First published by Midlands Rocks, www.midlandsrocks.co.uk April 2011
Photographs reproduced by kind permission of Sue Paterson Photography www.suepaterson.co.uk
Nottingham’s Upload Festival returned to the Rescue Rooms for its sophomore year. The brainchild of local promoter, Al Draper, Upload raises much-needed funds for the teenage cancer trust.
With a range of acts designed “…to showcase not only Nottingham’s incredible array of talent but also its musical diversity” (Al Draper), there was something for everyone. This was both a strength and a weakness, as we shall see…
Belatedly kicking off the event, on the Livewire Stage, was school-kid collective, the dreadfully monikered, TheCake Institution.
Comprising a black-clad fem bassist, a grungy female guitarist and lead-singer, Rachael Harrison, looking like a demure secretary who’d strayed from her typing pool by accident, the band made for an odd visual spectacle.
Add in the presence of second vocalist, Dawson, looking for all the world like an extra from the cast of Glee, and the Cake Institution were certainly the oddest looking act of the day.
Musically, they peddled a generic assortment of pop-punk-meets-grunge-meets-metal riffage. Several things quickly became apparent; firstly, Harrison has a pleasing and credible set of pipes. An awkward and nervy stage presence couldn’t hide the fact she has a good, potentially great, voice and given experience, maturity and a lot of polish to her stage craft, it’s not hard to imagine her going quite a bit further.
Secondly, the songs and their arrangements render Glee Boy, Dawson, surplus to requirements. There simply isn’t enough for him to do and his contributions could easily be covered by any adequate backing singer.
Finally, given their tender years and inexperience, they deserve plaudits for sharing a stage with some of the region’s, and in two cases the country’s, finest unsigned talent.
The event had been planned to have the musicians occupying the upstairs stage, the Red Room, kicking off their sets only five minutes after the Livewire Stage acts had finished theirs. With little margin for error it was, perhaps, inevitable that timing issues would arise. Sure enough, by the time the Red Room was opened by reggae three-piece, Stuck In 2nd, we were running nearly half an hour late, something that would return to haunt the unfortunate Mr. Draper later in the evening.
Meanwhile, back on the Livewire Stage, a sizeable crowd had gathered, with tangible anticipation, to await the arrival of Long Dead Signal.
Hailing from some strange, musical hinterland where art rock meets indie, the signal could have been Muse in another life, maybe the Scissor Sisters in yet another. Or even the house band at the Moulin Rouge, given the colourful array of corseted, stocking-clad, fan-waving dancers gracing their stage. What’s not to like, right? Well, a couple of things, actually, but we’ll get to those…
The signal is impressive. No question. Purveyors of Intelligent, intricately crafted and meticulously arranged material, they come complete with an on-stage programmer/keyboardist, unashamedly sporting a leopard print fur coat with all the nonchalance of the Manic’s Richie Edwards. Or the chutzpah of Julian Clary…
Lead vocalist and guitarist, the strangely named, Feathers, is clearly the band’s strongest asset. He cuts a likeable and oddly endearing figure. Modesty is surely the last thing a frontman would exude but he does and is all the more likeable for it. Happy to let the music do the talking, he has a versatile and impassioned voice. From delicate falsettos to earnest entreaties, his is a kind of Matt Ballamy-Geddy Lee hybrid and is the perfect foil for the material.
The bevy of fan-waving wenches appeared during several of the band’s songs, Again and Again, Interlude and Black Waltz and ensured there was something to watch should one tire of the band. An unlikely occurrence, actually, given the excellence of their bassist, The Mexican, who turned in one of the best individual performances of the day. With a great tone, he provided some much-needed balls to the too often gossamer-like fragility of the band’s material.
And it’s here that the band meets their first stumbling block; the songs. Frankly, they’re quite frustrating. Just when it seems as though they going to take off and rock the house, the material takes another sudden turn into Introspection Avenue and the listener is left high and dry. There’s just too much delicacy, restraint and fine detail. Sometimes less is not more. While Long Dead signal give great foreplay, they need to work on their orgasms.
The other minor bug bear is lead guitarist, Gaffer. Maybe a few less tinkling, single-note lines from him and the odd driving riff would give the band that extra va va voom. He also needs to reign in the oh-so-overcome-by-it-all expressions of angsty euphoria. Coming across as contrived and affected, his shtick veered dangerously close to pretentiousness.
All minor quibbles, though. Captivating, frustrating and compelling, in equal measure, this is a band with serious big-time potential. NME devotees will lap these guys up by the spoonful should they garner the necessary exposure.
The Red Room’s second act was solo blues-soul chanteuse, Hayley Ahern. A ten-year veteran of the working-man’s club circuit, the twenty seven year old songstress nevertheless looked worryingly vulnerable and alone on a stage empty of a band, working, as she does, to a pre-recorded set of backing tracks.
Any temptation to sneer and draw the obvious karaoke/X Factor comparisons was dispelled the moment the first notes spilled from her accomplished larynx.
Smoky, bluesy and delicate but drenched with soul power, she is a remarkable vocal stylist and an instinctive technician. Phrasing, pitch and dynamics were faultless and the delighted and enthusiastic crowd were captivated immediately.
Mz Ahern wandered effortlessly through a set that, despite containing its fair share of hackneyed and hoary old standards (Crazy, Time After Time etc), was a genuine pleasure.
