Winterwell Festival 2008

United Kingdom | | 17 June 2008

Winterwell, tucked into the valleys of Cirencester, is a peachy little party for the fashionistas of London with a ramshackle charm that only a festival this miniscule, and this humble could offer - humble as in modest, not humble as in beggar that is.

Essentially, it's as if a few local hillbillies have cobbled together a three day party, invited a few bands, a couple of people to make a crowd and two more to cook you dinner. It's that intimate. Set in a beautiful valley, the organisers have laboured their love perfectly and whilst thousands lick lips to Kiss at Download, or 'ohh ooh' to the Kaisers at Isle of Wight, we’ll be taking it easy in the bushes with Misty’s Big Adventure.

Yep, that’s as ‘big’ as it gets and with no headliner of note on show, the best way to enjoy Winterwell is to sit back and relax. Hopefully some inspired tinkling will grab our focus.

Aside from the shoegazing bands a higher calibre of dance is on offer. For the hipster shakers there’s party stalwart Norman Jay, the master dubster himself Andy Weatherall plays two sets, and local hip to the hop boys The Nextmen are perform on the last night. Its not groundbreaking talent but it’s a line-up sure to please the amassed boho freaks.

Kicking Friday’s party off are baggy boys Grand Carousel, who look as if they're just stepped out of early 90’s Mancunia and offer little more than a wry smile. They’re not bad, they’re just off track, and it appears Manchester’s mic stance is coming back full cycle. Burgess copied Brown, Gallagher copied them both and now Si (he looks like a Si) from Grand Carousel does an awful pastiche on them all. It looked cool when the style was new, lesser second hand, third and fourth hand it’s an embarrassment to all.

It's Friday night and whilst the major festivals provide the heavyweights Winterwell keep it real with Brum boys Misty’s Big Adventure. We say real, we mean weird, which is pretty much Winterwell's running thread. Everywhere you look there’s gurning pimps and flighty angels bopping around to singer Grandmaster Gareth’s downtrodden jazz. The dry vocal delivery is novel up front, but as their set progresses the freshness begins to stink. In parts they veer close to the genius of Belle and Sebastian but the remainder is insipid, mainly due to their quaint indieisms. The infantile jingle of ‘Fashion Parade’ sounds like Postman Pat done by EMF and you just can’t help but feel this pony is a one trick horse.

After the cancellation of Babyhead (due to over zealous environmental health the night before), and as a salute to our friends keeping check on sound levels, Saturday’s delights are cracking off early and at a rate sure to damage any remaining ear drums. Perfect then for The deBretts who are offensively punk in a polished tuneful way. Those of you aware that punk, polished and tuneful, fit like shit on a stick should be aware that The deBretts aren’t that far from just that, but they do it in a fun way.

So bring on Revere, a London 5 piece with nothing to lose. Having already sacrificed our cochlea’s to The deBretts, Revere’s ‘haunting, cinematic’ sounds could be just the ticket. And thankfully they’re pretty close. Singer aside (a tortured soul who likes bashing his windpipe for extra vibrato) they often lurch into God Speed territory, using heavy orchestral flourishes, but it’s the tendency to lurch into operatic nuances that fail to elevate them above average.
And so Winterwell continues, moments of genius are overshadowed by over theatrical try-hards, maybe a ploy to appeal to the Winterwell crowd, however it appeals little to us.

But one ‘band’ stands head and shoulders above all, Brown Hole. Devoid of grand gestures and pretentious warblings this duo crafts a funky cut from bass and vocals alone. It’s far from polished, and the tongue in cheek vocals are often too sexy to be serious but their fun, funky tracks bring an edge to the festival that was sadly missing musically.
But that’s the point, Winterwell isn’t about the music, its about fun, intimacy, a beautiful setting, a party for like minded souls where music is secondary to all the above. Failure is it's fortune, and where other smaller boutique affairs have fallen by the wayside this year Winterwell has survived against the odds.

by Daniel Pratley