OK, so Day Two of the Winter Warmer didn’t start off any better than the first on the heat front, but the day and quite a few fingers were saved by a true gentleman, Mr Mark “From The Evenings” Wilden, who generously lugged a tiny electric heater along with him. It may only have been the size of a large toaster and only warmed a semi-circle of a couple of square feet, but it made all the difference. Sir, we who still have toes salute you!
Kicking things off in the marginally-less-arctic conditions was James Bell, brother of the aforementioned Mark, playing his unusual brand of updated traditional folk. Now, most people will rightly recoil in horror at the thought of trad. folk, however James has a canny knack of picking very obscure, often violent and/or wildly romantic songs and belting the crap out of them in his own unique, histrionic way. His revamped and almost unrecognisable “Scarborough Fair” was a highlight, and you cannot fail to admire a man who, standing alone and spot lit on a cold stage in front of just a few early punters, sings a full-blooded a capella piece, accompanying himself by beating and slapping his chest and legs for a rhythm. Although that was possibly just to keep warm.
Local singer/songmeister Trev Williams was up next, accompanied by a fellow named PJ who slaps and thumps a cajon and bongo along with Trev’s guitar. Despite his purportedly downbeat feeling about the gig and his song choices, Trev actually plays some pretty energetic and upbeat tunes, albeit while tackling some pretty heavy topics. It doesn’t drag at all though, and Trev’s compositions are interesting and well-structured enough that he avoids most of the pitfalls so common in this kind of music. He certainly doesn’t come across as the archetypically dour purveyor of self-loathing and doom that so many of this ilk aspire to.
The Fox and the Bramble didn’t make it, so next up is Charlie Baxter, a frankly mental young lad from out of town (did I hear mention of Cheltenham?). Armed with a memory bank full of pre-programmed cheesy keyboard songs (not unlike how I imagine the work of The Electric Six to have been before they really worked it out), a Squier Strat and a fuzzbox, he yelps, leaps, mumbles, spaz-dances and squawks his way through a rapid fire set of scattergun fuzz-dance-pop tunes about wanting to become a rock star, cats (possibly) and other such random topics. He’s a funny, gawky fella and sadly his between-song banter is so blurted, out of breath and mumbled that it’s hard to work out what he’s on about. But the gist is that he doesn’t take it too seriously, hates MySpace and has some pretty catchy tunes in his arsenal. It’s a bit like a cleaned-up, teeny-pop, keyboard-led Beaver Fuel in many respects.
Charlie is followed by a solo performance not by the billed Vileswarm, but by a solo Euhedral (who also makes up part of Vileswarm, the other part of whom is feeling a bit peaky. Still with me?). A simple array of delay and distortion pedals, a single-stringed guitar on its side and an amp humming away. The lights dim. A violin bow. Static. The hushed, huddled audience shuffle closer. You expect huge ear-bursting swathes of violent noise but it’s quieter and more subtle than you might think. No drums, beats or rhythms. Drawing you in. Drones. Apparently there’s four pieces in the twenty minute performance, though I’m damned if I could spot where one started and the other ended. It’s dark and dense, like the theme music to a particularly spooky section of a Resident Evil game. Perhaps a little strangely, the audience loves it, sitting and standing in hushed reverence until the explosion of applause at the end. Gripping, hypnotic stuff.
With a typically Gappy Tooth-esque crunching gear change, Euhedral is swiftly followed by a young chap called Matt Winkworth, whose solo piano ruffles a few burlesque, jazzy, music hall feathers with songs in memory of Lolo Ferrari (her of the enormous knockers. No, not Jordan, the other one from a few years ago), people who have killed themselves and also, possibly, cats. He’s lovably camp, delicately gentle in his delivery and hates the set list he’s chosen for being too morbid when it should be happy. But he’s good fun, self deprecating and a nice end to the first half of the day.
Picking things up are the first band of the day Able Archer. There’s a fairly predictable faff because no-one brought a drum kit and assumed someone else would (assumption proving again to be the mother of all cock-ups), but once the bones of a kit appear from the back of someone’s car they’re quick to get going and although it’s not groundbreaking stuff they knock out some fun dad-pop tunes. It’s a little bit like U2 and Crowded House having a jam together – some nice melodies, some soaring moments, performed well, but it’s all a bit predictable, fluffy and lightweight in a totally inoffensive way. It’s probably the Oxford Snob in me demanding something difficult and left-field, when in fact there’s really nothing wrong with Able Archer as long as you don’t want anything, well, difficult or left-field.
The drum kit faff suffers a repeat at the hands of Baby Gravy, who convince Able Archer to leave their decrepit shells in return for Baby Gravy swapping places in the running order with Mr Shaodow. At this point I had to dive off for some well-earned chips, so I only caught the first couple of songs before handing over the mixing desk briefly to Skeletor. The Gravy were, as always, full of energy and Iona seemed in particularly fine voice, far from the off-key yelping I remember from the last time I saw them. She was dressed like my Grandma though, which I found odd. It’s possibly retro-chic, or some other fashion thing I am blissfully unaware of. After hearing a fine rendition of “Did it again” I buggered off to Posh Fish for a banger & chips, which was very tasty thank you, if slightly rushed.
Arriving back in time for Mr Shaodow was slightly surreal. A rapper without the “gangsta” and with a strong grip on social issues seemed to gently stun the growing crowd, even though there were clearly a number of folks specifically there to see him. Describing how he’d been up and down the country working his socks off trying to further his music career, Shaodow seemed to baffle the crowd, who in return frustrated the rapper with their dad-dancing and muted responses to his requests for participation. It’s one of those strange situations where a bunch of people who don’t quite understand rap are trying desperately to enjoy a rapper, not really getting it but trying anyway, while the rapper himself struggles to connect to an unfamiliar audience that isn’t quite with him. Nothing wrong with the performance, he did his best bless him, just a case of wrong place, wrong crowd.
The best act of the day was undoubtedly Spring Offensive. Perfectly crafted power pop/rock songs, delivered with aplomb and character. Fresh out of the studio, these guys are definitely ones to watch in the coming months, and an assault on the charts and wider public would seem inevitable. Dominating the stage with their 9ft tall frontman they simply piled out cracking tune after cracking tune, and you quickly realise why their MySpace page has got a list of plaudits as long as your arm. Check them out now before they make the cover of Nightshift every single month this year!
Thumbs up to the Gappy Tooth & Swiss Concrete guys for another excellent weekend, despite the freezing conditions. Same time next year? You bet. Just find somewhere with heating next time, eh?
By Tim Lovegrove
Postscript: My own thoughts on the Drunkenstein set. Normally Colin edits out my reviews of my own bands, but hopefully he’ll keep this one in: we were rubbish. Truly one of our worst gigs, and that’s saying something. Both Skeletor (guitar/frontman) and I (drums) were knackered from the preceding two days ruining, sorry, running the sound, Snuffy (bass) had worked all day and Planet Jones (guitar) had a nice lie in and a restful day. Git. Excuses excuses. We started with “Sickorski”, which is difficult to play in places and predictably we largely screwed it up. As it went on the set got marginally better but eventually we gave up, dropped a load of songs and wound the set down with “A Walk in the Woods/Misery Waltz”, which was deemed acceptable as a finale to the day but was also, frankly, a bit ropey. At that point we moved quickly to the side of the stage and collapsed for a bit, whilst the Right Honourable Sir Mark of Evenings played some very silly mashup tunes to the sound of pint glasses being cleared and people moving swiftly downstairs for some well-deserved heat.
