SW4

One might think a music festival is an odd thing to attend the week your mother passes away.  In fact I didn't intend to go until after mum died. I guess other people would deal with it by going to church or settling into the family. But as an atheist with no family those aren't possibilities. And I just didn't want to be on my own. Hence I went into the office on Friday even though no one was expecting it, then had dinner with friends which was greatly appreciated. And my mate said he was going to SW4 and would offer distraction therapy so I took the opportunity.

A rather different experience to my norm. I got there early as is my wont, and then got my usual spot at the front for the first few acts. Then Gareth and Claire arrived and the music bit rather went out to be replaced by chat and drinking and some time in the tents listening to dance music. Mood stuff really. And then finished with the headline act - my second viewing of Pendulum in a week, this time with friends twice the age of my companion last week.

Now to start, of course dodgy weather. As you can see from the empty main stage photo, pretty short of grass. But to be fair the mud wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Thought a visit to the tents might be worth investigating, although I didn't recognise any of the acts. This is what a tent looks like empty.  Soon it was thronged with ravers. I rather like the inflatables don't you? Like an inflatable version of biology teaching aids.

First on main stage was Yasmin, attractive young lady with a fine voice. Nothing too exciting but pleasant enough.

Then Wretch 32, a London rapper. Seemed a nice young man, but I just don't get rap. To my mind all the talented ones on stage were those playing the instruments, like the dreadlocked guitarist. Wretch 32 just talked badly. And given the lack of singing, the inaudibility of the lyrics didn't leave much (contrast Plan B at V).

Third on are the delightfully named Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs. Unfortunately this is basically a DJ act, just a bloke pushing buttons on the computer. Actually I rather liked the music, but just where is the"live" bit in this live act? To be fair one might say the same of the Chemical Brothers, but with them you get the totally fabulous light show. With this act you get funny headgear. Some things you can't do on the cheap.  (However later we caught a bit of the much vaunted Radio 1 DJ Annie Mac. And she was the same without the changing headgear - just a rather scary haircut.)

Next on were Digital Sound System. I only caught part of their act before Gareth rescued me and started pumping me full of alcohol and general bonhomie. But they were the best act of the day. Started with various samples, including Message to you Rudy from the Specials. They looked fun and sounded good and would like to see them again if they popped up at a festival.

So then some dance time with Gareth and Claire, and the chance just to chat with young people. Amusing as Claire started with stories of what made her feel old now. But of course she was unfeasibly young and attractive from my nearing 50 perspective. They turned a fair enough music experience into a brilliantly entertaining day. Am so lucky to have such fine friends.  Gareth is such a good mate.

So we finally left the tents to circle back to the main stage for main act Pendulum. Courtesy of yours truly we timed it brilliantly and got a decent spot near the front. Great set again from Pendulum before an enthusiastic audience.  First time Claire had seen them and she seemed suitably impressed.  I hope my presence wasn't too much of a downer for the young lady.

Bereavement

I don't really do serious on this blog. Frankly who wants to read about someone else's troubles. We all have enough of our own.

But my mum passed away midweek, so that's a biggy. Given she was due to be discharged from hospital (having had a fall at home) as she was medically stable, and I had spent Monday taking clothes etc to the residential home she was going to move to for 6 weeks, I wasn't expecting a call on my mobile just as I was starting to host a large meeting telling me she was seriously ill. I got a train up to Coventry as soon as I could, but she had passed away within an hour of them calling me, so I was too late.

They assured me she had suffered no pain. And that it was very sudden. She had been chirpy at breakfast and by 11 am was clearly dying. And they said she hadn't died on her own the nurse was with her throughout as she drifted in and out of consciousness. But that didn't make me feel better. Being there was my job.

I was I confess quite tearful. No surprise you might think, but I was surprised at how I took it. Not because I an some tough guy as I certainly am not, but because I like to think of myself as a very rational and unsentimental person. And rationally this was a good thing. Mum was 92, a good age even these days. Her passing was quick and painless. She was getting increasingly confused and for some time she didn't seem to me to have any significant quality of life. I didn't like the thought of her dementia getting ever worse. And while the staff at the home she was going to were great and I thought she would like them, I don't think she would have been so keen to be surrounded by the elderly. I don't think somehow she saw herself as old. So overall, I should have been relieved.

