Matt Groening may have scrawled out some fine selections at his ATP participation, but SUPERSWEET truly couldn’t wait to join the oldie hubbub for Pavement’s meenie-meenie-myni-mo choices at ATP Weekend. Whether pretentiously simple or cracking the nail on the head, we got the best sum up of this ATP from the mouth of Surfer Blood babes “people don’t fight in crowds here; they want to enjoy the music.”
The somewhat cursed blessing is the limited arena space at Butlins; you’re totally inescapable from whispers from bands, punters, and industry folk egging on or slating the next act to play. Yes, there really is little else to do in high-flying Minehead, unless you’re foolishly addicted to candy rotting your teeth or winning a Sooty toy, because “it’s only 30p a-go”.
On the deserted Friday, SUPERSWEET wafted around to see the first offering, Sub Pop’s Avi Buffalo. Not long graduated from high-school and sex frustrated puberty, the collective, with their share of “he dated her” tales, perform with fraying vocals of Avigdor Zahner-Isenberg. Singing towards the sound of a crooning old man and voice breaking teen, Avi fits perfectly with the tight intricacies of his co-members input. Surfer Blood or dubbed the ‘mini-Pavement’ continued ATP’s youthful prowess on the main stage in JP’s surprising and fleshy dance moves. Yet with the killer aquatic guitars, giant-fro hair and luminious smiles, they’re set for being a summer hit.
In truth, despite the big wigs Broken Social Scene producing heartfelt pangs minutes before, The Walkmen were the underrated winners this weekend. Playing just a few songs before the teasing sound engineers cocked up ‘The Rat’ to coerce a pun worthy Walkmen walkout and (sigh) we prepared our breaking hopes. But oozing unrefined nonchalance, they returned to play favourites ‘The Rat’, ‘Little House of Savages’ adding to a performance that had punters sparking off each other for well, the next few hours anyway.
Saturday started with a Wax Fang rendition of Purple Rain, with saggy Prince wigs and cheerless ruffles for a drawn out performance. Sadly, the Blitzen Trapper’s slot had us a little confused, just a tad too loud for us to understand their lyrical narratives, so our close up attention was only short lived. Next, we were wowed by Fiery Furnaces, who pretty much dived through each record, delivering their spectrum of sing-speak efforts to please every listener. Admittedly, we swayed our heads to Camera Obscura while sunning in the coveted oversized deckchair, before adjusting to the darkly lit heavy breathing of Japanese noisiks, Boris. Pompous and showy at first, the ambient metal band reined in a together set, with ear-catching songs lead by female vocalist, Wata.
Ok, we confess, the Pavement main stage feat proved too much to handle….come on, it was almost three hours long! We jumpstarted away into the frightening stage endeavours of Faust on the Centre Stage; think a previously projected Buddha destroyed by Texas Chainsaw Massacre enthusiast running across the stage, minus any insinuating metaphor, he literally tore Buddha up! Theatrics ensued in Monotonix’s show, who wanted to top their last performance by gaining an extra stage and demanding all to sit cross-legged sitting on the floor, that is, until punters started shaking their legs and standing up in defeat. Pooh!
Recommended by The Dodo’s Logan (who wore the band tee at their Sunday set), the thrilling Omar Souleyman was THE act to check out. Relatively a pop star in Syria through his abundant recordings released on tape and reaching Europe with his Middle Eastern dance troupe rhythms, Omar was a welcome relief before Sunday’s uncertain, guitar worshipping line up.
The troubling position of San Fran’s The Dodo’s on the Main Stage diluted and barely showcased their unique flair. While Visiter tracks predominately grasped hold, once a new, ear-bashing unnamed “jammer” track was revealed, it felt disappointedly stunted in this arena. Though The Clean steadily permeated through this problematic engulfment of the stage, by churning out gleaming electronic altercations that influenced a younger Stephen Malkmus (Pavement), The Fall were the overlords on the closing night. After the overeager and puzzling ‘O.F.Y.C. Showcase’ intro, the volatile Mark E. Smith bellows above his paunch for a hit and miss show. Though, The Fall still manage to conjure an epic sea of athletic punters to run back for the tidy encore.
Unimpressed with the faltering comedic insistence of The Raincoats, by one am, the Centre Stage is left deserted (well, except for the anti-climactic, silent naked chap hovering in the stacks). The last of prog behavioural rock seeps from the instrumentals of Grails, finalising ATP's second weekend in homage to the meticulous talent of Pavement's cut. From rekindling youthful pangs of the cigar-smoking The Walkmen, to appreciating O.Souleyman's Eastern intentions, ATP actually became therapeutic, reminiscent and inescapably intimate again.