All Tomorrow's Parties - Pontins Holiday Camp, Camber Sands - 7-9/4/00
1/5
By: Toby L
Location: Pontins Holiday Camp, Camber Sands, Nr. Hastings.
Date: Friday 7th-Sunday 9th April 2000. Music from 4:00pm - 5:00am.
Bands: 40 Live Acts - 25 DJ Sets.
Stages: Two.
Prices: £90.00 per person.
Capacity: 3,500 People- SOLD OUT.
The Festival
Well, most of you should know that this year's festival is the second of the annual event, originally entitled the Bowlie Weekender. Last year's event, containing triumphant sets from Belle & Sebastian (last year's co-curators), The Divine Comedy, The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev was an unexpected hit. Festival organisers, Foundation, in the excitement and enthusiasm resulting from the weekend, quickly arranged its follow up to be held in September 1999. With shows promised from The Tindersticks, Tortoise, Shack and Yo La Tengo, the festival looked likely to repeat its predecessor's success and appeared firmly that it was to further establish itself as the definitive festival get-away.
However, unexpectedly, it became ill fated with the cynics quick to dismiss it, trying to write off its future. For festival organiser, Barry Hogan though, this wasn't a point at which to give up, but rather a point for him to jump back on to his feet again and show the world that it would work out well. He immediately started assembling a list of bands far stronger than anyone could have imagined, this time with the help of co-curators Mogwai. Taking out an advert in the Xmas music weeklies, Barry reassured disappointed fans that a follow up had been organised with much of the original line-up, such as Stereolab and Gorkys Zygotic Mynci, which was to be held in April 2000 - a year exactly after the first event.
Soon, the whole line up was announced: Super Furry Animals promising a headline, 90-minute slot, to be held in their current sound system of choice - surround. Also on the Friday night, 'very special guests' were said to be playing and festival curators Mogwai confirmed a festival-closing appearance on Sunday night. However, the real turn on and shock for festival-goers was the news that veteran feedback merchants Sonic Youth were to be headlining the main stage on Saturday evening. As if that wasn't enough, Steve Albini's US rock act, Shellac, had offered a 90-minute set on Stage Two before the Sonics were to come on. Blimey indeed.
Needless to say, the event sold out in a flash; an incredible feat considering a purposeful lack of publicity and the pressures that were on Foundation to come up with the goods. Barry Hogan and the team at Foundation, not forgetting the Scottish lads Mogwai, had proved their critics wrong, whilst managing to confirm a weekend that could only go down incredibly.
The Site
Although many have tried, but failed, another unique feature to this festival, other than the most unusual leftfield array of bands, the promoters of the festival have decided to hold the yearly event in a holiday camp. UK inhabitants will know the typical images of these places: 'Bluecoats' (entertainers) holding a week together by playing games and performing live shows and music whilst kids indulge in endless amounts of food, sand-castles on the beach and crazy golf. The parents, on the other hand, would just stay in the Queen Vic pub and get horrendously merry. Naturally, a bizarre atmosphere is set and when in other festivals the audience look forward to crashing down to sleep in a soggy tent, the ATP indiekid can be excited at the prospect of dozing off into Neverland in a chalet unit: complete with beds, washing-facilities, a kitchen, and, yes, a toilet! Obviously, this is a surreal, though very welcome change to the UK festival organisation.
What's Going On?
The bands begin their sets at 4 PM, leaving you time to recover from the night before, and finish at around 12 AM, though that's only when the party starts. It's on hitting the middle of the night that the DJ's come out to play and, luckily, All Tomorrows Parties assembled a list that would have top clubs quivering at its diversity.
However, being a holiday camp, there's plenty going on: dips in the sea if you wish and a sleep in the sand should you desire it. You can have a ride on the go-karts, a round of crazy golf, attempts at winning points on the arcades in the games-rooms and the chance to stuff your faces in the many restaurants on site. Or you could just be more passive and watch the many bands on show this weekend make complete arses of themselves as they manoeuvre their way through kicks and saves in the celebrity football 5-aside tournament. Alternatively, even this weekend away is a film-buff's dream; by staying in your chalet, you're able to enjoy the movie-tastes of curators Mogwai: simply a list of cult horror flicks and rockumentaries... sounds good, then! As if that weren't enough, the weaker souls among us can get hilariously pissed and laugh about the holiday-camp staff that amusingly fail to clean anything up along the course of the few days as you drink away in the many bars. However, we are here for rock and roll, so let's get some work done...