And it wasn't a sense of loss, which I might have felt years ago. I had lost the mother I had been brought up by about 3 years ago as her faculties had deteriorated. I was used to endlessly looped conversations in which I informed her that X or Y had died 20-30 years ago.

So what was it? I don't know. The sense of finality? Or maybe I can put it at no more than sentimentality. But I was fighting back the tears. However much I knew every other alternative might be worse.

The other thing that made me almost as tearful was the reaction of my colleagues. Not just messages of sorrow for my loss, but just such sincere notes, and offers to come and stay or whatever. I know they are all friends as well as colleagues, but quite how much so perhaps one does not realise until something like this happens.

I managed to stay overnight with some old friends nearby. Despite the fact that one of their parents was having a serious operation, they were soon to go on holiday and their oldest daughter was getting her GCSE results the next morning. But what was so perfect was that they didn't make any fuss, not unsympathetic you understand, but sympathy wasn't what I wanted. I just didn't want to be on my own. I wanted to be surrounded by a family, just being normal, by old friends and their two lovely daughters. Especially I guess  now I have no family whatsoever. Just me alone in the world.

And finally, what was mum like? Well the best. One would say that. But she loved me. Not like my dad, who loved only in the way one might love a prize poodle, to show off how good I was to his friends. But mum loved me unconditionally, for whatever I was and whatever I did. When I was growing up, whatever was done was done for my sake not hers. Is there anything more one can ask for? I don't think so.

And I am crying again now.

V Festival 2011 (Day 2) (And some musings on the young)

Ok, day two at V, back to Liverpool Street station waiting for my young friend to arrive. I may have said this before, but I far prefer commuting to festivals than camping, and V is well set up for this - Chelmsford being only 30 minutes from Liverpool Street with connecting shuttle buses taking you to the site. (If you want to know where old buses go to die, well its here.)

An amusing start. Got talking to a couple of chaps on the Tube who asked if I was going to see Eminem and I said no I would probably end up with Pendulum. "Who'd have thought it" one said turning to his mate. "An old boy into Pendulum." Old boy? Could he really be referring to me? And then he turned to me, "No offence mate. Do it while you can I say." Well I didn't take any offence at the first remark, but at 48 I have to say I don't feel on my last legs quite yet. Not the last festival before I pop my clogs I hope. And that zimmer frame can stay in its wrappings for a while longer.

Anyway, we had a lazy start to day two after the inevitable late night on Saturday. We really got going with another visit to the Comedy Tent, after a brief stay at the back of the second stage to see the Noisettes (and give my mate the "chilled at the back" view of festivals rather than my preferred "get to the front".)

Comedy Tent

Now another thing I love about festivals is the early bit where one just comes across acts you have never heard of. And one of those was in the comedy tent. After a rather indifferent black comic (who did have one quite good story about wanking at the age of 12 which involved a cat, a dog and his grandma and that makes it sound so much worse than it was I will just leave it there), we got a comic from Enfield (which is just up the road from me) called Hal Crittenden, and he was just stunningly brilliant. Terrific material and he handled one heckler just so well ("That's what you get from leaving school at 16"). One of my favourites was telling us how he had done a benefit gig to a group of soldiers just back from Aghanistan who had been through it all, bombings, amputations, etc. And one of the soldiers, who had been through all that, came up to him afterwards and said, "You know, I could never do what you do" "And the comic was touched, and replied "Well, you just have to grow a pair mate!"

God Tent

We happened to see in passing the God Tent. Now quite who would have thought having this amongst all the sunglass sellers and the like was a good idea I don't know. Some trendy vicar I guess who felt the young needed to be reached. Come in, chill out, the slogan said. Well chilling might have been easy given it must have been the emptiest spot on the whole site, but then who on Earth is going to want to talk to some christians in matching t-shirts having forked out £140 to see the great music acts of the day? Well no one is of course the answer. But I suppose it gave a few geeks a day out meeting cool kids. Or rather watching them pass by on the way to the latrines. Well nature calls even if God doesn't.

