Review: Wild Beasts, O2 Academy, Bristol

For those in the audience more intimately acquainted with Wild Beasts’ unique synthesis of infectiously lyrical guitar tunes and the raw, enclosed intensity so mesmerically developed on last LP Smother, one could understand mild bemusement at the sight at Bristol’s O2 Academy of impressively orchestrated lasers, beaming across the audience seven songs into their set. Held back to the shuddering electronic breakdown of ‘Daughters’, they gleam and criss-cross the crowd with a deliberative precision fans are perhaps more accustomed to hearing on record rather than in outward stagecraft.

Maybe they’re there to help fixate the crowd after a double-false start, after they come on to rapturous applause – only for the band’s newly prominent synth-heavy setup to stutter on their first song. “Maybe we should just stick to guitars,” Hayden Thorpe jokes, but the music thereafter is anything but coy about its electronic leanings, which works with a confidence matching the glimmering histrionics.

Whilst on their last tour, the extended smouldering of ‘Burning’ and its moaning, flickering keys were the lengthened preface as the band entered the stage, this time there’s no need to settle amongst the aural scenery. ‘Mecca’ is an apposite introduction, the glacial beauty of Thorpe’s falsetto soon re-emerging amidst electronic flourishes that pulse and oscillate to dynamic drumming with bold colour.

Settling into their new material superbly, the pleasing aspect of their set is that in spite of electronic instrumentation coloured by producers who’ve worked with such stadium-rock luminaries such as Arcade Fire and The Killers, new album Present Tense is anything but an overreach. ‘Sweet Spot’s synths grab attention as they puncture the verse mid-song, but the drama they lend is as usual given depth by the dualised vocal twists of Thorpe and Tom Fleming. Nonetheless, there is a directness and assurance to this and many other tracks’ construction, with ‘A Simple Beautiful Truth’ in particular standing out – it’s simplistic synth-pop a permeable 2 minute frame the singers give graceful vocal contours around.

At moments, some album tracks are stripped of their context, ‘Pregnant Pause’ feeling too stripped down and its plaintive strengths struggle to hold up live and when not following the harsh, elementary ‘Daughters’. This can hardly be said for many though, as most tracks are greeted and treated with aplomb, ‘Wanderlust’ careering into the start of the four-song encore with poise and impudence.

Whilst most seem to engage positively with the enjoyably direct tone syncopated classics such as ‘Hooting & Howling’ and ‘Fun Powder Plot’ are given in the presence of their new material, personally there were some songs which didn’t feel of the piece. Put it down to nostalgia if you like, but either way, it’s a credit to Wild Beasts insistent, subtle honing and recrafting of their sound that each of their albums feel so compellingly singular. Equally, it’s a testament to the quality of Present Tense that this gig feels like a brighteningly new show in every sense.

Whilst the content has developed steadily since their brash early sound, their lyrics now are full of the emotional drama that lay at the edge of their carnal tales previously. Lines such as, “Between the hurt and the tender song/Between the flash and the thunder’s drum/There is a godly state, where the real and the dream may consummate,” may have been previously sideswiped by non-converts as affected but taut and direct, they strike beautifully, with no need for melodrama.

All of which tells you why their continued distilling of their sound, with added electronic help, feels such a daring step forward; and puts into context their lasered theatrics – a bold framing of Present Tense live, a setting out of their stall Thorpe confidently spoke of whilst referring to usual British Indie diffidence- “No, f**k it, stand up. Be prepared to be judged.” On this evidence, they have no need to worry.

WOW Review: The Moon Man

An eccentric and offbeat animation, Stephan Schesch’s The Moon Man is the heartwarmingly simple yet original tale of the eponymous Moon Man’s adventure to and from earth, where he finds a pleasingly-cartoonish power hungry President of Earth as foe but most of all the meaning of friendship amongst its playfully drawn inhabitants.

The film begins in a starrily lit drive-in movie , as a girl and father happily promise to come re-see the ‘incredible’ picture that’s just closed. As their car ambles off into the distance, the horizon perspectivally alters against the shining infinite stars above them, leaving the seemingly bored and put-upon Moon Man awkwardly curled up and lonely in his lunar bubble.

