Isn't it weird that this is the first time in recent history that someone?s put on a medium sized festival with camping in the Manchester area? Finally someone is trying to fill the hole left by D-Percussion, the free city centre event where the music was great, but the venue crammed to discomfort. Friends of Mine boasts seven stages filled with local and national acts.
Despite the organisers going for somewhat obvious headliners for a Manchester festival in an attempt to lure local thirtysomethings, there was some more interesting fare hidden amongst the scheduling.
We managed to casually walk, saunter even, from stage to stage on Saturday and still catch sixteen bands*. It must be hard for stadium-rockers- until they're big enough to play stadiums all of their bombast just seems embarrassing. Carjack Mallone are confident, we?ll give them that but there's certainly no point in playing this sort of stuff meekly. It's silly though. Patterns offer an ethereal slightly punk-funky indie. Like (**) it didn't stay long in the memory, but was pleasant at the time.
A walk back to the Lake Stage allows us to watch the over-emoting of Nick G. At one point he nervously explains that he's finding it difficult singing these songs live because he gets more than one take when he's recording for youtube. His humility is endearing but his point says interesting (and arguably depressing) things about the modern-day career path of an aspiring singer-songwriter. We derive no pleasure from stating that his tuneful but soul-less yelping was like watching a half-decent X-Factor contestant passing a brick. We just hope that if Mr G ever reads this he can take some comfort knowing that we really aren't his target audience, and the only thing he should take from this is not to bother playing festivals, unless they're organised by Radio 1.
Sam Duckworth?s Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly are becoming the band we end up watching by accident at festivals. Their inoffensive poppy melodies do go nicely with a sunny field but we still have no interest in buying any of his albums. The title of best new band of the day goes to The Jude– infectious joy with just the right mix of abrasiveness and melody that define great power-pop.
The day?s first trip to the Big Top Tent pays off, in the shape of the deliberate aural and visual ugliness of Manchester noise-rockers Kong. If you like your rock cacophonous, drunk, covered in bodily fluids and with absolutely no hope (or intention) of a commercial future then you've probably already seen Kong. See them again. There's not even a viable scene for them to be part of. They?re screwed.
George Borowski and the Fabulous Wonderfuls are a shamelessly joyful proposition. Catchy rock songs imbued with the charismatic Mr Borowski?s optimistic outlook. Live is where The Longcut?s trick of a rock band knocking out dance music atmospherics makes sense. We do so hope they're not victims of the disenchantment that makes so many bands split up a few years after the initial wave of hype. It would be a shame since they still have something to offer.
One of the festival?s few international draws, The Black Lips sadly fail to move us. Their sound (punk band plays Ronettes songs) should slay a crowd desperate for some transatlantic charm. They?re all over the place but not in a good way.
Buzzcocks sound terrible to our ears so we run off to see The Wedding Present. I walk away happy that the world is a better place with them in it,? and then go catch Badly Drawn Boy?s headline set on the Lake Stage. Our expectations weren't especially high. Damon Gough fortunes may have slowly dried up over the last few years, but his mainly solo performance managed to successfully mix material from various stages of his career, including a duet with his ten year-old daughter (better than it probably reads). The whole affair was personal and intimate. Gough himself didn't seem to be having the time of his life, unable to concentrate due to the noise coming from another stage positioned nearby. This was not an issue on which he maintained a dignified silence. In fact dignity had very much left the building (field). Vs were flicked at the other stage, audience members were abused for leaving, and the remaining were berated for not buying his recent album. All of which is a shame since the miserable fucker had a lot of which to be proud.
(*= yeah we know we've only mentioned twelve. Was it not boring enough for you?)
(** = insert your own rubbish journalistic simile here. This is a nice and easy one- the clues are all there- it has to be something pleasant but transitory. A cigarette perhaps? You get the picture.)
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