The Postelles and Cage The Elephant Live

Thursday 24th April
Proud Gallery
Camden Town, London

There are about six bands on tonight, but the ones worth mentioning are inconveniently placed at either end of the bill. Both are very young, very American, and very good in very different ways.

The Postelles are a stylish four-piece from New York that dress, sound and act like The Strokes. They have even got Albert Hammond Jr. to produce their new single. Their debut EP hasn’t quite garnered the same acclaim as ‘The Modern Age’, but is promising nonetheless. ‘White Night’ is an uncomplicated jig filled with Kooks-borrowed wails and catchy couplets, jerky enough to tease a few people away from their stables.

Oh, I forgot to mention: Proud has moved to a former horse hospital, so all the seating stalls are actually stalls and the concept of grazing by the bar has taken on a whole new meaning. The sheer novelty of this perhaps contributes to the thinness of numbers for The Postelles sharp set. They continue with the afore-mentioned single, ‘123 Stop’, a tighter, teenage romp about hating goodbyes that snaps past with a chart-friendly fizz.

Their five-song set ends with another toe-tapping burst of duelling guitars, likeably loose lyrics and grinning gusto from the group. There is a thrilling abandon to their appearance, looking unwaveringly unconcerned about the sparse crowd. After their show they proceed to get merry, confident that their songs – or if not then their outrageously drunk bassist - are exciting enough to eventually gain exposure.
Cage The Elephant have already captured that elusive buzz thanks to first single ‘In One Ear.’ They stomp onstage with a purposeful swagger, making their set seem an event rather than another interlude between beers. Singer Matt Shultz has an unruly manner on the mic, spitting aggressive lyrics with attractive arrogance. They sound ready for the adulation likely to come their way.

It sounds chaotic but tight, especially on the stop-start signatures of ‘Lotus’, a bright cut of pop punk that is brimming with oomph. Soon Shultz is in the audience, spreading the vigour that typifies the performance. This is essential, as the songs aren’t particularly inspiring and the vocal delivery, more a brash half-rap than singing, soon begins to grate.

Deciding not to play the only song most people know last is a daring move, but intelligent. ‘In One Ear’ sounds gimmicky and bland after being overplayed everywhere for the past few weeks, its repeated refrain sounding juvenile rather than anarchic. However, not relying on their hit suggests there may be more to the band than a cheesy chorus.

This proves true as they rip through ‘Tiny Little Robots’, a frenetic rush of Hives riffs building to a crushing climax of rolling drums and verbal ferocity. They have the attitude and energy to be successful, if not the effortlessness of The Postelles. Still, there’s enough space for both of them in a stable tonight, so your record collection should have plenty of room.

Tindersticks - The Hungry Saw

The luxurious sound conjured on Tindersticks’ long-overdue return appears to justify the frustrations and convulsions of an eventful and painful five-year-long disappearance. The record is a simply sumptuous effort, leaving the listener bathed in the opulence of a band clearly thrilled to be making music again.

Since the Nottingham collective last recorded together, the line-up has been trimmed to a core of three original members, while singer Stuart Staples now has two solo albums under his belt. There is a reinvigorated comfort and togetherness to the sound, shown in the steady progression of ‘Boobar’, with its wounded harmonies and circular structure.

The focal point of their compositions remains the dreamlike, smoky vocals of Staples. His injured utterances shape and match the understated gloom and glory of the expert playing. He appears, triumphantly desolate, in every melody. Having begun with a lengthy, plodding instrumental, the album is shook into life with his velvety moan on ‘Yesterday Tomorrow’, the most instantly accessible track on show.

The break seems to have enriched the group with an uncomplicated ease that ensures their seventh album, which includes lavish strings and long instrumentals, isn’t (too) guilty of posturing. The delicate acoustic strum of ‘All The Love’ is a ballad relying on nothing but a few simple chords and that hollow, anguished voice. They aren’t trying too hard, but equally aren’t burying any half-baked idea into the songs.

Nevertheless, at times ‘The Hungry Saw’ is exhausting. Admittedly, three instrumental songs will grate on an audience used to immediacy and laconic, audible rewards. However, the tantalising allure of the title track’s jerky shuffle, or the gruelling splendour of ‘The Other Side Of The World’, lies in a reliance on tensions constantly built and overlapped but not always fulfilled.

A few numbers miss; too elaborate and drifting into pretentiousness, or not doing enough and becoming tedious. Still, the effortlessness with which Tindersticks re-emergence sails past is testament to its consistency and quality. It washes over, growing richer in texture with each listen. If every band was certain to return from lengthy hiatuses with comebacks like this, they would all be advised to take a rest.