Grabbing the tails of a meteor, he crashes into Earth, confusedly and naively wandering, a stranger to the physical wonders of the world and its people – and his sweet sense of discovery is only increased by his moony-white complexion and clothing being set against innocent yet intricate and colourful animated backdrops, very much taken from the 1967 children’s book by Tomi Ungerer. The Moon Man’s voice can only have been an affectionate reference to E.T and similar to the Spielberg classic, it is the children of the film who see him for who he is, teaching him the happiness his presence in the night-sky brings them.

The sense of awe is further painted across the whimsical world of the film as we meet brilliantly odd characters, including ‘inventor of everything’ Bunsen van der Dunkel, who fell asleep for hundreds of years as he was ‘bored’, whose clinking inventions are mechanically playful and reminiscient of Miyasaki’s fantastical machines of Howl’s Moving Castle.

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The animated style is visually pleasing for children and adults alike, with one scene as the world President declares all the lands of Earth conquered particularly funny – his lust for empire embodied in his flag symbol sitting on his shoulders like an army general imagined by Hasbro, complemented by a decadent pack of society yes-men and women, drawn in a grotesque manner that is strangely similar to the flatness of George Grosz and other 1920’s German art.

The President’s vainglorious attempts to annex a heavenly body make for pleasantly light satire but the heart of the film is in the unassuming kindness the Moon Man finds on Earth, and which the film draws with an energy and ardor that makes it’s fresh appropriation of Lunar lore a brighteningly affecting tale for young and old.

WOW Review: The White Balloon

For many viewers of World Cinema, Jafar Panahi is a name most appositely connected with his home imprisonment in his home country of Iran for “propaganda” related crimes against the Islamic Republic, and subsequent meta-textual ode to cinema This Is Not a Film which was short listed for Best Documentary at the 2012 Academy Awards. His debut feature, The White Balloon however, is a charming tale following a young girl, Razieh’s attempts to buy a Goldfish whose ‘chubby’ and many-finned white appearance is a far more enchanting draw for her than the apparently prosaic fish that inhabit her family’s pond. Beyond these outlines though, it offers a fine example of how the award winning director’s neo-realist style has developed.

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Despite it’s undoubtedly adorable plot, it is far from a case of being simply a cutesy foreign fable and its neo-realist style surveys and offers a quiet, evaluative contextualisation of Razieh’s overlapping interactions with a number of characters as she excitedly, tearily and sometimes grumpily traipses the few streets between her home and the market where her dream fish waits.

At the start, the tone and raison d’etre of Panahi’s ideas of human interaction materialize in the way the soft manner his long, 3 minute-takes watch on, as the busyness of bazaar traders selling goods before the New Year begins. People who weave across the scene in their everyday way will later become minor players in Razieh’s tale – we see a balloon seller make a sale, a soldier dropped off by his army Jeep and  a flustered female, who we gradually see is Razieh’s mother. The lack of cutting as significant characters cross each others paths means the audience’s field of vision is increased, and as the film develops, their incidental relationship to Razieh’s adventure gives the film a genuine, childlike warmth.

It means that we see her travails – in naggingly convincing her Mother for money, it being presumptuously taken by street entertainers (to tempt an allegedly ‘greedy snake’) and her eventual attempts to retrieve her 500 toman from a cellar beneath a street, as child does, as  Adrian Martin describes, seeing adults as “fuzzy, fascinating creatures; frightening strangers one moment, tender angels the next”.

It’s testament to (then) non-professional actor Aida Mohmammadkhani, that the only minor quibble with the film is that she is such an authentic presence that one cannot help but want to see the film from her point of view. It perhaps means that the final, paused frame, where Razieh and her brother depart, leaving their Balloon-Seller/Money-retriever alone in shot doesn’t leave us completely intrigued to his fate as could be intended, but it would be churlish to say this amounts to even a part failure – it merely means one leaves the film satisfied with the richness with which Razieh’s tale is drawn. It’s a film full of naivete of the best kind and a brilliant start to this year’s Wales One World fest.

Wales One World Festival: Preview

From this weekend, Wales One World 2014 will be opening screens and minds to foreign filmic fineries of the highest calibre from the last 12 months, as well as select homegrown gems, including Mark Cousins’ A Story of Children on Film. Kicking off in Cardiff’s Chapter and Aberystwyth Arts Centre this weekend, the festival will be host to a plethora of works – from Religiously supernatural Thrillers to eccentric animated fables, nomadic naturalism to childlike neo-realist tales, there looks to be a compelling quality about the whole programme.

