A Field of their own

FIELD MUSIC / THE KEYS, 5TH OCTOBER 2006, CLWB IFOR BACH

"We'll be playing for about half an hour. You're missing 'Extras' for this. "We" being The Keys - not the American swamp-blues-revivalist duo (that'd be The Black Keys) but the psychedelic-garage-revivalist fourpiece from the Valleys. One of them used to be in Murry The Hump and they've put out a single on Too Pure, you know.

On occasions it's difficult to see quite what Too Pure heard in them - those occasions, such as the song I presume from its mantra-like chorus is called 'Eyes Of The World' - because they come across as a lethargic Oasis covers band. But at their best, they're like Spiritualized or The Brian Jonestown Massacre covering The Kinks - in other words, quite a prospect. 'Bad Dreams' (which you can download here) brings the set to a particularly satisfying conclusion.

Like 'Extras', then - a bit inconsistent. But, unlike 'Extras', more good than bad.

Field Music were responsible for one of my favourite albums of last year, but they and their self-titled debut remain criminally underappreciated. One suspects that they're sick of reading about their "connections" - for the record, Peter Brewis used to drum for The Futureheads, whose Barry Hyde was once a member, while Maximo Park's Tom English has also filled in on drumming duties on occasion - because they're very much their own band.

Rather than limiting themselves to the jerky, juddery post-punk palette, as their North-Eastern associates tend to, Field Music use those same colours in a more creative way, painting prettier, poppier pictures.

Tonight the core trio of Peter Brewis and his brother David, who switch between guitars and drums, plus keyboard player Andrew Moore begin with four unfamiliar songs on the bounce, all presumably taken from new album Tones On The Town which is due for release in January. While recognisably Field Music tracks, they don't seem to have the same lushness and sparkle in the eye - but then that's quite possibly owing to their unfamiliarity.

(Incidentally, is it just me who feels a little guilty at that rush of relief that comes when a band plays something you know? After all, a good live set isn't necessarily one which is stuffed full of crowd-pleasers - why shouldn't bands try out new or different things?)

When the old material does come, the likes of 'If Only The Moon Were Up', 'Shorter Shorter' and set-closer 'You're So Pretty' are welcomed enthusiastically by those of us who've heard it - but there remains a nagging feeling that live the songs don't quite match up to their recorded counterparts, a sense that - as good as it is - they can't quite do justice to the melodic, clever and artful pop of their debut.

It doesn't help that new single 'In Context' has to be aborted when the bass decides not to work, but no matter, the band seem to be enjoying themselves anyway, all smiles when performing an impromptu rendition of 'Happy Birthday' Brian May style on request, and claiming Clwb is the best venue of the tour so far because "we've got towels".

It's a travesty that a band of their originality should be grateful for the supply of such mundane things as towels, but unfortunately that's the situation in which they currently find themselves. This live performance may not have been wholly convincing, but hopefully the new album will help to get them the popular acclaim they deserve.

Public service announcement

If you've arrived here while looking for the MySpace page of a girl called Sarah from Glasgow, then you've come to the wrong place - that page, which is also called Silent Words Speak Loudest but which is nothing to do with this site, can be found here.

I don't know - you carelessly fling together a pretentious-sounding blog name and four years later it gets picked up by someone else. A weird kind of tribute, perhaps, but it's always good to know one still has the power to connect with The Kidz.

Update: Sarah's renamed her site It Was Meant To Mean More Than This. Cheers Sarah.

(There's not much there, but for what it's worth the SWSL MySpace site is here.)

Blogwatch: in brief

Girl is venturing out to meet her public, with a book signing at the Islington branch of Borders next Thursday (19th) at 6pm. Great to see she's keeping the blog going, despite all the turmoil and upheaval of the last couple of months.

On a bookish theme, my favourite post of the past few days is undoubtedly Pete's considered, well-written and thought-provoking piece about the bookselling industry in general and Waterstones in particular.

Simon is looking for potential contributors for a new feature he'll be running on Sweeping The Nation next month: "What will happen is every day throughout November we'll be featuring a different contributor writing about a single track that may have been overlooked from the top pantheon of pop craft but should be lauded all the same. So, picking a song that isn't 'Bohemian Rhapsody' and telling our readers in just enough detail why it's so great, and we'll chuck in an mp3 to back your words up". If you fancy it, drop him an email (addresses available by following the link above).

Fighting the good fight

The Guardian's Laura Barton profiles twenty of the best independent record shops in Britain. No surprise to see Rough Trade heading the list and Monorail and Avalanche also featuring, but from a personal perspective it's good to see three of my favourites merit a mention: Sister Ray in Soho, Selectadisc in Nottingham and Spillers in Cardiff.

Know Your Enemy

"I've always liked people who mess up. I don't like career people - it doesn't seem very appropriate when it comes to music which is about something emotional. Reading an interview with Razorlight is just like reading The Economist, saying 'Yeah, well we're going to be really big in America and we think this album's going to follow up the next one' - that's what the record company should be saying, not the people in the band".

Jarvis Cocker, talking to NME, with a sharp word for "career bands". Strange how he plucked the name of Razorlight out of the air, isn't it? And unfortunate that NME seems to exist solely to pander to such bands these days...

Even more forthright are the opinions expressed in his new single about those who run the world - take a look here. (Thanks to Swiss Toni for the link.)

One other bit of Jarvis-related news: he's going to be editing the forthcoming issue of Observer Music Monthly, and he's been asking for suggestions for "unintentionally scary songs" (not all of those who've left comments have quite grasped the "unintentionally" bit... The magazine will contain Jon Savage's review of Jarvis' new album - apparently it "may very well be the greatest ever made". Nothing like buttering up the guest editor, is there?

This week on Stylus

Mike of Troubled Diva reviews the Queer Noises 1961-1978: From The Closet To The Charts compilation, as put together by Jon Savage, author of 'England's Dreaming': "The album concludes, almost inevitably, with Sylvester’s “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real),” the first major hit single by an openly gay act, here re-contextualised as a moment of triumph for gay culture, ushering in a new era of visibility and acceptance—but you can probably collate your own history from here, as the signposts are clearly marked. It is to the lasting credit of Savage’s wildly uneven but fascinating compilation that this hitherto shadowy first chapter can now be filled in".

Also:

Mike Powell suggests that, with I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass, Yo La Tengo are standing still.

Derek Miller scours Beck's The Information for evidence of his reputed fascination with Scientology and decides that "for better or worse ... [the album] is both exactly what you feared it might be and also a document of some of Beck’s best groove-based material since Midnite Vultures".

Blogwatch: in brief

Welcome...

Non-Working Monkey - a great blog which I, like many others, discovered thanks to JonnyB's comments box. Its author may not thank me for mentioning this again, but you've got to love any blog that features a post with the line: "So how come I've just found chewing gum embedded in my ladygarden FOR THE SECOND TIME?".

Meanwhile...

Girl With A One-Track Mind is interviewed by a woman whose husband once bit the head off a live bat (thanks to Betty for the link).

Elsewhere...

Mike successfully navigates his way to the end of his post-a-day September challenge, concluding by considering the ways in which he is and is not "a clapped out has been". For my money he's definitely not - a man with that much stamina...

Salvadore Vincent gives us an insight into the rigorous research that goes into his writing.

Jonathan has a dilemma regarding his new local Polish grocery store (not to mention some doubts over whether it is even truly Polish).

And finally...

After a brief hiatus JonnyB is back with a vengeance beard and tales of staircase-related disasters.

Know Your Enemy

"The thing that disappointed me most about Updike is that he did not say in that review that he had just completed a novel about terrorism. He had to sweep me out of the way in order to make room for himself. I don't subscribe to the very predominantly English admiration of Updike. If you take away 'Rabbit Is Rich' and 'Rabbit At Rest', and some of the short stories, there's a lot of ... slightly ... garbage. Think of 'The Coup'! The new one ['Terrorist'] is beyond awful. He should stay in his parochial neighbourhood and write about wife-swapping, because it's what he can do."

Judging by this comment (taken from the interview in Saturday's Guardian), Salman Rushdie is still seething about the reception John Updike afforded his last novel 'Shalimar The Clown' in the New Yorker last year.

Interviewer James Campbell's throwaway comment that "After Cambridge, [Rushdie] worked in London at a firm of advertising copywriters" reminds me of a coincidental conversation I had on Saturday night. Did you know that Rushdie was behind the 1980s "Naughty but nice" slogan for cream cakes?

Quote of the day

"He looks great and I would jump at the chance to work with him."

