Gig Reviews

Happiness Is Warm Mud

Much can happen in three days. Especially at the Endorse-It In- Dorset Festival, and I'm not too sure if Monday afternoon has given me sufficient time to recover before attempting a review. But if I wait too long some memories may fade, and my head doesn't feel like it will hang on to so much information for very long.

Friday afternoon, a queue of traffic into the festival, not as long as last year and seemingly jollier. Dry. Sunny. First beer. With a tent erected close to a vegan cafe, not quite so close to the nearest toilets it was time to venture into the arena. Layout-wise not a lot had changed from last year, a punk- themed bar 'Rock The Casbar' was not as punk-rock as expected, but hey, it was a beer tent. Certainly the kids area had grown, and unbelievably still seemed to be predominantly grassy at the end of the weekend, in stark contrast to the rest of the site which has become a sea of beautiful, glorious Dorset mud following Saturday's non-stop downpour. A Wreckon bandstand was new too, centrally positioned and with a definite climbing frame appeal its open-air look would've been ideal for last year's fairweather festival, but exposed to the skies its appeal suffered. Maybe next year...

Everybody's festival memories will have the potential to vary enormously. With so much entertainment available there are no two people who would have shared exactly the same experience. My weekend was interrupted by the need to return home on Saturday afternoon to attend to some business: a re-arranged gig relocated from The Gander to The ibar. Excellent it was too, though I'm not too sure if I was really there at all. In body certainly, but the excesses of Friday were still invading my head space in a major way. Still, it was most definitely worth it (the excess and the gig trip), plus it gave me the chance to shower and do my hair, nails and moisturise. Those tent pegs ruined my hands. Back to reality and the first sound of music at Endorse-It 2008 supplied by local festival regulars Six Nation State. "I hate the summer... I love the rain". Yeah, right.

A slight downer was a non-appearance from Steranko on the DD Stage, an unreliable drummer proving to be their downfall, which may prove also to be his own. But then the first upper came in the shape of London's Imperial Leisure on the Main JC Stage, a rap and ska hybrid who were nearly as impressive as Babyhead last year, and that's saying something. It must be said, from a punter's perspective Pronghorn run a fuckin' good festival. Any minor imperfections are simply that, and once they've supplied you the goods, it's up to you to take full advantage. Musically they're a Dorset institution, and on the JC Stage they did what they do year after year; serve up the finest slice of cowpunk pie this side of Hampshire.

The Beat were my fourth favourite band around 1980. For me their Friday night headline slot could have gone two ways, either a glorious trip down memory lane, back to the days of learning to skank in my argyle tank top, Fred Perry, burgundy sta-prest and loafers, devouring the music and fashion like the loved-up teenager I was. Or an embarrassing disaster, a patched-up band of unknowns fumbling through the music that was the bedrock of my childhood. I am delighted to report it was most certainly the former of these two scenarios. Sure, the only recognisable face on stage from those glory years was Ranking Roger, looking ridiculously youthful for a man five years beyond my own forty-two. The only other original member who may have been alongside RR was Everett Morton on drums, but I was getting a bit worse for wear by this point and my attention didn't extend to the rear of the stage. Roger's son, Ranking Junior aka 'Mini Murphy' was most certainly there though, stomping through a set of mainly early Beat hits. I dug it and the crowd seemed to dig it too. A real highlight.

Midnight til 4am was a little messy. (Mostly) immense fun was had during stints in the Wig-On Casino and the 'Silent Disco'. Too much detail is not required here but twelve hours of non-stop intake does take its toll. And what are festivals for but to get a little merry, eh? I don't remember returning to my tent, but I do remember cleaning my feet with bitter lemon and wet wipes. That memory was next followed by the sound of my close neighbours drinking, no Sally Gunnelling (funnelling) cider with drunken gusto at about 6 (see previous festival/merry comment). I didn't sleep too well, and woke to the sound of rain hitting canvas at about 8. Somehow breakfast was managed a couple of hours later before retiring to tent comfort for a few more hours of recovery. Much of the last hour of that recovery period was spent listening to what I thought was a very loud dj playing Johnny Cash tunes. It wasn't til about four or five songs in that I realised it was in fact Cash Converted, sounding bloody marvellous from where I was lying.