Mummers

With a bit of a gap to our next target, Hard-Fi, we just slumped into the Undercover tent and watched the Mummers, an act I hadn't heard of at all, and obviously no one else had either as the place was empty. (Ok, not as empty as the God Tent, but all things are comparative).  But they were quite pleasant to chill out to on the grass. Imagine a string quartet being forced to play rock at gunpoint, with Bjork as lead singer. Well that was about them.

Hard-Fi

And then the best thing ever to come out of Staines (ok, not exactly a horde of competition there), Hard-Fi, a late addition to the bill, promoting their new album. Well, without wishing to sound pompously Guardian reader about them, they are (maybe along with the Enemy) just about the most authentic sound of working class youth you can get. They just feel right. Say much more than some community worker from Peckham about the condition of being young and underpaid. Not earnest, just honest.  Storming renditions of "Cash Machine" and "Living for the Weekend" and the tent within minutes had gone from empty to a heaving mass of surging youngsters. Again, wonderful atmosphere, and again to my surprise, my dance-loving companion really loved an indie set. Hope for the lad yet. 

Hurts

Then on to the Arena which is the very far side of the site (preventing us doubling up on Eliza Doolittle and Hard-fi which looked feasible on paper according to the timetable, but just wouldn't work in practice. Like so much of life really). We caught a little bit of the Saturdays from the back of a packed "tent" (heaven knows how they get this huge thing up but it would take more than a few boy scouts), but really intended to see Hurts. Great 80s style electronic band (see earlier blog entry for their Somerset House appearance), but again they went down really well with the pair of us. My mate commented how much better they were live (perceptive boy - indeed what I said in previous blog on the Hurts). There is a nice repressed power in their music, which just bursts out every now and then like a controlled explosion.

Big Audio Dynamite

Refreshed by burgers we headed back into the Arena for Big Audio Dynamite, of whom I have heard nothing for years. Can't say that impressed, and nor was the rather small audience. They seemed ridiculously high up the bill to me. But they were conveniently sited for escape to the main course, Pendulum. Now they were my young associate's main target and bang on his tastes.

Pendulum

An interesting clash here, Pendulum on second stage and Rihanna on the main. As my friend so rightly said, all the girls at Rhianna, all the boys with us at Pendulum. Great laddish atmosphere, including a mad cup and bottle-throwing war in the middle (don't worry cups are paper and bottles plastic and harmless, just a mad sight to behold this mass cross flight of empty drinks containers). Pendulum are an awesome band, accompanied by an awesome light show and tremendous boisterous audience. Our pitch front left was just about perfect, lively crowd without the seriously mental stuff going on in the middle. As my mate was playing rugby for his school last year, I reckoned this bit of moshing was well within his comfort zone. Well I was okay with it and I'm a little middle-aged bloke.

As I remarked to him afterwards, Pendulum aren't an act with one big number and such is their music the art isn't in building the set (as it is with many bands, let's say mixing slow and upbeat numbers), their art is in building within the individual tracks. Its really heavy storming stuff with numerous crescendos. You can actually use the term exciting. I love them on cd, and love them live too. As I say, storming stuff, and so we left on a high. Albeit disappointingly, given curfew imposed by his parents, we had to miss the headliners, and given a choice of Calvin Harris, Eminem and Primal Scream, frankly all of which would have been right up the lad's street, that was a great pity. Nevertheless he seemed to enjoy the experience. A good 16th birthday present I thought, and even if rather more expensive than most, from my point of view, well worth it for his company. Most gifts are only about giving - I got something out of it too. Result!

