Of course, since I wrote this review Truck festrival (or rather, Steventon Events, who run it) has gone bust. I decided to leave the review as it was writtena day or two after the event, rather than go into hysterical eulogies. I'll miss it, though, for all its faults.
Sat & Sun copming very soon.
Yes, there are a lot of words here. Don't read them if you don't weant to, I don't mind. There are plenty of blogs out there that average 10 words a post, go and find them, if you don't like reading. You deserve each other.
TRUCK FESITVAL, Hill Farm, Steventon, 22-4/7/11
FRIDAY
Oh, there’ll be letters. Pints will be mumbled into. The internet may be utilised. Truck has done the unthinkable, and redesigned the festival site. Not only is the main stage in a different place, it’s in a different damned field. And the barn is gone. Everyone loved the barn. Everyone loved the atrocious acoustics, awkward bottleneck entrance and lingering smell of cow faeces. Who wants this new Clash stage, with its high-quality PA and easy access?
Well, we do. We feel that, for the most part, Truck’s new, more spacious layout is a success, and if they have co-opted some of the trappings of the well-heeled boutique festivals they helped to create – posh sit-down dining, stalls selling over-priced nick-nacks made from old Penguin paperbacks – the old, unpretentious, home-made atmosphere still survives. And, yes, you can still buy doughnuts from the vicar and grub from the Round Tablers (quote of the weekend: “I got a lovely burger, but it was weird to buy it from the masons”).
Our weekend starts in the new Clash tent, with Gaggle, a large bunch of vibrantly bedecked young ladies doing a line in big tribal pop chants. It’s something like a school nativity play version of Bow Wow Wow, and is good honest fun. There are about 35 of them, which we suppose might look impressive if we hadn’t just spent 20 minutes as part of a large and twitchy crowd at the Steventon level crossing, as some sort of ovine emergency meltdown caused by sheep on the line a few miles away meant that the barriers had to be kept inexplicably closed.
The Wood stage is a cosy, intimate tent that is sadly a little underused over the weekend, but it’s a the perfect place to watch Water Pageant, a likable folk-pop trio, whose delicate sound might get lost in larger spaces. At another corner of the site, the Last.FM stage is curated on the Friday night by BBC Oxford Introducing, and we’re tempted to say this was the lineup of the weekend. The Braindead Collective swap their free improv racket for an exploration of open-ended pop, and it works beautifully, Chris Beard’s lucid, careening voice sailing high above a mixture of dub touches and Fripp-like effects.
Mr Shaodow follows them admirably, with a crowd pleasingly boisterous set that may have hidden some of his clever lyrics, but highlights his way with an eager audience. Shadow is one of an odd breed of Oxford-connected artists who always get a rave reception at Truck, but who generally play to small, indifferent audiences in the city (cf testpilot, nervous), and with this in mind we can hardly blame Shaodow for keeping things accessible. One question though: are we missing something or is DJ Watchcase the worst hip hop moniker in a fifty mile radius?
You Are Wolf aren’t mentioned in the programme, but we stumble across her making complex loops of vocals and keyboard, to deliver a lilting traditional folk song over the top. She then announces it was actually a Dolly Parton cover! Did we imagine this?
Back at the Wood stage, London’s Non-Classical club have taken over for the evening, and we have the pleasure of being amongst the small attendance for one of the sets of the weekend, from Consortium 5, a recorder quintet. In previous years a recorder only ensemble at Truck might have meant Piney Gir and chums arsing about and playing smugly dire Steely Dan covers, but Consortium 5 is a highly drilled, professional group of musicians, offering us a little Purcell and a lot of contemporary composition. The sonic range is astounding, from the sound of a baroque traffic jam through a Ligeti-like cloud of chirrups to the final number, a mass of breathy percussive bursts and gasping trills, like Thomas the Tank Engine and friends playing Takemitsu. It’s random discoveries like this that make Truck special.
There are lot of people on the Truck bill this year who Used To Be In Bands, which is fine, but there are also a lot Whose Dads Used To Be In Bands: Truck wants to watch that it doesn’t become some sort of indie Cornbury. An example for the prosecution would be Liam Finn, offspring of him out of Crowded House, who is decent enough but pretty dull, going for a wall of sound pop effect, but losing us swiftly.
Perhaps feeling guilty for giving up on Finn so quickly, we decide to give Africa Junction more of a chance, and are amply rewarded for doing so. At first, they sound too studied to make anything from their polite African percussion – Jesus, we left East Oxford for the weekend to get away from this stuff – but as the tempo drops, and the balafon starts to lead the music, it wafts out of the Cabaret tent like a warm sirocco.
