ve said before, in a band oozing talent the real secret weapon is Shrek, who looks squashed behind his kit, but can play with startling delicacy. They should put him in the front, there are too many little pipsqueaks in rock anyway.

On record Battles are a glorious prog jazz techno affair, like ELP covering LFO. Unfortunately, from where we’re standing in the clamorous barn they may as well be ELO covering EMF, because all we can hear is a loud hum and some drums. They look like they’re playing a blinder though…the best acid house kraut jazz band we never heard in our lives.