Wild Paths - All over Norwich
Norwich seemed to shift on its axis just a little for the weekend, offering up one giant playground that not only changed the city but celebrated it. Meticulously curated, Wild Paths presented an astonishing (both in number and quality) array of acts
Given the number of venues in Norwich that used to be churches, it is perhaps fitting that I start with a confession. I’ve been to a few festivals over the summer, and greatly enjoyed most of them, but with the likes of Glastonbury out of the running, it’s not been a classic year, and left me feeling undernourished. I knew about the first Wild Paths, of course, and have heard great things about it – not least from the good folk at Outline - but I’ve never been sure of the idea of an urban festival. For me, festivals are all about being taken out of normal life, not weaving in and out of it while the rest of the world carries on its business. There are worse things to do than wander around Norwich, nipping into a mix of pop up and fixed venues and some of these up-and-coming bands are bound to be worth seeing, but does it really count as a proper festival? It was, therefore, with some trepidation that I approached the festival – call me doubting Thomas, but I was sceptical.
With that in mind, I’d like this review to be seen as a solemn recantation of such heresy. It’s true the festival didn’t match my expectations, but only in the sense that it confounded and exceeded them. Norwich seemed to shift on its axis just a little for the weekend, offering up one giant playground that not only changed the city but celebrated it. Meticulously curated, Wild Paths presented an astonishing (both in number and quality) array of acts. I may not have heard of many of them, but I’m confident I’ll be hearing more from them in the future. Perhaps more importantly, though, the festival managed to create a collegiate atmosphere between artists, stewards and punters, all members one of another. We may have walked among those doing their shopping, back from the football, or returning from work, and yet we were somehow in a bubble of friendly, positive cohorts, winding their way on different paths through the festival, yet bonded by a common purpose.
The festival’s opening act played to an impressive crowd at Voodoo Daddy’s. Deep Tan have an arrestingly insouciant stage presence and use it to good effect, driving their music forward with a doomy, post punk sound that had me imagining Siouxsie guesting on vocals for Killing Joke.
Deep Tan
With paths then starting to open up, next up for me was Green Gardens on the top floor of the Karma Kafe. I suspect there is more to them, but on the day this pop up venue struggled to showcase the band’s strengths, so I made my excuses and left for the Shoe Factory. This stripped out industrial unit had a brutal charm and remarkably good acoustics, so it was a pity that Ed the Dog was nowhere to be seen. While their replacement, Banji, had a youthful charm, they failed to ignite an audience that had come looking for something with more substance. Thankfully, substance arrived in spades when Just Mustard took to the stage. With a sound that lies somewhere on the line between shoegaze and trip hop, and arresting elfin vocals from Katie Ball, this was impressive stuff - albeit delivered at ear splitting volume.
Just Mustard
By way of contrast, in another part of town, whatever the collective noun for saxophones is, came into play. The joyously hirsute Nebula Sun had two, while altogether more earnest PYJÆN made do with one, but both displayed considerable musicianship with their funky jazz fusion. The Norwich Arts Centre – surely the jewel in the city’s crown – was on top form here, providing superb lighting and sound for both bands. The overarching mission may be to strike out across the city in search of other treasures, but it was a hard venue to leave. One answer was to stay away in the first place and perhaps now is the time to explain that I don’t have a time machine - there was more than one Outline operative lurking around over the weekend. Think of us as pigs, sent out to hunt for truffles.
Nebula Sun
PYJÆN
At the Waterfront, Gaffa Tape Sandy played an excellent set of alternative rock. They may have been out of action for two years but there was no rustiness here - the new song Devour adding a dub feel to their oeuvre. They were a tough act to follow, not helped when Bessie Turner forgot to turn her guitar on. Once fully operational, she revealed a great voice, and she is charming, but her songs are little more than pleasantly decent guitar pop.
Meanwhile, in the corner of the beer garden of the Last Pub Standing, Hex Friends (a raucous, shouty trio) warmed up the crowd for what followed - the most exciting performance of the night. The Mysterines swaggered with well-founded confidence in front of a heaving crowd, as they belted out a searing set that seemed to zip by in no time, with a power that was intoxicating. My tips are invariably the kiss of death, but they must surely be destined for greatness.
Other opinions are available, of course, and for some the pull of JOHN, back at Voodoo Daddy’s, proved irresistible. One of many singing drummers seen over the weekend, John was joined by John on guitar, as they powered through a set that was as brutal as it was brilliant. After that, Do Nothing was always going to struggle to impress, and though their Pop Group inspired post-punk noise was enjoyable, it was time to head off to the last live show standing.
