Playlouder - Music is the Network

Mid-afternoon, and on the main stage Danny & The Champions of the World are proving to all that more musicians on stage does not equal more better.  Although their supergroup brand of psychedelic folk gospel was fairly pleasing in the afternoon rain, for the first 7 minutes of each song at least, I felt sure that I could kill the wood blockist and two of the tambourine players without making a difference to the final sound.  It was also hard to avoid the impression that more fun was being had by those on stage than those listening, and that's just not right.  Maybe I just felt angry that I could so easily be incorporated into the collective, keeping a low-profile and hiding behind other group members as we tour the world for 3 years, cleverly avoiding getting a real job.   

Having ditched the classic bass-drum-on-back and tambourine-on-shoes style in favour of a synth, guitar and loop pedal, one man band and all-round charming chap Rod Thomas rewarded all those who turned up to hear his daytime set on the Rising Stage with a beautiful selection of low-key folk-disco songs.  If the limitations of his modus operandi lead to his output being quite samey this is no bad thing, as he does what he does extremely well.  With basic synth and drums, harmonising with his own looped vocals to great effect, he made us all jealous of the ease with which he navigated single-handedly through his intelligent set, whilst inspiring a surge in loop-pedal sales to would-be bedroom songsmiths.  By the end of his performance the audience was suitably under his spell to allow him to abandon his electric toys for a humble ukulele,  

stride boldly into the throng, and play his final song as we all obligingly sang along.  But not so loud that any one of us was distinguishable from our neighbour, of course. 

Armed with my English – Northumbrian dictionary, I headed to the indoor stage housed in De Montfort Hall, where, representing the undisputed highlight of the weekend for all concerned, whether or not those watching Dodgy were aware of it, olde englyshe folk foursome Rachel Unthank and the Winterset emerged to rapturous applause and an almost full house.  These girls delighted the expectant assembled with fine trad'ly arr'd songs about getting drunk and then getting beaten up by your drunk husband, interspersed with clog dancing (“We hear you guys love clog dancing here in Leicester!”) and some more songs about drink and violent partners.    It was just a shame that the festival organisers had inexplicably decided to decorate the indoor stage with a crime-scene theme, and my view from the stalls was partially blocked by “Police – do not cross” tape.  At least, I think it was decoration. 

Following directly on, former Black Flag and Rollins Band lead Henry Rollins, now touring a solo spoken-word act, took the stage for 75 minutes of intense and tireless anecdote/polemic.  A relentless rollercoaster of anger and humour, the stories of his experiences around the world and his attempt to “stick it to the man” every waking hour of his life took us from Birmingham to Burma.  It can't be easy to talk so frantically for so long, and the themes and message were commendable, although it bordered on cringe-worthy on more than one occasion as the crowd erupted into whoops and hollers of hysteric agreement like a drunken Question Time audience, every time Iraq or President Bush was mentioned. 

And award for most ridiculous act of the festival (apart from all the silly poetry) goes to Threep feat. Neal Unreal.  Now, don't get me wrong, I fancy myself quite a fan of abstract noise; I scoffed as, on my way to the Phrased and Confused tent, I overheard bemused middle-aged couples leaving the stage explaining to each other that “it's good to experience these kinds of things, at least”; Yes, I shot a smug superior smirk to my companion as people inside the tent asked “has it started yet?”  But after 40 minutes of continuous improvised static, punctured with moments of ear-bleeding feedback spiraling through and out of the human range of hearing into infinity and violating, I'm sure, several health and safety codes, I was far from convinced that the experience had been worth the permanent damage to my ear drums.  Light relief of the comic, but regrettably not phonic, kind was provided by the emergence on to the stage of Neal Unreal, who waved some gizmo between two lamp stands and looked very serious about it too. An acquaintance of his in the crowd repeatedly tried to get his attention by shouting his name, unaware, perhaps, that Threep were actually in the middle of a performance.  It is good to experience these things though.