A year cannot pass quickly enough so it would seem, and then, the first weekend of September is upon us and it is unfathomable how fast it has come around once more.
After traversing grand, Georgian Somerset gorges and negotiating a daring game of chicken by a bouquet of pheasants on windy rural tracks, the destination draws near. The open expanse of Wiltshire straddles into the archetypal beauty of North Dorset, Larmer Tree Gardens signals The End Of The Road and the start of the eagerly awaited festival.
A ’boutique’ festival it may be categorised as but on this, its tenth year anniversary, its organic nuances expel any idea of hipster gimmicks attempting to attract the cool crowd. End Of The Road Festival is concentrated on music wrapped up in nature, England’s habitat hosting the worlds finest artists and performers.
This year was Quiffed Owl’s third visit to End Of The Road, and on paper, seemingly the weakest of the three line-ups. That observation was emphatically disproven over the following three days as the constant quality consistently astounded audiences.
It was Ought who thankfully brought their idiosyncratic chaos to the manicured lawn of the glorious Garden Stage. Flanked by magisterial furs and oaks under a fast moving sky, the Montreal quartet plugged in their post punk and chased each others note-tails around a ring of arousing rock music. Lead singer Tim Darcy jerked and scuttled like a Jarvis Cocker peacock as if serenading the hens that wandered the Garden Stage’s verges.
Ought flickered between tracks from last years brilliant More Than Any Other Day album and their brand new record, Sun Coming Down. Although fresh and experimental, Ought could be likened to the Talking Heads doing battle with Pavement as Mark E. Smith weighs in with the odd jab. It was one of the new tracks that impressed the most. Beautiful Blue Sky like many of their tunes builds up steadily with a rattling low bass line, Darcy croaking out his internal monologue whilst posturing to the oblivious peahens. The title track of their first record ended an incredible performance of arrogance and excellence, whoever had not heard of them before went away feeling as if they had unearthed some buried treasure.
The Big Top Tent, for once, proudly boasted as many fine acts as The Woods and The Garden Stage. Prog rock giants Pond and Canadian grunge band Metz were more at home under the starry canopy, courtesy of the laser projections on the tents ceiling. Their respective forms of rock were more condensed in the enclosed heavy atmosphere with no route for the sound to escape. Pond came first and poured a psychedelic soup over the throngs of festival goers trapped inside. Songs from Hobo Rocket and Man, It Feels Like Space Again dominated proceedings. It is little wonder why this band from Western Australia are thought so highly of.
Before a return to the Big Top, a detour to the Tipi was in order to see Cardiff’s Gulp. They have enjoyed a splendid year owing in part to their inclusion in many end of year best album lists. Super Fury Animals bassist Guto Pryce’s side project embodies pop and krautrock fronted by singer and Aberdeen girl Lindsey Levin. In the afternoon light of the Tipi, the fresh cinematic sounds from their album Season Sun meandered around the bright auditorium acting as a nice filler before the all out offensive Metz back at the Big Top.
Metz came loud and cruel – a violent force of grunge echoing Nirvana’s Bleach era. A whirlpool of bodies span psychotically before the stage, impact after impact smashed and clattered as the music mirrored the mayhem below. The adolescent row of The Swimmer and Acetate fired in a chain reaction of aggressive 2 minute bursts. In Dirty Shirt, Alex Edkin’s blood curdling screams rang around the heaving pit. Subpop Records have found a gem in this band.
The first evening drew in and at the Woods stage Django Django warmed up the growing crowds with their signature twiddly indie which seemed pleasing enough as the volumes of ales and local beers steadily got the better of some. The sun was yet to set when Tame Impala entered the fray, much to the audience’s excitement. They have quickly become a band that everyone wants to see since 2013’s Lonerism. By this time, new friendships were being forged as the sun and the smiles beamed around the Woods.
Comedian, DJ and EOTR stalwart Ronan Leonard would end the night at the Garden Stage. The silent disco was far from that – Rubber booted and well oiled, throngs of ravers duelled with pop princesses as each chose from the two channels on the headphones.
It was a god send that Prodigy’s Out Of Space drowned out the singing along of The Spice Girl’s Wannabe as witnessed in the queue for the port-a-loos. The line shifted all kinds of shapes but in an orderly and respectable form – much like the privet hedges forming the corridor to relief for the well watered. They danced and chanted into the early hours with no regard for their energy levels needed for tomorrows itinerary.
The only way to start your EOTR day is with a spicy bloody Mary and a wander through the woods with all of its art installations, ending up at the piano stage and Ringo: Music Bingo. Ronan Leonard has become part of the furniture here over the years. He is well respected by the growing numbers of fans he has accumulated year on year with his sharp wit and irrepressible imagination. Not only does he get up early every morning to present his Breakfast With The Ink Spots at the tipi stage but he stays up later, as previously mentioned, hosting the silent disco. It is Ringo: Music Bingo for which he is best known, however. This interactive game of puns, music and improvised absurdity is a massive hit with families and youth alike and it is this perhaps, that encapsulates the community spirit of EOTR better than anything else. Where else could you see a game of invisible pass the parcel or a sing along to The littlest hobo theme result in camaraderie between complete strangers and shared fits of laughter amongst staff and the gleeful audience? Long may Leonard’s services be sought.
Saturdays music began with Slow Club on the Woods stage but it was The Unthanks sisters who owned the memories of the day. The Northumbrian duo cast a spell of melancholic optimism on the downward sloping meadow, evoking shades of 2012 when The Dirty Three did likewise. Unhurried and elegant, The Unthanks designed their own score to the scene of the England that swallowed them. Adorably synchronised strings and brass lovingly supported the songs of seven albums, songs that were seen to make tears stream from eyes dazzled by their beauty. The folk was only broken by the sisters charming interactions as they introduced certain tracks from their latest album Mount The Air from whence came the outstanding Flutter. Magpie and the title track, intermingled with examples of their earlier work ensuring that Dorset was the centre of English folk music. At least for the hour the sisters stood side by side.