The Girls of the Internet warmed up a boisterous crowd at Epic with their delicious harmonies before the big ticket DJ set from Gilles Peterson. Clever rather than uplifting, he had the crowd nodding rather than dancing – there is only so long you can wait for the drop - but nevertheless provided a suitably grand finale to what has been a grand day out.
On Saturday, those clever enough to keep their Clashfinder up to date (rather than folded in their pocket as I did) got to see both Immy and Juliet Prince-Thomas are in the Millennium Library. The former is a decent modern R‘n’B, whilst the latter moved from melancholy pop to upbeat R‘n’B to big ballads. Modest pleasures perhaps, but it was interesting to see the festival stretching out into the most unexpected places.
Over at the Karma Kafe, the Sad Boys Club(sadly) confirming that this was not the best showcase for full bands. Post-rocky, shoegazey but with intelligible lyrics and a singer who puts on a show, it was unfortunate that I heard and saw them through the prism of a venue unsuitable for a performance of that volume or scale. I think it helped enormously if you knew the band already, as did my companion, who enjoyed them so much more.
Proving that micro venues can work, however, if hosting the right kind of act, was upstairs at the Wallow, where AK Paterson presented a set that, even this early, felt like it was going to be a highlight of the day. The band is led, and named after, quirky, charismatic singer and composer Alex. Astonishingly assured and accomplished, this Brighton trio brought a maturity and grace to their material that set them apart. This early in the day, and in a venue as small as upstairs at a restaurant, the audience was inevitably modest, but the happy few lucky enough to catch them were treated to moving and heartfelt lyricism, accompanied by double bass, violin and cello. They were simply faultless.
What a pity Wife Swap USA was on at the same time, dividing reviewing loyalties. This gloriously chaotic 60s garage/psych band was a wild ride, mashing up the noises of Billy Childish and the Dead Kennedys, if you can imagine such a thing. The Last Pub Standing was fast developing a distinct sound, and Sleemo didn’t confound expectation, delivering a great set of fine, alt.rock. Neither did Cutting Ties, a loud, shouty, angry punk band. Nothing quite compares, however, to the force of nature that is KULK. Prowling barefoot around the beer garden or screaming into his microphone, Thom Longdin should be menacing, but somehow he and drummer Jade-Ashleigh Squires come across rather sweetly, fearlessly ploughing a cacophonous furrow of their own. More performance art than music, they are an East Anglian treasure.
There were, of course, other pleasures to be had around town, for those of us with feet too itchy to stay put in one place. Over in the Dog House (winner of the most bizarre stage of the festival award) Leo Love showcases a beautiful voice and a winning smile, singing over his own backing tracks. Unfortunately, that he did so effectively behind bars, separated from his audience by closely spaced vertical beams, made for a singularly distancing experience. Vanity Fairy, however, proved that the Karma Kafe can present well if hosting the right kind of act, with a set of brilliantly twisted art disco.
Back in the Voodoo Rooms, Regressive Left were on top form, offering up a heady sound that contained hints of Talking Heads, B52s and Squid – sometimes all in the same song. They were followed by Lice, delivering yet more post-punk, but doing so with an individuality and style that so many similar bands lack. Both, however, were trumped by the superb PVA, who brought some rare, but welcome, techno to Wild Paths, albeit leavened with a sprinkling of disco.
Rewinding the festival, a different path was taken largely to tick off the Waterfront, and that’s probably not the best reason to go see Misa and Anorak Patch. Sadly, the centre of Norwich was so densely packed with venues, what should have been a major venue felt like an outlier. Miserablists Anorak Patch won the greater part of the audience that had made the trip up in the Studio, with Misa sadly performing to practically no one. “Hello friends and my Dad,” she wittily responded to the acres of empty space in front of her pleasant, if inconsequential, set.
For a bigger crowd, the Arts Centre beckoned and delivered, with a superb triple bill of Bugs Teeth, who played some glorious shoegaze, followed by Floral Image’s classy psych, topped off by glorious, exotic Psychedelia from the Flamingods. Blending western psychedelia with Eastern musical influences, I watched in wonder that it had taken me this long to discover the band.
Floral Image
Flamingods
Sunday started at The Garage - somewhat out the way, but a surprisingly solid performance space that probably warranted more attention. Bluefeel covered the likes of Arctic Monkeys and Strokes, before YouVee took things up gear with some shoe-gazey, garage-tinged indie. Thereafter, poking my nose in the Halls proved irresistible. While it could, and should, be a great venue, it would take a bigger crowd than Kitty Perrin’s country-folky-pop mustered to make it so, or indeed the disappointing crowd for China Bear. Neither artist nor audience seemed comfortable rattling around such a vast hall so early in the day.
