aaamusic | On 12, May 2012

London, 4th – 6th May

As concepts go, a festival based in and around an entire city (or in this case borough), is a particularly novel one. Any city worth their salt has a wide variety of gig venues to choose from and Camden has a city’s worth packed into a single district, the infamous Camden Town. While its reputation as the alternative capital of London may have died at the arse end of Brit-Pop and its most notable contribution to music in the last decade has been fucking N-Dubz (sorry Tribes), no one is going to deny that the venues of Camden Town are pretty damn special. Pretty much all of them are on offer over the course of the weekend, the most conspicuous absence being the Roundhouse. With that out of commission, the Koko club acts as the de-facto main stage with the smallest venue being one of the many, many pubs that have opened their back room doors to whoever has a wristband or a guitar in their hands. In its seventh year in its current form, a decent argument could be made for this line-up to be its weakest yet, the only name acts being The Cribs and The Futureheads, and when compared with previous acts who’ve performed like Pendulum, Florence And The Machine, Amy Winehouse, Biffy Clyro and Kasabian, the evidence doesn’t seem to be in its favour. However, like most festivals, the truly great moments are brought on by the up and coming acts, and in that sense, Camden Crawl does not disappoint.
The Red Bull Bedroom Jam Stage brings me my first band of the weekend, and throws me in right at the deep end. For many, 1.30 in the afternoon might be a mite too early for Japanese born, London based psych metallers Bo Ningen, the fact that maybe forty people tops have shown up seems to support it, and the sad fact is that as magnificent as they can be, the vast majority of the effect that four rake thin, androgynous Japanese men hurling themselves around the stage clad in smocks and loon pants playing music as heavy as it is strange is lost in the grey daylight and the fact that it’s being performed underneath a train track. They’ll never be outright bad as a band, and they’ll never put on a bad show, but in a situation where they’re playing to politely interested parties in broad daylight anyone would struggle. Ones to watch for sure, they put enough energy into their set to promise great things at their own headline shows but at this time of day, anyone would suffer. After having to head home for a while my next catch is the end of Marmozets’ set, I’m not going to pretend that I can give an informed opinion of a live show after witnessing just over five minutes of it but from what I saw I could tell they played with passion, energy and a technical ability that laughed in the face of their annoyingly young age. Like Bo Ningen the full extent of their effect remains lost in a late afternoon open air festival slot but promises an unforgettable headline show in the progress.
After Marmozets finish their set I start my trek toward the Black Heart near Camden Tube Station to catch Antlered Man’s seven o’clock slot and in my opinion, this is where the festival really begins. In the pubs cramped upstairs room the London based four piece play to a satisfyingly full house and make it entirely their own, on paper the fact that their influenced by the likes of Melvins, Queens of the Stone Age and Dead Kennedy’s might make one assume that this is to be a humourless, ear bleedingly loud thrash of noise but fortunately, the biggest influence they seem to have taken out of all those bands is an absolute thrilling uniqueness that means their undeniable heaviness is tempered by delectable-yet-twisted melodies and a macabre sense of humour, see a song entitled Surrounded by the White Man for proof of that. It’s the first great set of the day, the aforementioned Surrounded by the White Men and the bafflingly awesome Buddhist Soup sounding invigorating and at home in these slightly less than salubrious surroundings. By the end of their set they leave a room full of converts begging for more, or at least chatting excitably amongst themselves while heading for a drink/bathroom break/another venue altogether. With this many hipsters in attendance (seemingly on a break from Shoreditch, maybe their “Ironically” here…) that’s tantamount to a standing ovation which Antlered Man entirely deserve.
After negotiating the excitingly steep stairwell and situating myself in the sweltering upstairs room of the Camden Enterprise, it’s time for Guildford based rockers Sissy and the Blisters to follow that and by the good lord of all that’s holy they do in spades. Their two and a half minute slices of Nuggets-esque garage pop will never sound better than in an energetic sweat pit that before the band come on is too hot for a blazer, and in James Geard they have a spectacular frontman, his frame skinny and tall enough to be a Winkle Pickers sporting Lamp Post hurling himself around the venue, spilling drinks, twatting people over the head with mic stands and at one point planting a big kiss on this reporters forehead. In so many ways the band of the day, given enough thought they could be the band of the weekend as a whole but that’ll have to wait. The bottom line is that in a world where The Horrors can get huge and be considered the pinnacle of British guitar music, it’s only a matter of time before Sissy and the Blisters take over the country, and I’m counting down the seconds.
After that it’s off to the Koko to catch the second on the bill the Big Pink in what is something of a comeback show for them. After their second album, Future This, tanked more than a few people lost interest in the duo of Milo Cordell and Robbie Furze so they take to the stage with rather a lot to prove. Not that one would notice by just looking them, Furze in particular takes up his position front of stage, expensive looking black Telecaster slung around his neck, looking like a returning hero. Performance wise they haven’t lost a step, the duo, expanded to a four piece for the occasion, are one of the loudest acts of the weekend, their bass alone shaking my ribcage to the extent my lungs may or may not have swapped places. Perhaps this is down to personal preference however, but in terms of songs there is precious little variety, every song sounds like a hip-hop influenced version of My Bloody Valentine’s Soon, with opener Stay Gold and big single Dominos (That NME award for best track must seem so far away now eh?) only notable for their astonishingly huge chorus’. It’s not bad per se, but neither is it particularly good, it’s just a nice diversion to drum up excitement for the nights headliners, The Futureheads.
After an enormous hit single in the form of Kate Bush cover Hounds of Love and not much mainstream coverage since, it would be easy to assume that the Sunderland band hasn’t been as successful as they wanted to be, tonights set is an enormous and effective riposte to that. Whilst the chart success of that single hasn’t been recreated, it has meant that the band can do whatever they damn well please with their career, leading to their resurgence thanks to their almost entirely a capella fifth album Rant. Tonight they mine that very album for material and from where I’m standing, they pull it off marvellously, the quartet are clearly having the time of their lives despite a crowd that becomes less and less attentive as the set goes on and the novelty wears off, to the point where a cover of Sparks’ The Number One Song in Heaven is practically drowned out by the crowd chattering. Things are put back on track by a dizzyingly exciting run through of The Beginning of the Twist and, closing the set, the deathless Hounds of Love. While The Heads might not be entirely satisfied with the gig, guitarist Jaff tweeting the words “really London?” afterwards, the vast majority of those at the gig are, and come away with a newfound appreciation for a band many would have deemed past it.
And that was day one of the Camden Crawl, an absolutely shattering day that brought many an awesome rock show with it, and on the bus home I couldn’t tell whether I was relieved or annoyed that I would be doing it all again in a matter of hours. Turns out I should have been relieved. Really, really relieved.
Bo Ningen: 3 Stars
Marmozets: 3 Stars
Antlered Man: 4 Stars
Sissy and the Blisters: 5 Stars
The Big Pink: 2 Stars
The Futureheads: 4 Stars.

