All Tomorrow's Parties 2007

United Kingdom | by Dan Davies14 May 2007

Holiday camps in my teenage years were like concentration camps. Yes I know it’s distasteful to compare the two, but that’s hardly the concern of a hormonally challenged 14 year old whose only life experience had come from the discarded books he read and the music he constantly piped into his head from his red and black Sanyo personal stereo. In fact, the last time I went to Butlins in Minehead that was all I did. Wander around in the height of summer, in black, avoiding Billy The BASTARD Butlins Bear, the sun and F*****NG Five Star on the main stage. I was more into murder ballads, travellers tales, dark sided yarns. Actually I really liked Nick Cave.

Had I been a teenager these days I like to think that I wouldn’t waste this ‘dark energy’ on stabbing someone in the arse, or gunning down my school canteen or even listening to the bratty whines of My Chemical Romance - but I hope I would have hitched down to Minehead for this weekend. This year’s first ATP was curated by Dirty Three, otherwise unfairly and inaccurately known as Nick Cave’s backing band. The common threads that bind Cave’s line ups and Dirty Three’s output is their ability to flit between the beautiful and the base, the sorrowful and the serene, the hoe down and the lament. Oh and both have Warren Ellis in them.

As we roll up in the Ute (that’s a Nissan 100nx as in English) on the Friday night we can hear Ellis’s fiddle coming from the arena. By the time we’ve parked up, unpacked had a few “G and T’s” - driven back (it’s okay kids, the maximum speed limit was 5mph),and dumped the car by the entrance - the band are well finished. No worries mate, we can catch them again on Sunday as this is one of the five bands who gets to play twice. Suitably, Warren Ellis is in the three dirtiest which means he plays a total of six times this weekend with Dirty 3 and  Nick Cave’s band and his grimier garage based Grinderman  - who debut at the festival. After a brief hoe down to Josh Pearson it’s time to go to bed.

The next day we’re up and sunbathing on the beach before we amble over to watch Felix Lajko. He starts on a zither picking a fascinating repetitive and complex rhythm, which has soporific effects so effective that people sitting around me fall asleep. Then suddenly I’m asleep as well as he seamlessly picks up the violin and cries through the its strings as it penetrates my subconscious.

We walk around the complex taking in the extreme kitsch appeal of the Reds Bar which feels a bit like a café at an ice hockey rink. As we leave, someone is getting married on stage. In the afternoon we catch the booze infused Low as they slack their way through songs. Alan and Mimi share vocals and love poetry. This is folLowed by Spiritualized in their Acoustic Mainline incarnation. Jason Pierce is as memorable as ever, though he’s a bit distant from his young female string section and gospel singers. Probably just as well, get too close and he’ll sack you.

There’s the option to go and see the delightful Yann Tierson but instead we go for an evening of entertainment a la Nick Cave. He starts with the hits including: Red Right Hand, The Mercy Seat and more recent output The Lyre Of Orpheus, Rock Of Gibraltar, God Is In The House - all seem to touch and feel for your soul. The piano bashing is increasing and the Bad Seeds become more animated… then they leave the stage abruptly. They re-enter as Grinderman. Cave takes the mic and calls the crowd to arms like a drunken evangelist. It occurs to me, that they’ve transformed into Muppet versions of themselves. Warren Ellis is a bearded stick insect, Martyn Casey prowls around the stage with a Low slung bass and Jim Sclavunos bashes a lot of drums and provides percussive rattle snake sounds ably assisted on maracas by none other than… Bobby Gillespie. The gang really rock out, Grinderman is a beast that refuses to go out gracefully and would rather get old and gnarly than ‘defeat the signs of ageing.’ Stand out tracks have to be Tell The Women That We’re Leaving and No Pussy Blues - which surprisingly entertains the women around me as much as the men.

Sunday starts with a trip to the water slides - is there anything more entertaining than seeing a Goth emerge bedraggled from the black hole tube slide? After sliding down the black hole we trot down, still dripping, to catch the Dirty 3. There is a serenity and underlying menace to Warren Ellis’s fatigue. Actually, he looks like he’s been hanging round a billabong in the outback setting man traps, while the other ‘dirty two’ look like the hired meat who can step in if there’s a skirmish. We pop into the Centre Stage bar and see possibly the most absurd act of the weekend, Mary Margaret O’Hara. A lady with an exceptional voice but completely lacks any confidence. She spends half the time on stage damning Nick Cave for asking her to play, and the other half starting songs but not finishing them. Also, half her band is missing “There would be a lovely person from Australia to duet with me. But unfortunately she’s not here.” After a delightfully rambling version of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, a bassist does join them on stage for the last song. “Thanks for attending the rehearsal,” quips the drummer.  

Time to put another shrimp on the barbie! We recoup at the chalet for an afternoon barbeque – leaving time enough to head back to catch a bit of Cat Power. Although I love The Greatest – live she comes across a bit over slick and over tanned. We cue to watch Joanna Newsom’s harp skills and nasal vocals but really by now I’m suffering from ‘kooky woman’ fatigue. Time to bring on Nick Cave and a big slice of beefy Grinderman to sizzle on the ATP barbie. We leave stuffed.