Celebrity 5-Aside Football
Well, it's not time for the kicking music yet, but first the rockin' footie. The celeb's were quite plentiful in their turn out, with teams including Belle & Sebastian, Radio One and Snow Patrol; just some amongst the 'talent' on display. The most bellyaching moments arrived from Stuart Braithwaite, somewhat expectantly, every time he tried to save a ball in goal. Raucous laughter erupted around the stone pitch as Stuie threw the football; his face a clear indication of how much he hated his band for shoving him in the nets. The Radio One team, on the contrary, did well on the Saturday matches, mainly thanks to a couple of competition winners that were taking part on the side, accompanying DJ Steve Lamacq and friends. Sadly, their prospects ran short the next day, after a severe thrashing on the build up to the final - Slot Jockey Vs. NME.
Despite the music weekly's finest efforts and valiant attempts at fighting back against the opposition, Slot Jockey had the crowd on their side and the might to leave NME in the cloud of loss surrounding them. Oh well, there's always next year...
The DJ's
Across the weekend, many of the top disc junkies from the world of dance were here on display to show off their spinning technique, including a very special guest. By the closing night, though, it almost seemed as if there was an unwritten law where each one had to play remixes of Wilson Picket's 'In the Midnight Hour.' Not that anyone seemed to mind too much.
In between main stage acts on Friday night, it was Justin Spear of Stereolab scheduled to spin the plastic, but it's forgivable not to have noticed this happening, due to the fact they had to perform offstage. Similarly, this can be said on Stage Two for journalist Keith Cameron, Tony Wilson (of Echo Park) and XFM's John Kennedy, though we'll just have to assume they were there whipping people into a frenzy, even though no one was there to be whipped into one. This was why it was only after the bands had finished, the audience deemed it fit to unwind and dance in superhero costumes (hello, mysterious Batman costume-bearer) as Steve Lamacq and other members of pop-funk act Stereolab were there to entertain.
However, as the weekend progressed, it became apparent that even though the larger acts were there, the Main Stage really wasn't the post-midnight place to be; it was Stage Two. Described by Barry Hogan as 'a bit like Tortoise,' new band South were unveiling tonight and rocking like a sweaty beast managed to interest the over-40 girls behind me. They proved a crowd hit; managing to swap instruments (something that would happen a lot over the course of the next couple of days) and fuse bouncy bass with distorted guitar to smooth results. They were also probably the only band not to be Scottish as well.
Saturday saw Radio One's legendary broadcaster John Peel dividing the crowd into the grooving caterpillar that is the conga-line, whilst, strangely predictably playing The Undertones' 'Teenage Kicks.' Less anticipated, the Second Stage announced a surprise guest to the bill of Warp Records DJ's, the 'Come To Daddy' star himself Aphex Twin. A pair of vinyl-twisters spun 'Windowlicker' early on, baring the crowd to the excitement that his presence would bring at 3:00 AM that night. The only complaint noted of his set was said to me by someone in the loos who thought that it could have been an intruder at the side of the stage 'simply wearing a mask.' It was too late to debate it, besides, by that point, I think we were all too intoxicated to speak of it further and preferred to believe our ears rather than our eyes.
Day Three, other than bringing hangovers, forced after-band groovers on to the 2nd Stage, where the treats of DJ Alex Knight with the Fat Cat Sound System and a live outing of Mice Parade closed the dance aspect of the festival finely. Anyone that thinks the line-up at All Tomorrows Parties is too one-sided and only showcases one form of music, you come down next year and watch 8 hours' worth of DJ's per night. I guarantee you'll be so knackered from getting down that you'll need a wheelbarrow to roll you back to your chalet each evening.
