A Fistful of Fandango 2007 - Day 1

United Kingdom | by Daniel Fahey | 06 September 2007

The first room we enter seems empty: roadies are still setting up onstage, men in suits skulk around the edges with their beers, and a girl sits slap bang in the centre of the dance floor – she may’ve fallen over.

I half expect Nigel to skid past on his knees shouting something about the latest Spice Girls track being “Rubbishhhhhhhhhh,” but he doesn’t appear. Instead Imran Ahmed from BBC 6Music stands on stage like a headmaster to rouse the crowd before the first act.

“Can you all move forward,” he starts as if he’s about to do a magic trick on stage, “except the girl who seems to have injured herself during her yoga lesson.”  Ah, that’s why she’s hit the deck.

The gaggles that have made it into the venue (there’s still a large crowd waiting patiently outside) surround the yoga casualty to watch Monkey Swallows The Universe. They are probably one of the only Sheffield bands not to be likened to, in any way, ‘Sheffield’s Finest’ (Zane Lowe’s term, not mine) Arctic Monkeys.

Nat Johnson, who tonight sports a Liz Green-esque fringe, leads the acoustic quartet (they are a member down tonight) through a very English set of folk elegance.  It’s enough to tip your flat cap and act all proper.

Room One is too large for the audience to truly appreciate MSTU and their quaint whispering violin and purring cello would be more suited to the smaller room where we head next.  But not until Johnson has grabbed a camera to take a picture of the crowd declaring: “I want a picture of you lot,” before she sarcastically adds, “loads of you have shown up.”

The event runs two rooms simultaneously until Room One’s headliner takes to the stage. Then Room Two falls silent and the hoards should, supposedly, gather to watch tonight’s biggest name – Maps.

The second room is much smaller, about half the size of the great hall, and seems to be twice as packed.  The low roof suffocates the room making everything seem hotter and sweatier.

And frankly, Royworld, who are making things worse in here.  The lead singer is dancing like Jeremy Clarkson’s son as he bleats inaudibly akin to Hugh Grant covering Marc Cohn.

The guitarist seems to be having some sort of fit and noone seems to be helping as the he spasms his way through the robot dance.  Unfortunately their sound can’t save them either as their public school boy pop relies heavily on mediocre 80s crap like Tears For Fears and Duran Duran (see suit jackets over jumpers and file under NO).

The quartet end with ‘Brakes’, probably their best track but watch out because these lads are likely to be coming to a Tory conference near you soon.

A peep through to Room One and the next band are still setting up so we grab a beer and watch Fanfarlo back in Room Two. “We were played on Radio 4,” explains lead singer Simon Aurell, “I didn’t think we were Radio 4 material.” And they aren’t with their Twee acoustic pop.

Justin, the band’s bassist, looks like a weathered Buddy Holly stepping off the last plane from Hawaii, is on top form.  Cross genre basslines whore their way around folk, funk and power-pop as he steps off the tiny stage to make way for the other five members.

‘Talking Backwards’ is the highlight and the simplicity is the song’s selling point.  The inclusion of long drawn trumpets drag out a Beirut sound, but their instrument innovativeness akin to that of Guillemots or Arcade Fire allows the violinist to play a saw with her bow.

It’s unclear what difference the inclusion of the saw makes to the overall sound, but its visual and experimental intentions have certainly made it worth the trip to Homebase.

Back in Room One the walls are shaking as the two guitarists of The Early Years face their weapons at their speakers creating a rumbling echo of feedback.  The lights are low except a few white specs that drill the stage.

The bassist joins the pair onstage, shortly followed by the drummer.  This set is about to go two ways – either this band are going to take themselves too seriously like Interpol and bore the pants off of us, or they are about to deliver a set of such epic proportions it would cost millions to send by Royal Mail.

Luckily it’s the second, and boy is it big.  The lead guitarists’ microphone is set to echo, the drummers beats set to Breaks and the rhythm guitarist has more pedals then Halfords.

It all amalgamates to a dusk showdown between Mark E Smith, Ian Curtis, The Cult and My Bloody Valentine.  The results are dark, atmospheric and anthemic.  Children grab your black t-shirts and bolt your doors because sulky teenage angst has a new soundtrack.

Before the band took to the stage compere Ahmed had told us they are: “Brian Eno’s favourite band,” – and we all thought he had no taste.  As the integrate guitar work becomes more complicated and programmed beats enter the equation it becomes harder and harder to get back to Room Two for Malcolm Middleton.

When the band leave the stage to the sound of reverberating feedback the audience are left in drop-dropping awe.  It’s just a shame that they have to come back and pack up their own equipment – it spoils the illusion.

We do hop over to see Malcolm Middleton in Room Two but the ex-Arab Strap man is just completing his set to raucous admiration from those who managed to catch him perform.

So finally it’s down to Maps to wrap up the opening day of the festival.  They arrive nearly 40 minutes late on stage, but the crowd has swelled considerably. They/he/whatever walk on to Mims’ boatful hip-hop track ‘This Is Why I’m Hot’.

Their electronica echoes are euphoric with elongated synths and big laptop Breaks.  A few dance around the front of the stage obviously getting their Mercury Music money’s worth, but the majority of the crowd remain static.

Chapman, the sole creator of Maps, looks like a sedated Damon Albarn onstage.  He seems shy about the whole affair and he radiates the meekness of a child at a poetry recital.  “Thanks. Thanks a lot. Cheers,” he says after every song.

Electronica is a genre that needs to approached with caution as it can easily go so wrong.  Champman seems to have been influenced by the right people.  Goldfrapp sneak in at points and it sounds as if Spiritualised have given him the armbands to float, but he still seems to fall slightly short of their bar.

‘Eloise’ gets a loud cheer and the shoe-gaze track gives the set some needed depth.  Maps dedicate a track to Klaxons who last night walked away with the Mercury Music Prize but Chapman seems to think more of his support tonight:  “The Early Years are a fucking awesome band,” he proclaims.

A Fistful Of Fandango is a great chance to see some good bands in the heart of London.  It’s nice not to need a pair of wellies for an event this year, and it’s great to go straight (albeit the tube strikes) home once the bands have finished.

The venue isn’t great, but Lucy wasn’t a great girlfriend all those years ago either.  But look past the décor and indulge yourself in some brilliant music before the lights go up and your parents are waiting at the door.