Benicassim

Waking up at festivals isn’t fun. Your head hurts, mud has miraculously seeped into your tent, you’re thirsty but all there is to drink is a half-empty can of Carling, and you smell like you haven’t washed for three days – because you haven’t. There is no remedy for this, other than to jet away from this meteorologically-challenged isle to Benicassim, where a beach situated five minutes away makes returning to consciousness that much easier.

Benicassim is Spain’s premier festival, a veritable feast of sun, sea, sand and sangria. It contains all the usual festival ingredients, but has the added advantage of guaranteed great weather, a stunning setting and the opportunity for a holiday.

It has been at the forefront of the growing trend for Brits to head abroad for festivals since its inception 14 years ago. Situated between Barcelona and Valencia, many opt to visit either of these cities before heading to Benicassim. It is only a small town, without the tourist trappings of other Spanish destinations. This leads to delightful linguistic difficulties when attempting simple tasks like ordering food, but the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly. Around half of the festival attendees are British, but there is still an interesting mix of nationalities and outlooks.

On the music front, the usual huge names mix with a delectable selection of up-and-comers, forgotten gems and fascinating unknowns. Last year the big hitters included Muse, Arctic Monkeys, Kings of Leon, Klaxons and Amy Winehouse. Iggy & The Stooges, The B-52s and The Human League were amongst those displaying endurance, while interesting obscurities like Devo and Kiko Venuno also graced the stages.

This year the likes of Sigur Ros, Gnarls Barkley and Babyshambles will be entertaining the 35,000-strong crowds. The line-up is receiving criticism for a lack of firm headliners, but this is typical of Benicassim’s alternative attitude in comparison to its UK equivalents. Bands begin playing at around 5pm, continuing past 6am. The headliners don’t appear last each night, instead arriving around 1am, when the temperature is dropping and enthusiasm peaking. Afterwards, dance acts continue in tents with water refreshingly sprayed from the roofs, until the indefatigable crowds finally leave as the sun is rising.

The musical element of the festival is not its defining factor; it is merely the thread on which a holiday hangs. With no aural pleasures until evening, daytime dalliance is essential. Escaping the blistering heat of your tent is recommended, with most heading for the idyllic salvation of a beautiful beach. Other options include heading to the water park, where racing down slides like you’re seven again really is as much fun as it sounds. There are also dozens of atypical eateries for savouring local cuisine and downing sangria. Stay off the main strip to find restaurants and bars where the service rises above uni canteen standards and the prices below overdraft-inducing level.

When flights and travel are taken into account, Benicassim isn’t cheap. However, the festival ticket is reasonable at £128, you can camp for nine days including the four when the festival is on, plus Easyjet ensure planes aren’t too expensive. The best way to reach the town from the major airports is train, which should be booked in advance to avoid sweltering stampedes mid-hangover on departure day.

On arrival, the first decision is where to stay. Some choose to rent private pitches or studios, but there are three sites your festival ticket qualifies you to camp on for free. Of these, Bonet is the liveliest but furthest from the festival, CampFIB closest but quietest, and Mercat in between the two both geographically and in terms of commotion. If you opt for the bustle of Bonet, a bus service to the festival is provided, but it’s only a twenty minute walk, relatively safe and lots more fun.

Benicassim doesn’t suffer from as much violence and rowdiness as British festivals, probably because of the heat and blissed-out attitude it creates. If drugs are your thing, they’re as available as anywhere else. To avoid queuing for drinks inside, grab tokens from your campsite beforehand.

The festival’s uniqueness lies in the feeling it generates through its environment, musical variety and attraction of like-minded people out for fun and frolics. It’s all the positives of British jaunts, heightened by the glistening sun, with the negatives washed away on sweeping waves and buried under sandy beaches.

Shout Out Louds - Our ill Wills

Sometimes an album sounds fun on first listen, and then repeated plays reveal a previously hidden ripe underbelly of symphonic treats and aural pleasures. ‘Our Ill Wills’ doesn’t. It’s rather nice, but there are puddles with more depth. The darling harmonies and summery arrangements that typified debut album ‘Howl Howl Gaff Gaff’ are present and correct, as is the endearing lyrical optimism and naivety. Shout Out Louds know about heartache, romance, that indistinguishable period between the two, plus the bit before and the time after. And they’ll be damned if they are going to write a song about anything else.

Just in case the band weren’t twee enough, they rope in Bjorn again – the Peter, Bjorn and John member and long-time Shout Out Louds producer, not the Abba tribute – to sprinkle the catchy stardust of ‘Young Folks’ onto the likes of ‘Impossible’ and ‘Tonight I Have To Leave It.’ These added pop sensibilities ensure the songs are never less than listenable, but they rarely rise to include anything remotely affecting.

The record was actually released last year in most of the world, and appears to have been astutely held back to wait for the sunshine months. Songs such as ‘Suit Yourself’ and ‘Normandie’ owe much to The Cure’s blueprint of probing pop mystery, all uplifting vagueness, bouncy bass and handclaps.

