Despite heavy rain during the night and in the morning, the site was impressively navigable, with an abundant supply of straw keeping the mud levels down. A massive improvement on last year’s sludgefest, it was clearly apparent the organisers have learned a lot of important lessons. Thankfully, one thing they haven’t changed is the basic layout of the site, and one of the key benefits of a small festival is that it’s possible to get between stages pretty quickly. Perhaps as well, as there was a superabundance of acts I wanted to check out. Even so, I knew I was going to have to do some serious legwork.....
Kicking off the Duke’s stage at midday, FEEDS served up a generous helping of melodic alt rock to a warm reception. There mightn’t be anything life changing about their music, but it’s certainly palatable and as the sun began to break during their set, so the feelgood vibe began to pick up once more.
Picking up a pint of Great Yorkshire Pale with a fruity nose and long hoppy aftertaste en route, I made my way to the Firkin tent, where Galtres regular HOLLY TAYMAR got to weaving some pleasant acoustic folk tunes. It’s not hard to see why she keeps being invited back, and her unusual cover of White Town’s ‘Your Woman’ was surprisingly good.
The same can’t be said of the cover of ‘Thriller’ performed by HANDMADE HANDS, which I only hope was a joke. Still, as the rain started to fall from the sky, I wasn’t about to stick around for more, and headed back to the Firkin stage. My arrival was well-timed, as DAVID WARD MACLEAN was on, with a complement of additional musicians to play his characteristically downbeat yet curiously uplifting compositions.
Diving out only for a pint of Devolution, I remained under cover in the Firkin for ROBERT LOXLEY HUGHES’ solo set. The man has a truly classic rock voice, and his gritty vocals are the perfect vehicle for his classic Zeppelinesque rockin’ tunes. ‘Messed Up, Corroded, Broke Down, Exploded’ might have been sanitised for the family-friendly festival, but still had serious balls, while on ‘Norwegian Wood’, Hughes made his six string sound like 12.
Back on the main stage, 3 FOOT NINJA promised ‘raw energy from the North York Moors’ and they delivered it too. The guitar-driven power trio were proved surprisingly good, and even with lots of ‘ooooh-aaaaaahhh’ backing vocals they still packed a punk-edged punch.
In contrast to 3 Foot Ninja’s grounded rock sound, Hull trio DEAR SHERLOCK strutted their stuff on the Oxman as if they’d just beamed down from another planet. Sadly, it’s a world of deluded pretentious guff. Imagine a cross between Keane and Muse (they have song titles like ‘Supernova’ and ‘Bach Archive’), fronted by a second-rate Russell Brand impersonator, and the result is... well, every bit as bad as you might expect, although they come on like they’re the best band to have ever walked the earth. A tip, guys: get over yourselves and your overblown melodramatic histrionics, and please remind me to avoid your next show.
FOSSIL COLLECTIVE proved to be a much more enjoyable experience, and while making beautifully crafted and delicate, introverted post-folk, there’s not a trace of pretentiousness about this Leeds act. The Collective’s core duo David Fendick and Jonny Hooker was expanded to make a full band lineup in order to fully realise their expansive sound, and it’s nice to hear how they’ve progressed since I covered their debut release, the ‘Honey Slides EP’ back in 2010.
Skipping the end of their set to once again take refuge, I found cover and comfort in the Pocklington Arts Centre stand, which hosted impromptu acoustic sets by T E MORRIS of Her Name is Calla and Ellen and the Escapades’ GARY STEWART, both of whom have new albums out. Tom kicked things off with a truly beautiful and faithful cover of Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up that Hill’ (apparently the only cover he knows how to play) and followed it up with a haunting rendition of ‘Long Distance Runner’ and ‘Haven’ from his latest solo offering, and managed to draw quite a crowd. Gary, looking very fetching in wellington boots, played a selection of songs from his new album, which he plugged by pointing out that, in its cellophane seal, was waterproof. On the strength of his performance, it’s probably also rather good.