Day One - Reviews
Well, you try getting it right. Last year's Bowlie Weekender was renowned for a queuing disaster as the crowd attempted to get to the place, practically in the middle of nowhere, only notably near Paul McCartney's home in the village of Peasmarsh. This year's minor cock-up was more amusing, though. The merchandise shop, promising to open at 1:00 PM, soon changed its mind to 4:00 PM, as disappointed fans waited outside its doors, eager to part with their cash to buy the many T-shirts and records on offer. However, it did open, though at a plodding 6:00 PM, in the process creating a massive demand and traffic-load, leaving it clogged up more busily with people than an exit-door could possibly be at a Spandau Ballet re-union concert.
Musically, all's at peace, however. The US-homage, rock-punk-almost-western act Scott 4 began festival proceedings with their aligned, floaty vocals seemingly shimmering through the heavily stacked up speakers either side of the stage. The audience was receptive, though one area of the upstairs hall here in Main Stage land was covered in next generation hippies (the back) as they stretched out on wide and carpeted stairs, talking and sharing bets on who would win the football tournament that was to start tomorrow, whilst sparking up a multitude of spliffs. But, bugger up my violin bows - downstairs, it's Hood! And ruining their instruments is their intention as they strangely move through hypnotic dub-effects that echo around a hall full of impressed ATP earthlings before leaving in angst. Oh, rock & roll: it's fantastic.
Guaranteed quality is given by Ten Benson, blaring yellow string-vests, not forgetting big, fantastic rock moustaches, as they growl their way through the set-closing 'Robot Tourist'. Chemikal Underground signings (the label owned by The Delgados, that featured the equally Scottish Arab Strap, who make an appearance this weekend... coincidence? I think not) The Radar Brothers are eloquently melodic and melancholic today, apart from when they lie to the audience, 'We're now going to rock!' They don't. And, dazzlingly, stay on the dusty, beaten track of their emotive alt-country.
Lest, beware Beatles harmony-lovers - The High Llamas are also present this weekend, filling the hall with an air of Hawaiian bliss and cocktail drink mellowness, not to mention the best xylophone action of the whole show. Beginning their 40-minute set with a threateningly booming keyboard romp, the Llamas offer a pre-disco shakedown and an 'ahh', harmonic sing-a-long to a crowd that seemingly accepted the chance open-armed. Electronic Berlin duo Tarwater blurt out storming beats with warbling effects, reminiscent of pretty much anyone with decks, though a respectable audience turn-out was enough to create a suitably head-bopping atmosphere. Yet the professionalism-levels drop when Ronald Lippok (formerly of funk act To Rococo Rot) pulls out his lighter for its flicking shine, in a bid to see what knobs he was actually pressing on his equipment.
At this point, it's probably become evident that all bands can be watched for at least twenty minutes each, such is the conjugation of the cleverly-engineered time-schedule. The only problems occur, though when people turn up late... Yes, you The Delgados, but just one track into their set and everything's forgotten, even if we can't see them ('Sorry for the people at the back, but we're playing acoustically, so we have to sit down.'). Simply easing in song-to-song, the searing flutes and violins and chillingly beautiful lead girl vocals displayed numbers from their new album 'The Great Eastern' in full glory, though on record the sound proves just as magnificently, though subtly epic.
Labradford packed the downstairs surroundings of Stage Two, with casual guitar hooks and loops, mixed with an unnatural amount of Moog. Despite the downbeat affair, everyone was entranced and as their set closed, the room was even more full for the prospects of seeing tonight's no longer secret headliners, Godspeed You Black Emperor! Stuart Braithwaite's comments on looking at the nine members from the side of the stage were, 'I canny see what the f**k they're doin'.' Roughly translated for those that aren't in touch with their Highland dialect, the Mogwai main-man's words meant, 'I can't see anything.' Resulting reactions from their shock-appearance: 'Oh, bloody hell'; 'I was totally disappointed. I've seen them before and this wasn't them at their best.' However, the Canadian outfit must have had some support, with two memorable views being, 'This is them at their peak and it was an honour to have seen them in such intimate surroundings,' and more intriguingly, 'God, it was so weird!It just started as a normal gig of theirs and then they turned into Rage Against the Machine!' However, surprisingly from these original notions, by the end of their set, the masses were on their side.
Meanwhile, back upstairs, French pop-combo Stereolab play a pretty triumphant set with perhaps the slot's only downfall being the tediously annoying 'bah-bah-bah''s contained in '...Des Toilettes,' though there was enough disco-based guitar-licks and stomping beats to interest all in a full-on, hour-long set.
