Homelands, the former doyen of dance festivals, no longer exists, having been updated, ‘indiefied’, and transformed into the Hi:Fi Festival. It’s a strange beast, promoting itself primarily on its high profile indie headliners Hard Fi and Ian Brown, but in reality being massively weighted towards the dance side of things.
There’s five tents in a Milton Keynes-style bowl, one of which is the live arena. The others are essentially nightclubs that open at 2pm, churning out hours of ‘banging’ trance, house and drum ’n’ bass. If you like that sort of thing, then this weekend is manna from heaven, a two day, round the clock binge of booze, drugs and dancing. EVERYONE is dancing, and boy, there’s A LOT of drugs flying around amidst the flailing limbs. It’s like the world gurning championships have hit Hampshire. There’s also an abundance of Reebok, Burberry and Rockport, but in truth there is very little lairiness, probably due to all the drugs. On the whole, everyone seems to love each other.
Glastonbury, though, this most certainly ain’t. One would presume from the press that the live arena would be the main attraction, but for a large part of the weekend it’s half empty. On occasions, it’s embarrassingly empty. People just don’t seem interested in what it has to offer, and the organizers probably need to give the whole thing a bit of a rethink. Ultimately, dance music is on its arse at the moment, so the general idea seems to be that a sprinkling of indie will draw in the crowds.
The problem is, the live arena line-up is so weak overall that very few people are likely to turn up just for the bands. Most punters are here for the dance music, so one might ask what the point is in diluting this. In general, the crowd are a hardcore set of dance faithfuls, disturbingly so at times, that longs for the glory days of the early 2000’s before all this “indie shit” appeared (words I overheard uttered more than once this weekend).
Anyway, it is what it is, for the moment at least. I’m hardly a Godskitchen or Hed Kandi regular, so I decide to keep my distance from those particular tents and opt for the sanctuary of the live arena.
3.30pm Saturday, and a band called DIRECTOR kick off proceedings, to an audience of roughly 30 people. The site’s still only half full at this stage, though, so it’s understandable, but a shame, as they really do deserve more attention. Irish, but for all the world sounding American, their Weezer-esque emo-tinged pop draws in the passers by. Though hardly remarkable, they provide pleasant mid-afternoon listening. Quite how they fit into this environment is unclear, though, and their Daniel Radcliffe lookalike front man appears faintly bemused with the whole thing, poor soul.
As Karma 45 take to the stage and launch into a tune that sounds EXACTLY like Kasabian, it becomes clear that the organizers are trying to provide a bit of variety. It’s hard to shake the feeling, though, that this afternoon line-up is turning into a pale shadow of other festivals, with sound-alikes in place of the real deals. We’ve had Weezer, now Kasabian. What next? A couple of storming anthems just about save them from descending into tribute act dross, but I’ll stick with the originals for now.
Thankfully, the late start means that we’ve already reached the business end of the day, and the rest of the line-up promises much. Next up are the ever-reliable GO!TEAM, who even attract Hard Fi’s Richard Archer to the audience, casting his eye over proceedings. Inevitably, they get everyone dancing, but come on, who can resist? This isn’t a mere band, it’s a vibrant, kaleidoscopic explosion of colour and warmth that cannot fail to make you smile. Main vocalist/dancer/all round entertainer Ninja controls the stage, 100% dedicated to ensuring every member of the audience enjoys themselves. And, to be honest, if you don’t enjoy this, you’re dead inside.
Possessing a power with their full live band way beyond the limitations of the samples used on their debut, they defy genres, and are perfect for this festival. With the new album apparently incorporating this live power, surely they can only get better. A dark tent has never seemed so blindingly bright.
SUPER FURRY ANIMALS are an undervalued commodity, and anticipation of their set is hardly at fever pitch amongst the relatively small crowd. They have a lot to live up to following the Go! Team, but more than hold their own by playing a crowd-pleasing selection of their biggest hits. Some of the audience are visibly surprised at just how many songs they recognise.
They’re capable of simple, majestic pop music, but often opt for something more experimental and less obvious. ’Do Or Die’, ’Juxtaposed With U’, ’Hello Sunshine’…the list goes on, they’re all unbeatable. It’s on the likes of the daft ’Receptacle For The Respectable’ that they take it a step too far. On record it features the sound of Paul McCartney munching celery, here replaced by frontman Gryff and a bag of crisps.
