Oh for the days when I had the time and energy to write proper reviews of gigs and festivals…by proper I mean pages of the bloody stuff that reminds me of what I’ve seen over the past 30 years or so which, even if no one else is interested, mildly amuses me. So, for the purposes of recording who I saw at this year’s Beautiful Days here’s a whizzzzzzzzzzz through the highlights…
After spending a traditional night wandering around the site drinking cider and talking bollocks with loads of lovely random strangers we kicked off Day One proper with bluesy busker extrordinaire Cam Cole followed by some sultry rocksteady courtesy of Hollie Cook and The Rumjacks, neatly summed up as The Clash meets The Pogues in the programme, I’ll go with that.
Hannah Moule and The Moulettes were a new one on me but at times their mash up of strings, proggy rock vibes and folk blew my socks off…so much so that we parted with £20 for a double CD after their gig. And that don’t happen very often. Caught a snatch of The Dandy Warhols before dancing our knackered old asses into funk soul oblivion to Disco Panther in The Bimble Inn.
Caught a little bit of Flogging Molly but what happened after that is a bit of a blur.
Day Two saw us rise and shine (ahem) to Idestroy’s riot grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl punk on the main stage and then…oh my…oh my…Opus Kink.
If Nick Cave and Searching For The Young Soul Rebels era Dexy’s got it on in an opium den the Kink would quite possible be the result. Not to be outdone by the keyboard player who did the whole show in his boxer shorts and socks the lead singer played the last few tracks in his pants.
And this was all before 1pm. Quite frankly one of the best live bands on planet earth right now or ever. Feet served up some fine post punk to bring ours back down to earth (our feet that is…oh you got that…good). The Lovely Eggs DIY punk snapped us (and our ankles...pogoing at my age is a risky business) before Snapped Ankles' (see?) krautrocky beats sent me slightly squiffy (although that might have been the cider). Retiring to our tent for a much needed respite we heard a little Neds Atomic Dustbin in the background before emerging for a quick blast of The Interrupters (who I wish we’d seen more of) on our way to see Seth Lakeman. I’m not a huge fan of the Big Top, it’s a festival dammit…I want to be outside…come rain or shine…and when it’s busy it’s hard to see much so we scurried (I say scurried…I mean crawled) over to the main stage for Maximo Park’s hit littered set and, another festival highlight for many, The Specials. Musically they sounded better than ever but perhaps they missed the youthful leaping about of Neville Staple…although at 67 I’m not sure how much leaping about he’d be up for…as a counterpoint to Terry Hall’s considerably dourer than thou delivery. I still loved every second of it though and happily ticked one of the few remaining bands off my bucket list. As if that wasn’t enough for one day we even made it to the majority of a truly moving set from The Imagined Village featuring, amongst others, folk legend Martin Carthy, daughter Eliza and, popping up now and then, Billy Bragg. Martin looked a little frail this time and his contribution seemed modest but then again he’s 81 for god’s sake. He ended the set singing a spirited Cum On Feel The Noize with Billy Bragg though followed by a quick blast of I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles that for some reason seemed incredibly poignant this evening.
A cup of tea in the Tiny Tea Tent capped off one of the best days at a festival that I can remember…and I’ve been to one or two.
Day Three already? How?! After a little breakfast red wine to steady the old feet we made it down just in time to join Funke and The Two Tone Baby’s monkey army (you had to be there).
I first encountered Funke waaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in 2013 and he’s doggedly played gigs here, there and everywhere to a small but perfectly formed group of fans ever since then. Normally a resident of The Bimble Inn this year he was justifiably elevated to the mains stage and blew the frankly huge 11am crowd away with his one man assault on the beats and blues. If there’s any justice one day he’ll be headlining. Yorkshire post punkers Deadletter continued the incredible run of great bands with an equally lively set necessitating a quick walk around the site to catch our breath before catching something else…Bob Vylan.
There’s controversial and then there’s Bob Vylan who’s stream of grime rock fuelled “righteous anger” reached its peak with a little speech about wanting to kill the queen. Judging by Facebook some people took offence at the Vylan’s set but somehow, given the chance, I doubt whether Mr Vylan (either of them, the drummer's called Bob Vylan too...that's handy...ahem) would actually murder a 96 year great grandmother.
Personally, whilst I didn’t agree with every single word he said, I bloody loved the set (and even ended up on the stage with the Vylans and a bunch of others who’d jumped the barriers at Bob’s request…never a simple move for a man of my age). We’re living in a painfully bland age at the moment and it was refreshing to see someone up there who’s not afraid to say what they’re thinking, even if it’s likely to attract all kinds of flack.
A quick dash to the Big Top to catch the lovely Katy J Pearson (wearing a dress just purchased from our good friends at Kinky Melon) country tinged pop before legging it back to the main stage for Jim Bob, former lead shouter behind Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine. I’ve been wanting to see this dude for years and he didn’t disappoint, even if he didn’t play Sheriff Fatman. That just left The Unthanks' hauntingly magical clog driven folk, Billy Bragg’s mix of singalong hits and social commentary and The Levellers traditional festival closing set culminating in a pretty spectacular firework display.
I was too far away to see which one of The Levs made a comment about how this year going back to the real world would be harder than ever with what’s going on but the coming 12 months are going to be pretty hideous for an awful lot of people, here and across the world. I don’t have the answers but pogoing about in a field every day after a pint of scrumpy or 5 seems more appealing than ever right now...
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