Day 2

Tragically, XFM may have slightly misjudged the Camden Crawl audience while booking their early afternoon matinee Rock Show. I’m only able to catch the “headliners” Kids In Glass Houses and after worrying that I wouldn’t be able to get into the venue due to sheer demand I’m able to saunter in ten minutes before stage time and immediately occupy one of the best balcony spaces in the venue. It’s not that the venue is empty per se, but they clearly haven’t managed to snare the South Wales quintets hardcore fan base that could have sold out this relatively intimate venue almost instantaneously. In fact, the only people who seem to give the merest hint of a damn when the houselights go down and the band take to the stage are the first two rows at the barrier, and everyone else seems to have perfected the art of polite disinterest. I spare a little thought for The Futureheads, whose crowd for their headlining set the night before didn’t have the common courtesy to be polite about their disinterest, and settle in for the show.
One thing springs immediately to mind and that is that singer Aled Phillips either hasn’t warmed his voice up or he cannot sing to save his life, his strained whine in stark contrast to how professional and clean the rest of his band sound. As the set goes on I’m leaning towards the former theory, as his vocals do shape up for the the big hitters like Matters At All and Saturday. Besides, the man performs like a man possessed, especially so considering his band have something to prove to this audience. Coming across like Tom Meighan possessed by Gerard Way, he stalks, preens and struts across the stage, at one point heading into the audience to dance with a middle aged Japanese woman previously going mental down the front. It’s an awful lot of fun to watch, nothing life changing but the band have a winning way of making music that is tailor made to sound more fun than several barrels of particularly whimsical monkeys without losing the ability to be taken seriously. By the end of the set the band may not have entirely silenced the doubters but they’ve come a long way from midway through the set where a towel thrown into the audience by Phillips comes hurtling back on stage ten minutes later.
After killing time for an hour I’m off too Dingwalls for what could be the most interesting set of the day. To put a relatively big name like Baxter Dury on at seven o’clock in the evening is a slight curveball, and means that Dingwalls a lot more full come door time than it usually is. However, Dury’s new album Happy Soup, while getting an abundance of press mentions, didn’t exactly set the charts on fire, peaking at a princely number 110. With that in mind many in the audience, including me, are here to see what the fuss is all about. Due to the enormous queue Dury has already started his first song as I enter the venue and what I hear is a pretty good primer for what I’ll hear over the course of the next forty-five minutes, clipped, low-key songs based around melodic bass-lines, simple drumming and maddeningly catchy keyboard lines from the subject of many a troglodytes cat-call, backing singer Madeleine Hart. Dury is a fantastic frontman, suited and booted; he commands the audience’s attention whether singing in that inimitable voice of his he inherited from his dad or bantering with the audience in a slightly surreal, extremely deadpan style (Tonight it’s thanking the audience by saying “merci!” as they’ve been touring France for a couple of weeks). It’s a slightly odd, understated set, which isn’t to say its bad, quite the opposite; it’s rather wonderful in many ways but possible to not quite get it. Fortunately enough, the vast majority of the audience do and give Dury one of the ovations of the night as he finishes his set.
Being the artistic, writerly type I was never made to move very far distances and heading from Dingwalls to the Wheelbarrow pub on Camden High Street should have taken it out of me, but by this time I’m a well-oiled Camden trawling machine so I make it in time for Beans on Toast’s set with roughly ten minutes to spare. Unfortunately The Wheelbarrow is simultaneously tiny and very much not the most ideal gig venue in London so it takes me a further ten minutes to find a good space and by that time, five minutes earlier than the scheduled time, Beans on Toast and his newly formed backing band have begun their set. And then minutes later they stop the song, start another one and then stop that one, y’see, that’s the Beans on Toast way, and it’s awesome! Beans