Bowlie 2 (Day Three)

Day three always hurts. Everything’s been given for two days, sleep and health have been sacrificed in the pursuit of kicks and the line-up rarely has the dazzle of previous days. A dishevelled inertia lays heavy in the air so the first act needs to be channelling pure rocket fuel to spark the party back into life. The first act is Vashti Bunyan. Oh dear. Why am I watching her? It’s one of those you-kinda-feel-you-should situations. Very serious people who are very seriously serious about this kind of thing will insist that we’re watching a legend. And yes, the whole years-in-the-wilderness-cult-following-developed thing adds some interest. But much like at other festivals watching Donovan or The Incredible String Band I hear nothing contemporary, nothing that gives this folksy prettiness (and it is real pretty) any relevance. Ambivalence weighs a ton, it forces us to sit down and let this drift over our heads.

So Peter Parker: Good name and all dressed up in Sunday best. There’s ex-Lungleg in the band too. What could possibly go wrong? Well, nothing really, but if there’s a jelly mould for Glasgow bands who make a certain kind of indiepop racket then Peter Parker have definitely been poured in, allowed to set and gently tapped out. It’s better than average, but there’s a lack of pazazz and adventure here that means that, for the moment, they’ll be stuck on the periphery.

Jane Weaver doesn’t lack pazazz or adventure. ’She bangs pots and pans, don’t miss her’ someone advises. ‘Sounds good but approach with caution’ I think. What’s found is a sparse but enthusiastic crowd and Jane Weaver sat behind a table of odds and sods. Things to hit and things to play which produce a babbling splurge slightly akin to when Gruff Rhys does his looping-repeaty thing. It treads a fine line between gently soothing loveliness or just a bit bleedin’ annoying and most of the time sticks to the right side of the tracks. Then someone wanders into the crowd wearing a novelty gold top hat. We’re tired, and prone to irritability. The hat tips the balance. We don’t do novelty hats at Bowlie. We need a break; there’s lasagne and red wine in the chalet and Elf’s on television. We retreat.

Elf is abandoned for The Vaselines. That’s huge. That’s love that is. They meant nothing to me the first time around, pleased to say I was too young. Since then I’ve loved a hundred and more fiery, bashed-out discordant boy/girl records. It occurs during ‘Son Of A Gun’ that I owe this band more than I ever realised. The crowd are thrilling to the filthy on-stage banter, and loving even more this gallop through all their fuzziest, finest moments. What do you want from a festival band? You want personality and you want the hits, you want a band that are revelling in their moment. The Vaselines right royally deliver.

Upstairs again for Laetitia Sadier Shall I describe her as the Stereolab chanteuse? I bet everyone calls her that (quick Google check. Over 54,000 results for ‘Stereolab chanteuse‘). I’m sticking to it, mostly because there’s not much else to say. It’s reserved, dignified and exudes almost clichéd French sophistication. It’s a bit too soft after The Vaselines though. There’s a Scottish heckler with an accent so thick that I can’t decipher the shouts. The Stereolab chanteuse doesn’t stand a chance. She nods politely and says ‘merci’.

What on earth has happened to Camera Obscura? They’re becoming more lifeless every time I see them. Yes, they’ve got a handful of songs that have been good enough in the past to keep me watching and waiting for ‘Lloyd…’ and their other meatier moments. Tonight though, and I feel mean for saying it, they’re truly awful, the worst thing a band can be: boring. Seriously, you’re closing the main stage of an amazing festival, shouldn’t that be cause for celebration? Or a smile at least? Really disappointing.

Zoey Van Goey are wrapping this up for us. To be honest, and it’s important to be honest, it’s a bit of a blur (c’mon, it’s been a long weekend), but I know I definitely really liked them, I remember a big grin on my face, I described them as ‘sweet’ to a friend (but then I describe almost everything as ‘sweet’), there was a song called T-Rex during which we were asked to roar ‘Tyrannosaur’, and roar we did. They closed with a divine and probably sweet cover of ‘I’m Sticking With You’. They were great. Promise. Sorry. I owe you.

That can’t be the end can it? No, there’s time for a couple more drinks, to meet lovely new people, but the clocks against us; the early morning kick-out is looming. This holiday camp wants to be Butlins again, but I’m sure we leave it a better place, it’s witnessed a special weekend, a worthy successor to the first Bowlie. We’re exhausted, a bit broken and slightly delirious but, my God, we lived it and we loved it. Belle & Sebastian take a bow.