Johnny Flynn reminds us happily of childhood TV, and Rolf Harris painting vast wall-sized pictures with house paints. Flynn’s band similarly takes simple, bold strokes and throws them together to create something impressive. There’s nothing here we’ve not heard before, just chunky folky choruses, lively trumpet lines, bluesy guitar licks, and a bit of ‘cello to underpin things, but the whole is rather lovely.
James Surowiecki wrote a book called The Wisdom Of Crowds, claiming that large groups of people are effectively cleverer than individuals. Our problem with this theory has always been that vast crowds of people are generally seen assembled to watch adequate but unexciting things like Coldplay or Michael McIntyre – just how fucking clever can they be? Still, we get a little buzz of pleasure in seeing hundreds of Truckers swaying along to Bellowhead’s outstanding version of “Amsterdam”, squeezing every drop of tawdry voyeurism and tragic celebration from Brel’s composition. In truth, this is the outstanding moment of set that is very good, but doesn’t reach the heights of their 2010 performance. Uncharacteristically, it’s the slower tracks that are more successful this time round, although the wah-wah mandolin does lend a funky edge to the more upbeat songs (images of Starsky & Hutch driving through Cecil Sharp House in a flurry of madrigal manuscripts). Not up to their own high standards, perhaps, but still probably the best festival band on the circuit.
Nipping out to catch some of Spring Offensive’s set turns out to be an excellent decision. We’ve always admired their music, but tonight the Introducing stage witnesses a band coming of age. Not only do they perform with an acidic intensity we’ve never seen before, but new track “52 Miles” takes the melancholic triumphalism of their best songs, but replaces the Youth Movies guitar twiddles with a slow-burning haze that eventually erupts into a bloom of furry beauty. A very good band just got better.
And we follow that be revisiting a good local band whom we had somewhat forgotten. Dive Dive remind us that they can produce bitter little nuggets of pop excellence, and send us off happily into the night, or at least towards the beer tent.
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Monday 8 August 2011
Trevor Trove
"Blackbird singing in the dark/ Falling like a star/ But singing like a lark"
I allude to these lines later in the review, but thoughtthey were worth quoting here. C'mon, Trev, don't you know that a simile is supposed to find unexpected relationships between two things for poetic effect, not to liken something to something pretty similar in such a way as to emphasise their differences?
"The dog was barking as loud as another dog - quite a loud one", is not a great simile.
If Robbie Burns had been Trev he'd not have written "My love is like a red, red rose," but "My love is like fondness. You know, an emotion that expresses amorous feelings. Yeah, that's about right".
I personally think Trev wanted to write about blackbirds because he likes Paul McCartney...
TREV WILLIAMS – KEEP SINGING EP (Self release)
Trev Williams is one of the good guys. One of Oxford music’s nice blokes, he always has a smile and a positive lyric for any passer by. Except when he gets a bit angry and moans about everything, but even the he tends to apologise afterwards. Top man. But still, we’ve never really got a grasp on his music, which we’ve always found pleasant, harmless and – let’s be frank – trite. His trio The Follys, despite an infuriating approach to pluralisation, made a tight enough noise we’ll admit, but we still couldn’t find much in the songwriting to get excited about.
Then, about 18 months ago, we were watching Trev play at the arse end of some bill somewhere, and suddenly realised that we were enjoying it. The new songs wormed their way into our consciousness in a way the older ones never had, and a Labi Siffre cover proved that Trev had polished his singing voice. This new EP proves conclusively that the best thing a musician can have is not perfect pitch, posh equipment or a Dad who works for EMI, but determination and dedication. It’s a great little listen, and welcomes Trev into the upper echelons of Oxford’s singer-songwriters.
“Happy Song” might be the sort of platitudinous pop that Trev is wont to indulge in, but it does sound pretty great, with a delayed toy piano complementing an approachable vocal melody. Its optimistic bonhomie can be a little wearing, like having some Phil Daniels impersonator slap you on the back gurning “Cheer up, might never ‘appen” every 8 bars, but it’s undeniably well put together. “In The Dark” is similar fare. The song doesn’t set us alight – in fact, the only memorable bit is snaffled from “My Girl” – but it’s probably the best vocal performance Trev has ever put onto wax, and the crisp production is built around a supply dark keyboard part that puts us in mind of Red Snapper.