Us at Plastik will be enjoyably enclosed in Chapter all weekend and beyond, with full reviews and features, so don’t forget to check back in with us and find out what we thought. The full programme, details and a damn fine blog are available at http://www.wowfilmfestival.com. For now, have a gander at some of the features we’re most excited about seeing.

The festival starts in earnest this Friday, with a highlight being Mark Cousins’ critically acclaimed A Story of Children and Film hitting Chapter. A “rich and delightful examination” of the portrayal and relationship between celluloid and childhood, it follows in the footsteps of Cousins’ equally lauded The Story of Film. Poring over 50 films including evocative classics such as Kes, E.T alongside worldwide pictures and modern tales like Moonrise Kingdom, it looks set to be eccentrically captivating look at how the “inventiveness and imagination of childhood” are disseminated and infused in the inventive creation of film. This looks to be one not to miss, with a Q & A with Cousins following the 6pm screening.

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Also on our horizon is the Paraguayan Thriller, 7 Boxes. Focusing on young man Victor’s danger-laden delivery of 7 parcels to an undisclosed place in Ascunsion, it’s a film which has been described headily as the Paraguayan City of God. The descent into a night followed by gangsters, the authorities and other people after his payload is one which has been praised for its dark humour and is infused with a similar humid fusion of the twists and viscerally immediate dangers of the favela. It will be a Welsh premiere for the film, showing in Cardiff and Aberystwyth on 21st March as well as Theatr Clwyd and Talesin.

Check out WOW’s website and Twitter for more details on the many films on show. We will be reviewing films every day the weekend of 21st-23rd March. Follow us on Twitter @plastikmag for updates,

No blues as heartfelt as mine: interview with Gareth Campesinos!

Chatting to Gareth, lead singer of Los Campesinos! before their superb return to gigging at Clwb Ifor Bach in December, it’s clear they are a band excited by, yet at ease with, their continuing development. Five albums in, you’d be forgiven for expecting a group with their committed cult following and several lineup changes in their history (founding member Ellen left before No Blues) to experiment or change direction. However, Gareth is perhaps surprisingly unself-conscious in his enthusiasm for their work-

“We’re content. Every time someone leaves the band a lot of people think ‘that’s it then,’ or for some reason it’s ‘less’ Los Campesinos! than before, but from our side of things everyone who’s been involved in the band has been because they’re a friend and each incarnation has just solidified our belief Los Campesinos is something worth doing.”

Though he begins the opening song ‘As Lucerne/The Low’ theatrically facing away from the audience, the fervor that spurts forth when the euphoric opening line “There is no blues that could sound quite as heartfelt as mine” is sung shows there’s no doubt the excitable pride Gareth has of the band,

“I’m very blasé about the band sometimes because it’s something we’re just grateful to be doing but when we got the new vinyl and put it next all our records, it was like “f**k, I’ve actually made these! It’s almost like a legacy. It’s nice to think they outlive us really,” he says.

The audience share his wide-eyed ardour – the mix of older Pavement fans and 16 year old girls tumblr-ing their appreciation for Gareth’s tales of adolescent woe at Clwb shows not just universal appeal, but the band’s remarkable ability to draw love for their idiosyncrasies.

One example of which is Gareth’s extended proclivity for condensed, google-at-the-ready football reference on No Blues.

“I think it’s a natural thing to purvey pop music. All pop music is about death and love, glory and despair and they are all rooted in football so it’s a natural tool to voice some of that.”

 

Whether you’re a Football Manager fan musing on the meaning of ‘Portrait of a Trequartista as a Young Man’ or as Gareth says “a 15 year old American who’ll hear ‘we connected like a Yeboah volley’ and think ‘what’s that?’”, there’s no doubt left of the intense romantic reasoning behind the lyrics. Not many bands could garner a mass terrace-esque chorus of “ex boyfriend give us a song, ex boyfriend, boyfriend give us a song” as a ballad-ending chant with such aplomb.