And, as shown in the set-list, the Super Furry Animals took full advantage of playing to a more open-minded audience, playing seven out of sixteen tracks in their native Welsh tongue, in order to support upcoming Gaelic-sung release, 'Mwng'. If it was any other band, they just wouldn't get away with it, but as lead-singer Gruff-Rhys walks onstage and places a model reindeer on top of one of the ceiling-high amps, you're prepared to forgive them for anything they do tonight - which makes the fact that they were sensational even better.
The band in general are within relaxed mode, laughing at Stu Braithwaite's drunken stage-invasion at the end for a tambourine-smashing finale and not giving a damn when a small vocoder unit on the floor wasn't working, leaving an absent-voiced 'Door To This House Remains Open'. New single 'Ysbeidiau Heulog' is trombone-spankingly infectious, meanwhile, and the surround-sound speakers around the hall are only really noticed during the reverberating bass break in rocker 'Night Vision'.
However, it's the slow songs that are the talking points; an affecting version of 'Demons' with the trumpets sounding sublime, before it leaks into the calypso pop of 'Northern Lites'. Although disguised in a radio-friendly form, the ringing and not to mention Spaniard-esque chorus in 'Ymaelodi...' is in real life goose-bumpingly blissful and 'Y Gwyneb Iau' is surely the closest music can get to the soul. Ever-effervescent then, ever-beautiful, and always entertaining, the Welsh content of the gig is enough to make you want to speak the language, just so you understand the words that they sing.
So, Xmas has arrived early - get your Welsh dictionaries in now people; don't you know that it's the new English?
Day Two - Reviews
Well, the art of what we define as the British hangover is only worsened by the idea of the Camden pub-rock Ligament appearing, though that's not to say they're not entertaining or good; in fact, they prove both, and after a good twenty minutes, prove to be the cure after a night of making yourself live to dangerous excesses of alcoholic bevvies. Relief.
More Scots next, this time in 'spunky' Motor Life Co, their chiming guitar existing in a whirlwind-blast of noise that they whiz around our heads; it's described in this weekend's programme like 'early 1990's American college rock' - wrong: try instead a combusting, head-warping series of mind f**-ups.
Well, readers, it's by now that you should have realised that this site doesn't deal in the hyped new bands; only the ones we think are worthy of the accolade. So, when we knew ... And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead (please don't make us type that again) were on next, our immediate mission was to find if they could live up to their name... Well, like most here, they're sonically brilliant, a US rock-act so dangerous and vividly violent that you can never anticipate what they'll do next; their presence merely enlightens to awaken the dreary-spirited, and entice all to the further evolution of their career. Thank goodness these are early days for them. Similarly strong, and many's favourites from this weekend, Ganger blast through over half an hour of what is stated as their final performance. A damn shame considering what a show it is, their opener sounding like the most incredible extravaganza that could end a West End theatre show: a pure musical sandstorm of splashed drums, sliced guitar and booming bass. Even after the mind-blowing number, a modest 'thanks' is all that's gently uttered from the stage; a true shame to see them go.
Pure indie-rockers Snow Patrol seem, on paper, in the wrong context for the festival, what with their fully formed pop-riffs and unashamedly catchy tunes. But it's exactly that which appeals to the audience who indulge in a bit of 'moshing' as it used to be called back when people jumped in a kind of 'pit' area at the front. A solid live band, they seem to have a fascination with the crowd enjoying the music in the form of pogoing, 'Oh, come on,' they drone. 'YOU'RE ON YOUR HOLIDAYS - JUMP UP AND DOWN!' It doesn't really work, but the indie-kids certainly seem more active than previously seen, especially as the hip-hop-esque loops of 'You ain't gonna be around for long' mix amongst a heavy and full-on rock howl. The closing track even actually continues the hip-hop ethic of 'borrowing' music, going so far as to practically nick the bass-line of the Manic Street Preachers' 'La Tristesse Durera'. Just dodge Nicky Wire lads and you'll be all right (we hear he's a bitch when a handbag's in reach).
