exploremusic

SATURDAY MORNING, AFTERNOON AND EVENING

No one believes me when I say this, but I’ve yet to be rained on in London. In all my years of coming year, not one English raindrop has fallen upon me. I can’t explain it. And, I noted from the weather on the BBC, that my streak would be unbroken today.

One of my great pleasures when I visit London is a morning run in Hyde Park. Enter at the Queen’s Gate, right past the Albert Memorial and anti-clockwise around the perimeter until you reach the road that bisects the park over The Serpentine. Total distance: about 6 km. Lovely.

Back at the hotel, it was the included breakfast (beans, eggs, spam, sausages and spam—and cold toast, of course) and then back to the room to prepare for the day. First order of business: record shopping.

It’s inconceivable for me to be in London without visiting the Rough Trade shop in Notting Hill. We struggled up Portabello Road (market day, tourist day) to the shop on Talbot Street where Ivar led the way into the vintage vinyl area in the tiny basement. This was going to be bad. And expensive. Naturally.

Ivar bought 7-inch singles from Argent, Dr. Feelgood, Stranglers, Jam, Thin Lizzy (picture sleeve edition) and Cozy Powell on the Rack label (unseen since the 70s). I bought a Who 7-inch (“Won’t Get Fooled Again,” edited Japanese promo edition with English lyric sheet, 1972) and Kraftwerk’s “The Model” (original English EMI 7-inch, 1978). Total damage: 245 pounds.

Upstairs, I met a nice clerk who is about to move to study in Quebec City (I think we’re going to the same music conference in Halifax this October, too). She and Nigel House (the guy I talk to every time I’m in) proffered a series of newly-released 7-inch singles, one of which was an outrageously packaged rock track from a Cambodian band who sing in Khmer. Whatever they recommended, I bought. Listen for this material on future editions of ExploreMusic. Total damage? Another 100 pounds.

Finally, it was time to actually go to the festival. It was a long tube ride on the Central line to Mile End and ultimately Victoria Park. I had expected to see a sharp rise in jean jackets and tattoos by the time we got to Bank and while there were plenty of festival-goers on the train—you could identify them by the wristbands that are widely used in the UK in place of paper tickets—the most unusual thing I saw was one guy reading Eggs, Beans and Crumpets by P.G. Wodehouse.

THE FESTIVAL. FINALLY.

The High Voltage Festival had three stages a main stage, a stage devoted to metal and a prog stage. I’d hope to get there in time to see Focus (awesome Dutch band from the 70s who had a flukey hit with the yodel-y instrumental, “Hocus Pocus”), but Rough Trade took up too much of our time. Instead we saw Hammerfall on the metal stage (decent enough, but I could do without the coordinated hair-twirling of the guitarists). Then we caught Bigelf [sic], a very 70s-influenced relatively new band from LA. Recommended if you like current music that sounds like authentic material from 40 years ago. I quite liked them.

A word about the layout. Imagine the Prog and Metal stages forming two points on the bottom of a narrow triangle. The main stage was at the top of the triangle, a good 5 minute walk from everything else. In between were a multitude of food booths (everything from pizza and burgers to noodles, curries, kebabs, pitas, salads and bacon butties) along with several amusement park rides. The stages were far enough apart yet close enough together so that there was little (if any) clashing of sounds, even when three bands were playing simultaneously.

And here’s the best part: the audience was treated like adults. You could buy a drink (beer, wine, cocktails) and walk around wherever you’d like. No being cooped up in a beer tent or being forced to pour your beer into a plastic cup because you obviously couldn’t be trusted not to throw the can at the stage.

There were plenty of security people around—but no cops. There were bobbies in the park to be sure, but there were none in the festival area. As it turns out, they weren’t needed. Despite the availability of alcohol (there were guys hauling around tanks on their backs, ready to pour you a cold cup of beer, cider or Jaeger), we did not see one drunk, one passed out festival fan or one pile of vomit. Not. One.

It was quite simply the best-organized festival I’ve ever seen. Ever.

Ivar and I made our way to the VIP area in back of the main stage where the hospitality was little different than what was available to the average punter out front—which is to say of a uniformly high quality. The only real advantages to being in this area were the flush toilets and the grandstand off to the side where you sit to see all the sets. No standing/sitting in the grass. But then again, the sightlines for the punters were much better.

Our first mainstage act was guitarist Gary Moore. He competently chugged through a set in front of about 7,000 people, many of which were clearly hardcore fans. Rating 6/10.

After meeting Julia at the main gate, we caught a little Cathedral on the Metal stage (6/10) before walking across to see Dweezil Zappa run his young band through some impossibly complex arrangements in front of an adoring crowd on the Prog station. Highlight: the set closer, “Peaches En Regalia.” (7/10)

I ducked out for a few minutes of Zappa’s set to see the legendary Saxon on the Metal stage. True New Wave of British Heavy Metal. Nice. (7/10)

By the time I got back to the Prog stage to meet up with Ivar and Julia, Asia had started their set. They may have sold millions of records back in 1982-83, but the songs haven’t aged well. “Heat of the Moment” indeed. (4/10)

Bailing on them, we made the long walk back to the main stage to catch Heaven and Hell. This proved to be rather emotional since their singer, Ronnie James Dio, had died of stomach cancer last month. This final set (featuring Tony Iommi and Geezer Butler of Black Sabbath and one-time Sabbath drummer Vinnie Appice) was designed as a final memorial to Dio. Using a Norwegian singer named Jorn Lande from the band Masterplan and Glenn Hughes (Deep Purple, one-time Sabbath singer in the non-Ozzy era) went through many of the songs Dio made famous. Highlight: “Neon Knights” from the 1980 Sabbath album, “Heaven and Hell” (which featured Dio, of course.) Biggest surprise? A distinct lack of Dio’s famous devil horns gesture—out of respect, I guess. (9/10)

It was too far a walk to worry about catching Zakk Wylde and Black Label Society on the Metal stage (I just didn’t care) or Transatlantic on the Prog stage (whatever), so Ivar, Julia and I slipped backstage for some drinks, an excellent barbequed steak sandwich and a toilet break.

I found a spot on a couch where some apparently connected people reminisced about a recent Wishbone Ash concert (“David Gilmour from Floyd was standing next to me on the stage, looked at me and said ‘This is SHIT.’ What could I say? It was David F**king Gilmour!”) Classic Rock magazine, sponsors of the festival and publishers of Metal Hammer and a prog magazine provided reading material for everyone, so I flipped through a cover story on Rush along with a rapturous review of the Beyond the Lighted Stage DVD.

Ivar and Julia wanted a good seat in the VIP grandstand in time for ZZ Top, so that meant having to sit through Foreigner. Ugh. (0/10)

ZZ Top appeared onstage at the appointed time, entering to the strains of “Born Slippy” by Underworld (Underworld?) and launching into “Under Pressure” before running through “Jesus Just Left Chicago,” “I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide” and “Cheap Sunglasses.” This was followed by pointless blues wank complete with interminable Billy Gibbons ad-libs. Even he knew it was pointless: “Y’all can applaud if you like. We’re just makin’ this shit up.” That was enough. Time to leave. (ZZ Top rating: 3/10. What a disappointment. I think Billy was drunk.)

That set the tone for the rest of Saturday night and early Sunday morning. Like I said earlier, Julia would prove to be trouble.

Part 7