Yoof

So, my promised musings on the young. First, best bit of advice following on my previous comments, spend a weekend with a 15 year old, especially not your own. Now before anyone randomly starts hauling kids off the streets (there is probably a law against it), it does help if you are picky, especially to go to a music festival with. The one I picked has great music taste and knowledge, so I have lots of recommended re-mixes I need to follow up, if I can remember them all. Although I did find myself explaining who Blur were. Yes, you have to remember he is 15. And Blur's bass player is now more famous for making cheese than being rivals to Oasis. So I grant you the young man isn't exactly a common or garden run of the mill teenager. He is that annoying kid at school who was top of the class academically and sporty as well (plays football for Uxbridge FC - I may have to actually pay to see him play in future) and is really cool.  All of which could be extremely irritating, but he is immensely genial and likeble too. I wouldn't like to be competing with him for girls, but luckily I have missed that problem by 30 years! I expected we would be compromising on what to see, but we weren't at all. I let him have free reign (well it was his birthday present) but safe in the knowledge it would be ok, and in fact it was excellent. Class kid. Well, young man really


But here is my general point. Much was said, well usually hollered, during the riots that we don't listen to the youth (usually pronounced "yoof"), but certainly I do, whether it be my young companion or my trainees. But its because they are worth listening to. They are articulate. Give them a chance. Over the weekend, in addition to music and football we chatted about some bigger things too. Trust me the lad is far more mature than most of my contemporaries, and in that I think he was representing the views of his contempories rather than just himself. They are far more grown up about race and sexuality and drugs than most people in their forties. There is such a thing as the arrogance of middle-age, as well as of youth. Try talking to one, not as an authority figure. They are really nice. (I say this not just having spent a weekend with a 15 year old but also having just completed 6 months with my trainee who as a young married woman would no doubt be mortified at being put in the same bed (metaphorically speaking) with a teenage lad, but they are both much closer in age to each other than to me.)

They are not strident or arrogant, but charming and fun and sensible. And they don't need to holler that no one is listening to them. Because they are articulate and have something to say, people will do. Sorry, the rioters out on the street will never be listened to, because they have nothing worthwhile to say, or if they do, are too inarticulate to express it. And we don't, Mr Miliband, need a public enquiry to understand what went wrong. Maybe he would like to fund an enqury himself as to how the Opposition ended up with such a clueless, vacuous waste of space as their leader. Somewhat harder to fathom than why yougsters with little prospects went out robbing when they thought they could get away with it..

The other nice thing about spending time with kids and not their parents is you don't get any of the hassle (ok I am talking from the experience of having done this twice this summer which some of you may feel is a little short of a full scientific study). But they are so much better behaved as there is no battle. They aren't being told off because there is nothing to be told off for. They don't act up, because they don't have anyone to act up against. They don't show off because there is no one to impress in front of. And the older ones frankly you can learn from. Ok for me its new music which I admit may not be everyone's taste. And I don't have a problem with them using urban slang (after all, can you imagine  how much pensions jargon I use?) and while I think it is unlikely that "Peng" is going to enter my vocabulary, you never know. But I like to be able to understand teens without feeling I need to speak (or dress) like them (which is just embarrassing when you see it being done.) and without feeling they have to dumb down for me.  And we just need to lighten up a little about them. All my younger friends (from early 30s down (and on one of the pics below you can see my young  mate doing it) are always on their phones and this we old folks consider rude. Well not really, its just modern manners. If I am not sufficiently entertaining to captivate their attention every second of the time, why shouldn't they text? Or speak in an updated language. Why shouldn't we learn that? And if you talk to them like adults (which as I am not used to talking to kids I largely have to do ), rather astonishingly they talk back to you and behave rather like adults, but with some more fun thrown in. So all I would say (following David Cameron's now rather forgotten "Hug a hoodie" campaign") is spend a relaxing day or two with a teen. You'll feel better for it.
(I am not sure my friends' lad would necessarily think the same in reverse about spending time with a middle-aged pension lawyer, but I think he survived the experience pretty well. I did my best anyway. Didn't talk once about pensions. Honest.)

Oh and one final thought. Are they realy employing serial killers on security now? You really feel this guy's main problem is getting the gore out of his beard when he has finished eating a crowd-surfer. Hear the banjo playing in the background?

V Festival 2011 (Day 1) (And some musings on the genre)

This weekend was my annual pilgrimage to V Festival in Chelmsford. (If that doesn't sound glamorous, a mate of mine was going out to Serbia and said he might be able to catch their cabbage festival. Some things are incapable of satire.)