Due to overrunning, she was forced to cut her set short and finished with Adelle’s Someone Like You which confirmed the obvious: She needs a band urgently and a decent co-writer. With a voice like hers and some original material, who knows what she could accomplish?
There was logic behind Al Draper positioning acoustic singer-songwriter,Nina Smith, on the rock stage but it escaped a large slice of the audience.
While, technically, an accomplished enough musician, Mz Smith’s timbre and breathy delivery sat uncomfortably close to the insipid blandness of Dido.
Her distinctive rearrangements of popular chart fodder, such as Sex on Fire, gave a vaguely Suzanne Vega-meets-Eddi Reader vibe to the set but sounded awkward and contrived in several places.
Her, presumably witty, asides and light hearted quips to the crowd were, mostly, lost as she tended towards indistinct mumbling. It was difficult to tell if this was shyness or arrogance but she definitely needs clearer communication with her audience.
When the material opened up a bit and demanded more of her, there were glimpses of a great voice but she needs to ditch the covers and concentrate on her own songs, all of which hint at a genuine talent.
And so to Toxic Federation, a youthful five-piece steeped in classic rock and metal with a live show that emphasises energy, melody and sheer entertainment. To quote Isolysis frontman, Bane, who would headline immediately after, “They ripped the roof off the place and totally owned the whole day” His generous assessment being pretty much as accurate a summary of their barnstorming set as one could wish for.
Grateful beneficiaries of a crystal clear mix and a great light show, the Tox Feddies proceeded to do what they do best; pack an arena-style show into whatever shoebox they happen to find themselves.
Image, attitude and ability, married to slickly crafted slices of tuneful hard rock and metal, ensured the crowd were with them from the off. From the balcony a sea of grinning, bouncing bodies was clearly visible as frontman, Mitch Emms, steered his team through nine of the band’s finest.
Guitarist, Jake Graham, who would look equally at home with Steel Panther, posed, pouted and threw shape after shape with the flair and style of a man born to be a rock god.
One of the band’s three most obvious stars, Graham was ably abetted by drummer, JR Windsor, an alpha-male collage of testosterone, twirling sticks and bleached blond tresses and mercurial frontman, the aforementioned Emms.
The enigma that is Emms can make or break a Tox Fed show and I’ve seen him do both. Edgy, physical and gymnastic, one never knows if he’ll go too far. Here, tonight, he got it right. Mounting the balcony, ascending the bar and leaping into the crowd, the young man’s physical exercise regimen ought to bottled and sold as he was on outstanding form. Even a malfunctioning microphone during the seismic Daybreak couldn’t halt the juggernaut.
As the band’s set climaxed with the brilliant Life Of Mine segueing into Patriot’s Gamble, the appreciative roars from the biggest crowd of the day confirmed what we all know; there are few things more thrilling than live, visceral, unashamed rock ‘n’ roll played with passion, commitment and ability. And few do it better than Toxic Federation. Eat your hearts out, indie shoe-gazers…
The multiple late starts, shortened sets, pressure of the looming curfew and, crucially, no sound-check for the headliners, finally saw the wheels come perilously close to off on Al Draper’s Upload bus. The victims of this particular RTA were Isolysis.
A seething Bane was visibly furious by his band’s need to chop out a couple of numbers from their carefully planned set. Due, we learned, to the Red Room’s final act, Gypsy Jazzers, Maniere des Bohemians, inexplicably overrunning by nearly fifteen minutes, despite starting on time.
From guitarist, Danny Beardsley’s, first chord, introducing set opener, Alive, it was immediately clear that whatever sound Gods had smiled on Toxic Federation had now left the building. Easily the worst sound of the day, maybe ever, the band were forced before, during and after every single one of their songs to plead with the sound engineer for corrective action as the entire bank of on-stage monitors went down.
To make matters even worse, drummer, Dave Rickstein Wright, could clearly hear nothing at all and on his first major gig with Isolysis pulled, from God knew where, a brave and highly impressive performance as he navigated his band through an agonising set held together with little more than balls, nerve and sheer professionalism.
Ironically, the band was incredibly tight and it was clear that here was an act with the songs, delivery and musicianship to really make an impact.
Sadly, it wasn’t their night and despite doing nothing wrong and performing flawlessly throughout, the sound, which resembled the foghorn on the Titanic, with bass feedback squealing and droning away continuously, wrecked the set and made a disappointing end to an enjoyable day.
Incredibly, we learned that the team of sound engineers had simply gone home and left the band in the hapless charge of a young and inexperienced lighting engineer! Apologising profusely to the band afterwards, he admitted he’d had no idea at all what he was supposed to be doing and even needed the band to assist him in breaking down the in-house equipment!
Al Draper has every right to be furious at this disgraceful set of affairs and to demand answers. Despite running late all day, he had worked tirelessly to get the timings back on schedule and even a shortened headline set and lack of sound-check could have been handled had the required technicians been in place. It’s simply inexcusable for this to happen to any band, never mind the headliners. A sickener, too, for a dedicated promoter who had devoted countless hours in aid of a good cause, for zero personal gain.
All in all, though, a successful day and an event with great potential. Certainly, we hope the now wiser and more experienced Al Draper will be back with Upload 2012. Today was very worthwhile and it will be interesting to see what he produces for us next year. Well done indeed to Al and all concerned, not least the effortlessly charming Mrs Draper, who produced the most exquisite back stage catering it has been my pleasure to sample.