Can you
ever go back? When ATP first relocated from Camber Sands to Minehead, there was
muttering. The chalets were too nice, the range of eateries too commercial, it
was simply too weird seeing Patti Smith performing in a food court, illuminated
by light seeping out of Burger King and Pizza Hut. Then, they sorted out the
venues, fixed the sound, and we all got used to being able to have a fry-up in
the morning, possibly a latte later on, a haircut, maybe a massage. Old lags would reminisce about Camber’s soul,
but Minehead had facilities.
And then
ATP went back to Camber. ‘Soul’, in this
context, means spartan accommodation,
some frankly baffling logistical decisions (queuing for over an hour to
check in because they were ID-ing everyone, when the median age for an ATP
crowd must be 35; removing all the furniture from the Queen Vic, which puzzled
even the bar-staff; instituting a ‘one-in-one-out’ policy on a side entrance
used as a thoroughfare, so they were overloading the downstairs venue because
the ‘outs’ were actually leaving the games arcade), cheap drinks, bumping into
Kim Deal in the merch room, and brilliant music.
Queue-gate
meant that pretty much everyone missed Shellac’s first set, opening proceedings
on Friday afternoon, and also cellist Helen Money – one of the lucky few to
make it in early enough to see the curators said there was less chat than
usual, the band possibly annoyed that half their crowd was outside downing cans
of lager to keep warm. But the line-up
was made up of about half the bands Steve Albini has ever produced, and he’s a
diverse chap, so when everyone was finally in, the festival took off.
Scrawl were an early highlight, forerunners of
Sleater Kinney with their driving riffs, shared vocals and close harmonies,
Marcy Mays and Sue Harsh gently sending up their longevity – “this is from our
first record , most of you weren’t born…this is our new drummer, he’s been
playing with us for seven years” – in between pounding out their choruses. Turing
Machine blended guitars with a dance vibe, a drum groove under the rock, a
wall of noise in a tank top. Mono played soundtrack music, swelling
and shimmery, a corollary to something but with little plotline of its own,
instead working a slow build, or a fade to black.
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| Downstairs |
Saturday,
and Buke and Gase – a perennial
problem at ATP is a back-to-back running order and bands with a non-traditional
approach to songs, so it can be difficult to tell if they have started yet or
are still soundchecking – “ta ta ta,
hallelu-u-jah, this is just an exercise, ta ta ta, God this is embarrassing”
received an encouraging round of applause before they embarked on their
rolling, riffing, developing songs, and following an ATP tradition by ‘hiring’
Shellac bassist Bob Weston for one song.
Bottomless
Pit have longevity as well, formed from the remnants of Silkworm and piling
on more rock, not trad, of course, but ATP-trad, with wafts of something else,
maybe Battles. Then Arcwelder, on
which notes say a) singing drummer and b) Pavement have a lot to answer for –
they are better when they go off-piste, and a more bluesy element comes
in.
The queues
start up again, to see Red Fang and Melt Banana downstairs – Wire are upstairs, heavy not poppy,
featuring traditional curator-thanking, and a hardcore of devotees dancing
wildly. This is now all about Kim Deal
– she starts her first ever solo show with her first ever solo record (Walking
with a Killer), plays a song for her father, then one for her mother – “she has
Alzheimers, she asks me, are you mine?”. She plays Oh! and Fortunately Gone from Pod,
she switches guitars, plays Cannonball and does almost all the voices (the
crowd helping out with in the shade…).
Then, after an extended exchange, partly in Dutch, with a man in the crowd, the
traditional hopeful request, and her response – initially “no, I can’t, I only
played bass on it, I can’t … ah, how hard can it be?” – she plays Gigantic. It’s a wonderful set; she’s nervous, but her
voice is as beautiful as ever and the setlist a great mix of where she’s been
and where she is now.
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| Upstairs |
Sunday, and
another ATP tradition, that the early sets are a calmer, quieter affair.
Watching Rachel Grimes, the chiming
sound of a heavy-sustain grand piano (does this explain the JCB outside, which
we had assumed was there to hold the building up?) backdropped by the squeaking
of a badly-oiled door, is a perfect way to start; this is modern classical to
counterpoint the walls of noise constructed elsewhere. She plays Elements, In
the Vapour, an extended selection written on a recent retreat, and then,
welcoming Shannon Wright onstage, Last Things Last, the only Rachel’s song to
have vocals. Wright sings beautifully,
wiping away tears – the song was written by Grimes’ bandmate Jason Noble, who
died this August.
This was
followed by Nina Nastasia, her
spare, gorgeous folk leavened with rambling anecdotes about ‘snot-suckers’,
Twinkies, and Steve Albini’s studio ice-breaker, an encyclopaedia of sexual
practices (“so, you get a bag of bees…”). She is joined by Grimes, and cellist
Alison Chesley, a.k.a. Helen Money, for a couple of songs, one clearly
impromptu (“ah, it’s only two chords, and they’re professionals”) for another
contrast. Simply beautiful.
Bear Claw amp up the noise with thumping drums, and Future of the Left have a joyous edge
to their rage, a danceable flavour to their rhythmic battering – a dozen bands
seen, barely scraping the surface of the line-up, and that’s without the
‘extra-curricular activities’ both organised (pop quiz, book club, karaoke) and
spontaneous (chalet parties, band-spotting, a bracing trip to the beach). It’s
good to be back.
A note for those attending the next event,
curated by The National. Bring everything. Everything you might need. You may
have been lulled into a false sense of security by Minehead. Bring mugs. Bring
toilet paper. Don’t assume there will be a shower. Check if the meter moves
before spending money on leccy at the shop. Bring beer and biscuits for the queue.
Bring washing up liquid and a tea towel. And for the love of God, bring a
sleeping bag. Enjoy!