Clad in blue space suits, they’re an institution, and they close with the imperious 1996 classic ’The Man Don’t Give A Fuck’, a recent re-addition to their live sets. Given fresh relevance by today’s political climate, as a video of George Bush before the
song demonstrates, it packs an incredible punch, and defies their reputation as lovable eccentrics.
It’s symptomatic of the problems with this festival that a DJ set from Mylo in the live arena draws probably the biggest crowd this tent sees all weekend. People are bunched together and desperately search for some room to dance as the Scotsman pumps out an irresistible mish-mash of electro, indie and dance featuring Bloc Party, Fatboy Slim, Kraftwerk and his very own
’Drop The Pressure’. This is the kind of thing people are here for, and it’s a shame that the crowd inevitably diminishes slightly for HARD FI.
Nevertheless, they know how to please the punters and deliver a tried and tested set identical to the one honed to perfection on their recent UK tour. It’s their first ever headlining set, and suits them down to the ground. They’ve got the anthems to pull off bigger festival gigs than this, and new songs ’You And Me’ and ’Suburban Knights’ suggest the future is bright.
Musically, they’ve improved massively over the last year or so, and can tackle covers such as tonight’s take on Big Audio Dynamite’s ’E=MC’ with ease. They may need to change the between-song banter, as it’s IDENTICAL to previous nights on the tour, but their endless charm pulls it off. They’re a band to believe in and love, and about to go stratospheric. Leaving on a
massive high with ’Living For The Weekend’, it’s only 11pm and the night’s still young. Now, where to? Godskitchen? Hed Kandi? My tent? Hmmmm…
Another day dawns, and the general pace is slow and hungover. After the previous evening’s tremendous line-up, Sunday seems a tad unedifying. Swedish outfit ENVELOPES amble onstage at 2pm, tune up themselves, play one shambolic song marred by chronic sound problems, then storm off. Great. Hilariously, though, none of the 20 people watching seem in the least bit bothered, but they do eventually return, to a response of spirit-crushing
apathy. The reaction’s understandable, as their quirky, lo-fi pop is at times sweet but essentially weak and at times soporific. They’re the kind of band destined to be dismissed at a festival like this, and it’s hard to see why they’re on the bill. They sound at times like the Pixies, at others like Arcade Fire, but this promise never develops into anything coherent. As they shuffle away at the end, you have to feel sorry for them and wonder why they bothered.
CRAZY P are an altogether different proposition, and soon draw in the hovering crowds looking for something new to dance to. It’s a shame, then, that they’re so damn dull. They couldn’t copy Moloko any more if they tried. The singer dresses exactly like Roisin Murphy did five years ago, and has nicked all her moves, but lacks her fire and edge. It’s coffee table music low on tunes, and doesn’t come close to the real thing’s ’Sing It Back’ or ’Pure Pleasure Seeker’. It’s disheartening to see yet another derivative, unoriginal act on the bill. It’s also bloody annoying that people seem to think this band are great, just because they can dance to them. I figure there must be something better than this, and head for the tiny Punch Funk stage outside showcasing local bands. An outfit called AVIATOR are, in truth, hardly more original, but their Oasis and Radiohead inspired anthems display a craft and passion alien to Crazy P.
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Back to the live arena, and things are about to get a bit strange as BRAKES take to the stage. Comprising front man Eamon Hamilton, formerly of British Sea Power, and Tom and Ed White from Electric Soft Parade, they succeed in baffling the few people that persevere with them. One minute you could close your eyes and swear that the Sex Pistols are on stage, next minute you’re listening to a twangy country number. Then they turn it completely upside down with a pounding, indie disco anthem like ’All Night Disco Party’.
Eamon’s David Byrne-esque voice suits the band’s quirky nature, and you never know what to expect. ’Pick Up The Phone’ lasts all of 30 seconds, an epic compared to 5 second set closer ’Comma Comma Comma Full Stop’. An engaging, occasionally alienating half hour of scraps of songs and fully formed pop gems, it proves that Brakes are an acquired taste but certainly reward perseverance.
Unfortunately, ’engaging’ is not a word that applies to THE BEES. Determinedly retro and priding themselves in creating a classic 60’s sound on record, they seem to go all bloated and loose live, and struggle to hold anyone’s attention. It all seems so promising after opening with ’Wash In The Rain’, one of their best songs, but by the time they reach set closer and tour-de-force ’Chicken Payback’, they’ve subjected everyone to a series of extended, indulgent and excruciatingly dull pub-rock jams. The relaxed, hungover mood of the day is perfect for the band, but they blow it and miss an open goal.
