Bowlie 2 (Day Two)



The key to festival survival is stamina and a stubborn refusal to listen to your body howling. Even at Bowlie with proper-ish beds you’ll never feel quite right until about three days after the event. It’s a marathon, but you have to sprint. So first band has to mean first beer. The longer you delay the worse it’ll get. And so, nauseous from the ever-present stench of rotten hot-dogs, we grab a pint and fix eyes on Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan. Lanegan’s voice is a lugubrious pain-killer. Said it before, will say it again; listening to him is like getting a hug from a bear god. And what once seemed a pretty pointless collaboration seems to have developed a bit of gravitas, balance has been found in the juxtaposition. There’s still something missing from them though, it all sounds a lot more important than it probably is. That timeless Americana sound doesn’t equal timeless quality but the density is suiting the moment. The day is here for the taking.

The main space at Minehead is dispiriting: The non-stop ping of air-hockey creates a sense of derangement, Burger King is a constant, pernicious temptation and there’s a weird fog in the air. Worst though is the light. It’s not so bad in winter but still, when a band is on too early it’s too bright, it doesn’t seem natural. Frightened Rabbit are on puzzlingly early, suffering a bit from the bright, and suffering a bit from Edwyn Collins playing upstairs (quick check of #bowlie reveals that TFC and parts of Franz are on stage with him, that it’s celebratory, life-changing, that tears are being shed - damn). Frightened Rabbit are like a proper band. Solid, you could definitely call them solid. Its indierock like there’s always been indierock. But they’re truly great at it, have got the personality and charisma to set them apart, are possessed with that indefinable something (well, I can’t define it) that distinguishes also-rans from real contenders. It’s obviously quality. Can’t help think I should’ve been upstairs for the Edwyn Collins love-in though.

Oh Christ, we’re in Burger King, oh Christ Julian Cope is on stage. Thank goodness there’s refuge upstairs courtesy of Dean Wareham’s run through Galaxie 500 classics. Ok, hand’s up: Galaxie 500 have never really been an issue in my life. 1987-1991? They’d been and gone before I stood a chance. I’ve missed out. Big time. So much of what I’ve loved in the 20 odd years since they split is at the heart of this music. This is a history lesson, a reality check. My mind is blown. I can see the setlist, this one’s called ‘Tugboat’. What I’m experiencing is reverence and regret. I’m liking that. Lesson learned. Education rocks.

Belle & Sebastian. It’s almost an impossible situation. They can’t lose because we’re all here for them, they can’t win because there’s a need for this to be special. They need to honour the first Bowlie, they need to be old and new B&S. And you know what? They pretty much get it right. It’s ‘Tigermilk’ light, but ‘Sinister’ heavy and that works because those songs respond so much better to the beefing up of the B&S sound. We’re treated to a hugely generous run through of, if not their best, then certainly their biggest moments. There’s nothing left to say about the old/new B&S argument is there? What they’ve done though, what they’ve got right is making the distinction seamless live. New songs charm like old songs, old songs chime like new songs. It works. It’s huge. They really have morphed into one of the greatest live bands around at the moment. This isn’t about set-list specifics, this shouldn’t be broken down into separate components. This is a moment, a celebration, a thank-you, an absolutely amazing party. And ‘Judy…’ was immense.

Ok, follow that Jenny and Johnny. Luckily moods are good and it helps disguise the fact that this is so of-the-moment that it could evaporate in front of our eyes. But ‘Big Wave’ is sweet, they do channel a bit of JAMC (well, leather jackets and that Ronettes drum beat) and, actually, I really enjoy them. We all know Jenny can do better, so I guess we better blame whoever Johnny is for this flirtation with nothingness.

There’s a secret band we all know about next. Oh, ok, I’ll spill. It’s Franz Ferdinand, a band that fashion’s fickle hand has punched squarely in the chiselled cheekbones. Where did they go wrong? Tried too hard to be clever? Should that be a bad thing? More smarts and arts then hearts? Maybe. Just ran out of ideas? Probably. Regardless, there’s a love in the air for them tonight and during ‘Michael’ the bounce of the crowd threatens to cave the floor in. It’s a thrilling moment and a total justification of their presence here.

From there? It’s not even 1am. Body still working? Hell yeah. The always immaculate How Does It Feel club is DJing in Reds. Indie classic follows soul stomper follows indie classic follows soul stomper. It’s a faultless, snobbery-free, genuinely euphoric occasion. And we thank B&S for inventing Bowlie, for giving us this opportunity to drink and dance from noon until noon again.