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It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, we’re
laid on our back squinting at the sun as it half-heartedly
attempts to crack through the clouds and bring a bit
of warmth to this slightly soggy strip of grass in north
London. Just 24 hours ago and England had won the football,
snatching an ecstatically historic victory from the
hands of Argentina and turning every street corner in
the country into a ridiculously jubilant open-topped,
bunting-lined, chant-filled P-A-R-T-Y. It was incredible.
We don’t get the chance that often. And Ireland are
still in the World Cup at this point too, so y’know,
rejoice. A day later this must be the comedown then.
To our left we see picnic blankets and plastic tumblers,
to our right a crusty lazily guzzling cider, all around
us kids who’ve yet to discover the evils of this world
buzzing around like bluebottles on Sunny D drips, and
behind us a particularly impressive orange and yellow
mohican no doubt preserved in formaldehyde as some kind
of talisman since ’77. The audience seems either exclusively
over 30 or under 5, connected through an overwhelming
lack of interest in anything in particular and a desire
to mainly lounge. This is just like somewhere else to
go on a Saturday, rather than staying at home and trimming
the grass. So more cutting hedge than cutting edge,
if you will. But that’s how the Fleadh has always been.
Could something with such solid tradition and age (all
things Celtic, in particular Irish, FYI) actually be
cutting edge? Probably not. But if there’s one thing
that the Irish seem to be taught from an early age,
it’s the Three-Ds: Drink, Dance, Don’t give a fuck.
This may result in a daytime sat on your arse – it’s
the necessary preparation – but come sundown when The
Pogues hit the stage you can’t move for limbs flying
akimbo in undistinguished drunken directions. In fact
at this point all the extra space, thanks to a well
under-capacity audience, actually begins to make sense.
Yet for the rest of the day it lies largely unused and
wasted. And all due to a useless supporting cast?
Well yeah, pretty much. We just cabbage by the main
stage throughout the afternoon, because that is all
there is to do. Men with similar names, similar sounds
and a similar desire to rock the darn heck out of the
middle of the road with no soul, AOR folk stylee, clog
up the air. It’s not that there’s anything there to
hate, as such. There’s just not a lot there. Which is
the problem with The Fleadh, but even more of a downer
when the day got off to such a sparking start for us.
The Proclaimers hold a special place in our heart –
as they should yours – anyway for releasing at least
two of the best pop singles ever, being very ginger
and being very good at being very Scottish indeed. But
we didn’t anticipate the precision, the wit, the heart
and the unrequited stone-faced hernia-busting gusto
with which they’d still be tossing the tune caber about
with. They do the hits! They do some more we don’t know!
We don’t stop grinning! And they have everyone at least
waving their arms and bellowing in faux-Glasgow accents
("Take a loooooooook up the raaailtrack…") even if getting
off your arse still isn’t an option at this point.
By the time vaguely-Celtic sing-along Brummies The Wonderstuff
pace onto stage with that recognisable overconfidence
there are a few more people on their feet, we’ll give
them that. And ‘On the Ropes’, ‘Size of A Cow’ and ‘Caught
In My Shadow’ do tip the cap in the direction of cheery
nostalgia. But onstage are a band that have aged with
very little finesse. Squinting stagewards we think Miles
Hunt might even have his top tucked into his trousers.
Where once he was a bolshy passionate songwriter that
demanded your attention with a gleam in his eye, his
demeanor now seems to be demanding respect for being
that man once before, at some point, honest. Whatever
The Proclaimers have kept hold of, The ‘Stuffies (as
we once occasionally affectionately knew them) don’t
even know they’re missing it.
As if to honour the day’s theme and unable to step out
of line, Joe Strummer is exactly alike, aware of the
man he used to be, convinced he still can be, unfortunately
looks like a relic under the lights, often falls flat
on his face. You know a punk legend’s not what he used
to be when his opening gambit is a cheery, sincere quip
about the weather. Running through new and old (so he
still has his head screwed on to some extent) the highlight
of the set is a lean trample through The Clash’s ‘I
Fought the Law’. But his band The Mescalaroes look like
they’ve still got their session price tags tied to their
ankles. His focus seems weak, his words desperate, like
he’s trying to force a circle through a square hole.
At worst he throws out the kind of limp copycat stuff
the record companies were probably beating off with
dirty big sticks at The Clash’s zenith. At best it’s
punk kareoke with a bit of credibility.