After a day that, apart from Brakes, has been uninspired on the whole, there’s a fuzz gathering around my head that needs shaking off. The live arena has been so empty all day that I have to double check the schedule to see just who is attracting the hoards of people that suddenly appear. To my disappointment, it’s KOSHEEN. Purveyors of coffee table, dinner party dance music, it’s a shock to witness the fervour they inspire in this massive, adoring crowd. It’s beyond me, but you can’t argue with a reaction like this, and after a lengthy hiatus, their live comeback is a triumph. Hits ’Hungry’ and ’Empty Skies’ leave me cold, but there’s obviously a fan base out there, and they know exactly how to give them what they want.
It’s a coffee table double-whammy as LEMON JELLY follow, and my hopes aren’t too high by this point. Thankfully, they eschew much of their earlier, ambient offerings and blow everyone away instead with a cacophony of pounding beats, electric guitars and strobe lights. Sadly, the infuriating ‘Nice Weather For Ducks’ with its “all the ducks are swimming in the water” line rears its ugly head, but ‘The Shouty Track’ and other tunes from last years ‘64-95’ album are a blast. They throw glowsticks to the crowd as encouragement, and its all a rather strange warm-up for Ian Brown, but it works. And not a fucking coffee table in sight.
Performance of the weekend is there on a plate for IAN BROWN if he can be arsed and if his voice holds up. Head and shoulders above the rest of the acts, he’s a bona fide legend, and justifiably attracts the biggest crowd of the festival by far. He is indeed the one to unite indie and dance fans alike, and draw together this rather schizophrenic line-up.
Any worries are quelled as the bassline of the now traditional opener ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ rumbles, and King Monkey swaggers onstage. His voice sounds great, and he seems to have left the couldn’t-hold-a-tune-in-a-bucket murmurings behind.
He plays the highlights of last years hits compilation ‘The Greatest’, with a few Roses classics thrown in for good measure. At times the look on his face suggests he’s wondering how he got here and why all these people are dancing with glowsticks, but he nonchalantly ploughs on and wipes the floor the rest of the weekend’s offerings. The closing quadruple whammy of ‘Made Of Stone’, ‘I Am The Resurrection’, ‘My Star’ and ‘F.E.A.R’ is truly magical, the sight and sound of a man at the peak of his powers after 20 years.
The band aren’t a patch on Mani, Reni and John Squire, that’s for sure, but the songs all still sound fantastic, and everyone’s too busy screaming along to really notice anyway. It all flags a bit midway, with four or five lesser known tunes, but by the end it’s all forgotten. Having reacquainted himself with his past, Brown has gone from a good live act to an unmissable one.
That’d be a perfect closing set for a festival, but it simply signals the beginning of the night here. Thanks to the Radio Soulwax tent, the DJ line up is a lot stronger tonight, with Erol Alkan preceding the ever-fantastic 2 Many DJ’s. Alkan confuses some with his penchant for dark, uncompromising electro and off-the-wall indie, but it’s not hard to see why he’s one of the most in-demand DJ’s at the moment. From Primal Scream and The Klaxons to Daft Punk and Hot Chip, he twists tunes and turns them inside out. It’s a great experience and in general the crowd love him.
Everyone’s here to witness the main event, and they don’t disappoint. They really have made this DJing malarkey their own, and render the likes of Tong and Oakenfold hopelessly redundant. Nothing’s out of bounds, be it Kylie, Rolling Stones, Sly and the Family Stone or Basement Jaxx. It’s tough to keep up with the shambolic mash-up of genres, and easier to just let it wash
over you. They don’t care about notions of ’cool’, they just wanna make people dance, gawd bless ’em. They piss over most of the DJ’s this weekend, and make that long, long day in the live arena seem worthwhile. This is the future of DJing, and they succeed where this festival ultimately failed, in uniting a cross section of people usually segregated by their differing
musical tastes.
There’s been flashes of greatness this weekend, but whether there’s any future in the indie/dance festival remains to be seen. More effort needs to be put into the live arena line-up, to make it a genuine attraction in its own right, rather than a gesture. In the end, Ian Brown, Hard Fi and The Go! Team’s triumphant sets just about justified its existence. In all, there’s potential here, but with a glut of festivals appearing all over the place this summer, Hi:Fi needs to strengthen up to survive.
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