REVIEW: BESTIVAL 2011
Last time I came to Bestival was in 2007. As much as I loved it, it then proceeded to clash with one of my faves, End of the Road, so despite drooling over the line ups in subsequent years, I was destined to miss it. Until now. Back then it was a mere 15,000 people, the main stage at the far end of the site, hosting the likes of The Beastie Boys and Bat for Lashes. This year, Robin Hill Country Park on the Isle of Wight opened it’s gates to 50,000 party people with an equally impressive line up boasting The Cure, Magnetic Man (OK, so Pendulum were technically the headliners but Magnetic Man are far superior) and Bjork.
Before you even arrive at this festival, unless you’re one of the few thousand (OK, I’m sure it’s more but it feels like just a few thousand) people who live on the Isle of Wight, you’ve got yourself a bit of a mission. For me, it was a two-hour adrive to Southampton then an hour-long car ferry over to Cowes – after which it was a pretty straightforward 15 minute journey to the site. Then, we did arrive at 6pm on the Friday, by which time most of the hardcore contingent were absolutely twatted. Within minutes we encountered a sea of archetypal festival dickeads. Y’know the type, pre-pubescent drunken lads with their tops off covered in day glo, playfighting for attention and Peaches Geldof wannabes with their hunters and floral headbands – even though it was sunny and those headbands are shit. There was only one thing for it, booze.
By the time we caught our first act, Patrick Wolf, things were looking up. All eyes were on the camp-as-Christmas singer/songwriter as he flounced around the stage with his catchy cabaret pop, including the catchy Magic Position. A bit like Rufus Wainwright, but far less irritating. Blur’s Graham Coxon took to the stage after that and blasted through his rough and ready indie pop. He really is the best thing about Blur and his solo material, particularly songs like Freakin Out, proves that. Magnetic Man were one of the big draws and they nailed it. Clearly chuffed to be playing to a UK audience they jeered up the crowd for some cracking dubstep anthems, including the epic I Need Air. Good times.
The rest of Friday night was all about the Sailor Jerry stage with secret guest Frank Turner (to be fair, it wasn’t that much of a secret after the NME announced it earlier that day). Turner never fails to forge a sense of cohesion at his gigs and this was no exception. His down-to-earth folk rock and impeccable lyrics speaking to every man, woman and fuckhead. Unsurprisingly, the highlight was his final offering, Photosynthesis, which inevitably turned into a mass singalong. A tough set to follow, but if anyone can do it, the King Blues can. And they did. Itch, Jamie Jazz and co blasted through their political punk hip/hop (for want of another description) also speaks to the masses and induced a mass sing along. Awesome songs like Hang the Landlord and Save The Girl being excellently suited to a rammed smaller stage.
Saturday proved a bit of a blur, until PJ Harvey took to the main stage. This is the third time I’ve seen her this year (Primavera Sound and ATP I’ll Be Your Mirror) but this was the Westcountry girl at her best. With john Parish she showcased her newest album Let England Shake and threw in a couple of old favourites, including Big Exit. Sadly, it appeared the majority of this festival weren’t interested in decent music and some of her excellence fell on deaf, inebriated ears. I freakin loved it though. A modern day Kate Bush with some of the most brilliant vocals and spectacular costumes topped off with a good ole dose of the Westcountry accent.
For most musos at this festival (though clearly more idiots than musos here) this was all about The Cure. Robert Smith and friends pulled in an impressively large crowd and pulled off an equally impressive two and a half hour long set. Looking a bit like a transvestite Meatloaf on smack, Smith stuck two fingers up at the younger twats intent on judging a book by its cover. Playing a perfectly crafted set of the ‘hits’ and lesser known material, they showed how goth can be completely accessible to the masses. Despite receiving the biggest response to songs like Friday I’m In Love and Lovecats, it was the heartfelt Lovesong and iconic Just Like Heaven which really hit the spot. Tear-jerking, compelling and bloody brilliant.
When the mainstage shut down, it was the turn of the longtime absent Tom Vek to showcase some of his much anticipated new material, including the Youtube hit A Chore, in the Psychadelic Worm. But it wasn’t until he dived headfirst into the old faves, You Set The Fire In Me and A Little Word In Your Ear that the shapes were really thrown. As the rain came down, Metronomy played to a jam-packed tent. The Mercury Prize-nominated Devon trio seem to be on a steep incline to stardom at the mo and after this set, it was easy to see why. (Catch them at a 247 Magazine gig in Torbay on Sunday Septemer 18. More info HERE).
Despite Sunday night seeing the Icelandic legend Bjork headline and Robyn do her thang, there was talk of a hurricane hitting the island so we, like many others, decided to hot foot it out of there that evening meaning we missed quite a bit. We did, however, manage to catch a bit of Kelis. Like Janelle Monae, her showomanship and vocals are equally impressive. With mash ups of her songs and bits of old classics like Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit, there was never a dull moment. Go Kelis. Noah and the Whale provided a bit of neo-filk relief but as with Green Man Festival earlier this year, have carved themselve a fanbase among the screaming teenage girls genre, which makes their gigs far from enjoyable. In fact, it’s only when they play songs of their darker second album, First Days of Spring, that you remember how good these guys can be.
For us, the festival ended with the hilarious antics of Goldie Lookin Chain, who followed Mr Motivator on stage and professed that the former GMTV fitness guru had a pretty medium sized package. Nice. The Welsh troupe of jokers attracted a mahoosive crowd and quite right too. Packed onto the stage like a discount tracksuit rack at Primark, they were excellent value for money. Rhys and Eggsy taking the lead with many of the vocals, singing and rapping, flanked by some inspired dancers throwing some Welsh gangsta-flavoured shapes. If you think these guys are just a joke band, then think again, their tunes are actually top notch! GLC, yes please.
Of course, Bestival is more than music. For about half of the people there it probably has sod all to do with music – more of a massive open-air, fancy dress piss up but if you know this in advance, you’ll be OK. Booze, booze and more booze is your friend here – there is not much chance you could enjoy this festival sober. It’s like a slightly smaller Reading Festival for a slightly older crowd (older being 19 plus). And the fancy dress element is always good for shits and giggles. This year’s theme was rock stars, pop stars and divas. Cue a million Freddie Mercurys, Amy Winehouses, Michael Jacksons, Adam Ants, Kiss bands and Lady Gagas. If you looked hard you could find a few more inspired efforts, White Stripes, Meatloaf and Marylin Manson. Me, I opted for Richey Manic – with just one person getting who I was all weekend. Musical imbeciles (may say more about my fancy dress skills mind).
Words and photo: Laura Williams
