Has it really been a year since the first Aeon Festival? Doesn’t time fly, eh viewers? We were but fresh-faced young upstarts frolicking through the fields of the internet in those days. Now, we feel like rheumy-eyed elder statesmen, dispensing sage advice with a kindly toothless smile.
We’re guessing Aeon organiser Niki Portus must feel the same way (although she definitely doesn’t have rheumy eyes and a toothless smile). We first met her at the inaugural Aeon, and since then she’s been involved in everything from PRSD podcasts to organising and promoting concerts in Exeter and Plymouth.
Like the PRSD, she’s learnt loads over the last year, and evidently put it all to good use at last weekend’s Aeon 2.0, where there was an pervasive air of games being upped, scores being settled and points being made.
It’s reasonable to say that barely anyone bothered to turn up last year. This year, it was different. This year, it was bloody packed.
Luckily, the incredibly dusty main arena (shit for asthmatics, fantastic for fans of black snot) was hugely improved from last year -Â impeccably kitted out with fairy lights and the PAÂ sounded fantastic.
If the band line-up was more consistant than last year’s fest, it also proffered fewer surprises.
Granted, that may be down to the fact that virtually all of the combos had appeared at some stage on a Melting Pot podcast, or Music Mill studio session or somesuch, but there was definitely a dearth of variety - and indeed, a dearth of people with black skin and/or boobs.
Luckily, the female contigent (once it made itself evident) had considerably more balls than the laddish pop-punksters who dominated procedings. But more on that later.
We arrived on Saturday in time to catch The Quails stake their claim to stardom. One of the most charismatic and talented combos of the weekend, we were frankly flabberghasted they were on so early in the day.
The afternoon continued in much the same pop-rock vein, and it’s frankly hard to remember who played what. We liked No Remote and The Van Daniels but remember precisely nothing about them.
Kolo turned in another catchy, if forgettable set, as did Hey Molly, whose performance only seemed to come to life once the bland lead singer took a back seat and let the more charismatic guitarist take over on vocals.
We really liked half of the Veil Cassini set. Their pleasing old-fashioned grunge style seemed torn between exhilarating Sonic Youth squall and unispired Cobain-esque nursery rhymes. Yet again the band’s guitarist insisted on getting in on the act - but this time, to the detriment of the overall show.
Poor old David Sanders ran through almost exactly the same songs as he played last year, and seemed ill at ease without his fiddle-playing chum (off on tour playing Eastern European folk music, apparently).
Still, things picked up when a drummer and bass player joined him onstage for a bluesy finale. Someone needs to get this guy a band, and sharpish!
We were excited about catching Koogaphone and they didn’t disappoint. Their quirky sound quickly won over the crowd - the lead singer sounds like she’s auditioning for Madame Butterfly while the bass player serves up great slabs of monolithic bass, with a cheeky grin on her face all the while. Oh, and the tunes are bloody fantastic.
The same can’t really be said for Evi Vine, who showed so much promise last year with her PJ Harvey Dry-era vagina rock.
Unfortunately, we’ve caught a couple of her gigs since then and her ever changing band always seems under rehearsed and hesitant, the tunes taking on a dirgy smacked-out quality.
And here’s some advice - if you have to tell the front row to hush cos the talking’s putting your band off, you’re playing too bloody quietly!Â
Bizarrely, Evi was one of the headliners, and pretty much killed the party mood. Someone shoulda swapped her for The Quails.
After a dreary half hour in Evi’s company, the last thing we had the stomach for was Obedientbone (live drum’n'bass is one of our pet hates at the best of times), so we stumbled tent-ward.
And so, to Sunday. Last year, everyone headed to the acoustic tent to watch the previous night’s acts get out their guitars and bongos.
This year, however, Sunday played host to yet more innocuous white boy rockers. We skipped Fatlab’s irksome ‘comedy’ schtick but special mention goes to Toxic Waste Monkeys (even though, yet again, we can’t remember anything about them) and the bizarrely named Ormondroyd, whose tall, shaven-headed singer surprisingly affected a Louise Wener vocal style. They looked pretty awkward onstage, but produced some strangely excellent Doves-type rock.
Time was getting on, but we held out for Civilian, who rattled through a storming set reminiscent of Gossip, and, even further back, The Bellrays. The lead singer could probably do with controlling her foghorn wail a tad and the lyrical content is pretty lamentable (I don’t fucken care, indeed), but there’s definitely something special there.
We were a bit gutted we couldn’t stick around for the usually excellent Supenik, but the prospect of metallers Livid and the woefully monikered Bad Sandwich was enough to convince us it was time to wend our weary way home.
Where will we all be next year? The mind boggles, but one things’s for certain: on this evidence, the Aeon Festival will outlive the bloody lot of us.
Posted by Thin White Duke
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August 30th, 2007
