The problem with festivals is that there are often a veritable menagerie of distractions that can cause you to miss some of the bands you went there to see in the first place. For this correspondent Total Loss Farm was no different, despite the fact the entire weekend took place on one stage in one pub. Organised at the Windmill – the finest live venue south of the river no matter how many awards Brixton Academy wins – by the heady combination of the Sadder Days club night people and Trash Aesthetics label, the only festival-free weekend of the summer was celebrated in fine style with an impetuously eclectic line up...
The Friday is allegedly treated as a “warm-up” day for yours truly who is going to “save himself” for the Saturday night. Famous last words indeed. In any case, things start well as not two sips have been taken from my first pint when Julian Donkey-Boy kicks things off in appropriately lo-fi style. The first of a host of bands from Wakefield to appear over the weekend, JD-B could well be the result of a social experiment consisting of giving a geeky looking Northern kid with a doleful voice a load of Pavement albums and locking him in his bedroom with a guitar until he’s written a collection of quite lovely songs. Far from half-assed, this boy and his band will turn out to be one of the many highlights of the weekend. The Old House are also from this part of the world and are a bit like a band from Wakefield covering an American band covering Wakefield’s own The Cribs. And quite frankly they are effing great. I suspect some big things might be lurking round the corner for this lot.
By the time Napoleon IIIrd has finished setting up his intriguing ‘future one man band’ ensemble, it is fair to say that I am regretting missing out on the free BBQ and the beer is starting to take its toll. In fact I get rather scared by the man. Switching between guitars and keyboard, Napoleon (I presume this is the accepted shortening?) sings weirdly grand psych-pop songs (that remind me of the Beta Band a bit, but I sense few may share my opinion) to a backing track that plays from a large reel-to-reel tape machine. However, when I manage to stop staring fixatedly at his on stage set-up – and latterly his beard – I decide that he does indeed have some fine songs.
This provides quite a segue into our esteemed hosts The Tailors who provide a rockier than usual take on their fantastic Wilco and Whiskeytown-inspired Americana. And here’s where the problems begin as I am already drunkenly stumbling down Brixton Hill as The Colonies are entertaining a full house of revellers with their harmonic guitar stylings. Sorry! For the record I am informed that I didn’t miss anything earth shattering…
Saturday begins, unsurprisingly, with a horrific hangover. Learning from my mistakes of the previous night I hit the BBQ first, and after struggling through a pint I am good to go again. Will Burns provides the delightfully simple but heartfelt first set of the evening. It’s as if he knew. His harmonica-filled, strummed alt-country ballads would be utterly charming any time of day, but tonight are like aurally administered Nurofen for my hangover. It is a good thing I get some before Sheffield’s Avida Dollars, who, due to transport mix-ups have to swap their headlining 11.30 set for a 7.30 one. The lack of a booze-fuelled capacity crowd to play to doesn’t seem to affect the intensity of performance from the 5 piece, though, with guitars flung across stage and singers on the floor before the end of the set. Their CBGBs-influenced ramshackle rock’n’roll show does, however, boast some quite wonderful tunes as well as the onstage antics.
Unfortunately more problems are on the horizon as I spend most of the next couple of hours trying to help the aforementioned Dollars work out how they are going to get themselves and their equipment to Heathrow to make their coach back up North on time, thus only catching sporadic parts of the Notorious Hi-Fi Killers and Joeyfat sets. The former, though, come across as the perfect party band, mixing Hendrix-style solos with stoner rock to get everyone into the Saturday night groove. The latter’s singer provided an even more intriguing stage show than even Napoleon IIIrd or Avida Dollars could manage, wearing kings crown, fox’s tail and glitter whilst walking back and forth through the crowd. The rest of the band play a take on post
I do manage to catch all of Radio LXMBRG and am easily won over, not least by their pride in their heritage. This comes not only in the form of the joyous Swedish pop-rock that they peddle, but also through the on stage banter: “We’re from Sweden, land of the Vikings… [three claps from crowd] You know you like that!” The Red Fishes are last minute replacements for the absent TAP Collective and, despite having sacrificed my place at the front hours earlier, they seem to fulfil the role more than adequately with their hypnotic psyche-pop from my position behind throngs of people and a large pillar. Making up for the missed live stuff I make the most of the after-band DJs from Rough Trade and Heavenly records and am last seen dancing to some 50s rock’n’roll in the early hours of the morning.
By Sunday those hardy souls in possession of weekend tickets are flagging, but thankfully a few others descend on the Windmill to soak up the last night of this excellent weekend. It is (thankfully for most) a predominantly quiet affair, just right for a Sunday evening. John George Cooper seems to be suffering as much as I was the previous day, but when he does shine he comes across as something like the son of Evan Dando. I am glad to find that his best track is included on my free Total Loss Farm compilation CD. Fireworks Night are one of the few bands this weekend that I have actually seen before and their brand of weird folk comes across perfectly in the hushed Windmill setting. As usual they put on a quite mesmerising show, including playing the requisite saw.
Rosie Taylor Project are a quite lovely band who count no one called Rosie Taylor among their number, but do have some whispered vocals that blend nicely with their woozy Americana. It is rare to hear – and enjoy – a band this quiet very often, but incredibly the following It Hugs Back manage to be almost as mellow. Either way both bands’ finger picked electric guitars – complemented by RTP’s trumpeter and IHB’s synth – fit perfectly with the Sunday comedown atmosphere. Even if some that have been present since Friday are almost lulled into a contented slumber.
Anyway, enough loveliness.
1 comment:
Hi, very interesting post, greetings from Greece!
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