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DiS does ATP, again. Always there, ever present, like a scab forever picked at. Yucky, but yummy: here’s our assessments of the bands playing at the Explosions In The Sky-curated ATP held in Minehead, May 16-18, in an easy-to-digest A-Z style.
Words: Adam Anonymous, Jordan Dowling, Dom Gourlay, Daniel Ross
Photos: Lucy Johnston
…And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead
It’s strange to think of Austin’s AYWKUBTTOD as festival veterans but that’s pretty much what they are. Now expanded to a six-piece, and for the most part using two drum kits, their performance seems like the loudest noise on the planet. ‘Relative Ways’ and_ ‘Another Morning Stoner’ are welcomed like old friends, mainstays Jason Reece and Conrad Keely lapping up every furiously struck chord despite the extra years (and pounds of flesh). Sadly there’s no _‘A Perfect Teenhood’, but they’re sensational all the same. *DG*
Animal Collective
Animal Collective sure have the potential to push for nominal Band Of The Weekend. The only problem is for every enjoyably crushing bass thud or mesmerising drum tattoo coaxed from their unorthodox set up, there’s another five minutes of interminable – and there really is no other way to put this – wanking around. The best of their back catalogue is shredded finely and fed spluttering wildly into new material. But the end product, especially when venturing into wordless segments, is so frustrating by the cacophonous end, clambering onstage and giving them a good slap about begins to seem like a rational repost. *AA*
Atlas Sound
Close your eyes for a second and you could almost imagine that Lee Perry, Alan Vega and Martin Rev are jamming together in front; pounding dub rhythms intertwined with looping Krautrock blessed by monotone vocals make it feel like 1974 all over again. The fact it isn’t, but the group instead consists of Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox assisted by two members of legendary Warp outfit Broadcast ,should be enough to raise eyelids in itself. The fact that they choose to completely deconstruct every piece of their set into unrecognisable plates of noise from the versions on Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Fail actually makes me wish for a remake of said record here and now. Spellbinding. *DG*
Battles (Saturday)
To say this feels like the main event of the weekend would be an understatement. Having been sampling the drinking dens of Minehead town centre for the previous two hours, partly for the novelty factor but most of all as a way of psyching up the anticipation levels one further, absolutely nothing – and I repeat NOTHING – can quell the astonishing impact this set has on me or the several thousands packed into the darkened sweatbox that is the Centre Stage. We get the best moments of Mirrored, selective pieces from the EPs and even a new song for good measure. By the end, everyone is talking about just how amazing Battles were. Curators of a future ATP? I know who my money’s on. *DG*
Battles (Sunday)
Without drummer John Stanier, Battles would be totally average: discuss. That, however, isn’t what an insane queue is debating waiting for the New Yorkers’ second set, after Saturday’s jammed show left many victim to the Centre Stage’s relatively small capacity. It’s more how cerebrally challenged security guards herding people like cattle with little explanation or compassion puts ATP dangerously close to A N Other festival status. Once inside, though, Battles kick up their expected rhythmically stunning storm, the peaks of their three EPs still eclipsing anything Mirrored had to offer. And that, those sharp on tracklistings, includes ‘Atlas’, m’kay? If Tyondai Braxton could quit making self-satisfied sex faces for just five minutes, we’d be a whole bunch happier, mind. *AA*
Beach House
The sun finally makes an appearance for the first time this weekend, and coincidentally Beach House and their mesmerising waltz-driven songs of ethereal beauty are on stage. Victoria Legrand has a decidedly captivating presence that transcends itself to the vast confines of the Pavilion Stage with ease, while_ ‘Auburn And Ivory’ _is simply majestic. *DG*
Broken Social Scene
A true musical collective, a gathering of friends, family and kindred souls. Tonight the Canadians’ line-up swells to incorporate appearances from, amongst others, J Mascis, The Constantines and curators Explosions In The Sky. Yet somehow the band never lose their way, and 'Shoreline' and 'Ibi Dreams of Pavement' sound absolutely meteoric, filling the crevasse of the Pavilion with ease. That for many they close the weekends' entertainment is entirely fitting; there are few bands that can distil the feeling of euphoria quite like Broken Social Scene. *JD*