Music Festivals - the rationale

So on the basis that you are not reading a review of a cabbage festival, no doubt you will read on in relief. However there may be some who have never attended a music festival for whom this may still seem a closed book (or whatever the electronic equivalent - "switched off kindle" just doesn't have the same ring does it?), so let me explain why this might be a worthwhile exercise. It was something in my mind given I had taken along my friend's 15 year old (see Chemical Brothers entry on an earlier blog page for more on same subject) and was trying to convey this to him, but that was easier since he was there experiencing it.

I could point out the obvious about the music itself, the sheer power and noise of it, the bass such that you can feel it through your body. And the fact that things go wrong live (Frankmusik had to stop his/their set having got a new song wrong, Plan B almost had fight with his drummer). Its just so much less sanitized.

But that's just the music. Its also the atmosphere, the vibe I suppose one should call it. Its all about being in a field (or two or three) with 85,000 other people all of whose sole purpose is to enjoy themselves. Now one can feel something of it in a football match, but that has its limitations, not least the winning and losing, the tribalism - a football match has some of the atmosphere of a war, with the adrenalin rush of being on the winning side, and the risk of it all going wrong. A music festival is all about peace, in a nice, safe, but anarchic way. You chat with utterly random people you will never come across again (hopefully, in some cases!). Not uncommonly someone will be off their head (on alcohol, and probably more) but they will be lovely and amusing, rather than out for fight on a Saturday night. Like the bloke we came across who was so drunk he couldn't put his sunglasses back on. How drunk do you have to be not to remember where your ears are? And who explained to us that he had got vodka in his eye. I did try to point out that was not the officially recommended orifice for vodka, but he was too far gone for my scholarly exposition of where he had gone wrong.

And of course there are those who turn up in fancy dress. This year's award must go to the portly hairy bloke who was in what I can only describe as Superman beachwear, a pair of superman underpants with a very small superman cape around his neck. And nothing else apart from sunglasses. Its just all slightly insane.

And then, as I pointed out to my young friend, we can do whatever we want, see whatever acts we want, wander off whenever, eat anything off myriad stalls (while recognising that at a festival the word "gourmet" before any food item does not have the same connotation as at a restaurant. It just means edible. Just.) There is a freedom at these things which one just can't have in real life, but just for a weekend all bets are off. There is a huge loss of inhibition. As an example, in these days of decorum and skin cancer concerns, and all sorts of body image worries, blokes just don't take their tops off much in public, but here most lads do, frequently adorned with bits of body paint and amusing (but sometimes crude) slogans. (I should add that there is probably a weight limit on when it is good to remove your shirt in public, and one of the rappers in hip-hop band D12 exceeded it. By about a 100 pounds I would suggest, but that's just personal taste.)  

Although even here there is a sort of uniform, which amongst the girls tends to be very short hotpants and wellies. Which beats suit and tie any day.The general ethos is do whatever you want, nobody will mind.  And while the majority of the audience is undoubtedly late teens and twenties, there are some families with kids, (one couple bizarrely trying to wheel round a pram), and some older folks like myself (and one text read, "I'm 81, does that make me the oldest person at V?" I think so.)

And if all that isn't enough fun, they do of course have a funfair too. Just in case.


And finally, can I point out we can't all be wrong? Even in these credit crunch days, and V is far from a cheap weekend, the place was sold out both days. Why does it survive the recession when Woolworths couldn't? Because its quality. Come on down and see for yourself, unless you are a stickler for modesty, good langauge, quiet isolation, hygeine and decorum, in which case I would suggest you put on your cardigan and potter into your garden.  There must be some weeding for you to do.

This blog page

Oh and two particular remarks about what you might think are oddities about these two blog entries about V. The first is the quality of the photos. I can only say this. You know those stunning landscape or wildlife photographs you see? Well they are done by people with cameras the size of bazookas, they spend all day setting up their perfect shot waiting for that passing lion, or the right light, and use a tripod.