Tom Cruise on his new bezzie mate David Beckham. Acting ability clearly means nothing to the diminutive Hollywood star egotistical shortarse. As if we didn't already know that...

Know Your Enemy

About time I resurrected this semi-regular feature, I think...

"Typically fussy, too-clever-by-half noodle by arguably the single most over-rated human being alive. In wiring together a thudding electronic beat, a bit of scratching, a vaguely South American rhythm, a rapidly mumbled lyric and a coda which sounds like another song entirely, Beck repeats his characteristic error of assuming that if he stuffs enough ideas into one track, nobody will notice that none of them are any good".

Andrew Mueller on Mr Hansen and 'Cell Phone's Dead', the lead single from his new album The Information.

The last Beck album I own is Mutations, and I haven't heard much of Guero at all. One of those artists I loved (and do very much still like), but whom I seem to have lost touch with over the past few years. Not a conscious decision, just a gradual parting of the ways.

The perfect location

'Dogtown', a new BBC3 comedy series, has been drawing comparisons to 'The League Of Gentlemen' in that it features a northern town inhabited by a cast of grotesques. The real-life setting for Horton-le-Hole? Wearside, of course...

"Annoying and incomprehensible"

That was Stewart Lee's first impression of The Fall, as revealed on Friday's BBC2 documentary 'The Wonderful And Frightening World Of Mark E Smith', originally screened on BBC4 in January 2005. Of course, Lee nevertheless found himself strangely compelled by the racket he heard, and now counts himself among their fiercest devotees.

I say "they" and "their", but, as the programme title suggests, The Fall are Mark E Smith. Certainly he's the only surviving original member and has orchestrated more line-up changes than Rafa Benitez - though "orchestrated" may be the wrong word, suggesting as it does a modicum of planning, organisation and forward-thinking... Lest viewers of 'DiG' might think spectacular onstage fall-outs and fisticuffs are the sole preserve of Anton Newcombe and The Brian Jonestown Massacre, the documentary featured footage of The Fall's infamous 1998 gig at Brownies in New York when the band imploded in acrimonious and very public fashion.

Paul Morley was very honest in saying that, during Smith's lowest ebb in the 1990s (when he was REALLY fucked up on booze and speed), Morley came to question whether the man he'd been hailing as a genius was actually a drunken tramp, and he'd merely been investing far too much meaning in his shouted rantings. Thankfully, though, Smith pulled out of that particular nosedive and managed to carry on (even though his status as a cantankerous old curmudgeon is now set in stone).

I've said it before, and I'll no doubt say it again: what possessed the BBC to invite him to read out the football results in 'Final Score'? A very risky business indeed...

Home cinema

The second installment of a post I started many moons ago (note to self: don't make promises you can't keep...)

'Capote' is rather misleadingly titled - it's not a biopic of the legendary American writer (in fact, in the DVD extras, star Philip Seymour Hoffman reveals that that's exactly what attracted him to do the film), but instead tells the story of Truman Capote's most famous book 'In Cold Blood', written about the Clutter murders in Kansas.

Capote himself is naturally centre-stage and, though I'm in no position to say whether or not Hoffman manages to recreate or inhabit the character, I gather that many viewers have said the likeness is uncanny. At least that can be his excuse when people complain about THAT voice - a bit like Ben Stiller's in 'Zoolander', it does really grate after a while (and I bet that's the first time 'Capote' and 'Zoolander' have been mentioned in the same breath...)

But, beyond Capote himself, the subject of the film is, essentially, authorial ethics. Capote is shown trying to win the trust of the murderers (particularly Perry Smith), but this comes to seem not as compassion but as a ruthless attempt to inveigle his way into their confidence so he can use them for his own ends. Ultimately he is depicted as wracked with guilt because he wants their stays of execution to expire so he can finally finish the book. 'In Cold Blood' indeed. Unsurprising, then, that it was the masterpiece that both made and broke him, and that he never finished another book.

Feel good hits of the 28th September

1. 'Soft Sugar' - Noxagt
2. 'Smallpox Champion' - Fugazi
3. 'Death To Los Campesinos!' - Los Campesinos!
4. 'Ohio Riverboat Song' - Palace Brothers
5. 'Kicker Conspiracy' - The Fall
6. 'Glasgow Mega-Snake' - Mogwai
7. 'All Roads To Fault' - Yourcodenameis:milo
8. 'Fun Fun Fun' - The Beach Boys
9. 'Show The Way' - Semifinalists
10. 'Drain Cosmetics' - Serena-Maneesh

Heathen chemistry

NOXAGT / TRUCKERS OF HUSK / CIRCA REGNA TONAT / ZUMBAR, 25TH SEPTEMBER 2006, CARDIFF CLWB IFOR BACH

I love intimate gigs like this - trying to spot who will emerge from the crowd at some point and take to the stage when nearly everyone looks like they could be in a band.

Zumbar are four unassuming enough chaps, and their set is equally unassuming, displaying a predictable penchant for Black Sabbath and doom rock and a rather less predictable interest in Spanish guitar licks. Unfortunately, then, that they labour under a truly dreadful name (yes, Zumbar really does exist, in Manchester) and that there are difficulties with the monitors, meaning the discipline, tightness and perfect timing demanded by the changes of pace are often conspicuous by their absence.

Speaking of absence, Thread have had to pull out, and in their place we get Caerphilly foursome Circa Regna Tonat. As their name ("Around The Throne Thunder Roars") and their friendship with Swansea bruisers Taint suggests, Circa Regna Tonat make one hell of a racket. Propelled by some awesome drumming, their schizophrenic aural assault is at times overpowering, especially the song featuring two basses and the repeated scream of "You're gonna die!". The only disappointment is the new slower song, which just goes to prove they're best when on the attack.

Truckers Of Husk are an excellent example of why it's so dangerous to judge a book by its cover. We watch them set up, anticipating a jarring set of emo froth, only to be astounded by a series of compellingly odd and incredibly complicated instrumentals (think the weirder and more experimental end of the Dischord roster, perhaps - Q And Not U?). Bassist Hywel Evans has played with local heroes Jarcrew and former Mclusky man Andy Falkous in Future Of The Left, but it's not entirely clear whether he's actually on stage. For tonight's gig they're a threepiece, you see, and this means audacious mid-song instrument swapping to make use of the additional drumkit, but even more impressive is the fretwork of the salmon pink-jumpered guitarist - virtuoso, but without the arrogant ignorance of all else around it.

How will headliners Noxagt (it's pronounced "Nox-att", apparently) follow that? Quite simple: by blowing them - and us - away with sheer force.

The Norwegians may just be the heaviest band I've ever seen live - a band who don't bat an eyelid when, barely halfway through the first song, a huge shard of drumstick shears off and narrowly avoids spearing the diminutive guitarist. Listening to them isn't like being hit by a 10 tonne truck. Neither is it like being run over by a steamroller. No, it's more like being hit and run over by a 10 tonne truck carrying a load of steamrollers. And behind the wheel of the truck is Rik Waller, with Meat Loaf and Bella Emberg (oh, look her up...) as co-drivers. And all three have just eaten a four course meal, each course consisting of an anvil.

All the more remarkable, then, that the third (self-titled) album they're currently touring is their first with a guitarist - before a viola was integral to their unholy din.

The unearthly rumble is virtually continuous, only the odd infrequent gap allowing pause for breath. It's not hard to see why they call it "sludge". If you boil metal down (assuming it's in a liquid state to start with - Science Ed), then this is what you're left with - primal, pummelling, dissonant, brutal. There's a motorik groove to the songs - admittedly the sort of motorik groove that makes you feel like you're Rik Waller, stuffed on a four-course anvil meal and driving a 10 tonne truck loaded with steamrollers and an equally stuffed Meat Loaf and Bella Emberg squeezed into the passenger seats, but a motorik groove nonetheless.

It's to Noxagt's credit that they know the value of keeping the onslaught brief - it's all about maximum impact rather than vicious mercilessness (take note Winnebago Deal). I left the house with the words "Don't go burning any churches" ringing in my ears - but, by the end, I'm thinking that if they go on much longer, I'll have ringing ears and an unquenchable desire to buy some petrol and a box of matches on the way home. It doesn't come to that, quite.

So, a marvellous joint venture from Forecast and Lesson No. 1 - and all for a measly £6, too. With this headfuck psychosludge you are really spoiling us...

2006: fast becoming the year I rediscovered metal.