The most sparse, remote song on show is ‘Meat Is Murder’, not a Smiths cover, but a homage including lines like “Everything sounds miserable tonight.” Another dark moment arrives with ‘Time Left To Love’, but the tale of loss is still sparkling pop. “The rumours said it was a serial killer/but they got hit by a caterpillar,” wins the Lou Reed Award for throwaway lyrics to deal with serious issues, and by this stage the vulnerable vocals and sheer musical gaiety is really grating.

Strangely, the album-defining moment comes courtesy of keyboardist Bebban Stenborg’s only lead vocal. On ‘Blue Headlights’ her dainty, rosy voice sails over a delicate little acoustic loop, spinning tales of “surprising eyes,” “ladybirds,” and “frozen hearts,” before gently asking “come on everybody, take your love to town.” The song is drenched in heartfelt, but ultimately trashy, loveliness; it’s so sweet it’s sickening.

This is a petite piece of pop, delightfully delivered by a harmless, charming collective. A daydream, it may attach you like a flower in your lover’s hair, but fall out of your mind just as easily and insignificantly. It’s an album to fall in love to, but not with.

Festivals

You used to know where you stood with festivals. Go to Glastonbury if you want mud and majesty, head to Reading for rough and ready rocking. Chance V for the clean and commercial, or try T in the Park if you can be bothered to trek to Scotland. Now things have changed, with renewed interest in live music heralding a new golden age for festivals.

As the season approaches, it appears there are more festivals than fields. Whether it’s independent jaunts in unknown corners of Britain, marauding trips to European hotspots, or corporate events in the capital, there is something for everyone. So why have they got so popular?

“Festivals? They’re a place to escape control,” mused Jarvis Cocker at V last summer. “Everyone comes together, and makes something different. It can be brilliant.” They are a chance for a break from reality, where mini-civilisations are created with little more than tent pegs, narcotics and common musical tastes. The stress and strains of daily existence can be forgotten in a haze of alternative music and alcohol.

The feeling of community that springs when thousands of people are lumped in a field together is a particular sensation. With no opposition, the mob mentality that can be generated at sporting occasions is replaced by a collective identity that is built on shared experiences, be it cheering a headliner, or bemoaning a portaloo.

“But then, every day should be like that,” continued Cocker. “A festival of life. Yeah…Although, festivals aren’t always like that even.” This paradoxical statement highlights how festivals aren’t necessarily sunshine and smiles; they’re often warped, intense representations of life, with the lows included alongside the highs. You might see Muse one minute but Mika the next, make a friend one day yet end up lost and alone another.

The ideal experienced by many seems mythical to others, with rising prices, increased commercialism and growing numbers of people out for trouble as much as fun. Tents can be set on fire, valuables may be stolen - it can even rain. That all-for-one, one-for-all spirit can be easily extinguished by thunderstorms or theft. Nevertheless, attendee numbers continue to rise, as people treat festivals as replacements for holidays, or even head abroad and combine the two.

As they grow in profile, the cultural influence of festivals could be growing. Cocker was equally ambiguous on their merits in the mid-Nineties. On classic Pulp track ‘Sorted For E’s and Wizz’ the bespectacled singer questioned: “Is this the way they say the future’s meant to feel/Or just 20,000 people standing in a field?” It is difficult to decide whether they are important phenomenon, or purely business-savvy organisations cashing in on media-influenced people buying in.

The impact of festivals may be exaggerated; could it just be a bunch of kids with nothing better to do? We may be being manipulated into giving huge corporations lots of money to see short, sub-standard sets from bands simply after big paychecks and boosts in record sales. We are simply consumers buying well-produced, superbly marketed products.

Festivals can be highly-controlled hedonism, with restraints as unassuming as stage times and the price of beer, plus more obvious ones like stewards and laws, contributing to what you do and when. People head to festivals to go wild for a weekend and flee their routines, but they dive straight into another – it’s just this routine is probably a lot more fun. Yet the anarchy is drip-fed, in confined spaces; there is an order and a protocol to everything, often designed to ensure minimum fuss and maximum profit.

Of course, this extremely cynical view doesn’t account for the life-affirming experiences many people find. There is now an event to suit every taste, so as long you do your research you should end up somewhere suitable, or at least know what to expect. The key ingredient to all festivals remains people, all crammed together, idiosyncrasies and ideologies mingling and altering, with the hassles and delights that entails.

“We claimed the very source of joy ran through,” sings David Bowie, summing up the subject on ‘Memory Of A Free Festival’. “It didn't, but it seemed that way/I kissed a lot of people that day.” While you’re there festivals may feel like they mean the world, but even if they don’t, they can be incredibly enjoyable. Anyway, what else are you going to do with your summer?