Gareth mirrors part of the reason their fans have such generous personal investment in the band – the belief their rich, excitable pop sensibility means something. Equally, it’s perhaps why it may be a slightly confounding idea that we’re now far enough down the timeline that agreeing that their fantastic new LP is a ‘mature’ work can no longer be pointing out a blossoming or emergent quality. For those of us whose teenage experience coiled itself so tightly around the impetuous, contradictory indulgence of identifying with a band from “not the scene you’re thinking of” whilst dancing to songs as unabashedly catchy as those on Hold On Now Youngster, that their enthusiasm may be filtered by adult life rather than vice versa could baffle.

In the broadest terms, the co-ordinates of No Blues are familiar; shamelessly catchy choruses, the obsessions with romance and death, all wrapped in lead singer Gareth’s verbose and evocative lyrical humor. While all present and correct, ignoring the extent to which the band have traversed the bleak, post-relationship laments of Hello Sadness and shot it through with a focused and potent melodic melancholy is to ignore why the new album feels so definitive.

Hello Sadness was written when I was pretty unwell and in a bad headspace so it made sense it was written the way it was…In hindsight it was a bit serious, but it had to be as that’s where I was at. I think the subject matter in No Blues is as downbeat, even more so, but the way it’s delivered and talked about is in a much more conversational, entertaining manner. Hello Sadness was very literal whereas No Blues has a lot more metaphor and winks and nods.”

He’s always transcribed his romanticism with densely packed allusiveness, but on songs such as ‘Avocado, Baby,’ the taut focus and immediately indelible melodies allow the words to have an aggregate quality. In many ways the chorus describing friends with “blood on their hands from/shards of a heartbreak” could be melodramatic but, infectiously sung, it’s an exuberant embrace of misery. Asking whether this singular focus on the record could be put down to a more serious approach to recording from losing members of the original band, Gareth disagrees –

“We did approach it differently this time, but more due to timescale than changing lineups. We knew we wouldn’t be gigging soon this year, so rather than recording it in February as we could’ve done, we did it in June. I think we approach it more seriously than we have done in the past, but I think that’s just natural because at first you’re making an album and then you make another and another and it’s like ‘this is what we do now’, so you take more pride in it.”

As much as anything, Gareth puts an emphasis on guitarist Tom’s songwriting abilities as a catalyst to their continued development.

“When we formed the band, it sounds weird, but he didn’t really play guitar. He just had this ability to write the guitar parts. He just hears different things to what I can hear – he can listen to a song and break it down into its composite parts whereas, I just hear songs. He’s more and more capable of dealing with electronics and samples and sequencing so that’s something which will continue to influence our work…underneath the songs, when you listen to what’s at the base of them, there’s some amazing grooves and beats.”

Chatting about their varied influences from electronic sounds to post-rock, it should be pleasing for any fan to hear the band’s ambitions remain resolutely grounded in making music that they love, rather than left-field experiments. Gareth laughs when remembering early gigs – “We were way more post-rock at the very start. Our first 7 or 8 gigs had two instrumental songs…there was one in the middle called Chord Vs Dischord, with Aleks reciting Russian poetry from a book over the top – like the most ludicrously, cringily pretentious thing and we moved on from that – it just wasn’t as fun as playing stuff with words in”

“It is a cliché in itself being exactly the same, but I feel like we’ve evolved enough that it’s not just us impersonating ourselves. It’d be contrived if we did just an electronic album.”

We should be glad of it. No Blues is probably their best album because it has Los Campesinos-ness strewn purposefully across it. The black emotional residue of Hello Sadness is given a richness by a more playful, outward looking framework. If second record We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed was an act of post-adolescent catharsis, then this is a release in both senses borne of, yes, maturity – that makes the band seem sound fitted to their purpose more than ever.

As Gareth said, “If I ever wanted to do a solo album, I’d think who I’d want to write for me and that would be Tom, and that’d just be a Los Campesinos album really. I’d think, let’s just do another one of them. I’m happy to just do that.”

Wales One World film festival preview

From this weekend, Wales One World 2013 will be opening screens and minds to the finest in the world cinema from the last 12 months and beyond.

In six venues across the country, there are dozens of works on show – from Chilean political drama to hallucinatory Czech animation, domesticated Lynchian experimentalism to coming-of-age Feminist tales, there is quality and variety to exceed even the most avaricious cinematic appetite.