Three's a crowd (of excellent new additions to the SWSL blogroll)

The Overnight Editor: a nicely acerbic blog (think the male Betty of Betty's Utility Room), as spotted by Mike

Kilroy's Chinos: the new MP3 blog from Ben of Cardiff indie types Shake My Hand, as recommended by Simon

Swing Batter Batter!: the place where Greg Smyth - a freelance music writer, Howling Bells fan and honorary Geordie - has been "being snidey about popular culture since 2004" (in other words, if not a sister site to SWSL, then certainly a favourite cousin)

Quote of the day

"I'm more interested in the future of the Arctic Circle than the future of the Arctic Monkeys".

Yeah, good one, Gordon. Be sure to thank your speechwriters for that.

'Extras': special?

Not really.

I managed to catch the second episode of the second series of Ricky Gervais's show on Thursday night. Although it was better than the first (in which the comedy, such as it was, essentially revolved around "deconstructing" (Gervais's word) Orlando Bloom by playing on his vanity and putting racist sentiments in the mouth of Keith Chegwin), it was still far from brilliant.

While it was good to see Gervais and co not relying solely on the crutch of a celebrity to prop up a script devoid of many good ideas (David Bowie's appearance lasted less than five minutes, and featured him composing a song about Gervais's character Andy Millman), the regular characters still don't feel well-developed or broad-shouldered enough to bear the burden.

For me, the particular problem with Thursday's episode was that, in tracing Millman's first experiences of fame, it was autobiographical - I couldn't help but feel that Gervais's own arrogance came out in it, not least in making a comedy which is essentially about himself.

Of course, all might have been forgiven if it was funny - some of the scenes with Shaun Williamson were, as was the exchange with the homeless beggar (one of those classically awkward social interactions Gervais does so well), but consistent quality was again conspicious by its absence.

Quote of the day

"The other day I ate so much toast I had to lie down"

Jonathan Ross might be more than a bit smarmy, but he does at least have a knack of drawing embarrassing confessions out of his guests - and himself (see above). Last night he got Ian Wright to admit the reason he likes the "larger lady" is because of an attraction to one of his aunts as an eight-year-old. An apparently drunk and giggly Brenda Blethyn needed rather less cajoling to reveal that she pissed on the collar of her Oscar outfit shortly before taking to the stage to collect her award and embrace Nicholas Cage...

Musical guests were Sparks, who played new single 'Dick Around' and (inevitably) 'This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us' - both suggesting that the brothers Mael think 'Bohemian Rhapsody' is the finest song in the history of recorded music and thus should be the blueprint for everything they do. I think Ron Mael might have the most curious and distinctive moustache I've ever seen - it hugs his upper lip so tightly that it looks as though it's scared of falling off.

Update: Olav has taken great pleasure in pointing out that 'This Town...' was released in 1974, a year before 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. OK, OK, Mr Smartypants. The similarities are still striking, though.

Camping it up

Four days since my last post, so that must mean it's time for more frothing over Los Campesinos!. Today's links are to a pair of interviews, one from the MP3 blog Keep Hope Inside and the other from the icWales site.

But lest you suspect that they're in danger of being overhyped (here and elsewhere), you're not alone - judging by his comment on this recent live review on Drowned In Sound, guitarist Tom Bromley (the sole interviewee for the icWales piece) agrees. So yes, they are a work-in-progress who have found themselves thrust into the limelight rather earlier than they might have hoped - but it's that promise that's so exciting. There are rough edges, sure - but I just hope they don't get blunted because that's a very large part of their charm.

It just doesn't add up

"£561bn: What the world spent on arms this year.

£32bn: The annual amount given in aid.

£275bn: Total debt of developing countries."

(Figures from Oxfam via the Metro.)

International Action Network on Small Arms

You! Me! Dancing!

LOS CAMPESINOS / PORCHLIGHT / SHAKE MY HAND / LITTLE MY (AND FRIENDS), 16TH SEPTEMBER 2006, CARDIFF DEMPSEY'S

About two thirds of the way through tonight's opening set, Little My throw in a cover of 'Monsterpussy' by The Vaselines. As if their love for the Glaswegian shamblers wasn't already apparent enough. Their number supplemented tonight by assorted additional musicians (which leads DJ / compere / promoter / all-round good egg Gary to label them a "Cardiff supergroup"), Little My specialise in very short, very chaotic songs which are as ragged around the edges as they are twee. The C86 revival starts here, kids... Bonus points for... the inventive use of a Guess Who? board as a percussion instrument.

Until as recently as three weeks ago, Shake My Hand went under the name of Yossarian. From what I can recall of their previous incarnation, the moniker change doesn't signal any shift in direction - or, in other words, the songs which were on their old MySpace site are now on their new one, and get an airing tonight. 'Invisible' is typical in that it features wryly amusing spoken word vocals over careful guitar work, but there's not much in their set that really grabs me and shakes me by the lapels. Members of Los Campesinos! in the crowd raise a smile, though, getting revenge on their friends by echoing their fawning shout of "We're here for you!" at the recent Broken Social Scene gig. Bonus points for... the free four track CD, featuring 'Indie Disco', 'Koala', 'Settled' and the aforementioned 'Invisible' complete with stylish handmade inlay.

In this company Porchlight are, unfortunately, fighting something of a losing battle. Not only are they evidently outsiders at what is a bit of a Cardiff indiepop love-in (which also means they don't have their own partisan crowd), but their guitar sound is stodgy and blunt. They don't do themselves too many favours by looking faintly bored, mind. It would be nice to say that what they lack in enthusiasm they make up for with the songs, but the likes of 'Hot Or Cold' and recent single 'Impress Me' don't, er, impress me much - solid enough, but no sense of distinctive identity. Bonus points for... er, how's about playing to an unfamiliar crowd?

But tonight isn't about Porchlight; nor is it about Little My or Shake My Hand. It's about Los Campesinos!.

After a week of touring (their first gigs outside beyond Cardiff and London, I gather), this is their homecoming show in every sense - it's taking place in their natural habitat, upstairs in Dempsey's as part of Cardiff's semi-legendary indie night Twisted By Design. And boy don't we just know it; the anticipation before they take to the stage and the excitement that ensues is palpable.

It might be a matter of time constraints (it's gone eleven by the time they appear), but it's interesting that the incongruous post-rock slowburner that formerly opened the set has been dropped, as I suggested it should be. Instead it's the chorus of "ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR" and we're launched giddily straight into the maelstrom.

The seven-strong student outfit might only have played a handful of gigs, but it's no wonder that the likes of NME, Moshi Moshi and countless MP3 blogs have been foaming at the mouth about them like a rabid Roy Hattersley. Quite simply, they are absurdly good fun, and much more than the sum of their parts: American indie riffage, British tweeness, pop singalongs, wicked humour (a song with an opening line about playing pass the parcel with human body parts, anyone?) and boundless energy.

Excitable frontman Gareth chastises us for "cheering the hits", but in truth nothing is received with anything less than fervour. 'Infinite Lives' and the wittily cutesy 'It Started With A Mix' are ace, closer 'Sweet Dreams Sweet Cheeks' is even better (climaxing with drummer Oliver standing on his kit and leading the crowd in the chant of "One blink for yes, two blinks for no...") but once again the irresistible 'You Me Dancing!' steals the show - how could it not, as the second musical tribute of the night to Twisted By Design (after Shake My Hand's 'Indie Disco')?

Of course, it's all over far too early. The only people left relatively unmoved by the preceding half an hour are the parents stood directly in front of me. I want to tap the bemused pair on the shoulder and say "Don't worry - they really are amazing"...

Bonus points for... being fucking great from start to finish.

*****

We didn't stay for the club night, which felt wrong after feeling all the love, but in our defence we were meeting others who wouldn't have been allowed into Dempsey's as the gig was sold out. What felt even more wrong was decamping to Callaghan's for the Uber Alles DJs. But one half (if not both) of the duo had been at the gig too, and it was an inspired decision on their part to wrap the night up by giving 'You Me Dancing!' a spin. No thanks to the over-officious doorman who insisted it be turned off before the conclusion, though...

Thanks to Gary and the bands for a top night.

Ate, drank and was merry

(My apologies if you find yourself dribbling on your keyboard on reading this...)

It's no wonder that the weekend's Abergavenny Food Festival was the eighth - it was bloody marvellous.

Mercifully for an event which is predominantly open-air, the predicted thunderstorms and downpours never even threatened to materialise, which meant a bumper crowd nibbling and guzzling their way through all manner of delicious foodstuffs.

We arrived at lunchtime on Saturday, and I started off with the double whammy of a wild boar burger and a shredded duck baguette (the latter replete with peppers, onions and fiery salsa). From then on it was a matter of supping (on pints of locally brewed ale and cider) and sampling everything from cheese, sausages and spicy chutneys to fruit coulis, perry and damson gin. Well, it would have been rude not to. The very best (as far as I was concerned) was saved for last: a rump steak with onions sandwiched in rosemary bread. Mmm mmm mmm.