A change of pace was brought by My Morning Jacket and in some style. A rollicking set of harmonious Americana exploded from the woods stage working the crowd into a frenzy of sorts. It was noticeable that a wide section of the onlookers were here especially for them and it was evident why. Unlike their contemporaries Band Of Horses and The Delta Spirit, My Morning Jacket offer additional dimensions other than rhythm and blues. Their sound is more progressive, more engaging, just more.
A short but brisk strut to the big top was to be made next, in order to get as close as possible to one of the most revered live bands in the UK and see what the hype was all about for ourselves. The Fat White Family juxtapose their stance between The Doors and some crazed Willy Nelson at a Slits audition. The acid induced prog of Auto Neutron is contained and tense just for the all out unrehearsed bedlam of Is It Raining In Your Mouth to transform the look and feel of the atrium in which we jumped and stumbled. Nobody could accuse the south London 5 piece of going through the motions; their motions are not necessarily ones of which we are familiar. In Cream Of The Young the claustrophobic groan of Lias Saoudi was a phantom circling in the air above seemingly trying to escape the taunting of the guitar that followed his moans upwards. This was a stark reminder of the talent we are blessed with in this country and it is festivals like EOTR where they are most likely to be showcased.
Time for the headline act, an act that EOTR are particularly proud of securing this year and further highlighting the prestigious reputation of the festival. Sufjan Stevens whispered his lullabies into the moonlight and to the motionless mass of hypnotized eyes under his spell. In conversations had since that Saturday night, there have been contrasting opinions of Stevens’ performance. Some claim it to have been stagnant and flat and lacking in commitment but his mellow expression of fine folk rang true to, not only his new album Carrie And Lowell, but through tracks from Michigan and 2005’s Illinois, including the wonderful Chicago. The hairs that stood up on the necks of the several thousand whom sang in chorus with him during Chicago could be sensed. It was a particularly touching moment.
After the repetitive thump of the dissenting Sleaford Mods, it was to the woods disco and then to the eccentric family that is the Somerset cider bus. An unnamed genius free-styled his lyrical observations to the paying posse queued up to witness it, one would wager the majority didn’t even like hot cider. The party drove on – all 3 sides of the bus drank and danced only to stop when the poetic bar tender would grasp the microphone.
Sunday lunchtime’s amble about the many stalls and stores was suitably scored by Houndstooth and The Dawes. Under the hot sun ladies perused the boutiques for vintage objet d’art, new and old friends met to share stories and to be quenched by icy cocktails. Times like these define a festival. Reality and responsibility are relieved and you are the master of your destiny, at least for another 16 hours or so.
Would comedy be next? a hearty and delicious meal? alas, the imperious Lisa O’Neil made up our minds. The singer songwriter from County Cavan accounted for the best hour of the entire weekend. Her lyrics are as pained as her gravelled voice, and in songs such as Dreaming her honest emotion captures the troubles of the heart and agony of love lost. In her introduction to England Has My Man O’Neil jokes that that is all that England has but her almost shy awkwardness disappears into thin air when those first chords begin. Lisa O’Neil announces she will be selling copies of her new record Same Cloth Or Not and who can resist after hearing its startling content? Neillie’s Song can only be bettered by the gut wrenching lament of Come Sit Sing. Whether it was one too many mojito’s in the midday sun prior to her taking the tipi stage, not many eyes were dry as this remarkable demonstration of passionate power drew to a close.
And so into the final evening’s entertainment we entered, with conscious ignorance of that fact a large crowd were drawn to the garden to see Mac Demarco’s lazy low-fi come to life. It was a surprise to many that Brakes were included on this years itinerary baring in mind how long they have been in the wilderness but the set was a foot stomping delight. 2009’s Touchdown album constituted the majority of the material to the die-hard’s contentment. Two Shocks, Worry About It Later and Crush On You were greeted with yelps of joy by frolicking 30 something’s as the Brighton band were buoyed by the support for them in the big top. The raging Red Rag seemed to lift the lid right off.
The final headliner was The War On Drugs and it was no surprise that Adam Granduciel’s band from Philadelphia would demand the biggest audience of the festival. Lauded by the music press The War On Drugs produced what was expected. It wasn’t mind blowing by any means but with tracks as mercurial as Red Eyes and An Ocean Between The Waves they were certainly worth a look.
It was fitting that it was not one of the big name bands that brought this charming adventure to a close. This festival is for lovers of music, no matter what age they are – it is a deep intrinsic passion and knowledge of music that forms the fundamental foundation for this festival to thrive. That may be true of others but never is it more true than at End Of The Road Festival.
Los Angeles psyche rockers Wand unleashed a torrent of fractured rock and splinters of stone sound to the Tipi’s faithful. They were thankfully one of the acts to perform twice, this their second showing of the day in the first of two secret gigs in the Tipi tent. With close links to Ty Segal, Wand balance a blistering guitar barrage with daring time signature changes which in turn can draw comparisons with The Oh-Sees and Tame Impala. This set was bruising and devilishly loud but a number of lagging torsos somehow resisted the energising decibels by remaining horizontal and oblivious to the magic being conjured up above them.
There are countless reasons why we will return in another year to The End Of The Road and marvel at the aesthetic splendour for all the senses. On the 20th anniversary in a decades time, the organisers have a hell of a lot to live up to.
Quiffed Owl 