16/09/2008
The huge success of the previous four Bestivals must have given curator Rob da Bank a feeling of invincibility, thinking he could poke contemptuously at the genitals of fate by announcing the theme of this year’s fancy dress to be 30,000 Freaks Under The Sea. Well, whichever gods Rob da Bank may have offended in the past saw to it that he had the perfect stage for his pantomime, and it duly pissed it down for much of the weekend.
The rain and mud may have sodden the trousers and skin of many a reveller, but certainly not their spirits, and certainly not the hair of Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong, who neatly strut their tailored musical wares with such confidence that even their instruments pout. In the dry of the Big Top tent The Breeders radiate a warm glow with their smiles and humour alone - their set has a consistent brilliance, through old favourites such as ‘Cannonball,’ to newer gems like ‘We’re Gonna Rise.’ Despite over a decade on hiatus and excessive shoe-gazing, main stage headliners, My Bloody Valentine crank out their trademark silken vocals over a wall of gushing guitars in powerful and mesmeric fashion. The effect of the synced-in, fast-moving film clips create a disorientation that peaks at the end of their set with 10 minutes of lung-collapsing noise, that crashes sublimely back into the end of ‘You Made Me Realise.’ By far one of the most intriguing spectacles of the weekend is Chrome Hoof. With an eleven-strong entourage dressed in glittery silver gowns like futuristic Druids at a solstice booze-up, they blast out shards of post-apocalyptic melodrama that somehow straddles the apparent gulf between Funkadelic vibes and doom metal. With an array of instruments from bassoons and violins to synths and chugging guitars, the elaborateness of their music more than matches that of their costumes.
Saturday opens with the softly whisperings of Laura Marling. Perhaps not optimum weather conditions for her alternative take on traditional folk, though ‘Alas I Cannot Swim’ cuts through the morning haze with uplifting jolliness, and a somewhat strange pertinence. Kitty Daisy & Lewis boogie down with circa 50s R&B and quaff-heavy rock ’n’ roll, which they do very well; though it seems at times to simply be a nostalgia trip, making them little more than a good pub band to keep in mind for your cousin’s wedding. A band stirring the sleepy post-rock nest is Vessels. As a light drizzle sets the mood perfectly, with musical virtuosity they create atmospheric quakes that tower above their occasionally all-too-obvious precursors to Explosions in the Sky, which they blend in with gently trotting intricacies. As something of an almost comical contrast, Let’s Wrestle clatter out an endearingly clumsy frenzy of slightly discordant indie-pop that is so effortlessly brilliant, it almost  seems like they’re dong it by mistake. Hanging nonchalantly between The Cribs and The Moldy Peaches, they prove that tuning-up is what lesser bands do, to hide the fact that they don’t have any decent songs.
The promoters were holding a couple of cards close to their chests by listing two surprise guests. The whole main arena went berserk when Terry Hall bounded out and played what amounted to The Specials’ greatest hits collection. Though the absence of Jerry Dammers meant they were not officially billed as The Specials, no-one in the crowd seemed to care about such minor details as they hollered and danced along to ‘Too Much Too Young’ and ‘A Message to You, Rudy.’ The appearance of Grace Jones on-stage was quite spectacular and also slightly surreal. Everything about her exudes eccentricity. From the costume changes after every song, to the androgyny of her voice, which is magnificently showcased in its full and frightening range in ‘La Vie En Rose.’ With po-faced cool, XX Teens cruise their way through a mix of quirky rock, pulsing techno and big-band blasts, with ‘Over You’ as the stand-out track.
Back on the main stage, Hot Chip attract the biggest audience of the festival by far. In Bestival spirit they emerge in fancy dress, before launching into a set charged with a relentless energy. By ‘And I Was A Boy From School,’ the anthemic dance-steps which tread on adorably camp retro ground have the whole crowd - despite being crammed together like sheep - waving whatever limb they manage to shake loose. In true prima donna style, Amy Winehouse staggers on-stage 40 minutes late, to mix of cheers and booing. Like a Victorian freak show, people turn up just to see her - sod the music; with each song being met by a response that would generously be called apathetic. Although she does have an incredible voice, she represents something more. By the end of the set it’s a depressing fact that most people would feel more satisfied if she’d come on-stage smoking a crack pipe, and then just fallen over on something sharp, rather than played any songs.
On a slightly less dismal Sunday morning in the aftermath of an evening’s excess, the lenitive tones of King Creosote perfectly vocalise the optimistic daze of the scattered crowd who are appreciative of his folksy lullabies. For a brief moment when the sun slices its way through the cloud, a subtle euphoria hangs like a mist over the main arena; music to release a gratifying sigh to. Thomas Tantrum are like a bright sunshiny beam emanating from the BBC stage, firmly carving their faces into the indie-pop candy mountain. There was a mix of mild reluctance and intrigue surrounding Sebastien Tellier’s appearance, though his talent and wit shone out through his set, which was often so drenched in irony a second pair of wellies was required just to wade through it. Standing like a rock cavalier he paints a huge rainbow-coloured smile across the festival, and with psychedelic waves of retro computer sounds layered on disco pop beats, he churns out music that  sounds like the theme-tune for a Japanese cartoon about a young boy’s adventures with his pet dragon ‘Bjorn.’
Micah P Hinson sets a more serious tone, as a slightly angrier Elvis Costello. Although his music sounds rooted in 70s folk such as Neil Young, there are grittier strings to his bow, which often erupt in Frank Black-esque screams. Zombie Zombie win the award for the least attended set, which is surprising considering the buzz surrounding them leading up to the summer – I guess no one was in the mood for their journey through a minimal techno wonderland. Anyone who thinks that all the possibilities of a guitar, bass and drums have been exhausted, need to go and see Akron/Family. They play eerie traditional folk with a dynamic gusto, spliced in with Eastern themes, so that choruses often sound more like mantras. Then straight from left-field, the show ends with drummer Dana Janssen taking the microphone as the human beat-box, for a hand waving version of ‘Ed is a Portal.’ Genius. Words: Simon Jablonski / Photography: Chiara Meattelli
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