My Saturday daytime experience only lasted for a few hours, most of which were spent in the Wildcat Tent. The main reason for this was to enjoy an hour of punk karaoke, the other being to escape the pissing rain. Chucking it down it was, making indoors far more popular than out. The Wildcat Tent was packed, and after Fat, Drunk & Stupid (the karaoke backing band) had soundchecked (!?) the following hour provided much merriment. Most of the 'singers' were clearly used to the stage and handling a mic, but those providing most of the fun were the ones who's lunchtime drinking seemed to start at breakfast. More likely night had blended into day for a few, how some of them stood let alone sung was one of the mysteries of Endorse-It. Nothing though beat the sight and sound of a nine year-old, up with his Dad and full of innocent bravado "This one's by my favourite singer in my favourite band... Joe Strummer!" The crowd roared their approval as the little hero literally beckoned the crowd to sing along "Let's hear ya!... White Riot, I wanna riot. White Riot, a riot of my own..." A beautiful scene.

Leaving the festival mid-afternoon was not an easy task as the grass tracks on the way in had turned to a sea of beautiful, glorious Dorset mud. Width on a muddy track is helpful, as sliding becomes less serious and more like a funfair ride. Anyway, the rest of the journey home was less eventful, and indeed after deciding to return to the Festival that night the return trip was also without incident, until arriving at midnight where I was not allowed back on site. Fair dos, it would have been a lottery rather than a funfair ride at that point, the mud by then was deep. Very deep. After leaving my car at the entrance, walking in my summer sandals (wellies are for girls) for half an hour through the most magnificent quagmire was actually a rewarding experience. Highly reccommended. I met back up with my camping buddies (who looked far less glamorous than when I had left them ten hours earlier) and had a few beers for supper before bed. Quiet surrounded our tents. No funnelling to be heard.

Sunday. Ladies Day. 8am funnelling. Drinking for some starts very early at En-Dorset, for some it probably never stops. Sally Gunnelling isn't a quiet activity so that was my early morning entertainment. Listening not partaking, obviously. Still, with a clearish head we waded through the beautiful, glorious Dorset mud to watch Self Abuse, another local musical institution headed by Mr Andy Nazer. For a band who have been playing together for, ooh... about a quarter of a century they're quite adept at the occasional fuck-up (in amongst perfect 70s punk, of course). Well, some of these songs are bloody old so that in itself makes things harder for 'em. Mr Nazer reckons they nailed this one...

By this time the conditions were a source of amusement rather than a problem. It was dry overhead, so the beautiful, glorious Dorset mud simply made for an alternative walking experience. People appeared happy, smiling faces were everywhere, one Blind Voyeur (name - Scott) looking scarily like Eddie Izzard was clearly making the most of his opportunity to cross-dress, as The Vibronics became (for me) the next unexpected musical highlight. There seemed to be more dub and ska this year than previous, but there's no complaint from me if it comes as good as this. More musical joy followed by the way of Back To The Planet and Hobo Jones & The Junkyard Dogs before my festival experience ended with a visit to the Wildcat Tent to watch 'An Audience With... Who's Afear'd'. Kev, Cranmore and Mystery Boy Dave went down an absloute storm. Kev's one-liners were hitting the spot every time, and he had the audience (as well as a freshly baked quiche from his mum, Rita) in the palm of his hands. "Borderline! Piss off to Hampshire 'cos Dorset's mine. You can take those twats from Sandbanks over the Borderline." No offence, like.

Endorse-It In-Dorset Festival 2008 was an uplifting experience. Like any decent festival made all the more enjoyable by the company kept (mine was wonderful), as well as the faces and characters met. The fact that it is now late Monday night and it is still pissing down outside brings another smile to my face. Ah, those beautiful, glorious Dorset muddy memories... Bring on 2009.

Tony Foster