Appropriately enough for an event at which chefs "perform" live on stages before audiences, the ethically-produced festival T-shirts were provided by Domino aka the record label that Franz Ferdinand and Arctic Monkeys (amongst many, many others) call home. Which meant that not only was I able to stuff my face, I was also able to have a chat about Clinic's forthcoming fourth album Visitations ("spookier" and their best yet, apparently) with Domino's international marketing chap ("well, Wales is abroad...") who shared my appreciation of The Icarus Line. Of course a T-shirt was duly purchased...

All in all, a great day out - and not an Oliver or a Worrall-Thompson in sight.

Feel good hits of the 18th September

1. 'You Me Dancing!' - Los Campesinos!
2. 'From Several To Many' - Semifinalists
3. '23 Beats Off' - Fugazi
4. 'Honey Child What Can I Do' - Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan
5. 'You Don't Knock' - The Detroit Cobras
6. 'It's Getting Light Outside' - Clearlake
7. 'Machine' - Spotlight Kid
8. 'Like A Child' - Junior Boys
9. 'Dirty Boots' - Sonic Youth
10. 'Disturbance At The Heron House' - REM

If you read one blog post this week...

... let it be this one. It's from An Unreliable Witness, the new blog of a long-time SWSL favourite. Actually, the blog isn't that new, having been started over three months ago - to discover exactly why there's been a three month hiatus, you'll have to read the post. Let's just say it kind of puts the shit I post about into perspective.

Envy and other sins bands

Thanks to Skif (as ever), my reviews of Anathallo's Floating World, Envy's Insomniac Doze and Howling Bells' self-titled debut are now up on the Vanity Project website. So, if you've got any interest in ambitious and otherworldly American indie rock, Japanese post-hardcore or Australian alt-goth-blues, or if you just want to read me getting tangled up in an embarrassing number of superfluous adjectives, take a look.

The Last Romance = the last hurrah

What could be more depressing than Arab Strap? Well, the news that Arab Strap are splitting up. Aidan Moffat and Malcolm Middleton have decided that their sixth album proper The Last Romance will, appropriately enough, be their last.

"Yes, it’s the end for Arab Strap. After ten years, six studio albums, three live albums and all manner of everything else, we’ve decided the story should come to a close. There’s no animosity, no drama, we simply feel we’ve run our course and The Last Romance seems to us the most obvious and logical final act of the Arab Strap studio adventure. Everybody likes a happy ending! We will, of course, be celebrating. Our anniversary compilation, Ten Years Of Tears will be released this October / November to coincide with our Farewell Tour. We hope you’ll be able to join us, but if you can’t make it then let us take this opportunity to thank you for listening."

No, thank YOU.

Arab Strap are a band I really ought to investigate further - the two albums I own, Philophobia and The Red Thread (their second and fourth), are both very good, particularly the latter. And somewhere there's a copy of Middleton's solo album Into The Woods with my name on it...

Quote of the day

"We are spinning a web.
We are knotting a net.
These are delicate threads.

These are desperate times.
We are throwing out lines
so subtle and slight

they are lighter than air.
We are spanning the sky
with wireless wires

too faint by far
for the naked eye,
untraceably thin, imperceptibly fine.

But they carry our breath.
We are making our calls.
They are tightropes, strung

from the end of the phone
to a place called home
so our words can escape,

our voices trapeze
for mile after mile
or in my case traverse

the width of the sea.
My beautiful wife,
sit down in the chair,

put the phone to your ear.
Let me say.
Let me hear.

We are spinning a web.
But such delicate threads,
the links so brittle,

too little, too late.
Not one can save us
or bear our weight."

From Simon Armitage's 9/11 poem 'Out Of The Blue'.

(Thanks to Pete for the link.)

No contest

As a big fan of Stewart Lee, I was disappointed to miss last week's 'Don't Get Me Started' on Five, in which Lee got his teeth into the subject of blasphemy. I gather that some of the stand-up footage was taken from the recording of his stand-up set at Chapter in March. Anyway, the thoughts of someone who did see it can be found here: "The biggest failing of the programme is its tragic one-sidedness - Lee only talks to people who share his opinion, which is a wasted opportunity if nothing else".

Thursday saw the last in the series of 'Time Trumpet', the Armando Iannucci show in which Lee made regular appearances. On reflection the quality of the material was a little uneven at times, but for the most part it was well worth tuning in for.

No sooner does 'Time Trumpet' disappear than more comedy appears to take its place on BBC2: 'That Mitchell And Webb Look' plus new series of 'Extras' and 'Mock The Week'. The BBC must be pleased to have poached Mitchell and Webb from C4, but I've not been that impressed by the trailers. I'll probably give it a go, though. By contrast, the clip from 'Extras' shown on 'Friday Night With Jonathan Ross' did make me laugh, but Ricky Gervais, appearing on the show, didn't convince me by suggesting that this series is more about the main characters than the guest stars. Last time around everything was geared around "deconstructing" (Gervais's word) the star guests, often in very obvious ways (see the Ross Kemp episode) and I doubt it'll have changed significantly since then. Still, I oughtn't write it off before the first episode's even aired.

In the meantime, I seem to be watching an awful lot of 'The Two Ronnies'...

The odd couple

If I had a list of things I never thought I'd see, Mark Lanegan smiling would be right up there. But there he was, in his joint interview with Isobel Campbell on Friday night's Mercury Music Prize programme, with something approaching a grin. A smirk I might have expected, but a smile? Definitely not.

Anyway, it was an interesting little featurette in place of a live performance, in which they talked about the circumstances behind their collaboration and the making of Ballad Of The Broken Seas. (You never know - you might actually get a review some time, if you're lucky.) Afterwards Campbell claimed her nomination statuette, looking like a rabbit in the headlights before the crowd and cameras and mumbling something about Arthur Lee and Syd Barrett before making a hasty exit.

I didn't stay up for the whole programme, but I did see Editors open up with 'All Sparks' (which did nothing to convince me their album is anything more than solid but unspectacular, and not really worthy of its nomination) and Hot Chip perform 'Over And Over' (LCD Soundsystem on a budget anyone?). Most striking was how scary token jazz nominee Zoe Rahman is - all manic toothy grins and very long hair. Couldn't discern much of merit in her performance, but then what do I know?

City delights

Oxford: the city of dreaming spires, of centuries of culture and learning. How, then, did I find myself spending the latter portion of my second ever visit this weekend in the local Yates, complete with Smurf-vocalled dance remixes and one of those knobbish DJs who adopts a special booming "havin' it large" voice when introducing songs?

In my defence, a good portion of the late afternoon and early evening was spent in the much more civilised environs of the Turf Tavern, imbibing a heady combination of Red McGregor and Weston's Old Rosie. Mention must also be made of the delicious burger procured from the Tavern's outdoor barbecue - it's been a long time since I've tasted better.

Appropriately enough given that the city is home to the world famous dictionary, I also learnt a new word, uttered by a young chap who took umbrage at something said by one of our party: "I'm gonna shank you". No idea what it means, though. Have you?

The end of the road

A sad day: after more than three years of top-notch blogging, Inspector Sands has decided to call it quits. Of course, when I say it's a sad day, I mean for us readers - for the Inspector it'll feel like something of a relief, given his confession that the enjoyment's drained out of it recently. For the past couple of years Casino Avenue has been one of my daily reads, one of the first blogs I'll click onto in the morning - and, inevitably, the source of numerous choice links and titbits of information. So, thanks Inspector, and best wishes for the future. (He'll still be writing over here, mind...)

But as one Avenue closes, another one opens up. Paul and Stu of the Newcastle-based Tonto Press have started a blog, and, in a similar vein to SWSL, the most recent pair of posts detail their current recommendations: music, film and - naturally - short fiction.

And then there's Hint Of Sarcasm, a fellow Cardiff-based blog written by a chap with a Smiths / Morrissey fixation. What's not to like?

Ignorance is bliss

Every year since its inception I've vowed not to watch 'Big Brother' but then found myself sucked in sooner or later. It took the first in the new series of 'Friday Night With Jonathan Ross' to make me realise that this year I'd finally managed to be true to my word.

Two of the guests were Pete and Nikki, about whom I knew very little, and let's just say that putting up with just ten minutes of them was enough of an ordeal to convince me that, even if I had started watching this time around, I would have given up again very quickly. And then had to go out and buy a new TV, the other one having had my foot put through it.

