Unlike most festivals The Fleadh has little concern for the current darlings of the music media but rather concentrates on it’s own niche within the festival calendar. Although the top end of the main stage bill was noticeably light on Irish performers the crowd was a riot of Irish flags, t-shirts, rugby shirts and Guinness was still far and away the drink of choice in the pubs next to Finsbury Park. The crowd itself are unlike other festival crowds with the average age shooting up by a good 10 years, they are a mellow and convivial bunch, prone to much drinking and singing. Now if the weather would just hold out…..
As we enter the main arena the last few notes of Billy Braggs set greet us. Bugger. So it is up to THE DELAYS to open the day's festivities for us. It is fair to say that they are battling against audience indifference and even the occasional missile sent in their direction. ‘Nearer than Heaven’ gets a few nods of recognition but under an ominous sky their sunny harmonies and foppish ways aren’t winning many new friends. To their credit they battle gamely on but this is not their day or audience.
For much of the day the place to see the most interesting acts was The Borderline Tent. Our first foray brings us face to face with Ireland’s JULIET TURNER. Supporting her new album ‘Seasons of the Hurricane’ and backed up by a bass player and acoustic guitar (in addition to her acoustic guitar), her heartfelt songs are suddenly given a much bigger audience with the first downpour of the day. With the tent full and with a captive audience the moment is hers for the taking. Unfortunately her songs only really fly during the instrumental sections when the interplay between the three musicians takes her rather average songs to a new and exciting level.
DAMIEN DEMPSEY, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be the type to settle for average. The ex-boxer from Dublin takes the Borderline Tent by the balls and doesn’t let go until he’s sure everyone’s enjoying themselves. His hugely powerful voice and righteous lyrics, backed by a four piece band of bass, guitar, flute and drums draw on traditional Irish music, protest songs, reggae and rock. The reggae tinge to his songs in particular makes for an interesting diversion especially combined with his thick Dublin accent. His lyrics are angry, political and occasionally very funny. With song titles including ‘Celtic Tiger’ and ‘Negative Vibes’ and a hugely partisan crowd at the front, the day finally takes off.
Braving the rain we move across to the main arena to catch THE CHARLATANS. As they take to the stage and kick off with ‘Up at the Lake’ the rain decides to really go for it. It’s now absolutely pissing down! By the time they play ‘Only One I Know’ as their third song the crowd simply don’t care any more and are merrily singing along. So the hits just keep coming, ‘Tellin’ Stories’ and ‘Love is the Key’ seem to finally drive the rain away just in time for Ronnie Wood to make a guest appearance. The Rolling Stones (and ex Faces) guitarist joins them for two songs including a blistering version of the Faces’ ‘Stay with Me’. Shit eating grins are the order of the day for musicians and crowd alike. Tim Burgess in particular seems to be having the time of his life. ‘You’re so Pretty - We’re so Pretty’, ‘North Country Boy’ and ‘How High’ tie things up nicely. Supergrass may call themselves everyone’s second favourite band but the same could also be said for The Charlatans. Like Supergrass they remain one of this country’s best singles' band and can draw upon a formidable back catalogue. Today with the weather against them they still manage to turn in one of the days highlights.
The rain begins to fall once more as the COUNTING CROWS begin their set. Quite simply there isn’t enough money or alcohol in the world that would tempt me out of the beer tent to stand in a field in the pissing rain to watch the Counting Crows. Sorry. When the rain finally eases we make our way around the main arena to the strains of ‘Mr Jones’ and ‘Big Yellow Taxi’ (you know, the one that goes "they pulled down paradise and put up a parking lot"). Boring, middle of the road, middle aged rock of the highest order. ‘Counting Sheep’ as one wag in the crowd watching calls them.
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Seeking refuge in the Borderline tent we stumble across JOHN PRINE. Apparently John Prine has been making records since 1971 but, shamefully, this is my first exposure to him. It certainly won’t be the last. The man is a genius. With a voice like he’s been gargling gravel he’s a captivating performer, full of stories and anecdotes the crowd are eating out of the palm of his hand. Backed by a bassist and two guitarists his music encompasses folk, country and rock and although we only catch the last two songs we vow to catch up with John Prine again as soon as possible. In John Prine we find the spirit of the Fleadh, giving exposure to little heard performers who offer true alternatives to mainstream music. And he dedicates one of the songs to Johnny Cash. Marvellous stuff.
It is with unbridled enthusiasm and high expectation that we make our way to the front of the crowd to witness BOB DYLAN. One of the few performers today that actually deserves the tag of living legend for many it is a once in a lifetime opportunity to see the man in action. When he finally arrives onstage the greeting is rapturous. Dressed all in black and wearing a cowboy hat he looks every inch the road weary troubadour. When Ronnie Wood joins him right at the start and stays for the whole set, I refuse to pinch myself in case I do wake up. Which makes the next two hours all the more disappointing. Even having heard of the hit and miss nature of the great mans sets does not prepare you for quite how awful he can be. As the band launch into ‘Down Along The Cove’, Dylan takes up residence behind his keyboard, where he will stay all night, moving only to confer with the band.
Each song is stretched into a country tinged blues work out of mind numbingly dull proportions. The only way you can tell he’s played ‘It’s all over Now, Baby Blue’, 'Maggie's Farm’ or ‘Desolation Row’ is by catching snippets of lyrics amongst the self indulgent sludge. Nine songs takes nearly 1 hour and 45 minutes to play such is the stately pace of the set and even Ronnie Wood seems to be bored, perching on the drum riser at regular intervals. Now that’s not something you see when he’s playing with the Rolling Stones. Undoubtedly Bob Dylan is bored with playing songs some of which he must have been playing for over 40 years now but the fact remains we are not. Although parts of the crowd would dance if he came on and did a two hour kazoo solo, it is clear that those with higher expectations are left feeling short changed. For his encores we are finally treated to ‘Highway 61 Revisited’ and ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ but a significant proportion of the crowd are already making their way to the tube station, on their way home to dig out ‘Blonde on Blonde’ and remind themselves why we hold this man in such high esteem.
It is a shame that the Fleadh had to end in this way. It had been an enjoyable day, full of new discoveries and a few old favourites and it was a timely reminder of why The Fleadh is still important.
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