This pair are all very well and good, but it’s the other two tracks that really show how Williams has developed. Nightshift Demo Of The Month winner “You Cut, We Bleed” still sounds wonderful, a burst of rage and reverb that blossoms into a life-affirming piano jaunt when the pressure threatens to break the song apart. It was composed in response to recent public spending cuts, but frankly the lyrics are so opaque that it could easily have been about sloppy management at Trev’s favourite football club, or the time his housemate drank all the milk. No problems there, the simplicity and directness of the lyrics makes the song feel universal, and suggests it may have a shelf life beyond the current administration.
It’s a great tune, but it’s eclipsed by the title track. We’ll skim over the opening couplet, which has one of the clumsier similes we’ve ever heard, and jump straight into the meat of the song, a gorgeous cyclical, floating melody that wafts over the top of delicately plucked guitar. Live versions have often drifted away into loop pedal heaven, and our only real criticism of the piece is that we could have done with more of it. Anyone who thinks this review sounds a bit patronising or distant might like to know that the last time we found ourselves inadvertently humming an Oxford tune this much, it was “Zorbing”, which is high praise indeed. Keep singing? If there’s one thing we can conclude about this release, it’s that we hope Trev takes his own advice, and that there’s lots more like this to come.
I allude to these lines later in the review, but thoughtthey were worth quoting here. C'mon, Trev, don't you know that a simile is supposed to find unexpected relationships between two things for poetic effect, not to liken something to something pretty similar in such a way as to emphasise their differences?
"The dog was barking as loud as another dog - quite a loud one", is not a great simile.
If Robbie Burns had been Trev he'd not have written "My love is like a red, red rose," but "My love is like fondness. You know, an emotion that expresses amorous feelings. Yeah, that's about right".
I personally think Trev wanted to write about blackbirds because he likes Paul McCartney...
TREV WILLIAMS – KEEP SINGING EP (Self release)
Trev Williams is one of the good guys. One of Oxford music’s nice blokes, he always has a smile and a positive lyric for any passer by. Except when he gets a bit angry and moans about everything, but even the he tends to apologise afterwards. Top man. But still, we’ve never really got a grasp on his music, which we’ve always found pleasant, harmless and – let’s be frank – trite. His trio The Follys, despite an infuriating approach to pluralisation, made a tight enough noise we’ll admit, but we still couldn’t find much in the songwriting to get excited about.
Then, about 18 months ago, we were watching Trev play at the arse end of some bill somewhere, and suddenly realised that we were enjoying it. The new songs wormed their way into our consciousness in a way the older ones never had, and a Labi Siffre cover proved that Trev had polished his singing voice. This new EP proves conclusively that the best thing a musician can have is not perfect pitch, posh equipment or a Dad who works for EMI, but determination and dedication. It’s a great little listen, and welcomes Trev into the upper echelons of Oxford’s singer-songwriters.
“Happy Song” might be the sort of platitudinous pop that Trev is wont to indulge in, but it does sound pretty great, with a delayed toy piano complementing an approachable vocal melody. Its optimistic bonhomie can be a little wearing, like having some Phil Daniels impersonator slap you on the back gurning “Cheer up, might never ‘appen” every 8 bars, but it’s undeniably well put together. “In The Dark” is similar fare. The song doesn’t set us alight – in fact, the only memorable bit is snaffled from “My Girl” – but it’s probably the best vocal performance Trev has ever put onto wax, and the crisp production is built around a supply dark keyboard part that puts us in mind of Red Snapper.
This pair are all very well and good, but it’s the other two tracks that really show how Williams has developed. Nightshift Demo Of The Month winner “You Cut, We Bleed” still sounds wonderful, a burst of rage and reverb that blossoms into a life-affirming piano jaunt when the pressure threatens to break the song apart. It was composed in response to recent public spending cuts, but frankly the lyrics are so opaque that it could easily have been about sloppy management at Trev’s favourite football club, or the time his housemate drank all the milk. No problems there, the simplicity and directness of the lyrics makes the song feel universal, and suggests it may have a shelf life beyond the current administration.
It’s a great tune, but it’s eclipsed by the title track. We’ll skim over the opening couplet, which has one of the clumsier similes we’ve ever heard, and jump straight into the meat of the song, a gorgeous cyclical, floating melody that wafts over the top of delicately plucked guitar. Live versions have often drifted away into loop pedal heaven, and our only real criticism of the piece is that we could have done with more of it. Anyone who thinks this review sounds a bit patronising or distant might like to know that the last time we found ourselves inadvertently humming an Oxford tune this much, it was “Zorbing”, which is high praise indeed. Keep singing? If there’s one thing we can conclude about this release, it’s that we hope Trev takes his own advice, and that there’s lots more like this to come.