Prize losers

At Summer Sundae last month it seemed you could barely move for Mercury Music Prize nominees: Richard Hawley on the Friday, Isobel Campbell on the Saturday, Guillemots on the Sunday. All three were ultimately disappointed by Tuesday night's verdict (and deprived of the resulting spike in sales), Sheffield scamps Arctic Monkeys named as winners for the debut Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not.

I've not heard the Hawley and Guillemots albums (or Arctic Monkeys, for that matter), but it's a good thing that Campbell's Ballad Of The Broken Seas didn't triumph. Not that it's a bad album - far from it. It's currently getting a lot of play here at SWSL Towers. The issue is over the fact that it was rebranded as a Campbell solo album because only British artists are eligible for the Prize, when in fact it's very much work of Campbell and American Mark Lanegan. Campbell may have written all but two of the songs, but the former Screaming Trees and sometime Queens Of The Stone Age man is in many ways the more dominant of the two voices (and not just because his is male).

Campbell is now set to follow Ballad Of The Broken Seas with a solo album proper, Milkwhite Sheets, out towards the end of next month.

Get songs. Get gigs. Fly

At risk of it seeming like I've been taking backhanders in return for gratuitous pluggage, I thought it worth mentioning that Los Campesinos! have made their NME debut in this week's issue in one of James Jam's Radar pieces. (C'mon now Jim - more Pavement than The Arcade Fire, surely?)

All this the week after they played The Point in support of Broken Social Scene, and the week before they embark on their first UK tour (of sorts). Anyway, just remember where you read about them first. OK then - that was Sweeping The Nation. Just remember where you read about them second...

Is it just me...

... or does everyone suspect that when it says "£neg" in a job advert, more often than not the "neg" is short for "negligible"?

Achosion I Laweni #6

(If you're wondering what this is all about, click here.)

#6 - Spillers Records

Every city needs a high-quality independent record shop, and Cardiff is no exception. Thankfully the Welsh capital is truly blessed in that department, The Hayes being home to Spillers Records.

As any local music enthusiast will proudly tell you, Spillers is the oldest record shop in the world. It was founded in 1894 and was originally situated in Queens Arcade, relocation to the current premises having taken place in the late 1940s. But it's not just stuck in the past - you can now place orders from their still-wet-behind-the-ears website. T'internet - it's the future, you know.

But much of the enjoyment of an independent record shop is simply browsing the shelves. Owing to the lack of space (the premises are small and narrow), albums in stock are represented not by CD boxes but by photocopied album covers in plastic sleeves. In addition to records, you can also pick up gig tickets and flyers for all manner of events and club nights.

Like Selectadisc in Nottingham, Spillers is very much at the heart of the city's music scene - for promoters as well as bands (I once bumped into the chap from Lesson No. 1 in there - me buying a Mogwai ticket, him leaving a load of flyers for a forthcoming gig). Unlike Selectadisc, however, it's not staffed by the sort of sniffily ubercool music enthusiasts who will look down their noses at your choices (and whom you're secretly desperate to impress).

As if an indication of the fond regard in which Spillers is held was needed beyond the proliferation of Spillers T-shirts on display at local gigs, it came after the recent announcement that the shop is up for sale and could be shut if it's not been bought from current owner Nick Todd by March. Since that announcement was made, there has been a flurry of concern and - promisingly - a number of parties interested in bidding for the shop to keep Spillers alive. Fingers crossed, then...

Places In London I Now Know Better: Kentish Town / Camden Town

Highly recommended: The Pineapple on Leverton Street (ignore the gripes in the linked reviews - it's a fantastic pub), Mamma Mias cafe on Kentish Town Road

Recommended: The Lock Tavern (even if the roof terrace was rather windswept on Saturday night)

Not recommended at all - in fact, give a very wide berth: the takeaway immediately outside the Camden Underworld. The Woody Grill would have been a much better bet, on reflection. (It goes without saying, though, that I wasn't in much of a state for reflection upon stumbling out of said club in the early hours of Sunday morning...)

Questions which remain unanswered: Does the Owl Bookshop only sell books to owls? Or does it only sell books about owls?

(I think this could become a regular post every time I get back from a weekend in London...)

And while I'm on about London: Save the Intrepid Fox on Wardour Street in Soho. (Thanks to Inspector Sands for the link.)

Chaos theory

May I point you in the direction of Simon's latest Video Playlist? In addition to Guillemots' acoustic take on 'Trains To Brazil', the late lamented Mclusky tearing a Welsh pop programme a new arsehole with 'To Hell With Good Intentions' and one American fan of Los Campesinos! demonstrating her enthusiasm for 'You Me Dancing!', the playlist features what remains for me the most memorable 'Later With Jools Holland' performance ever - At The Drive-In thrashing through 'One Armed Scissor' with Cedric Bixler and Omar Rodriguez losing the plot quite spectacularly. Sadly there are no shots of the wee greasy ivory-tinkler's horrified face as his studio is hit by the Texan tornado, though Robbie Williams is captured looking less than impressed.

Hellos and goodbyes

A couple of new additions to the SWSL blogroll (forgive the lack of a fully-fledged Blogwatch post for this):

Smaller Than Life - the new blog set up by JonnyB's regular blogsitter Salvatore Vincent. Highly recommended is the post about song sequels...

Stressqueen - a fine site, not least because she's an avowed Roy Keane hater (which excuses the fact that she's also a proud fan of both Southampton and "Tiger Tim")

(Thanks to Mike and Paul respectively for the links.)

But there's also a fond farewell for By The Sea Shore, one of the my favourite Nottingham-based blogs, which has sadly vanished off into the ether.

Is it just me...

... or is the concept of a Cemetery Park Fun Day rather odd? Especially when it really did take place at a recently redeveloped cemetery (on Moira Terrace in Adamsdown) which has had a play area and basketball court installed, and some of the paths lined with rearranged headstones. I mean, I know The Kids like to congregate in graveyards, usually to quaff the sort of cider that would strip paint at fifty paces (or was that just me too?), but actively to invite and welcome them in for face painting and circus skills sessions seems a little strange.

Much ado about blog

A couple of blogging-centred links courtesy of Mike:

There's a new series from BBC Radio 4 called 'Meet The Bloggers'. Among the featured sites are Little Red Boat, My Boyfriend Is A Twat and Go Fug Yourself.

In her first piece for the Guardian's Comment Is Free site, Anna of Little Red Boat discusses sex blogs, self-exposure and her own prudery.

A study of reading habits

Curious to discover "the reading habits and preferred literary works of your favourite musicians, writers, and activists" including Camera Obscura, Tegan And Sara, The Constantines and ex Cursive cellist Gretta Cohn? Found In The Margins is the place to go.

(Thanks to Ken for the link.)

Party, fire and theft*

BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE / LOS CAMPESINOS!, 29TH AUGUST 2006, CARDIFF POINT

Tonight very nearly didn't happen, but fuck me I'm glad it did.

Having stupidly failed to buy a ticket in advance, I find myself confronted with the dreaded words "SOLD OUT" on the Point's website. Fortunately, above is another sentence suggesting that there will be a limited number of tickets available on the door. I arrive at the venue at 7.15pm, later than planned, my attendance an as-yet unrealised possibility.

I needn't have worried. I'm one of the first in the queue, and there are quite a few tickets left. As it turns out, the ticketed are forced to queue up with the ticketless, the doors not opening until after 8pm (having been scheduled for 7.30pm) because some local opportunist thief has pilfered Broken Social Scene's tourbus, making off with an assortment of mobile phones and laptops, and there are ramifications to deal with. Welcome to Cardiff, eh?

While we're queueing, a slipper-wearing local turns up to gripe about noise, and is given comically short shrift by the security staff. "He's over here every fucking time", mutters the doorman.

Eventually we're inside, and a tremendous venue the Point is too: a small converted church down at the Bay barely a stone's throw from the larger Coal Exchange, with a sizeable and very accommodating stage and a reasonably priced bar.

I'm still marvelling at the quality and atmosphere of the venue when support band Los Campesinos! take to the stage. All seven of them. The Cardiff-based students have been the subject of much MP3 blog excitement recently on both sides of the pond, and it was Simon of Sweeping The Nation who first pointed me in their direction. A good thing, too, because they're bloody great - think a more excitable and shambolic Shins, with added elements of Pavement, Sonic Youth and power-pop plus a twist of tweeness.

In that respect, the opening five minutes of their set is misleading to anyone who hasn't heard them before. A decent start, to be fair, but they shouldn't feel they have to go for an Arcade Fire / My Latest Novel style epic simply because one of their number is a violinist. Their real charm lies in what follows, a set incorporating all four songs currently available to hear for free on their MySpace site.

