Big Session Festival 2007

United Kingdom | | 19 June 2007

It’s gone 5, and I’ve had to pull over near our village because I can’t actually see the road anymore. The rain’s coming down so hard that it’s coming through the door seals of the Beetle, and it’s forming murky pools of brackish water in each of the foot wells. At this point the realisation hits me; I really can’t be arsed to go to Big Session. I’m going to get soaked, my daughter will moan for England, and my partner will give me that look that says “isn’t it about time you grew up and spent your weekend putting up shelves?”

When we eventually pull into the Campervan area around 7.45 the rain has eased off, but evidence of the downpour is everywhere. Harassed looking punters, mud spattered and dishevelled are trudging into the main arena, while much of the ground resembles an aerial map of the Great Lakes. A quick check of the program reveals we’ve missed 3 Daft Monkeys, who inexplicably were the first act on, and by the time we’ve got ourselves organised, we don’t quite have the time to catch any of the Mekons set either.  The day’s really not getting any better.

After a very well earned pint, we head inside to catch Waterson:Carthy.  Somehow, given the day’s carnage, the organiser’s have managed to keep the stage times on track.  Eliza & Martin Carthy, Norma Waterson and Saul Rose walk on stage and it’s impossible not to get swept up by the passion and talent this group bring to the stage. Multiple Mercury Music Prize nominee Eliza Carthy never stops moving, sweeping back and forth across the stage whilst periodically kicking the ground so hard you can feel it three rows back. Norma Waterson (herself a Mercury nominee) commands the room with a confidence drawn from being the undisputed Queen of English folk. I have never, in all my life seen a gig where a band plays with this much confidence. This music drives away the rain and suddenly I remember why it is I’m here for the 3rd year running.  I can’t help but smile and laugh along to Saul Rose’s terrible jokes with everyone else.

The break gives me a chance to grab a beer and catch up with the head of the event. He’s aged seven years since I last spoke to him a few weeks back, and has a look in his eyes Noah might recognise. The storm’s caused havoc – flooding the kid’s area so badly it’s had to be pumped clear, while the hall itself (the bit you’d be counting on in wet weather) had sprung several leaks, knocked out the electrics, and, most importantly, the bar too. The event’s come perilously close to being pulled, but the festival team have performed miracles, the water’s gone, power is back, and the stages are running to schedule.

 At 9.45 its back into the hall to see Alabama 3 perform acoustically.  It always surprises me how well the acoustic setup works, given the strong reliance the full band have on electronica but tonight it seems to work better than ever. Larry Love is on top form belting through ‘Woke up This  Morning’ before jumping off stage and disappearing to mix with his congregation, the occasional raised hand the only firm clue to his current location.  The band whack out favourites ‘Ain’t Goin’ to Goa’, ‘Bulletproof’ and incongruously rave pleasers ‘U Don’t Dans 2 Tekno Anymore’ and ‘Mao Tse Tung’. 

Rock Freebase on guitar and Harp Strangelove on harmonica are pitch perfect all night, while Devlin Love is the epitome of the slight Southern American Belle with the Gospel voice.  By the end of the set the whole thing’s just turned into a party, people’s kids are running around on stage and the guys in the band have that look that says ‘come drink with us later if you dare,’ – a vintage performance.

Saturday morning dawns with the sun beaming. Smiling families harangue children into wearing shorts, folding chairs are unpacked and picnics prepared, just in time to catch the Biblical downpour that arrives around 10.30.  We quickly realise we’re not going to beat this storm in a staring competition, so its coats on, and off to the Kids Area. Somewhat reduced in size due to the weather, the little darlings are running round inside, dressing up, juggling, balancing and mummifying their parent’s limbs in strips of plaster of Paris.  Kids are all too often an afterthought at festivals, usually warranting a grubby corner of a field and a few twigs to play with, but here the organisers have assembled a small army of helpers to indulge your little darling’s every artistic desire. There are also music workshops, good old fashioned kids entertainment, and the chance to learn circus skills under the tutelage of professional nutter and part time unicyclist, Dr Colin.

Lunchtime arrives, and the weather has driven a bigger than average crowd into the Marquee Stage, where first act Tracey Curtis looks slightly startled about the fact that she’s suddenly become the centre of the entire festival.  It doesn’t often happen when I just walk into a tent at a festival and fall instantly in love with what I’m hearing but it’s happening now.  Tracey Curtis sings old school protest songs in the most gentle, honest, clever and witty style. Subjects range from her kids, to the Iraq war, to asylum Seekers. Her nerves are showing, but by the second song she’s got the audience completely on side. An encore follows, “I didn’t expect that…I’ve not thought of anything to do!” she flusters, little does she realise that on this performance she’s the probable star of the day.

Following Curtis is Denmark based Neil Brophy. Neil is a man with a unique voice, versed in the traditions of English folk and Dylan-esque protest. His songs talk of a land where the Devil can be found in a whisky jar and brave honest local lads defend their jobs and homes against wicked Iron Masters.  Its great stuff, entirely predictable, and all the better for it.

Show of Hands, an act I’ve managed to miss at countless festivals take to the stage and, to be honest, are all a bit too ‘Arran Sweaters’.  But there’s no doubting the sheer musicianship of these guys, who seem to have made it their personal ambition to play every single musical instrument in the world in a one hour set flawlessly.

The Men They Couldn’t Hang were as much of a feature of the late eighties festival circuit as mud and food poisoning and  I’ve not seen them since then, but I’m keen to see if they’re the same angry men I remember. Three songs in and the answer is yes. Like The Levellers grumpy older brother they batter your ears with a message you’d forgotten that you bloody well shouldn’t have!  They blast through a frenetic set of songs opening with ‘Ghost of Cable Street’ before winding down to a half time rest.  Phil Odgers and Stefan Cush then take the stage individually one after the other, to sing a few tunes.  Odgers belts out a stunning version of ‘Barrett’s Privateers’, while Cush selects New Model Army’s ‘51st State’.  With the rest of the band back on stage, the speed goes back up to flat out and 2 encores later they’re done. I leave the hall unsure of whether to laugh, cry, or unilaterally declare war on the French.

Finally for us it’s off to the Marquee Stage again for Transglobal Underground. They blend so many styles they literally defy description, veering from Arabic to Indian, Dance, to Dance Hall and Reggae to Ska. Their sound mixes drums with Dhol, Bass and Sitar, and Tabla with soaring vocals that range across it all. The result is avant-garde at its ultimate expression, as mad as a bag of owls but as danceable as Dreadzone. They are the perfect band to end the night, and their performance is as flawless as it is exciting.

With Glastonbury to pack for next day our weekend ends there.  We say our goodbyes, load a tired child into the back of the van and head home.

Only three years in and Big Session really seems to have found its place in the festival circuit.  It delivers an eclectic range of music for all tastes, it’s held at a great location and it’s topped off with a summer atmosphere to suit any weather. The line up is getting stronger and on the back of some of the world class performances this weekend, is set to get better still. 

The phenomenal organisation blows any other event out of the water right now.  The kid’s setup is the best there is in the country, there’s recycling points, water points and clean loos and even when faced with a storm that would have wrecked most events, they’ve kept things on track.  Organisers even found time to find an industrial drier and provide free dry clothes for any campers that were caught out by the storm!

Big Session is the best kept secrets of the festival circuit right now – get in while you still can.