De La Soul
The fact I’ve waited the best part of a lifetime to see De La Soul probably tells you how sporadic their UK appearances have been since… well, pretty much day one if truth be told. Backed by an 11-piece band as well as intermittent DJ skills, their elongated soundcheck doesn’t see them take to the stage until half an hour later than scheduled, but once on stage their playful hip-hop is still a force to be reckoned with. Mixing a selection of the hits (‘Jenifa Taught Me’, ‘Eye Know’, ‘Ring Ring Ring’ among them) with several latter day cuts of an up-tempo persuasion, De La Soul prove that even after 20 years in the business their genre never has seen anyone else quite like them. *DG*
Dinosaur Jr. (Saturday)
There are few bands this weekend who make such a visual impact before they even get on stage (save for John Stanier's crash cymbal, perhaps) as Dinosaur Jr., and as soon as we see J. Mascis' four (mmm-hmm… four) Marshall stacks wheeled on to the stage, it's clear we're going to be somewhat rocked during the next hour or so. Mascis' guitar is the star, insanely loud and technically astonishingly instinctive, Patrick Murphy sweats an awful lot (again, in not such an iconic way as Stanier), while Lou Barlow simply proclaims that he loves ducks, geese, bunny rabbits and ATP. In that order. *DR*
The Drift
With the festival drawing to a close, the chilled-out ambience of San Francisco quartet The Drift is the perfect comedown after Broken Social Scene’s heady all-star rush. Almost like a laconic Groove Armada with added E.A.R.-like drones thrown in, their timely appearance in Reds Bar is both soothing and refreshing, so much so that I even check out the merch stall afterwards for a little souvenir. *DG*
Envy
Conveniently ignoring The Field, who actually finish proceedings at The Centre Stage, it is Envy that sound the death knell for the festival with the weekend’s most intense, and quite possibly best, performance. No-one quite does quiet/LOUD like the Tokyo-based quintet. They switch between searing clean guitar swells and unrelenting bursts of blistering white noise at the drop of a hat, bringing to mind the naked beauty of Mono one second and the sonic maelstrom of Converge the next. This is submission, catharsis, all that kinda bullshit, at its finest. *JD*
Explosions In The Sky
It must be a bizarre feeling knowing that, despite holding this weekend’s major status as festival curators, Explosions In The Sky are not the main reason most people are here (that honour goes to John Stanier and company, surely). Despite a slow, somewhat cautious start, the glowing magnificence of their semi-classical instrumental rock becomes all so apparent by the exquisite finale, even to the point of Cheshire Cat grins aplenty stage right to left. EITS have a penchant to mix the grandiose with the poignant and tonight is no exception. *DG*
Four Tet
Forgive my ignorance but for some reason I’ve always associated Kieran Hebden’s dissonant techno stylings with the more elaborate end of the coffee table background music crowd. Not here though; whether it be the inspired surroundings or just the fact he’s on at the ungodly hour of 1.30am is anyone’s guess, but for the hour Four Tet grace the Centre Stage I swear the floor vibrated pretty much the whole time. Never again will I describe this as dance music you can’t dance to, as my aching limbs and sweat-soaked t-shirt testify to. A rousing end to Friday. *DG*
Ghostface Killah
Wu-Tang’s cry-rapping master of surreal ceremonies has the unenviable task of following Saul Williams, something his set doesn’t match but his bouts of smirking tomfoolery almost do. The tunes aren’t really what really matter from a Pretty Toney live set. What does is effortless rhymes to burn, NYC street slang aplenty, obligatory calls for the soundman to turn it up and a shrewd (the cynical could opine planted) move to yank a kid from the crowd, who in no way disgraces himself dropping his own verses. Better still, Ghost and hype men then repeat scenes from Autechre’s ATP in 2003, when fellow New York rhymer Thirstin Howl III and crew terrorised crowds of bemused whiteboys (and girls) hustling their mixtapes. Gangster and, indeed, gang star. *AA*
A Hawk And A Hacksaw
I may be in the minority here – and judging by the turnout for their mid-afternoon slot that definitely seems to be the case – but there’s something I don’t quite get about A Hawk And A Hacksaw’s primitive new-world experimentalism. Technically sound as they are, it all feels a little uninspiring and the ITbox quiz game and a Magners with ice beckon me to the Irish Bar immediately. *DG*
Jens Lekman
