When we were growing up, there was one of those ‘Everything’s a quid’-type shops near us, called Kincheap. After a while, some people complained that this cheeky name lowered the tone of Chelmsford High Street – they’d clearly never wandered down it on a Saturday night – so the local paper interviewed the owner. “It’s a pun,” he explained, “because we’re king of the cheap shops”. The journalist noted that this wasn’t very obvious, and asked why they didn’t make it clearer. “Because if we did, it wouldn’t be a pun, would it?” So, for a few weeks, Mr Kincheap became our favourite man on the planet.
We mention this, because it meant we were prepared for King Terrible. We realised it was going to be a joke. What we didn’t realise is that it was going to be nothing but a battery-powered fluffy toy on a chair doing a little dance for 30 seconds. Bloody funny, but we reckon they should have gone the whole hog, and had him on as headliner, with a sea of lasers and an intro tape of ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’. If you’re going to do bathos, do it big, and wait until more than five people have turned up.
Of course, starting a day with a shockingly poor practical joke is exactly why we love Riverside – it’s homely, it’ s friendly, it doesn’t care desperately for fashion or good sense. This year, after some torrential rain, the festival was rescheduled because of ground conditions (the clue’s in the name), and we’re deeply glad the festival went ahead, even though it meant we could now only attend for one afternoon. We feel as though we’ve fallen into some vast Duracell commercial as Blin’ Jonnie, the first real band of the day, play on the main stage: their set of harmless busker’s fluff is so drab and lifeless the battery powered toy beats them hands down. If it weren’t for a bit of lively, fluent flute from Glenda Huish, we’d have trouble staying conscious for the duration. In fact, we spent most of the set pondering why they pronounce it “blinn Jonnie”. So, is it not short for “blind”, then? Weird.
Simon Batten reminds us a little of Riverside alumna Chantelle Pike, with his rootsy elegance and subtle melodic twists, but his voice isn’t as enticing, and it’s left to the drum accompaniment to keep things lively. Over on the main stage something odd is happening, not only as Secret Rivals play a relaxed set with the minimum of ADD bouncing and yelping, but as it sounds unexpectedly great. These songs shouldn’t work in a hungover Sunday afternoon incarnation, but they do. The vocals twine together well, and the drums are crisp, no longer sounding like a dog made of snares chasing its own tail round a cymbal warehouse like in the band’s early days. It’s highly enjoyable, we just hope they don’t go getting all grown-up on us.
In some ways, the only negative thing about The Grinding Young is how bleeding Oxford their polite, ornate, bookish rocking is. Then again, the best song we hear is ‘The King And The Knave’, a medieval murder ballad that sounds like brilliant a cross between Radiohead and Fairport Convention, and you couldn’t get much more Oxfordshire than that unless you had Jacqueline Du Pre doing a Mr Big medley.
From across the field, The Shapes (sadly unconnected with Micachu) have a fruity organ that makes them sound like Squeeze. Up close they’re less bouncy, but they do have a keen ear for a hook, and some neat mandolin licks, and we’rer enjoying it, when they blow it all by saying, “We’re going to do an old Bob Dylan song, don’t know why”. Jesus, if ever a statement summed up weekend Dads’ bands. Don’t do anything as an artist unless you can defend it. If we thought they’d done it just to annoy us, it would have been something…
Now, Undersmile, they know exactly why they’re doing what they do, and they also know that it will annoy a lot of people. We love them, from the unexpected grooves hidden in their deathly slow doom, to the odd vocal harmonies, that are so microtonally awkward it sounds like one person singing through a broken chorus pedal. We’d used the word “elemental” in our notes, and that was before the cold heavy rain stopped the exact second their set did: metal bands invoking Zeus are ten a penny, but only Undersmile can attract old Cloud Gatherer himself.
Swindlestock are just another in a huge line of decent Americana acts from Oxfordshire, and we have to wonder whether Arkansas is clogged with Supergrass tributes and morris sides to balance things out. Anyway, you’d have to be a pretty grim individual not to find something likable about Swindlestock’s bottleneck and fiddle spattered tunes. On the Second Stage Count Drachma have at least come up with a new folk music seam to strip mine, playing traditional Zulu songs. Last time we saw them they were a well-drilled quartet, but today they’re a duo, playing bass and guitar, using the odd loop pedal to allow space for some sax and harmonica. It’s a slapdash, slipshod, shoved together affair, but we find a lot more to like about it than last time. Ollie Steadman (of Stornoway fame) may not have the most commanding voice ever, but spacious duo arrangements reveal that he does have a skill in the natural, conversational phrasing that much folk song demands. Fewer members and less rehearsal seems to be the key for this band – but don’t tell any others.
The MC tells us that Mogmatic have been trying to get a slot at Riverside since the very beginning, and they’ve finally relented. This’ll be good, then. Well, be fair, they’re better than the intro makes them sound, bashing out some big boots pub rock with minor Sabbath inflections, but they can’t hold our attention when Ran Kan Kan are on the main stage, because big latin bands will nearly always trump clunky blues rock quartets. With a vast lineup that almost demands the title of orchestra, Ran Kan Kan prove very adept at balancing their sound, and never let too much colour swamp the primacy of their Afro-Cuban rhythms. Admittedly, they’re doing nothing new with their material, but as we think it’s never a bad time to hear a good rendition of Tito Puente’s ‘Oye Como Va’, we’re very contented. Bonus points to the trumpet player, for quoting ‘Black Magic Woman’ in their solo, offering us two Santana hits for the price of one.
Right next to the main stage, a Fire Service tent is offering the experience of being in a burning building, but from the outside it looks like a giant, surreal dry ice machine. Over near the Second Stage, in a Bushcraft tent, some experts are showing tiny kids how to start campfires. Some sort of cosmic balance is restored, you have to feel. Our final visit to that end of the field rewards us with Skittle Alley favourites Superloose. Their banjo-picking tunes are sloppy and not hugely challenging, but their onstage giggles are infectious. Having a laugh; there’s a good reason to make music, if you’re still reading, The Shapes.
Our day finishes with the excellent Brickwork Lizards. As they play a mixture of 1930s music hall, Hot Club jazz and North African melodies, you could easily imagine them tearing the roof off some NAAFI dance on the African front: not only would their music sound as good as it does today, but they’d have invented hip-hop, too. A brilliant end to our day, although there were still the pop treats of Dance A La Plage and Alphabet Backwards to go (legal note: only one of these bands constitutes a “pop treat”). Great to see Riverside bouncing back, with better sound than ever before, especially on the Second Stage. Also, any festival that has Undersmile and Superloose on the same stage is alright with us – Riverside’s booking policy is a damn sight more adventurous than any number of big trendy promoters around the county, wouldn’t you say?
Another great day out in Charlbury: King excellent.