'Death To Los Campesinos!' comes early, frontman Gareth having difficulty believing the response they're getting. "Since we went major league", he says, tongue-in-cheek, "we've had to start tuning guitars between songs. Which means you have to listen to me talk shit". He confesses that they've not practiced much in preparation for tonight's show, and when they did they soon got bored (appropriate enough for a band whose music skips and flits along giddily like it’s got ADHD) - but then in their case tautness and rigour would dull much of their appeal.

'It Started With A Mixx' (a song about creating and using mixtapes as instruments of seduction - you can't get much more indie than that) and 'Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks' conclude the set, but the inevitable highlight is the preceding song, which poked the internet beehive into a buzzing frenzy in the first place. After a deceptive introduction, 'You Me Dancing!' bursts into life, inducing a mass of jigging bodies and grinning faces. It namechecks Cardiff indie club night Twisted By Design, at which Los Campesinos! are due to play on 16th September. I might just be there.

So, to the Toronto indie supergroup that is Broken Social Scene. I’ll readily admit I’m here more in hope than expectation. Of their three albums to date, I only own one (You Forgot It In People), and am still no more than mildly impressed by it. In fact, having only bought it on the strength of countless rabidly enthusiastic reviews and much positive word of mouth, it still ranks as a major disappointment – and certainly, for me, pales by comparison alongside Funeral by The Arcade Fire, the next Canadian band to garner a comparable amount of critical acclaim. But I’m here on word of mouth again, having been told they’re a different proposition in the live environment.

And, from the moment they begin, it’s clear they are. Hard to describe exactly why, but this is in a different league altogether. There’s suddenly a force, a power, a spark, a life to songs which have previously failed to rouse me to much more than cursory appreciation.

But just who are we watching tonight? Broken Social Scene have comprised of more than twenty members since their inception, including Leslie Feist, Metric’s Emily Haines, Ohad Benchetrit of Do Make Say Think, and Amy Millan and Evan Cranley of Stars – none of whom are present tonight. Instead we have:

Kevin Drew – founder member, formerly of KC Accidental (now the title of a Broken Social Scene song)

Brendan Canning – bass-playing founder member and Steve West lookalike, formerly of By Divine Right

Charles Spearin – moustachioed guitarist / trumpet player with jazzy avant-space-post-rock outfit Do Make Say Think and co-collaborator with Drew in KC Accidental

Andrew Whiteman – beret-wearing Julian Barrett lookalike and guitarist with Apostle Of Hustle

Justin Peroff – drummer and actor

Julie Penner – violinist with FemBots and The Hylozoists

Jason Tait – of The Weakerthans, FemBots and The Hylozoists

Lisa Lobsinger – remarkably-coiffed vocalist with Reverie Sound Revue

… and a chap called Alan making occasional contributions on trumpet (apparently they had a full horn section for Reading and Leeds, so we’re a bit unfortunate to have missed out on witnessing an even fuller stage).

What is most remarkable is that despite their being formed from fragments of other Toronto contemporaries (a fact reflected in the band name), they manage to cohere in perfect harmony. What we’re witnessing is evidently a whole host of incredibly talented musicians at work. But there’s none of the virtuosity and self-indulgence that that might imply, and there’s no room for chinstroking amongst the crowd – this is a party!

It’s great to see the likes of Spearin cutting loose (during ‘I’m Still Your Fag’ he wanders among the audience playing the trumpet), while Whiteman is a pleasure to watch throughout, throwing shapes and pulling moves like a teenage boy living out his rock band fantasies in the bedroom mirror.

But for the most part it’s Drew who’s the focus of attention. Fuelled by continual gulps of red wine, his onstage banter is relaxed and often hilarious. On being robbed: “Someone’s smoking crack on us tonight, ladies and gentlemen”. On it being Spearin’s first visit to Cardiff: “He was telling me that he played Newport with Do Make Say Think, and when they came out of the venue there were lots of little men beating each other up. And enjoying it”. On The Rolling Stones (who are busy playing the Arena): “This one’s for Keith Richards. I’d like him to live forever. Not the others, though. I don’t give a shit about them. Well, maybe Charlie Watts”.

By the end of a two hour set which leaves us and them exhausted (returning for one of the encores Peroff says into the mic “You won’t break…”), Drew is desperate for a joint, and his inability to remember how to play a solo song indicates that the wine has taken its toll. One final hurrah and then we’re out into the night, the clock having ticked past midnight.

Without a doubt the best £12 I’ve spent for some time.

But will I go back to You Forgot It In People? Well, I have, and it doesn’t sound much better than it did BG (Before Gig). Perhaps best just to put it back on the shelf and dwell on the memory of the lives the songs took on in concert.

* OK, OK, so there was no fire – but it was bloody hot in there…

Feel good hits of 30th August

1. 'You Me Dancing!' - Los Campesinos!
2. 'KC Accidental' - Broken Social Scene
3. 'Fear Of Sleep' - The Strokes
4. 'Losing My Edge' - LCD Soundsystem
5. 'Fall On Me' - REM
6. 'Reena' - Sonic Youth
7. 'A Warm Room' - Envy
8. 'Origin Song' - Semifinalists
9. 'The False Husband' - Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan
10. 'Yeah Is What We Had' - Grandaddy

Blogwatch

Welcome...

Indexed - a witty and clever blog consisting entirely of hand-drawn graphs and Venn diagrams. (Thanks to Mike for the link.)

The Daily Growl - a music-centred blog which currently features a report on the Summer Sundae shindig. (Another report can be found on Parallax View.)

Meanwhile...

Jonathan offers some detailed thoughts on the debut full-length album from one of my personal Summer Sundae highlights The Young Knives - "Anyone who spends three quarters of an hour with Voices of Animals and Men will attest that riotous good fun and existential angst are handed out in roughly equal, and equally satisfying measures".

Elsewhere...

Alan continues his quest to take in as much of the Edinburgh Festival as possible, with reviews of shows by the established (Richard Herring, veteran of 21 Festivals) and the youthful (Best Newcomer nominee Josie Long).

Betty surveys some of the "untold treasures" on her Kentish doorstep just ripe for a Bank Holiday visit - "BURSTED WOODS near Barnehurst Station. The last time I went for a ramble around here, I saw a rat the size of a pig being chased by a swooping kestrel. It epitomised the terrifying brutality of nature. Marvel also at the detrius strewn about - syringes, old petrol canisters, condoms, porn mags, the occasional corpse left there after an altercation between gangsters. What is more healthy than a walk in the countryside?".

And finally...

JonnyB has a flash of inspiration, but finds the LTLP less than enthusiastic.

Stuff

Incredibly busy this week (ie doing a normal person's normal week of work...) so until the weekend you'll have to make do with a list of stuff in no particular order:

* I've finally seen an episode of 'The IT Crowd'! It wasn't worth waiting for. In fact, it was mostly awful - incredibly so, given the people involved (Graham Linehan, Chris Morris and Richard Ayoade among them). At least Armando Iannucci and 'Time Tunnel' can be relied on, eh? I'm currently earworming the theme tune to 'Rape An Ape'. (Incidentally, did anyone else notice that the only word that Stewart Lee contributed to this evening's installment was "Wool"?)

* Congratulations to Josie Long, nominated in the Best Newcomer category for the if.comEddies (formerly the Perrier Comedy Awards - what a fucking stupid new name).

* The award for most moronic line of any advert ever goes to Melanie Sykes for her current Head & Shoulders ad: "The things I do to hydrate my skin!", she says, pouring herself a glass of water. FOR FUCK'S SAKE...

* Having been at first wary of SendSpace, then rabidly enthusiastic about it, it's now edging towards being crossed off my Christmas card list. There are at least two albums sitting in link form in my email inbox (Rufus Wainwright's Want One and a Tindersticks album) which the arsing site won't let me download. Grrrr.

* By his own admission, satellite-dish-faced choirboy and Keane frontman Tom Chaplin has got a drink and drug problem, and is undergoing rehab. Someone should tell him that Horlicks and Calpol don't count. And sorry Tom, you're still not remotely interesting.

* My favourite news story of recent days, from last week's Cardiff Post: "Welsh-speaking cyclists have been left baffled - and possibly concerned for their health - after a bizarre translation mix-up. For instead of a road sign telling them to dismount, the Welsh translation informs them that 'bladder disease has returned'".

Word of the day

Courtesy of my desktop diary, as usual...

"WRITE: In Old High German, the verb 'rizan' meant "to scratch" or "to tear". In Old English, this developed into the very 'writan', which literally referred to the act of forming letters by carving. There is a similar link between carving, scratching, or cutting and the term for writing in some other European languages."