Tuesday 2 August 2011
Automatic For The Pupil
Been ages, hasn't it? Fear not, there shall be a mammoth Truck review coming next time we meet. In fact, it'll be so long you won't actually read it. Even if you mean to, you'll get bored or sidetracked. I don't mind, I'm relatively phlegmatic about it all.
THE SCHOLARS/ DEAD JERICHOS/ PEERS/ VON BRAUN/ MANACLES OF ACID, Upstairs/BBC Introducing, Academy, 16/7/11
“Not from round here, are you, boy?”. Some of you may be cynical about this statement, but the worst band by far at the latest in the Academy's showcases are the one from outside Oxford. Reading’s Peers make a clumpy sort of epic indie, that’s a bit like Echo & The Bunnymen meets Simple Minds, but is more like a Runrig tribute made by flustered heifers whilst nearby a maudlin drunk honks out indecipherable paeans to a shop dummy that his addled brain thinks is his Mum. Dead Jerichos have an easy job reinvigorating us after that, their music still a flurry of skittering hi-hats and beery bonhomie, like The Jam on a weekend long stag do with Suggs. We could do with a more restrained use of the delay pedal, but otherwise familiarity has not spoilt this young band.
Much earlier The Manacles Of Acid reprised their Charlbury set by playing to almost nobody – in fact, even one of the band wasn’t there this time. Like the coelacanth in 1938, many have just discovered that acid house is far from extinct, and that it laughs in the face of evolution. The Manacles have a great sound, half-inching bits from Bam Bam and Model 500 to make a sleek yet squelchy ride. One noodling Sven Vath wrong turn is swiftly forgiven.
Sadly “Black Saxon” isn’t a NWOBHM retelling of Shaft, but in it and other tracks, Von Braun present a honed rock sound that balances light Sonic Youth guitar chug with Allman Brothers vocal harmonies. The set starts shakily, but builds to great head, complete with wired Frank Black declamations. The Scholars, conversely, play a balanced set of evocative pop, honed and studied (as the name suggests), all forlorn, dewy eyed vocal lines bolstered by keyboard washes and well placed crescendos. We consider The Scholars to be an impressive band with full control over their material, and the ability and focus to present it convincingly, even whilst our heart is screaming “Stop making these boring noises at us, and do something worthwhile”. Call it a draw?
THE SCHOLARS/ DEAD JERICHOS/ PEERS/ VON BRAUN/ MANACLES OF ACID, Upstairs/BBC Introducing, Academy, 16/7/11
“Not from round here, are you, boy?”. Some of you may be cynical about this statement, but the worst band by far at the latest in the Academy's showcases are the one from outside Oxford. Reading’s Peers make a clumpy sort of epic indie, that’s a bit like Echo & The Bunnymen meets Simple Minds, but is more like a Runrig tribute made by flustered heifers whilst nearby a maudlin drunk honks out indecipherable paeans to a shop dummy that his addled brain thinks is his Mum. Dead Jerichos have an easy job reinvigorating us after that, their music still a flurry of skittering hi-hats and beery bonhomie, like The Jam on a weekend long stag do with Suggs. We could do with a more restrained use of the delay pedal, but otherwise familiarity has not spoilt this young band.
Much earlier The Manacles Of Acid reprised their Charlbury set by playing to almost nobody – in fact, even one of the band wasn’t there this time. Like the coelacanth in 1938, many have just discovered that acid house is far from extinct, and that it laughs in the face of evolution. The Manacles have a great sound, half-inching bits from Bam Bam and Model 500 to make a sleek yet squelchy ride. One noodling Sven Vath wrong turn is swiftly forgiven.
Sadly “Black Saxon” isn’t a NWOBHM retelling of Shaft, but in it and other tracks, Von Braun present a honed rock sound that balances light Sonic Youth guitar chug with Allman Brothers vocal harmonies. The set starts shakily, but builds to great head, complete with wired Frank Black declamations. The Scholars, conversely, play a balanced set of evocative pop, honed and studied (as the name suggests), all forlorn, dewy eyed vocal lines bolstered by keyboard washes and well placed crescendos. We consider The Scholars to be an impressive band with full control over their material, and the ability and focus to present it convincingly, even whilst our heart is screaming “Stop making these boring noises at us, and do something worthwhile”. Call it a draw?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)