No one can accuse Voodoo Daddy’s of being vast, however, and for someone, camping out all day there proved irresistible. There was an understandable buzz about Jora The Fortune Teller unique brand of alt.rock meets classic rock with a funky edge. Gen & The Degenerates followed with a set of punked-up burlesque jazz ‘n’ soul, after which Crashface destroyed the place with industrial/punk that brought to mind both Strange Bones and Plague Vendor. Dan, from Ducking Punches then played a solo, acoustic set of warmth and emotion, after which Drones knocked out a raging set. Other Half suffered tech issues early in the set but these seem to fire up both band and audience. Ironically, it may have been the catalyst for them playing their best set to date. It certainly elicited the best crowd response. Finally, in the venue that at least one of us never wanted to leave, New Pagans were surprisingly magnificent, offering Psych with undertones of post-punk, topped off with a socially acceptable layer of Goth.
Crashface
Other Half
Elsewhere, pleasures needed seeking out. Ellie Diss charmed passers-by in the library, while Kasia Konstance fronted her jazz ensemble with good humour and style, but the first truly outstanding performance came from the VV Experience. Fronted by eccentric ringmaster VVilhelm on trombone, their challenging brand of Jazz-Electronic fusion was delivered with consummate skill and with an obvious delight. Back at the garage, tip for the top Gabby Rivers’s infectious enthusiasm was ever present, as she performed a series of perky songs, delivered with the wit of Lucy Spraggan and the bite of Kate Nash. Sadly, a foray beyond the ring road proved less successful, where Hilang Child had drawn the short straw, playing to no one in the bar above the Bowling House. A rare misfire, his lacklustre performance can’t have been helped by the venue. Thank goodness, then, for Grandma’s House, confirming The Last Pub Standing’s as the home of ear busting rackets. Pounding away at drums, bass and guitar, this Bristol based trio were the Ramones incarnate, with Lemmy on vocals. Pumping out three minute wonders one after the other, lead singer Yasmin Berndt bravely rasped on despite losing her voice, until wiser counsel prevailed and vocals were redistributed.
On the home stretch now, and with the ever present hollow feeling in your gut that it’s nearly all over, Theon Cross dragged me back one more time to the chilled out, and chilly, St Laurence’s, where he displayed extraordinary Tuba virtuosity (who knew that was a thing) confirming the deconsecrated church as the pop up venue of the festival. The Halls gave it a run for its money, though, finally coming into its own with a decent crowd, atmospheric lighting and a headline band worthy of the space. I spend half of Palace’s gig looking skyward, marvelling at a building I’d previously taken completely for granted, as their anthemic music drifted up into the ether. Never has the expression “Cathedral of Sound” been more appropriate.
So that was that, barring a late night get together in the Rumsey Wells, as VV Experience jammed the night away in a room claustrophobically packed with people not yet ready to go home. It had been an extraordinary few days – it seems barely credible that so much was packed into a long weekend. The complexity of juggling so many venues, and so many acts, is mind boggling, and while in the spirit of journalistic objectivity I should be listing all the things wrong with the festival, I have to say that I’m struggling to come up with much. With the benefit of hindsight, I would probably have dropped a couple of the less successful venues, maybe restrict the scale of acts that appeared in the smaller ones, and restrict the times when someone was playing in the biggest. The timings shifted about considerably, and though this was reflected on the Clashfinder, a ruddy great board on the way in with the acts and times writ large would have been nice. It’s perhaps worth reflecting that unlike a summer festival the option to lie in the sun isn’t there – so there was an awful lot of walking and standing going on. How about a couple of chill out venues, where bones can be rested and batteries recharged? But that’s about all I’ve got, which is quietly remarkable given that this is only the second time the festival has been staged.
I hope the organisers are proud of what they achieved – they should be – and I hope they realise their festival made all of us a little proud of Norwich. Notwithstanding the recent troubles, there is an obstinate vibrancy to the city, and an enthusiasm for live music you’d have to go back to the glory days of Screen 3, The Farmer’s Boys and The Higsons to get close to. I’m gutted we now have a whole year to wait until the next one, but I’m also looking forward to seeing what next year brings and how it develops. Is it surely the sign of a great festival that you loved what you experienced but know it has more to give - and make no mistake, this was not only a proper festival, it was a great one.