I then headed back over to the Firkin tent in time for the tail end of JON AINSWORTH’s set as it built to a breathtaking climax. With soaring vocals atop a 12-string guitar that sounded like thunder, it was impressive stuff.
While the equipment was being changed over on the Firkin stage, I made my way back to the Oxman to catch MAMMAL HUM kicking out a set of indie rock that was... ok. But nothing more. Despite a seriously solid rhythm section that defined the sound and built nicely on the closer ‘We Are Little Hands’, the songs and overall presentation simply lacked inspiration, and the bottom line is that they’re doing what they’re doing 15 years too late.
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Ally Dickaty, the guitarist and singer with THE VIRGINMARYS might look a bit like he should be in a Green Day tribute act or something, but make no mistake, these guys crank out some serious rock racket. Another exhibit in the case for the power trio being the optimum line-up, there’s no wastage here. The sound is solid, the style raw, blues-based rock with real muscle. All three of them attack the songs with a real energy that crackles from the speakers, and Danny Dolan’s powerhouse percussion is some of the best you’re likely to find – and seriously hard-hitting, too, splintering drumsticks like they’re cocktail sticks.
With time to kill, I headed back to the Oxman stage, where I caught the tail-end of LAST WINTER DANCE PARTY’s set which was an altogether different proposition: textured and emotive, I made a note to check them out properly on my return home, but for the time being contented myself with return visit to the beer tent to recharge my glass for ELLEN AND THE ESCAPADES, who were superb, sweetly charming and utterly beguiling.
After a brief break for a bite to eat, I stuck with the main stage for GUILLEMOTS. For some reason, I’ve given them a wide berth all these years, primarily because I’d assumed they were just another indie band – and because Fyfe Dangerfield’s ‘other’ band, Gannets, had kept the punters waiting over an hour before allowing the doors to open at the Brudenell back in January. Still, perhaps its time to forgive and forget, and while Dangerfield – who sounds for all the world like a stereotypical villain in some spy film – does at times come across like an overgrown kid with his floppy fringe and casual demeanour, he also proves himself to be an engaging front man. What’s more, it’s clear they’re not your average indie band, with some decent tunes up their sleeves. It did get a bit Billy Joel mid-set, but on balance, there are far worse crimes and I have to say, in the interests of objective reviewing, that they were good.
There was a fair gap between bands on the main state, so I made my way back to the Oxman to find it packed. THE TALKS may have been to Hull and back, and may have been more Specials than Madness, and they were going down a storm with what must’ve been a good hundred people on their feet and getting a groove on. Personally I just wasn’t in the mood for generic dubby ska so took the opportunity to pay another well-earned visit to the beer tent.
A large crowd and an air of expectation marked the arrival of ASH on the Duke’s stage, and they raced out of the starting blocks with a string of hits – as you might expect from a band described in the programme as ‘the ultimate singles band’. Now, I can’t help but suspect this might be overplaying it, but as the band efficiently dispatched ‘Lose Control’, ‘A Life Less Ordinary’ and ‘Girl from Mars’ inside the first ten minutes of their set, I found it increasingly difficult to argue. They then turned their attention to more recent releases in the form of ‘Binary’, and the crowd were loving every moment. ‘Goldfinger’, ‘Oh Yeah’ and ‘Kung Fu’ all received similarly efficient treatment, and I was reminded that actually, I never minded Ash, and yes, a dozen top 20 singles is no small achievement by any standards. The only downside was the realisation that their current tour marks their 20th anniversary, and that by this measure, I’m rapidly on my way to becoming fucking ancient.
Making my way to the exit, I was drawn by a surging howl of noise to the Little Top stage. The source of said noise was high-octane garage duo ...AND THE HANGNAILS cranking out ‘Fear Only Fear’. These guys are absolute kings when it comes to tinnitus-inducing treble played at ear-bleeding volume, and so I was only too happy to stick around for the couple of songs that remained of their set before calling it a night.
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