On any other day that might have been enough, but not
today. The Pogues are older than your dad and more punk
than you. They put on the most exhilarating show fronted
by the type of guy who turns up at a wedding reception
with a stomach lined only with the finest malts, mouths
some incomprehensible threats at you, winks at your
girlfriend then gets distracted by the disco lights.
Obviously making little communicable sense whatsoever,
the original Gareth Gates still commands the most rabble-rousing
party anthems with conductor-like precision and a voice
fashioned from metal shavings and honey. The rumour
we hear is that Shane’s been at the barrel since 10.30am
and to be honest we see very little to put a seed of
doubt in our minds. And as far as entertainment and
aging stars go, which would you rather see? Mick Jagger
pouting up and down slapping his arse, or an inebriated
beer-bellied wreck head-butting a tin tray? No contest.
So occasionally they veer off the tried and tested path
while Mr McGowan sidles offstage for a rest/refill,
having a bash at the more matured pop direction they
had a crack at when Shane buggered off properly with
The Popes a few years back. But largely with beer-swinging
anthems such as ‘Rainy Night In Soho’, ‘Streams Of Whiskey’,
‘Fiesta’ and of course the utterly mighty ‘Dirty Old
Town’ they don’t put a metaphorical foot out of place.
Even if the same can’t literally be said for Shane.
Leaving on a high like that it doesn’t seem to matter
that it took what seemed like a year and a day to get
there. But as the first step on Crud’s 2002 festival
ladder it got the motors turning over, slowly. Even
if we did miss Alabama 3. Now roll on Glasto…
www.fleadhfestival.com 
James Berry for Crud Magazine© 2002
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| 04/02 1 Giant Leap - My Culture
04/02 Elfpower Interview - Andrew Rieger - Creatures
04/02 Frou Frou Interview - Guy Sigsworth/Imogen Heap
04/02 Gomez Interview - Ian Ball
04/02 Idlewild - Live - London Astoria
04/02 K's Choice Interview
04/02 Leaves - Live - Camden Dingwall
04/02 Longwave Interview - Exit
04/02 Lucy Mongrel Interview
04/02 Oasis - The Hindu Times
04/02 Phantom Planet - Interview
04/02 Unwritten Law - Interview
04/02 VUE - Coordinates Interview
05/02 BRMC - LIve - Kentish Town, London
05/02 Breeders - Title K
05/02 FC Kahuna - Machine Says Yes
05/02 Moco - Live - London Monarch
05/02 Need New Body - Interview
05/02 The Soundtrack of Our Lives - Live - Soundhause, Northampton
05/02 The Bellrays - Meet The Bellrays
06/02 Fleadh Festival - Finsbury Park
06/02 Frou Frou Coordinates Interview
06/02 Incubus - Interview - Mark Einziger
06/02 North Mississippi Allstars - Interview
06/02 Papa Roach - She Loves Me Not
06/02 Proud Mary - Live - Northampton, Soundhaus
06/02 Pulp - Live - Sherwood Pines, Edwinstowe
06/02 Reindeer section - You Are My Joy
06/02 Silverchair - Diorama
|  | 06/02 Something Corporate - Leaving Through The Window
06/02 Soinc Youth - Interview
06/02 The Burn - The Smiling Face
06/02 The Coral - Live - Roadmender, Northampton
06/02 The LIbertines - Live - The Social, Nottingham
06/02 The Vines, Sheffield Leadmill
06/02 Trik Turner - Interview
06/02 Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Live, Soundhaus, Northampton
07/02 12 Stones Interview
07/02 Arolo -Interview
07/02 Buy To Let Doncaster - Anti Social Behaviour
07/02 Cassius - Interview
07/02 Farrah - Interview
07/02 Glassjaw - Interview
07/02 Neil Michael Haggerty - Interview
07/02 Hoobastank - Running Away
07/02 Leaves - Interview
07/02 LL Cool Jay Interview
07/02 Oasis - Live - Finsbury Park, London
07/02 Polyphonic Spree - Live - Camden Monarch
07/02 Queens of the Stone Age - Songs For The Deaf
07/02 Super Furry Animals - Interview
07/02 The Beatings - Live - Metro Club London
07/02 The Bellrays + The D4 - Virgin Megastore, Oxford Street London
January 2001
July - August 2001
September - October 2001
November - December 2001
January - March 2002
April - July 2002
August - December 2002 | |
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