I have a camera that goes in my pocket and am trying to take snaps in amongst a sea of bouncing teenagers, and often over the heads of blokes so tall they have their own weather systems above them. I would like to see David Bailey work under these conditions. So live with it.

And the other, and this goes for my blog generally but this one in particular, is that I constantly refer to my "young companion", or "friend" or "mate" or some such synonym, rather than by name which would sound less convoluted. This is just because I guess somehow one can search for a name on the internet. And while I would never write anything that I think would be wrong, it seems only prudent not to refer to friends by name just in case. People who know the lad in question will know who I am referring to, and those that don't, well they don't need to. I don't have the same concern for photos as they can't be searched. There you go - a policy statement.

Ok, so what were the acts actually like this year? While last year I did an act by act detailed review, I will spare you some of that. But for the specialist, here are a few highlights.

Comedy Tent

Several festivals now add comedy to the music line-up, and we found this a nice way to wile away the early part of the afternoon before the big music acts came on. My young companion was especially keen to see Kevin Bridges, who did not disappoint even if he didn't deliver much new material. I don't think he needs to, he just is a funny guy who can get by on banter with the audience. The Glasgow accent helps. But the other two we saw were a great laugh too, Adam Bloom and a Canadian called Pete Johansson who was very good (despite finishing his act by saying he loved everything about Britain, apart from our kids. I put my hands on round my companion's ears lest he be offended by what was to come....)


The Enemy

My hometown band, they played the smallest of the 4 main venues, but this did no harm at all as the atmosphere in the tent was electric. Just the sheer energy of the band would have been enough. "Giving it lots of aggro" was their opener, which given it was about rioting, seemed very apt. They were just wonderful. And much to my surprise my young mate liked it too, notwithstanding it was far from what is his main interest in dance, dubstep, breakbeat etc. (For those of an older generation, the Enemy are really a punk band reinvented, but so so much better than the punk bands of the Seventies. Anyone sad enough to try and see the aging Sex Pistols should give up and see these lads who can do this well.)

You couldn't help but get swept up in the pace and energy of their set. And by the end the rain (which inevitably follows me around outdoor gigs) had dissolved into Mediterranean sunshine. Don't you just love a British summer?

Kaiser Chiefs

Out onto the main stage and the Kaiser Chiefs. Ricky Wilson is just the consummate front man. He knows how to work a crowd and puts in 100%, belting round the stage. And of course they played "I predict a riot". Maybe a trifle too smugly....

Plan B

Felt a bit odd for Plan B to play above the Kaiser Chiefs, but that's the way it went. A good set. For those who don't know Plan B its a "he" rather than a band (real name Benjamin Balance-Drew - you can see how "Plan B" is cooler eh?). What his unique selling point is ("USP" to those of us in the trade), is mixing rap with soul. To be fair, few rappers could do this, given that they can't sing which is why they mask it by talking badly and really fast (you may guess I am not a fan) but Plan B has a great soul voice and the combination works, especially with the rather good lyrics, witty and intelligent. "She Said" is  a brilliant song, The Defamation of Strickland Banks was definitely one of the best albums of last year. He has great delivery, but also a bit of a temper clearly. He had a real spat with his drummer over something. And then announced at the end, that this would be one of his last performances with this band - hopefully not just because of something the drummer said.

Arctic Monkeys

And then topping the bill, the Arctic Monkeys. First time I had seen them. Much better than on cd, as I remarked to my companion who agreed. On record a nice guitar band with clever lyrics, but live something harder and heavier (again my point about going to live music - it is different. And usually better.) I was surprised at how much we both enjoyed it. My mate got chatting to an art student  (who he described as "peng" which for us old folk means "hot" - you see how much you can learn from a 15 year-old?) who evidently knew every single lyric to anything the Arctic Monkeys could perform. And a great light show - the advantage of playing late is the lights really coming in to play. And you could light up half of China with the banks of them used here. (Ignore global warming for once. Look at it as a positive. Climate change? Well isn't it time for a change?) Mind you, you wouldn't want to come here if an epileptic. This was flashing lights to the max, which did make photography especially hit and miss.