Labradford's frontman Mark Nelson is next, in his alter ego, Pan American, radically different to the music he makes in his main interest. He entertains for forty minutes, creating noises that sound like a club-anthem about to explode, yet effects that never quite reach their promise. So on from the knobs to a band scheduled to play the original event also, Clinic. A razor-sharp set emphasised the killer-variation in their sound, but it's current single, '... Evil Bill', which merits the most attention; using the rumbling rhythm evident in most of their set, it curiously adds a demonic beat and snappy keyboards with an almost chanting lyric. Tracks such as 'Porno' are similarly trippy and relevant, though 'Saw the Sign' doesn't do the rest of their tracks justice and with its train-chugging guitar, it sounds like an electrified skiffle-band anthem. However, they're crowd-pleasing, entertaining and will no doubt mark a safe act to turn to in the future.
The post-Clinic crowd soon rushes downstairs to share a glimpse of the croaky US McMahon project The For Carnation, who are making their UK debut. The viewing-citizens, soon crammed tighter in this room than a tin of Spam could be between Robbie Williams' bum-cheeks (now there's a ghastly thought), clearly have good cause for anticipation and to be present. Peculiarly brooding, addictive and profoundly epic (a word that naturally comes up whilst describing many of the bands at the festival), live certainly appears to be the best way to experience their music.
Headliner-time; first up, Arab Strap - with a set so melancholic and smashed, it's magnificent. Aidan's big, shaggy beard is as scarily scraggy as ever and each seething track is big and loud. Whirlpools of blue notes and a guest female vocalist, whose voice can barely be heard, adds to the swirling atmosphere of depression, revealed in tales of spoken poetry that speak of infidelity and immoral behaviour. So yes, it's all very deep. And you know the 'Strap have the audience under control when they get away with playing a b-side - at a festival! On an almost top-slot appearance!
Inevitably, it's a victorious set, though they were still up against it in terms of pressure; 20 minutes into their set, Shellac came on, creating a mini-stampede of US rock fans pitter-pattering down the steep staircase to Stage Two. The legendary Steve Albini also manages to set the record straight once and for all tonight. 'Right you guys, it's pronounced She-llac, not Shell-ac,' and 50% of the room seem in awe. A strikingly rare appearance, it's an exciting and energetic show, with Albini and co. bursting into sexy guitar-bass and blasting drums when they choose to improvise, even managing to share casual conversation with the audience. By being at ease with the crowd, it becomes more intimate and one converted fan speaks of the show at its closure as, 'Quite beautiful.' It was obviously a mutual feeling - Shellac are co-curating the festival in 2002.
However, here it is - the moment of the weekend. The legendary Sonic Youth are actually here in the UK and, more importantly, they're actually here in a Pontins holiday camp to entertain us... But why is there such a mixed reaction by the set's end?
Kim, complete with squeeze Thurston and the other two, began by winding us all up; five minutes of being onstage doing nothing, then suddenly, quick electric strums smack the strings over and over. And over. Kim wails along and after twenty minutes, it finally ends, with everyone shocked and relieved; shock by the fact that the audience knew what the foursome wanted to do... But why couldn't they begin with 'Teen Age Riot' instead, just to get us all in the mood? In fact, the only track people truly respond to is the still-shining 'Sunday', played in an encore at the set's close.
Naturally, most are divided by the band's performance. On the one hand, it's enriching that they should see this festival as an opportunity to try out things they wouldn't normally attempt, but after saying that, such an action is marginally cruel on some of the crowd that were enduring the almost intolerable heat to hear the classics, only to walk back to their chalets disappointed. Decidedly mixed.
Day Three - Reviews
Unarguably, Sunday is the weekend's finest day. Looking across the bill, in the least cliché way as possible, there's truly something for everyone - quashing a view that this year's bill was a tad 'self-indulgent' so far and too 'one-sided'. Nonsense.
The final, not that there were many, cock-up of the weekend is caused in a real punk stylee thanks to 1970s UK art-rockers and general Elastica music-source, Wire, who extend their sound-check, leaving the Main Stage an hour behind schedule. It's OK, though, because Alfie get a mighty number of people to watch them, which is exactly what they deserve. Completely drenched in blue lighting, inviting vocals create a backdrop for the prominent, folk acoustic-guitar plucks and picks, whilst a contrast is formed in the shape of a cello and affirmingly peculiar noises. 21st Century bluesgrass here we are.