The festival officially opens on March 15 at Chapter Arts Centre with a night of Chilean films, food and drink, presented by the Chile 40 Years On Network – commemorating the anniversary of Pinochet’s brutal overthrow of the socialist government. As well as ‘the Chilean Mad Men’, No, also on show is Patricio Guzman’s political yet powerfully transcendental Nostalgia for the Light. It tells of how the Atacama desert was at the heart of Astrology in 1977 – new observatories being able to see further into the dazzlingly clear skies, yet at the same time, under the earth, bodies of political prisoners were being buried in the dirt and sand. Tragic and beautiful, we see how the staggering beauty of the Atacama gives metaphysical perspective to some, allowing them to frame their tragedy, yet we are also offered the painful historical truth of those who still search for relative’s remains.

Also showing is Machuca, a coming-of-age film set the other side of Pinochet’s reign. It follows two boys as their friendship becomes increasingly surrounded by the political context of Pinochet’s overthrow of Allende. Whilst Gonzalo’s family support Pinochet in defence of their wealthy lifestyle, Pedro’s family live in the slums and the former is shown as directly complicit in their empoverished life. However, this is a delicate and affirming tale, which manages to remain humanly interesting alongside the angry, idealistic look at what may have been lost in the fall of the socialist government.

Closer to home, Ken Loach’s documentary The Spirit of ’45 is a celebration of the post-war social energy engendered by World War 2. Creating a social and political narrative out of archive footage and contemporary interviews, it’s a celebration of the post-war unity that made great achievements such as the NHS possible.  The screenings on 17 March in Aberystywth, Milford Haven and Cardiff will be followed by a live Q&A via skype with the iconic director himself.

As well as such politically heady fare, there is much to be charmed and excited by, for one, the Cuban films on offer. Viva Cuba, which won recognition at Cannes 2005, is a touching tale of two young friends, whose hard-headed parents try and stop them playing together – one a religious snob, the other a proud socialist. When Malu and Jorgito hear that Malu’s mother plans to leave Cuba, they decide to venture the island to convince her father not to sign her forms. Set against the breezy, gorgeous vistas of Cuba, the adventure has a colourful children’s feel, but a spontaneous authenticity and rapport which means it’s a tale that transcends the families political and social contrasts.

In addition, WOW will be showcasing several works which explore and embolden the voice of Middle Eastern cinema. Wadjda was directed by Haifaa Al Mansour, a young Saudi woman – where cinema has been banned for over 30 years and women can’t drive let alone direct. The eponymous tale of a ten year old’s quest to buy and race a bike, it has received plaudits from Dubai and Venice with it’s blending of coming-of-age with a feminist tale as Wadjda’s impish will meets the ire of society. Lent an immediate poetic realism due to being the first film shot in Riyadh, the message the captivating tale gives us is moving and inspiring as well as iconoclastic.

Films start from Friday 15 March at Chapter and are also showing in Swansea, Cardigan, Milford Haven, Mold and Aberystwyth until 3 April. Head over to the official WOW website for the full programme.

Catch up on the latest reviews, interviews and read extended features on World cinema at http://walesoneworld.tumblr.com

Food + SWN

No doubt it does seem a blankly banal thing to say – there’s no yanking a bag around a mud splodden field. No getting to know the intimate depths of your worst odours. No fending off questions about whether you have some acid, when you are eating jam and rice pudding at 9am, in a field among 15,000 people who probably don’t want to see me have a folk-based-drug-trip, and the answer is unequivocally ‘No.’

That last one may just be me.

The advantages seem so obvious they’re probably pointless to list. But it’s more than just the pragmatic reliefs that SWN festival offered. Hosting a festival in Cardiff opens up so many urban spaces and possibilities in the nooks and crannies of otherwise undiscovered places.

One of these being how damn cool it is being able to cook properly at a festival.

From the moment I wandered into Full Moon to collect my wristband and back home via Tesco (other aggressive conglomerates are available) a world of possibility was opened. Cast ye’ out, o meals of wanton inanity. Come hither, SWN-food.

The weekend kept reminding me of the odd link between food and music. I always thought Shakespeare was having a bit of a moment at some medieval banquet when he said “If music be the food of love, play on” (either that or an elaborate and ultimately futilely abstract attempt at starting an orgy.)

There’s something base yet beautiful about all the best food and music, and some music exploits this.

I’m thinking of The National for example; their self-conscious suburban brood every now and again evocatively decorated by meals which instantly make the song come alive. It can range from the comforting  – “Stay up super late tonight/picking apples, making pies/ Put a little something in our lemonade, and take it with us” to the jubilant The Geese of Beverley Road’s, “Come be my waitress tonight/come serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon.”

