Let's Rock Ipswich
Lee Harper
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East Anglia has just suffered its longest drought for a generation. Our fields and gardens desperately need the sustenance of rain. I get that. My lawn is dying too. But couldn’t the weather Gods have held off just one more day? By close of play, Ipswich’s Trinity Park, and all who sailed in her, was very soggy indeed, and that was a great pity, as this was otherwise a great day out for all the family.
Let’s Rock is a banner under which 80s music is celebrated, even though Post Punk, Goth and the New Wave of British Heavy Metal are largely air-brushed out of this version of history in favour of New Romanticism and Pop. That said, as I entered the arena, it was to the sound of Tenpole Tudor, a rare grit in the day’s pearl, who entertained an already healthy audience with the punk(ish) classic Swords of a Thousand Men.
TenPole Tudor
He didn’t stay for long, and neither did a bewildering roster of performers under the banner of the Hit Factory. Essentially a vehicle for one hit wonders, it set the template for the day’s lean – some might say brutal – regime where performers bashed out the hits and then got off stage before outstaying their welcome. Living in a Box, Sonia, Heather Small and Toyah each flashed past the audience in blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twenty minute sets. Backed by an excellent house band, The Retrobates, this led to a somewhat homogenous sound (Living in a Box were frankly lost in the mix) but it certainly kept the music going. The results were generally entertaining, with Toyah in particular, making the most of her moment in the sun, sandwiching crowd pleasing covers between her own tunes.
Living In A Box
Sonia
Heather Small
Toyah
Sadly, this also marked the last moments in the sun for all us, as rain bearing clouds rolled over the park, dousing the crowd just as the first “proper” band took to the stage. In short, the heavens opened for Heaven 17. “It’s just like my home town Sheffield,” said a sanguine Glenn Gregory before launching into a blistering, if short, set that produced the first truly outstanding number of the day, with the inevitable Temptation. What a pity it was witnessed from under umbrellas and ponchos, as the gathering masses desperately tried to protect their picnics.
Heaven 17
A word about those picnics: one of the most pleasing things about Let's Rock was its intelligent, civilised attitude towards its patrons. Barring alcohol, they were practically encouraged to bring their own food along, and make a day of it. Not only were the acts from the 80s, so was the set-up, with your options ranging from watching what was on stage to not watching what was on stage. Folk, in these circumstances, are bound to want to set up camp, so allowing people to bring in their own tuck meant that they could have a proper time of it in these straightened times. It also meant the avoidance of the unpleasant searches so typical of less enlightened events. As far as I could see, the store holders still did a fair trade, perhaps because they were charging fair prices. And I don’t recall seeing a single instance of unpleasant behaviour or drunken disorder. Perhaps most significantly, I also noticed far less sneaky cans. It perhaps goes to show that if you treat your punters with respect, rather than like cattle, they will reciprocate.
Go West were, to my mind, underwhelming compared to Heaven 17, but I think that’s down to personal taste.
Go West
Nik Kershaw had a lovely line in self-deprecating humour, and while dedicating his version of Yazoo’s Only You to the Queen might sound like an odd thing to do, check out the lyrics of the chorus and you may see his point. Howard Jones dedicated his whole set to Elizabeth, and with an affection that seemed entirely genuine.
Nik Kershaw
While the previous three performances had the whiff of heritage about them, Howard Jones (despite mostly playing work from Human’s Lib) distinguished himself by creating a sound that felt surprisingly contemporary. It was arguably the first act of the day that, untainted by the guilty pleasure of nostalgia, made you want to hear more from his new album.
Howard Jones
With the final three acts in the wings, changeover times slowed down as ever more ambitious set ups had to be wrestled with. Nevertheless, these were achieved remarkably quickly, and with the likes of Brother Beyond’s Nathan Moore keeping the crowd happy in between sets with a jolly sing-along, you have to hand it to the organisers for thinking through the repercussions of a single stage.
Nathan Moore
ABC, a band I’ve frankly never warmed to, defied my expectations by delivering a storming set that had all the hallmarks of a headliner, both in musicianship and presentation.
ABC
Follow that, Fry might well have said, and OMD did, again producing a stage show that impressed and a check list of songs that reminded you just how prolific they were. It was more than enough to keep me watching, notwithstanding the rain, but truth be told, the crowd was starting to thin out, looking decidedly weary at the punishing weather.
OMD
By the time Adam Ant appeared there was considerably more elbow room, and the rain at least looked to have stopped for good. A shame, then, that his set was a little underwhelming. To be clear, there was nothing wrong with it, and who could resist the likes of Ant music and Prince Charming? I wouldn’t even say he had been upstaged by the quality of the acts that went before. However, he wasn’t the step up you expect when the headliner comes on. He was just another pretty good act in an exhaustive long line of them. With record sales no longer the arbiter of who goes on when, I’m guessing the running order of events like this must be a topic of heated debate. In the case of Adam Ant, he simply wasn’t obviously a bigger act than the rest, and that led to many, no doubt seduced by the thought of changing out of their socks, discreetly sloping off before the close of play.
Adam Ant
This was such a well organised event, it almost seems churlish to introduce an equivocal note, but I do have one question. Why doesn’t Let’s Rock take itself more seriously? I sort of understand why UK Live chose to publicise the event with an upbeat emphasis on nostalgia and a relentless insistence of dressing up in mullet wigs, rah rah skirts and pirate costumes. People did dress up, so I suppose they would argue the strategy works. But the insidious implication remains that, in hindsight, we now realise how silly we all were back then, so let’s all have a bit of self-mocking fun. To me, that seems a little disrespectful to the performers, some of whom are attracting audiences bigger than they ever did back in the day. There’s a large audience out there, and not just children of the eighties, that recognise the diversity and invention of music produced in that decade for the game changer it was. I wonder if, for every highwayman or Freddie Mercury lookalike that was persuaded to turn up, someone else, who loves OMD, ABC, Howard Jones and Heaven 17 for their bold creativity and originality, chose to say at home rather than feel they needed to put a wig on as a condition of entry.
Just a thought.
That minor quibble aside, this no frills, admittedly low key event, was tremendously good value for punters looking for a fabulous day out. It treated those punters with respect, and seemed genuinely keen to host a fair minded, friendly experience. It also showcased some fine talent, packing more earworm songs into one day than can be easily countenanced. And let’s not forget it took place on a very challenging weekend.
The decision to go ahead so soon after the death of the Queen won’t have met with the approval of everyone, but it seems to me the right one. To paraphrase Howard Jones, surely better to celebrate her life than mourn her death. Dave Benson Phillips had the unenviable task of setting a respectful tone without seeming too maudlin. He was essentially employed as class clown in-between acts while stuff got moved about, but nonetheless did a pretty good job of a tricky balancing act. When he gathered the cast and crew on stage to join in a minute’s silence it was respectfully acknowledged by an eerily quiet field of costumed revellers, a scene made all the more surreal – yet oddly moving – when Sonia then belted out God Saved the King.