And here we are Two Dollar Guitar - so what's your excuse for being late then on the Main Stage? Oh yeah, that's right, four aging, though still rocking punk-lords were on their sound-check - sorry, our mistake. Though it's great to see them, with Steve Shelley of Sonic Youth turning his back on the feedback and out-of-tune trumpets of last night and going for that good ole' American country sound, complete with the ingratiating smiles and depressing songs. Smooth, dry and almost crunchy, the sound's sturdy enough, though it feels like it's been transported in a wagon in the Wild West for so many years that it no longer bothers about getting excited.
It's a sad day for Plone, allegedly going on straight after their set to complain of it being their worst show ever. It's not their faults though; after a few mind-bracingly, kiddie-toy bleeps and a track that sounds like a Christmas anthem, it goes wrong for the Brummie combo as a machine no longer functions properly. Instead of playing mock string-flushed notes, the contraption goes on to croak out alien voices similar to the tacky noises heard on cult 60's B-movies. They walk off clearly upset, though the crowd is encouraging and attempts to cheer them up with a complimentary moment of applause. Staying on downstairs in Stage Two, the trumpet-flute-accordions, general supermarket sheen dance-pop of Pram passes its purpose of weirding out the crowd, and it's depressing to note that instead of synthesisers perched on ironing boards, there are flowery table cloths on display for our delight. Very pop-tastically twisted.
A further festival highlight for some, Bardo Pond's introductory guitar riff is screaming out stadium-rock as it passes effortlessly through a distortion pedal amidst a dynamic instrumental opener. The lead female singer is in control; swaying as if she's a stoned hippie, yet we know she's really to the contrary, her vocals howling and travelling around the room whilst our drummer goes mental, playing as if its his own form of therapeutic catharsis. The grungy and sharp edge is somewhat shaved off, sadly, at the sighting of the front-woman tapping her chalet-key against her thigh, though - otherwise - it is an unexpected high-point.
Sophia lead-singer Robin Proper-Shepard amusingly comments, 'How I make my living as a guitar player I do not know,' his eyes twinkling in the red light as his mouth arches a smile. This comment is made in reference to a suspect acoustic guitar solo he made in his opening depressing and affecting almost hymn-like opener. Before this, there were further problems, this time more funnily in the form of trying to turn off some tacky holiday music, which sounded in place in such a venue. Sophia's set in general picked up a lot of positive feedback, though at points it does just get too much, as the title indicates in 'Death Comes Too Soon', which interestingly, sounds not too far off Echo & The Bunnymen's only 1990s top-ten hit 'Nothing Lasts Forever'. However, closing with the recent Pet Shop Boys' top-ten hit, 'You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You're Drunk', the crowd is more than appreciative and the sombre mood elevated. Slightly.
Icelandic success story Sigur Ros set off with a throbbing vibrato of feedback combining soothing and subtle organ play, stolen straight from the 1960s hit, 'Deeper Shade of Pale'. Frontman Jónti Birgisson has the wonderful gift of echoing his voice more beautifully than a choir in a church. The largely unnamed, indistinguishable tracks emphasise a budding diversity that doesn't suffer from the necessity to add something damaging to its indefinite brilliance. In yet another freak change of music, Laika, the pre-dominantly female hip-hop, dance-rock group, are heavy on the bass and tight drum beats and feature 'woo-woo' vocals in 'Teaspoon', which interests some of an otherwise bemused crowd. Maybe it's just lead-gal Margaret Fiedler's upside-down cereal bowl of a hat that caught their attention the most.
Cult-figure Papa M, respected for his vast work in Slint and Tortoise, was here all right, on lead-guitar and getting all the press attention with his simple yet mood-inflicting, shrill guitar strokes. His backing band is forced to get on with it, despite deserved attention to the bassist who secretly rolls it along. Notably, other than pulling an impressive audience number, they close with an instrumental and almost moving rendition of The Byrds 'Turn, Turn, Turn'. In hindsight, how could they have failed..?