Hangovers. We've all got them. Some worse than others, but we've all got them. After the most welcome Pizza Hut buffet IN THE WORLD has been consumed (no joke, on asking for apple juice DiS was presented with two pints of Magners. What are they trying to do to us?!), the bedding effect of a thick crust Hawaiian is perfectly complemented by Jens Lekman's hyper-fun, hyper-learned and tasteful pop music. Backed by a band of Swedish women (the drummer is the spit of Kim Cattrall), he directs through palpable narratives, dance routines, sunshine and lyrical dexterity to rival some of the hip-hop acts here this weekend. Finishing with an extremely well-told story about protecting a German lesbian from social suicide, Lekman is the perfect cure for aching heads. *DR*
Mono
As an antidote to rain, Mono are a somewhat nullifying prospect. Frosty demeanour, wintry soundscapes and the insistence that 75 per cent of the band sits down looking indifferent doesn't seem initially like the best way to begin the day (see: Jens Lekman two days later). But when they begin, hushed and responsive, the rain seems like the least of our concerns. Playing four exquisite pieces in their allotted hour, the most exciting times come when the two guitarists begin to stagger up from their chairs, black hair twirling unreasonably fiercely for the tempo, but just about right for the gently evoked fury. Beautiful, encompassing. *DR*
The National
There’s always that pang of indie-rock confusion when a band once unnoticed by all but yourself and a few original devotees eventually breaks into wider love. But goddamn it, The National deserve every last reverberating handclap, if not entirely for a set which feels a touch tired in personal energy, then for a back catalogue unrivalled in recent years: the list of bands four and a half albums deep without approaching a dud is surprisingly short. Slow-burning singer Matt Berninger is uncharacteristically reserved this evening. Yet when wielding songs of the strength of closer ‘Mr November’, plus a clutch of frustratingly under-appreciated gems from their first two records, the Pavilion Stage belongs to them. *AA*
The Octopus Project
This Austin, Texas three-piece wins the prize for 'most joyous set of the weekend', mutating their synthetic dream-pop landscapes into a Technicolor party of glitches & cymbals & handclaps & balloons & everything else. The band plays every second of every song with boundless enthusiasm and navigate the stage like hyenas on uppers. 'Music Is Happiness is the set highlight and for the band something of an epitaph. *JD*
The Paper Chase
Rising above initially woeful sound, the wild bloodthirsty Texan eyes of The Paper Chase perplex more onlookers than they win over. No matter: these stabbing indictments of claustrophobic lives behind firmly closed doors shouldn’t grab everyone, else the world would be full(er) of misanthropes. ‘The Kids Will Grow Up To Be Assholes’ and_ ‘We Know Where You Sleep’_ nevertheless stalk out converts one by one. Peroxide blonde lead psycho John Congleton (he recorded EITS’s last album, no less) manically throws his wiry frame around an abused microphone, his disturbed rag-doll intent only occasionally interspersed with sparing thrusts at suffering guitar strings. And a smattering of new songs, from two LPs concurrently currently in the works, bode better than well. *AA*
** Papier Tigre**
What makes ATP even more unique – or I guess that should be special – to_ any _other festival either UK-wise or anywhere else is the fact that a seemingly never-ending downpour of torrential rain cannot (excuse the pun) dampen proceedings. Filtering through the Pavilion Stage with the intention of getting a good spot for Mono upstairs in half an hour we witness the jerky, agit-punk menace of Papier Tigre. They sound so impressive we stay ‘til the end. *DG*
Polvo
Sunday provides the first Polvo set in over ten years, and although the amount of attendees aware of the band before inclusion on the festival's line-up may have been smaller than a handful the band still command a solid crowd. At least at the start of the set. Soon after people begin to trickle out as it becomes apparent that the band, whilst musically 'tight' and good-natured in their crowd interaction, have seemingly forgotten how to play with emotion and are content to play through numbers such as 'Feather Of Forgiveness' in an alarmingly stoic and dismissive manner. A strong contender for disappointment of the weekend. JD**
Raekwon (and Ghostface Killah)