The latter acts as the song’s literal cherry-on-top; part of the strange kind of euphoria that the band finds in turning objects of everyday melancholy into actors in their celebratory bombast.

And I guess if you can concoct that much culinary interest from one song as I did, being surrounded by music for one weekend while having the magical ability to cook real food, makes every meal may become a little more interesting.

SWN kicked off on the Thursday, and thirsty for music, I scampered to Full Moon to pick up my wristband as soon as possible. The free programme in hand, the pinickety scheduling can begin. However, one would be perverse to organise on an empty engine. Home it was then, unsure exactly what to make, but full of the kind of Guardian reading smugitude borne of the knowledge a packed Student’s Union co-op vegetable bag waited at home – ready to be stewed into whatever sanctimoniously healthy shape I could concoct.  They’re remarkably cheap, especially if you have a bounty of palatable meals on order in your brain. Sadly, I got home and instead of feeling enraptured by the myriad possibility of it all, I opened my fridge and saw a bunch of misshapen roots and fruits, shorn of any directable purpose.

But then again, my SWN planning wasn’t going much better. Several ambitiously early ciders meant I was already cooking beyond the first bands who’d started. Who to see? Elephant Stone have a name which subconsciously intimates funk and/or synthy indie. That’s the kinda thing I like, right? Only there’s a band called Elephant on at exactly the same time – what if they are a trimmed down version? What if they’re rivals and I offend one of them and cause a hipster gang war? What If I have an aneurism from worrying pointlessly? How to solve a problem like this? Slap on some Titus Andronicus, make a spicy potato broth and see whoever. It’s better to throw yourself in and end up covered in potato skins and bad indie riffs than die wondering.

And so I did, knocking up a soup that was a fine line in hangover cure the next morn. If you’re pondering just how I made it so special, here’s a rough list of ingredients to the cooking-

Some Food. An Oven. A Big Saucepan.

One C.D., Titus Andronicus- 10 parts epic rock, 10 parts punk, 10 parts Springsteen, 10 parts throaty nasal yelling, 20 parts abstract US Civil war concept, 10 parts Bagpipe soloing, 30 parts post-nihilistic ecstasy.

  1. Play CD.
  2. Put some food in a pan, preferably with water.
  3. Quote Abraham Lincoln Speeches and scream how much of a loser you are ad verbatim. Exhilarate soul. Eat some soup.

The Titus Plan – it worked for me.

Anyway, back to what I said some time ago, meals at SWN were excellently ceremonial, laying the foundations for the fun to follow. Key to this was a strict plan of only eating one McDonalds a day (other fattening conglomerates are available).

Sunday’s was probably the one which furnished the weekend with the most meaning of any meal. Yes, it was a hangover meal – generic, I know. But thinking back, my memory is probably as rich as any of the gigs that weekend, and engaged in a similar way. It’s like an accidental ritual, the hangover meal. Convince myself I may not buy fry up foods. Bring fry up foods. Bring sausages, bring bacon, bring an Albany Road acquired terrible DVD (Beastly starring Vanessa Hudgens if you were wondering? Oh, you weren’t..) and bring a miasma of hilarious stories.

The cooking is almost tribal – people jostling for space around the cooker as if the closer one is to the flames, the more likely some cooked meat will be sacrificially given unto you. The stories recounted are almost absurd in their inevitability – it’s a Silent Disco, and one must wake up the next day to be told one of our number got thrown out for being too sleepy. And one must recall this with a playful sense of distance the next day while devouring a man-wich.

One of my favourite bands of the weekend fell into a similar kind of pattern too – Gallops, who brought their instrumental math-rock to bear on a swaying Dempseys crowd. I remember little of the particularities of the gig itself, rather the moments I recall announce themselves out the hermeneutic whole – their angular circularity repeated and repeated until you began to find your own way around the songs rather than waiting for hooks to fall into your lap. And the same applied for the whole weekend – it’s become an accidental ritual for me. Get a ticket, think that just because I’ve heard of some bands means I will be prancing around the festival like a musical Hunter S. Thompson, get slightly confused, have a shed load of cultural fun anyway.

And I will do it and have a ruddy great time again next year, no doubt.