12.45: It’s been a busy Saturday already. Having traversed the streets, tubes and bus routes of East London’s boroughs, and not before a visit to the friendliest croissant seller in all the land, I’d made it to the unfortunately named property agency Myspace to sign up for another year of rental extortion via an admin fee of 50 quid. Plus VAT. Suitably embittered with what the city takes, I trudged towards Shoreditch Park for what it had to offer.
Shoreditch’s is at the highly urban end of the urban park scale: open rectangle of grass, 1970-styled sports centre and an over-sized rock on a plinth are its key features. Nonetheless, it’s a pretty neat setting for a city festival. Let’s hope the bands can make the grade.
13.00: Typically, the VIP/press queue is the longest and slowest. As kids argue the toss about their guest list spots and competition winners are adorned with their prize, entry, I patiently wait, with only the mildest huffing, tutting and foot-shuffling.
13.15: Still waiting. I can hear South London’s
La Shark from over the barriers as they clatter through
1958’s deliciously off-kilter beats and
Bones’ Rocky Horror love story. For such an entertaining band, it’s a surprise that they’re so low on the bill. A pity I can’t see them, but they sound great. The anticipation is a killer!
13.25: I’m in and head straight to the Rough Trade tent for what’s left of La Shark’s set. Prowling the stage in white boiler suits, tropical shirts and a film of sweat, bearing the marks of a typically energetic show, it’s 30 seconds before the band thank the crowd and are off backstage. I’m left to imagine what might have been, sup my opening Kopparberg and ponder the inevitable schedule clashes.
14.00: Circulating the site took just five minutes – you don’t get that at Glastonbury do you? Stalls offering spray-paint-your-own canvas bags and I ♥ Hackney mugs are by-passed in favour of
Action Beat making a massive noise on the main stage. With three drummers (apparently they’ve maxed at four in the past), three guitarists and two bassists, it’s perhaps unsurprising that the set is riff heavy. Without a vocalist though the product is loud but unfocused, songs blurring into each other and delivered with the most homoerotic fret-wanking since Lynyrd Skynyrd.
14.20: Spectrals? That’s not Spectrals. It seems the Rough Trade tent has been shuffled and instead I’m faced with
Invasion, a sort of metal Noisettes. I leave.
15.00: After an ask around it seems Spectrals have dropped off the bill entirely which is pretty gutting. Making up manfully for their absence though are
Mazes, who recently appeared alongside co-lo-fi luminaries
Not Cool and
La La Vasquez, as well as Spectrals, on a Paradise Vendors 12” compilation.
Despite a slight interruption which causes them to declare “my guitar’s fucked… and the stage man’s just chillin’”, the duo fly through a great set indebted to the C86 generation and 90s American indie. Where many of the recent spate of reverb layered guitar acts fail, Mazes’ ear for a classic melody is sound, as shown in the feverish receptions to the summery
Cenataph and set closer
Go-Betweens, with our protagonist sounding like a perky young Tim Burgess having been heavily exposed to Television Personalities and Pixies records. Early contender for band of the day right here.
16.15: Having failed to get near the tiny Artrocker tent for
Maria and the Mirrors, I settle for a pint and a seat while idly watching punk icons
Vic Godard and the Subway Sect. I notice John and Kevin from
Male Bonding are wandering about, which begs the question, why did no-one book them to play? Having shared vinyl space with Dum Dum Girls and Mazes and hailing from Dalston they seemed a perfect fit for 1234.
My attention turns to young goth post-punkers
S.C.U.M who, despite the fact lead singer looks like a pre-pubescent Nick Cave, are much more impressive live than expected. The sound is brooding and unnerving, with their connection to The Horrors evident in more than just blood; their experimental sound carrying purpose and intent and making for a genuinely engrossing set.
17.05: After a hard earned organic burger topped with a cheese slice, it’s back to the main stage for what I hope will be the performance of the day. I Will Be is one of my top records of the year so far and when
Dum Dum Girls come on dressed all in black in rockabilly chic as the crowd grows, my anticipation is peaking.
