It has been a while since my last post, but thankfully the good people of Virgin media have seen fit to end the drought and bestow upon me a new fibre optic wireless Internet connection. The world breathes a sigh of relief and readies itself for the orgy of wit, startling insight and depravity once again.
This weekend I paid a visit to my home town, the beautiful seaside resort of Brighton and pottered about the Great Escape Festival. I’ve never been properly before and I’m not really sure what to make of it… I mean, I’ve been in Brighton while it’s been on, but I’ve never bothered to hook myself up with a wristband and actually properly “do” it. To be honest, I’m not really one for festivals, band after band after band just doesn’t really appeal to me and add to that the prospect of fatigue and discomfort and I just start to lose sight of the point. At least with the great escape I can go and stay with friends in their flats and not have to deal with the sickening shitfest of camping. I guess that’s one good thing.
So, yeah, basically the festival is set up in a similar way to South By South West in Texas, loads of bands head down to the seaside and play shows in all the venues, boozers, buses and nooks and crannies that Brighton has to offer, and, if you pay, you can go and see them. Now, it’s within the paying scheme that my first and main gripe lies. Allow me to explain…
There are two different types of ticket available to the Great Escape punter, one costs fifty quid and one costs one hundred and fifty. And the fucked up thing is, that if you pay for the fifty quid ticket, you might not get to see the bands you wanted to because those rich motherfuckers who bought the hundred and fifty quid ones can roll up to the front of the queue after you’ve been queuing for hours in the pissing rain, avoiding eye contact with the colourful Brighton folk selling hair wraps, henna tattoos, tarot readings, lucky heather and poy lessons (probably) and stream into the woefully undersized venue in front of you until the place is chock full. You’re left outside in the rain, staring tearfully down at your second class citizen wristband, with nothing but a mouthful of metaphorical shit! I just don’t get that and if I was the sort of man who paid for things instead of begging my well hooked up friends for them,then I definitely wouldn’t be taking the chance.
Gripes aside though, I saw some sweet bands…. Cursive on Thursday, after having already seen them on Tuesday in Camden, were the highlight. My favourite band for the last six or seven years and even after all the times I’ve seen them I still leave their shows dazed, inspired and amazed. They are one of the very very very few bands that keep me checking out new music in the hope that I might one day find something similarly affecting. And I thank them for that with whoops, hollers and monetary rewards for their recorded works…. I suppose it would be wrong of me here to not point out one of the upsides of the Great Escape – I saw Cursive in a tiny tiny club with no barrier and no frills. When bands are playing in every available space a town has to offer I guess you really get a chance to see some special bands in some special places….if you know where to go…. and happen to have the right wristband of course.
Also worth a mention are Youves. They took me by surprise, sandwiched between Throats and The Ghost Of A Thousand on Saturday night they made my day, kind of like The Paper Chase meets Scissor Sisters…. in my opinion anyway… check them out.
Spent the rest of the weekend getting pissed and trying to catch up with old friends, with varying degrees of success. The weather was shit and the communications networks stretched to the point of malfunction by the influx of text happy festival goers so some some of my plans went awry. But i suppose i had a good time…. as good time as i could expect anyway, being a pessimistic, cynical, lazy old cunt.