on Toast, AKA Jay McAllister is a cult folk singer-songwriter and one of the coolest men in North London, to the extent that he owns the pub he’s currently playing in. The songs in this forty five (sorry, fifty) minute set cover everything from politics to paganism to the recent drought to getting shitfaced at a festival and getting off with the nearest willing individual and every time they stray somewhat close to self-importance Jay either forgets the lyrics and aborts the song altogether or brings out a witty, self-deprecating lyric to bring the whole thing back on track. It’s probably down to the four piece band but this particular set has some semblance of professionalism to it, in the sense that more songs are finished than aren’t, but in most ways, he’s as ramshackle as he ever was, especially in the umpteenth Fight For Your Right To Party cover, their tribute to the dearly departed Adam “MCA” Yauch of the Beastie Boys which is aborted before the last verse as Jay didn’t learn the lyrics to it. It’s still the most charming set I’ve seen all weekend by something of a country mile and I would be very surprised if the crowd gathered in this tiny pub (seriously, this is probably the most packed venue I’ve seen all weekend) didn’t feel the same way.
Leaving the wheelbarrow with an unshakeable grin on my face I adjourn to the murky depths of the Purple Turtle to see the band behind simultaneously one of the most startling reinventions of the year, and one of the best metal albums of the year. If two acts could summarise the sheer amount of different styles of music on offer in this year’s Camden Crawl it probably would be the happy go lucky indie folk of Beans on Toast and the yet monstrously heavy metal of Hawk Eyes, who proceed to absolutely decimate the venue, proving themselves to these eyes as the band of the day by a large margin. They prove it in an extremely admirable way as well, they’re playing a genre of music done by an awful lot of people, their look has been dubbed as “Librarians” and they don’t have any over the top stage moves save singer Paul Astick hopping into the mosh pit near the end of their set. They aren’t the best by virtue of doing something first, they’re the best because they do it better than any of their contemporaries, every riff is as catchy as it is complex, every scream is perfectly placed, it would seem hopelessly calculated if it wasn’t so good. Even songs from their old incarnation as Chickenhawk that I myself derided as being too needlessly heavy for their own good just add more colours to their palette and show just how much range this band has. By the end of their set if there were any doubters in the building then they walked out truly converted, Hawk Eyes totally owned this day and if they can produce a few more gigs like this then they should own the world of British metal by the end of the year.
And finally we come back to where we started, at the de facto main stage of the 2012 Camden Crawl, the Koko. Preparing to take the stage is the only real name act of the festival, Wakefield’s finest, The Cribs. Everything’s set to be a great night, they’re playing a venue they’ve long since outgrown on the eve of the release of their new album, the ecstatically well received In The Belly Of The Brazen Bull as the closing act of a festival, do they pull it off? Yes. Just. Call it bias from my terrible vantage point but as good as the songs are and as well as they’re performed something isn’t quite right. There isn’t the same spark there is at most Cribs gigs, maybe it’s the fact that they played another London headline show two days later at the Troxy so this doesn’t feel like a particularly special occasion, but it’s more likely that the vast majority of the people here only seem to be casual fans, which explains the ovation that greets Men’s Needs and the near-silence that greets, say, Mirror Kissers. This doesn’t mean it’s a bad gig, the band themselves are on fire, racing through a career spanning set focussing on their newer numbers like singles Chi-Town and Come On, Be A No-one. While they don’t have the guitar wizadry of Johnny Marr backing them up any more ex-Nine Black Alps man David Jones does an admirable job making the more epic numbers like closer City of Bugs and Be Safe fill the not exactly intimate venue. Still, this isn’t the awe-inspiring, epoch making headline set that could have come from this most special of bands.

Kids in Glass Houses: 3 Stars
Baxter Dury: 4 Stars
Beans On Toast: 4 Stars
Hawk Eyes: 5 Stars
The Cribs: 3 Stars

Will Howard