Unfortunately the first couple of songs are tainted by high-pitched feedback screaming from the speakers and the lead vocals so low in the mix they’re smothered by the backing harmonies. The girls’ calculated ennui doesn’t help lift the show, but thankfully the issues get resolved and the set grows in stature and impact. The punk strut of
Bhang Bhang Burnout blasts through the heavy shroud of reverb, while
Jail La La gets the gathering swaying if not dancing. Not the set I’d hoped for and, as the girls depart, the general consensus seems to be one of, well, ennui.
18.10: Having queued for my blue VIP wrist band I figured I may as well see what it got me. It turns out it got me entrance to a fenced off area to the left of the main stage, where one was offered the chance to purchase equally expensive booze as the average punter. There is also a mini-stage where
Babeshadow are due on live at half 6 among a series of DJs. Unfortunately, Peter Hook performing Unknown Pleasures front to back just gets the nod.
The increasingly rotund Hooky, on vocals and occasionally bass slung improbably low as ever, seems to be genuinely enjoying himself, with an arm aloft and the occasional ad-libbed howl defying his stereotype of grumpy old Manc. The visceral edge and visual impact are of course gone, but the riffs remain the same and the post-punk karaoke gets the crowd really going for the first time all day. Closing with
Love Will Tear Us Apart sends the masses out on a high, as the undying quality of the songs sees Hooky beyond pub singer and remaining a legend.
19.05: Up to this point, the content has pretty much been solely lo-fi garage and slightly gloomy punk, leaving me a touch subdued and in need of a pick-me-up. Cue
We Have Band. With Dede dressed head to toe in silver playsuit, the tone is set. From the first beats of
Piano the whole Rough Trade tent is dancing, leaving the trio in humble awe at the reception. The common theme of the day’s bands is slightly uptight and self aware, the antithesis of Dede’s prowling, bouncing and pouting performance, while Darren’s legs never stop as he controls the beat.
You Came Out sets them dancing, while Oh! is the clear highlight, inducing total crowd participation where elsewhere (other than for Hooky) there’d been none. With no time for live favourites
Honeytrap or
Divisive, after gushing thanks the band leave the stage with the tent baying for more, and the band of the day award firmly bagged.
20.30: Halfway through the
Vivian Girls set I realise just what a fantastic band they are. I also realise that pissed Spaniards doing keepy-uppy with a plastic ball at a Vivian Girls gig is fucking irritating. Nevertheless, the second set of Girls I’ve seen today far outdid the first, even throwing in some “we love London” chat for good, crowd pleasing measure.
21.15: Having caught the remainder of Bobby Gillespie’s ‘supergroup’ The Silver Machine offering some pretty average covers and completing the noticeably backward looking feel to the main stage at what is ostensibly a new band festival, I squeeze past the ridiculously tall frame and many angled face of Faris Rotter into a sweaty post-
Rolo Tomassi Artrocker tent ready to close my festival with
Veronica Falls and
Bo Ningen.
I’d loved the Falls at CAMP Basement recently, but persistent sound issues mean the set tonight never quite gets going. Despite this their surf pop, particularly on the superb
Found Love in a Graveyard and an ace version of
Stephen, keeps the ball rolling nicely for Bo Ningen.
Each dressed in 70’s rock staples of skinny flairs and straight black hair down to their waists, the Japanese foursome take to the stage and immediately hurl themselves into unhinged psychedelic rock of the Deepest Purple, writhing on the stage and making a noise that’s as confusing as it is captivating. I’m not sure if it’s good or not, and at points it sounds as if they’ve never played at all, let alone together. Then, out of the blue, it all makes sense and a song emerges from nowhere. Unlike any band I’ve seen today there’s an un-tempered emotion and freedom in the noise that is both unnerving and thrilling. It’s in complete debt to the past but beyond comparison, and I guess there’s no better tribute to what 1234 aim to achieve than this.
Photos: Tom Jagger (
www.tomjagger.co.uk)
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