Astonishing scenes over at the Centre Stage, while yesterday's Ghostface Killah set left the audience both surprised and enlivened at the fluid deliveries and hilarious 'sexy party' climax, Raekwon takes an altogether more relaxed approach. Performing with GFK, he tackles the whole of his Only Built 4 Cuban Linx record quite shabbily in all honesty (on more than one occasion Rae almost apologises for forgetting some of the more elusive rhymes), but with such masculine bravado and swagger that it's hard not to be impressed by his gall alone. More astonishing is that the young man plucked from the crowd during Ghostface's set yesterday is plucked once more to deliver some more of the same, and the set ends in exactly the same sort of 'sexy party' scenario. Unchallenging, but good times nonetheless. *DR*
Silver Jews
After years when gentleman architect David Berman decided he’d rather not tour thankyouverymuch, the past few years have positively embarrassed UK fans with live Silver Jews riches. To use a terribly inappropriate analogy, if you’ve waited a lifetime to get laid, everything after that is just another fuck, right? Thankfully, cocked-eyebrow career highlights _‘Smith & Jones Forever’ _and ‘Random Rules’ _do more than enough to reassure us the magic is far from diluted. And with a frontman accidentally awesome as Berman, embracing ATP’s largest stage with a warm undisputedly American glow is all in a day’s work, even if we’ll take or leave their last two albums. *AA*
Stars Of The Lid
Many people scratched their heads when seeing that ambient duo Stars Of The Lid had been chosen for what was effectively a support slot before Battles’ set in the Centre Stage, such is the absolute contrast between the two bands. Indeed band member Brian McBride seems a little dumbfounded himself, asking the rammed room,_ “Have you guys even heard of us?”_ The choice proves to be a stroke of genius however. Performed live, and at a bone-rattling volume, their music is as immensely powerful and perversely as it is hypnotic and emotional. Aided by a string quartet the band produces a set that is spiritually cleansing and not the least bit draining. *JD*
Sunset Rubdown
Though they are plagued slightly by twangy and easily-snapped new strings, Spencer Krug's Sunset Rubdown allow, with the occasional gap, the excellence of their latest material shine through. 'Stallion' is as majestic as its equine title might suggest, and the concluding 'Mending Of The Gown' is unparalleled abandon, a delirious end to a delirious set. The only hole, besides the ones between unbroken strings, is in the guitar duel at the climax of 'Up On Your Leopard, Upon The End Of Your Feral Days', ending somewhat one-sided. What is most impressive is Krug's beautifully rough voice and the way the pop song is deftly furthered almost to its limits in every single song. And how polite they all are. *DR*
Tony Teardrop
Inspired by the previous performance (The Drift) and intrigued by the Phoenix Nights-style moniker, there’s a feeling Tony Teardrop’s set will end up going any one of two ways: either self-pitying Oberstisms, or no-holds-barred variety club karaoke. The fact we get neither is both a blessing (the former) and a damp squib (the latter) in itself. Instead, the Minnesota guitar, vox and drums two-piece play minimal blues rock that could best be described as The White Stripes without the incest, or sadly any really memorable tunes, but apparently this was their first ever real live show so things can – and most likely will – only get better. *DG*
Saul Williams
The only criticism that could have been levelled at all sane listeners’ favourite beat poet extraordinaire is his previous incarnation lacked true theatre in his stagecraft. Regardless, the Saul Williams of old had charisma enough to hold any crowd in his palm wearing just jeans and tee. Now, playing out the story of last year’s unbelievably fine LP, The Inevitable Rise And Liberation Of Niggy Tardust, he’s transmogrified into a black Bowie, face-paint and feathered headpiece guaranteeing a spectacle utterly remarkable both sonically and visually. Backed by the house band from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (as near as matters), the likes of ‘Convict Colony’_ and the Chuck D-jacking_ ‘Tr(n)igger’ _put the entire weekend in the shade by comparison. Revolutionary. *AA*
World’s End Girlfriend
Expanded to a two-piece with the addition of live drums, Japan’s World’s End Girlfriend are one of the surprise highlights of the weekend. Though an unknown quantity to the majority of the festival's attendees their barely controlled explosion of jazz, post-rock, electronica and sheer noise wins the hearts of everyone watching. Imagine a highly-charged netherworld exactly between Norwegian collective Jaga Jazzist and fellow countrymen (and past collaborators) Mono and you are roughly in the right area. Project spearhead Katsuhiko Maeda plays his guitar like a drunken swordsman; always flailing whether strafing or stabbing. *JD*
Further ATP gubbins: official website.