Sundae best

With the fields and cows of Worthy Farm getting a break from the regular June festivities this year, what better way to get my fill of the cheerily diverse and uncommercial Glastonbury vibe than by going to Summer Sundae, the festival put on in association with BBC 6 Music that’s been labelled its grandson by Steve Lamacq?

What follows is a very personal account of the weekend, recollected as usual from jottings on grubby scraps of paper – the jottings themselves having generally been made significantly under the influence. In other words, you’re better off going elsewhere for a clear-minded and accurate review (Sweeping The Nation, for instance), but if it’s impressionistic ramblings you’re after you’ve come to the right place…

Friday 11th August

11am
After a supermarket shop which sees me attract attention by buying nothing but two boxes of wine, a box of cider, some crisps, two packets of custard creams and a bag of pork scratchings, Birmingham disappears in the rear view mirror.

1pm
We park the car immediately outside the site, where it can stay all weekend long for little more than £10. There is no queue for those of us collecting tickets, nor is there one to exchange tickets for wristbands. Beaming staff direct us to our campsite, where there is plenty of space for us all to set up camp together. For someone accustomed to hour-long treks from car to Pennard Hill, this could just be the least hasslesome festival ever. Summer Sundae 1 Glastonbury 0.

2.30pm
Fed on tasty but suspiciously undercooked sausage and bacon hoagies, we relax at the tents with cider in hand. Looking around, it seems bizarre to see three tall blocks towering over the small enclosed festival area – but we are right in the heart of the city, after all. Festival-goers of all ages wander past and pitch tents around us. Everything seems very placid – there’s no madness. We’ve not been approached with drugs once yet.

4pm
“Excuse me”, says a young chap clad in a Libertines-style military jacket, “this might be a cheeky question but I’ve heard someone round here is selling pills…” He’s almost as polite as the steward showing people to spaces in which they can camp. What is normally an undignified free-for-all is here an orderly process.

5pm
JAMES MORRISON (Outdoor Stage) kicks off this year’s festival in earnest, at the end of the week in which his debut album (the now ironically titled Undiscovered) hit the #1 spot. That fact would have been enough for other festivals’ organisers to bump him up the bill, but I’m not complaining. I give him as wide a berth as possible, but unfortunately the size of the site means his mewlings are clearly audible from the campsite too. Alison labels him a Powter, but I prefer to call him a Blunt.

6pm
Morrison gone, it’s time to venture into the arena (or the “amphitheatre”, if you will). Any plans of paying close attention to the new (the latest?) Badly Drawn Boy LIAM FROST AND THE SLOWDOWN FAMILY (Outdoor Stage) are soon jettisoned in favour of hooking up with Kenny and Simon, amongst others. Well, that and marvelling at the sheer range of delicious beers and ciders and even cocktails on offer in the real ale tent. A real ale festival – at a music festival! What with keeping Morrison in a lowly spot and this, I’m already willing to nominate the organisers for sainthood.

7pm
RICHARD HAWLEY’s expansive pop (Outdoor Stage) is enjoyed from the steps outside the Victoria Bar. “I’m so vibing my tits off, they’ve fallen off”, he informs us. He may be drunk.

7.45pm
A visit inside to catch this year’s token folk nominee for the Mercury Music Prize, SETH LAKEMAN (Indoor Stage), proves to be an educational experience when one of my companions wonders out loud what the difference is between a violin and a fiddle and someone next to us answers that there isn’t one and that the latter is simply the Irish name. So, an educational experience, but not a particularly entertaining one. I get the feeling that this is considered remarkable only because it’s young men playing old men’s music (as if to emphasise his youthfulness and distance himself from Fair Isle sweater wearing bearded folkies, the double bassist / banjo player has a key chain…). Is Lakeman to folk what Jamie Cullum is to jazz? I half suspect so. That said, I’m intrigued enough by the unusual percussion to stay until the end, as does Miriam, though for rather different reasons: “He’s boring but he’s got good arms”…

8.15pm
The weather hasn’t been particularly clement but the grey clouds wait until the appearance of THE DELAYS (Outdoor Stage) to deposit their load upon our heads. Perhaps it’s a passing comment from the gods on a band that has more than a malodorous whiff of Britpop about them, but it’s not heavy and doesn’t last long. ‘Nearer Than Heaven’ is the closest they come to distracting me from devouring my tray of delicious veggie pakora and tempting me out from under the protective wing of the stall’s awning.

8.45pm
A bloke playing some records never makes for much of a spectacle, so thankfully DJ FORMAT (Indoor Stage) not only has visuals but, more importantly, gets a crowd swelled by the drizzle outside dancing with an expertly blended mix of funk and soul. I don’t recognise any of the songs, but then that hardly comes as a surprise and it doesn’t take long before I too am shifting awkwardly from one foot to another, almost as much Maypole’s Wellow Gold slopping on the floor as has slipped down my throat.

10.15pm
This is the first time ELBOW (Outdoor Stage) have ever headlined a festival – apparently they’ve been waiting for the right offer to come along – and Guy Garvey is clearly relishing the experience. His introduction to the title track of third album Leaders Of The Free World goes something like this: “There are some terrible things going on in the world, and the people doing them know they’re doing them. And I’m not talking about Cud reforming…” The song itself, and particularly the chorus about “little boys throwing stones”, brings a wry smile to my face, knowing from Jenni that Garvey was just such a little boy playing soldiers where they both grew up in Bury. Unfortunately the song is typical of Elbow’s material in general, in that it’s worthy but dull and just doesn’t match up to Garvey’s engaging between-song wit. That said, one song featuring just Garvey and keyboardist Craig Potter has me momentarily spellbound and, after the induced chants of “Lasting peace in the Middle East!”, old favourite ‘Newborn’ rounds off the encore and the evening in suitably rousing fashion.

10.45pm
One significant advantage of there being an indoor venue is the access to regularly cleaned proper plumbed-in toilets rather than Portaloos, mud-smeared shit-splattered devils’ Tardises that they are. It also makes for more of a communal experience, and allows for the possibility of lighthearted banter. “Why’s there a queue?” asks one voice with a very familiar accent. “Is this Leicester? This wouldn’t happen in Newcastle”. Another bloke delivers a running commentary when his phone rings: “I’m urinating. Well, I’m about to urinate. I’m commencing urination”.

11.30pm
The bands may finish around 11pm, but the Victoria Bar stays open for another hour of drinking. Rather more civilised than sitting on a bin bag round a campfire gulping down Scrumpy.

Saturday 12th August

8.15am
What ungodly hour is this? Why haven’t other people got hangovers?

10am
A bacon and egg roll and a coffee returns me to something like normality.

10.30am
Shouted from a nearby tent: “SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN DRINKING LAMBRINI ANYWAY!”

11am
Claire has somehow got her bottle of water wedged fast in a bright pink welly, but continues to drink out of it. Meanwhile Miriam, suffering from a severe case of alcohol-induced memory loss, ponders quite how she managed to obtain a staff wristband the previous night, and where she’d ventured with it: “I feel a bit like I’ve been abducted by aliens, tampered with and then returned to earth”.

12.30pm
Alison and I play a few hands of poker, that troubling first large glass of wine in hand. Andy really is irrepressible. Unable to stop singing the ‘I Like Monkeys’ song from Howard Read’s Little Howard children’s show that morning, he’s now placing a banana skin on the path between the tents and then crouching behind a bin to see if anyone will slip over. I think they call it “high on life”.

1pm
Into the arena. Most of the group disappear off into the mysterious Polly’s Garden (some kind of strange multi-sensory experience, I gather later – I’m too interested in chatting to Kenny and ploughing on with the wine), but not before Polly has positively ID’d Jim as the bloke who was drunkenly rambling on at her the previous evening. Summer Sundae is a small world.

3pm
Our paths have never quite crossed before, much to my annoyance, but now, finally, a chance to catch HOWLING BELLS (Indoor Stage) live – and they don’t disappoint. “They look great”, says the compere (oh yes – cowboy hats and scuffed boots for the boys, a short floaty dress and black tights for Juanita Stein), “they sound even better” (damn right), “their debut is being hailed as the album of the year” (I’d find it hard to disagree)… ‘Blessed Night’ is the opener, and between that and a fiery ‘Low Happening’ we get all bar four tracks from the aforementioned record. Occasionally there’s that sense of mystery demystified, of seeing how a delicately flavoured and lip-smackingly delicious meal has been rustled up in the kitchen, but there remains something obscure and enigmatic about them, the dark space of De Montford Hall ideally suited to their exquisite gothic blues. Stein’s voice, it gives me great pleasure to report, is as arresting in the flesh as it is on record, and she and her guitarist brother Joel are magnetic presences on stage. The real highpoint of the set – and, for me, of any set I’ve seen so far this year – is ‘A Ballad For The Bleeding Hearts’, when I get goosebumps on the goosebumps on my arms. Sublime.