The Gorky's Zygotic Mynci have the tunes, live talent and ability to ensure a meaty festival slot. However, obviously, some people here didn't expect it, whether it was from the explicit and heart-rending innocence of 'Hush the Warmth' or new track, 'How I Long'. And for the fast kids, there's the US rock tribute 'Sweet Johnny' or fiercely manic 'Poodle Rockin' and 'Desolation Blues'. As usual, singer Euros Childs keeps quiet apart from informing the crowd that they indeed are not the Super Furry Animals and Catatonia once a smart-arse starts calling out for a variety of Welsh bands' different hit singles (kids these days; get them in intimate surroundings in a holiday camp and they're all trying to be clever). The show ends on an overwhelming high, with genuinely unplanned encore performances of crowd-favourite 'Patio Song' and the numbingly perfect set-closer 'Let's Get Together' being given an outing. As shown previously in the 'People's Verdict' (see 'Scrapbook'), the Gorky's came joint first as one of the best acts of the weekend and, if you witnessed them that night, you would have seen why; possibly the highlight of their career, let alone the festival.
However, it ain't over till it's over and we've still got two whoppers in the bag. First up, Wire, with Bruce Gilbert swaying, rocking and walking around as he bashes out the tunes that it's clear could only have been imitated (REM, notably influenced). It's fair to say some sounds dated, but it doesn't sound out of place; it functions as live work, and '12XU' and 'Lowdown' act as cult-anthems that they have no chance of breaking free from, even if they wanted to. A comeback that's genuinely welcome and relevant.
That's almost it; been an experience, hasn't it? Never before would you think that it would work, but it does and it works amazingly. Any worries of this year's event not reaching the standard of quality that last year's Bowlie managed to would, by now, have been dead and rested. People here have loved, cherished their time; after speaking with so many characters at the festival, we were genuinely astounded by the friendliness and helpfulness of the atmosphere and shocked by how efficient everything worked out to be. Despite minor glitches that other festivals wouldn't be able to get away with, ATP 2000 sadly won't be the father of tomorrow's future festivals, or indeed, of any form of party because it won't function... It simply won't work knowing that this is where it came from and anything or anywhere else just wouldn't seem right. By 2003, its bill will never have to be officially announced before the event ever again, because by that time people will know what to expect in terms of quality of the bands, facilities, fun, games and atmosphere. No matter what Barry Hogan, festival organiser says of this being the mother of all future forms of the music festival, he knows that this can't be beaten and any attempts just wouldn't come close. Our tip for you, make sure you get tickets to next year's event at least, just so you can tell your mates that you've attended - it will soon be too difficult to do so otherwise.
And this brings us back to the end of this year's event. Mogwai are on-stage with a string-quartet; it sounds morbidly beautiful, acting as a further testament to their strength as a band-unit - trying and applying things others aren't brave enough to challenge themselves with. They play all of their singles also, provide a showcase of all of their 'fast bits', 'slow bits' and all those bits in between - conclusively representative of the whole bill at this year's festival; only diverse once you dig your way in and try hard to look for it and, once you're in, it feels good. It feels right.
Like the mirror-balls twinkling and spinning gently in the air as the Scottish quintet ease their way through the night, it goes on and on and on. And then it stops, the band leaves the stage and the festival's over. If only that mirror-ball could go on forever; forever twirling in the smoky, concert light. But it's just that which keeps you on hanging on until next year; see you there.
Scrapbook
THE PEOPLE'S VERDICT
(based on 75 opinions)
Best Band Of The Weekend?
1. Gorky's Zygotic Mynci
= Mogwai
= Shellac
= Super Furry Animals
5. Sonic Youth
6. Ganger
= Sophia
= Wire
9. Arab Strap
10. Godspeed You Black Emperor!
MOGWAI SET-LIST:
Punk Rock
Xmas Steps
Helps Both Ways
Y2K
String Song (S)
Stanley Kubrick
Cowboy
Quiet Stereo D
Helicon 1
Xmas Song (S)
Jewish Song (S)
Satan
Mogwai's Stuart Braithwaite.
Are you enjoying yourself, good sir?
'Yeah, it's tremendous. At the moment, I'm just running from band to band. I got really sloshed and played with the Super Furries last night (grimaces). So far, I've really enjoyed the band Hood, and I've had a go at football, though I was pretty terrible. It's going great, in all.'
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