The concept of bandstand busking oozes charm and good sense in sackfuls - take a couple of quality performers who might be in town on a Sunday afternoon and give them thirty minutes to play an unplugged set in one of the capital's many disused and neglected bandstands. What could be more in tune with the times we live in? It reeks of sustainability, heritage, art and the organising hand of the web.
The pedigree of the enterprise is proven by some of the names involved thus far: Loney Dear, Micachu and The Leisure Society - as well as the recent Mercury winner Speech Debelle - have all taken part.
Taking a break from semi-regular haunt Northampton Square, Clerkenwell, this time it's the turn of a somewhat less rustic construction in Victoria Park. Tripping off the tube at Bethnal Green, I emerge blinking into a bracing but perfectly formed winter day - the birds are singing and there's a faint smell of Sunday roast wafting past from a nearby pub.
Wrapped up warm, The Clientele inaugarate the day, with their charming pseudo-baroque pop. I actually prefer their sound stripped-down like this - it's rawer and reveals something more appealing than the pedestrian production on their records, which is possibly obfuscating something I'd missed. "Bonfires On The Heath" - one of their better compisitions - is played first, leaving less less impressive songs to hold up the majority of their set.
Next up is the honeyed voice of Tristram. This twenty year old troubadour has produced what is for me one of the best songs of 2009 - the melancholic and crafted "Somebody Told Me A Poem". It's the kind of fully-formed high quality effort you would expect from the likes of Rufus Wainwright. Hints of Nick Drake linger in the delivery too but the voice is very much Tristram's own. To quote his own words, he sings 'lullabies for uncertain times'. He's also endearingly likeable to boot and certainly someone to keep a close eye on as we pass into the next decade.
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The lanksome Fyfe Dangerfield has been hovering aside the proceedings, looking almost nervous. It's probably just the cold though. He cuts a swarthy, handsome figure - all height and hair - and has to deal with a broken string before launching into the closing set of the day. I never got to see The Guillemots play live and I've only made their acquaintance a handful of times on record but Dangerfield (gotta love that name) is suprisingly traditional as a solo performer, more than I expected.Although his songs are predictable, they're strong and carried along with gusto by a quite unique and memorable voice.
And so I trudge onwards to the bus - over sodden grass and dodging dogs, squirrels and children. This is what Sundays were made for.
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