3.30pm
The gauntlet’s been well and truly thrown down, and TUUNG (Outdoor Stage) certainly aren’t able to pick it up. What I catch of their (warning: journo’s self-constructed pigeonholing term to follow) folktronica is pleasant enough, but a load of bearded blokes performing slow quiet songs whilst sat down is unlikely to get anyone to their feet. The percussionist merits a mention, though, for the sheer array of bizarre instruments at his disposal, including what looks like a small sheaf of wheat…

4pm
Fish and chips to die for from The Sea Cow stall, for a fiver. Seriously, the fish is the best I’ve tasted anywhere for years. Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad the Thai spiced fishcakes had run out.

4.30pm
After the lull of Tuung, THE YOUNG KNIVES (Outdoor Stage) are mercifully on hand to inject a bit of much-needed life and energy into the afternoon. One glimpse of the local heroes (well, almost – they’re from Ashby-de-la-Zouch originally) and Alison’s smitten – particularly with bassist The House of Lords, who’s looking somewhat streamlined, presumably as a result of this year’s punishing touring schedule. There’s more than enough from their forthcoming debut proper Voices Of Animals And Men to suggest that it’s going to be an essential purchase – the singles in particular (‘Decision’, ‘Here Comes The Rumour Mill’ and closing duo ‘She’s Attracted To’ and ‘Weekends And Bleak Days (Hot Summer)’) are marvellous, as is ‘Loughborough Suicide’ (HoL: “I had a letter from the Loughborough Echo this week saying ‘You can’t call a song that’. But have you been there?”). That said, none of the B-sides aired – ‘Elaine’, ‘Guess The Baby’s Weight’, ‘Current Of The River’ – signal a drop in quality. Having seen them back in March, this time around I’m even more struck by the Futureheads parallels – but, with the Mackems apparently having lost their sense of humour for second LP News And Tributes, there’s more than enough room for The Young Knives to thrive. And thrive they certainly deserve to.

5pm
I’ve been saying to anyone who’ll listen that the cover of her most recent album, the Mercury nominated Ballad Of The Broken Seas, is the best I’ve seen this year, so I feel I really ought to go and see ISOBEL CAMPBELL (Indoor Stage). The fact that many of those lured in by the knowledge of her past in Belle & Sebastian soon wander off speaks volumes about the nature (but not the quality) of the material. It’s light years away from her former band, darkly ethereal stuff that instantly beguiles me. Back to the album cover, which depicts Campbell arranging her hair in a hotel room mirror in the foreground, while in the background an out-of-focus Mark Lanegan reclines vaguely threateningly on a bed, his shoes on. As Simon puts it, that tells you all you need to know about what the album sounds like. The problem is that Lanegan isn’t here today, and that means we don’t get to marvel at the former Screaming Trees vocalist’s inimitable rumble (truly one of the finest voices in rock) intertwining with Campbell’s elfin coo. His stand-in gamely tries his best, and has wisely opted to dress in black to play Lanegan’s night to Campbell’s day, but I come away not enthusing about a spellbinding set but imagining how the songs would sound with Lanegan’s input – and drooling at the prospect. The album’s on its way in the post.

5.45pm
Rumours circle that Leicester fans, fresh from victory over Ipswich at the Walkers Stadium, are set to try and storm the site. Well, makes a change from the usual “Have you heard, [enter C list celeb here] has died?” The Leicester score is announced on stage by Whiskas of FORWARD RUSSIA! (Outdoor Stage), whose frontman Tom then sticks his neck on the line by declaring that “football is shit”. Forward Russia! (the name has an upside-down exclamation mark at the start too, but I can’t find the symbol to insert it – the awkward bastards) are a band I’ve not heard before but really should like: matching T-shirts, bundles of energy, numbers instead of song titles, a sound that draws equally upon Bloc Party and At The Drive-In. But somehow it isn’t quite working for me – perhaps it’s that they’re by far the rowdiest and noisiest band on the bill, and Isobel Campbell wasn’t exactly the ideal preparation. Worth further investigation, though, to be sure. Steve Lamacq certainly thinks so, scampering around for a better viewing position.

6.15pm
Howling Bells guitarist Joel Stein, pacing around by the Rising Tent looking a little edgy and lost, has the misfortune to make fleeting eye contact with yours truly, who takes the opportunity to gush about their performance. Stein is eager to find out when Vashti Bunyan and Calexico are playing, and it’s only in the course of trying to ascertain times from the schedule tags around my neck (handmade and laminated by Alison) that I realise quite how drunk I am. Best cut my losses, I think, shaking his hand again and allowing him to wander off in the direction of the indoor stage.

6.30pm
Jenni, who has insisted on referring to Forward Russia! as Go Russia!, is now approaching comatose levels of drunkenness. When the arrival on stage of NOUVELLE VAGUE (Outdoor Stage) is announced, she mutters “Fuck off you vague people” while lying on her back and then promptly passes out. Loungecore / bossa nova covers of punk and new wave (hence the name) classics? OK, so Nouvelle Vague (and yes, Andy, it’s pronounced “Vag” because it’s French) are a novelty band, but you can’t argue with their versions of ‘Ever Fallen In Love’ and ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ – and especially not with their splendidly jaunty take on The Dead Kennedys’ ‘Too Drunk To Fuck’. Could have done without the dull slump into performance art in the middle of the set, though.

7.45pm
On the way back from another trip to the real ale tent, Henry and The House of Lords from The Young Knives are spotted with their parents. Mindful of having embarrassed myself earlier with Joel Stein, I opt for a quick “Really enjoyed your set” before moving on. Good job Alison didn’t see them – The House of Lords could have found himself with a proposal of marriage, which I doubt was what he’d bargained for when they signed up to play the festival.

8.30pm
As dusk gradually falls we’re transported from inner city Leicester to the desert plains of Arizona, courtesy of CALEXICO (Outdoor Stage). Like Wilco, they take “classic” rock down new more experimental avenues, their sound infused with rather than simply influenced by folk, gypsy and Mexican music. Affable vocalist / guitarist Joey Burns, whose floppy black fringe makes him look like Paul Smith of Maximo Park, clearly enjoys seeing that what they do can have mass appeal to an audience consisting mostly of the uninitiated - despite having played with Giant Sand and Iron & Wine and being beloved by the likes of Stephen Malkmus, they’re not just a bands’ band. Burns also knows how to raise a cheer, dedicating a cover of Love’s ‘Alone Again Or’ to the late Arthur Lee and John Peel. ‘The Crystal Frontier’ is a rollicking finale, even without the full mariachi band they sometimes employ.

9.15pm
Another trip to the real ale tent, where there’s very little left. On my way out, a bloke stops me to impart an urgent message: “Clapping’s out! Howling’s in” I’m allowed to go on my way once I’ve promised to spread the word.

9.30pm
Every festival needs a nadir to throw everything else into relief, and this is it. THE VOOM BLOOMS (Rising Tent) hail from Loughborough and are evidently the sort of NME-believing pricks who think The Libertines were the greatest band ever to live. The vocalist / guitarist, a Johnny Borrell / Carl Barat lookalike, strips off his shirt while everyone else goes through the moves. No inspiration, no originality, no wit, no talent, no songs. They are fucking rubbish.

10.30pm
The Voom Blooms are as bad as the concept of Chas ‘n’ Dave meets funk rock sounds – but against all the odds THE BLOCKHEADS (Indoor Stage) really make it work. Having packed out the Musicians’ / Acoustic Tent the previous evening, they’re now filling in for the absent X-Press 2 in a headlining slot and doing so with aplomb. 6 Music DJ Phill Jupitus joins them on vocals, and for a bunch of ropey-looking old pub rockers they certainly have the songs to get us jigging around like loons. ‘Sex ‘N’ Drugs ‘N’ Rock ‘N’ Roll’ is second, followed soon after by ‘Billericay Dickie’, and the set’s wrapped up by ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’ and ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful Part Three’. After The Voom Blooms, cheerfulness has been duly restored.

11.45pm
It’s pissing it down outside, so more pints in the bar seem like the sensible course of action. Jim tells us that he’s been walking into the real ale tent with his empty cocktail jug and before he’s even got to the bar they’ve poured him a fresh jug of “the usual”. Truly this is a marvellous festival.