Blissfields Bradley Farm, Hampshire 2,3 & 4/7/09
5/5
By: Mike Harounoff
Blissfields is a very special secret. Stumbling out of Basingstoke station eyes burn through my tent roll as a 9 year old scally stares, dumbfounded as to why I’d be carrying a tent through his concrete Mecca. Bus drivers and the people of the town look utterly oblivious as I enquire as to where Bradley Field is, a mention of the word ‘Blissfields’ is met with screwed up faces and exasperated breaths which scream at me “what the hell are you talking about and why are you carrying a tent?”
I begin to wonder if Blissfields even exists, luckily the local cabbies are clued up and drive past dual carriageways and roundabouts, through villages and hamlets and drop off in a field about as far away from the city as he’s ever been. Welcome to Blissfields.
Reading festival notoriously offers a free pint if you come wearing a wristband from the previous year, Blissfields offer a bottle of vitamin water – but to take this gesture and turn it into a concept of what the festival is would definitely be a wrong move. In your usual festival atmosphere one can become accustomed to the stench of alcohol, burnt wood and burger vans but this ceases to exist at Blissfields: replace this with the sweet smell of incense and nobody's wearing any shoes. The last time I saw somebody dare to go barefoot at a festival they stood on a rusty nail.
There’s certainly something very different about Blissfields, and taking a quick look at the history of the festival it all becomes clear. First held back in 2001 to a crowd of 70, word of mouth and 5 guys from Eel Pie Island have helped the festival grow and grow and whilst capacity is still just over 1,000 (which leads to the interesting fact of it being just smaller than London’s Koko venue), Blissfields is a music festival, right? So what of the music?
[MUMFORD AND SONS]
Mumford and Sons play to what may be the whole festival and whilst they instantly bring to mind Noah and the Whale, it’s safe to say it isn’t through imitation. Front man Marcus has the voice of an angel on 40 Marlboro Reds a day and with the lyrical content of a man whose seen the world a hundred times over, and presumably had his heart broken every single time perhaps best exhibited by ‘White Blank Page’ one of the most beautiful and harrowing songs I’ve ever come across in my 18 short years. The band also bust out the banjo time and time again and never before have my eyes seen more novelty western dancing in one small space. Mumford and Sons have certainly won over this crowd and they’ll definitely be winning of more and more every time they play.
Friday night headliner Laura Marling essentially optimizes the spirit of Blissfields in her 45 minute set. Her wistful acoustic guitar driven songs rain out perfectly over the 1000 strong audience made only better by the picturesque sunset surrounding around the stage stars glisten in the summers sky. Upbeat songs bring mass dance-alongs that I can expect Ms. Marling rarely experiences at her gigs whilst more plaintive thoughtful numbers leave the audience spellbound and almost silent as they hear tales of broken hearts and poor swimming ability.
It’s once the bands finish that Blissfields really comes into its own, the small capacity of the festival and friendly nature of those that make it up mean a massive Friday night party was always going to be on the cards, so whether you’re taking laughing gas whilst hidden in the hedge, getting a little bit hammered at the open mic night or going mental with a group of strangers who are now your best mates in the secret rave, the fun to be had is seemingly endless - and it doesn’t just involve 12 cans of larger and yelling profanities at the top of your voice.
Saturday morning comes and while the brain might still be a bit dehydrated free vitamin water and an inexpensive veggie breakfast can prepare you for, well, another day of hanging out in the sun and listening to music. Tough.
First up on the Saturday are Thomas Tantrum, a feisty four piece making the short journey from Southampton to entertain the Blissfields massive with their art-punk musings and whilst front woman Megan controls the stage the bands sound is a bit stale and falls flat onto the Blissfields crowd, maybe the vitamin water didn’t work and everyone’s still a bit knackered after spending 6 hours on a rope swing in the hidden hedge but Thomas Tantrum are more of a stamp off strop in Tesco than a full blown snot nosed cry in Toys R Us.
[IMPERIAL LEISURE]
One band that had no trouble getting a rise out of the crowd were Londoners Imperial Leisure, again evidence that Blissfields can get it completely right as the Ska band play under a warm sun leading the teary eyed Laura Marling fans from last night to skank all the way around Bradley Field, although any attempts to match their front man are far from the mark as he leaps jumps and cartwheels himself around the stage. These were very possibly the most enjoyable band of the whole festival and food for thought that its not necessarily big names on a festival line up that make it good, but instead the atmosphere a band create, and Imperial Leisure’s is certainly one of straight up fun.
[SUPER FURRY ANIMALS]
Finally came Super Furry Animals, a band who by all rights didn’t need to play this festival, but thinking about it, none of the artists did - what brings the bands to Blissfields is the promise of a good time away from the high expectations of corporate festivals and this want as opposed to need to play makes the sets all the better. Super Furry Animals plunge their way through old favourites to utter hysteria from the hardcore fans and a new found respect to those who knew the name but not the sounds. It’s not only the oldies that go down well, tracks from new album Dark Day/Light Years are also a treat, ‘The Very Best Of Neil Diamond’ brings both smiles in terms of subject matter but awe in terms of the bands musical capability, which the band themselves are jokingly aware of as the hold up signs reading ‘applause’ after many of the songs. The biggest cheers of the night are reserved for ‘The Man Don’t Give a F**k’ a song that sums up the spirit of Blissfields better than it could have itself, and believe me it tried - just check out its national anthem! Further the proof that the man doesn’t give a f**k comes in the shape of the local council who cut the Super Furry’s set short due to noise complaints but again the spirit of bliss shines through, meaning rather than throwing bottles of piss at the stage to express anger the crowd just give another massive applause aided again by a sign held up my front man Gruff Rhys and go off to explore and enjoy the remainder of the festival.
[SUPER FURRY ANIMALS]
The night winds down and everything’s a lot calmer than the Friday night, of course being Blissfields there’s still a party to be found with Beans on Toast playing til late on the second stage (which I feel I should mention is an old bus), but I opt for hanging out in the sheesha lounge. It’s now as I sit on a cushion under a cool summers night that I realize I never actually want to leave Blissfields - it’s kind of like Lord of the Flies before they all turn into dicks and start killing each other, it’s our own little island somewhere nobody seems to have ever heard of where everyone’s friendly, there’s music all day and parties all night... but of course all good things must come to and end. Blissfields seemingly make this decision a bit easier by deciding it should rain on the Sunday morning, but part of me thinks this was on purpose. If I wasn’t drowned out I probably wouldn’t have ever left.
[BEANS ON TOAST]
So I slowly pull away from Bradley Farm and the Blissfields experience in the minibus they provide for you at no extra cost and you can’t help feeling that everything else in comparison is, for lack of better words, going to be a bit sh*t. Blissfields is a festival that truly lives up to its name... I mean, so does Reading, it’s called ‘Reading’ and it’s in Reading, but that’s not the point. Blissfields is pretty much, bliss.
All photographs copyright Sam Pearce, other than Laura Marling, copyright Rob Ball
Artists in this article: Mumford and Sons, Super Furry Animals, Laura Marling, Beans on Toast, Thomas Tantrum, Imperial Leisure
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