Supernormal 2014 - Saturday

We notice in Saturday’s Guardian Guide that Supernormal is singled out, with the description “vaguely leftfield”.  Considering our second day begins in a stone folly in which an old tape of accordion hits plays at random speeds, we wonder exactly what their music editor gets up to of an evening.  This piece is the work of Phantom Chips, who later fill the bar with dark fuzzy noises, and invite an audience member to don an udder cummerbund they’ve created: when the brightly hued cloth nipples are yanked different brands of digital skree erupt from the speakers.  The effect is like a cross between Incapacitants and Nursie from Blackadder, and frankly we’d like to see more of this madness in the bar, which seems to generally consist of a few people jigging about to classic soul tunes during the day.  Mind you, perhaps if there was much more of this the bar staff would revolt – we’ve already noticed that the First Aid tent is next to something called the Shed Sound area, a little gazebo from which the sound of amp hum and vinyl crackle can be heard a pretty much constantly, and we assume the St John’s Ambulance boys were self-medicating by Friday teatime.

Luminous Bodies features members of Supernormal bands Terminal Cheesecake and Part Chimp,. but what we hear is a default “Heart of The Sun” riff sounding like a suburban metal band warming up in the school gym, so we sneak over to see The Wharves instead, who have plenty of Throwing Muses about their warm, simple tunes.  Pity they wander through them so tentatively, like Shaggy and Scooby exploring a haunted mineshaft, but a strong melody will always win points.

On the Braziers House terrace, violinists Benedict Taylor and Hakarl have teamed up with an uncredited saxophonist for a relaxed improvisation, and these purely acoustic one-offs are the sort of thing we’d like to see more of at next year’s festival, there are so many nooks and crannies on the site that could be enlivened by a freeform blowout or a subtle bit of lowercase tinkling.  There are plenty of careering glissandi and percussive tonguing on display, but the music doesn’t sound gimmicky; in fact it reminds us oddly of Benjamin Britten at times...perhaps these are the gulls circling out of shot in Peter Grimes.

Back on the Nest stage, Sex Swing are covering doom trudge drums with bass sax honks and electronics, in a fashion that’s neither swinging nor erotic, but quite diverting all the same.  The whole set sounds like a didgeridoo reliving a harrowing post-gig night at the Holiday Inn with Rolf Harris.

Charismatic Megafauna apparently formed at last year’s festival.  We wonder whether they’ve actually met since.  Their show involves the three of them bashing out elementary rhythms and chanting clumsily, and is a good few rehearsals away from being convincing.  Reverse cheerleading, we suppose, but also sadly the reverse of any good.

We leave Henry Blacker and their incredibly entertaining rock chugs, something like a heavy Ten Benson, to see a rare performance inside Braziers House.  When punters at many festivals are content to sit playing hacky sack by their tents, or swilling in the beer tent until it gets late enough for someone famous, it’s truly heartening to see a wave of listeners stream through the door to see a solo piano piece by MXLX.  From our position in the doorway, we can’t see a single ivory, but the sound has a pleasing, if unrevolutionary, Philip Glass air, with a dash of Charlemagne Palestine’s intense key-pounding.

It’s only a short hop from there to the Barn, where Seth Ayyaz is vibrating a bunch of contact miked percussion.  After a few minutes we’re about to walk out when we suddenly start hearing massed church organs singing in the drones and loops, and before we know it our ears are filled with birdsong, Satanic mills, laughing policemen – either he’s an adept at sonic craftsmanship, or we have a very fertile imagination.  Later, the FX pedals come into play, adding a K K Null air to proceedings, although some breathy shakuhachi lines keep the music earthy.

According to the programme (and we know how reliable that can be) one of Fish Police is autistic.  Well, seeing as they’re about the only band on the Nest Stage that knows how to do an efficient soundcheck and start on time, perhaps they should have booked a few more.   Once we’re over the disappointment that they aren’t a themed tribute band (“Good evening, my name’s Sting Ray...”), we enjoy a thoroughly funky slice of urban pop, that moves between Starsky & Hutch synth and loping Arrested Development  good vibes by way of Prince’s smooth sleaze – rather refreshingly shiny and slick at a festival that can be somewhat doom-happy.

This being Supernormal, we expected Horseloom to be a vast device made out of surgical trusses that recreated the sound of pack animals dying in the Somme.  It’s actually man named Steve Malley, a single acoustic guitar and some lovely, mellifluous Martin Simpson style folk tunes.  He’s not afraid of a little Bert Jansch percussiveness to keep the songs dramatic, and even a tiny splash John Fahey dissonance to keep the senses keen, but for the most part the pieces are played with a limpid simplicity that makes this quite possibly the set of the weekend.  Perhaps his voice, though warm an unhurried, is a little pedestrian, but the playing is a sheer joy.

Breathless are a let-down after that.  We suppose their messy take on clean FM pop sounds can be likened to Maps, or the hypnogogic pop crew, but what they really sound like is some shut0in from 1985 recording Robbie Robertson covers on a C60 in his bed sit, because he thinks Paul Young has possessed his Goblin Teasmaid.