Saturday 04/08/07 Day One @ Electric Gardens, Mount Ephraim Gardens, Kent

In the same way that aliens visiting our planet (Earth) probably wouldn’t bracket June Sarpong and Andy “the Viking” Fordham into the same species, it’s hard to consider Electric Gardens a festival in the same way you would Download or even Reading. This delightful event is definitely more Parish fête than rock behemoth. Although, I can’t remember the last time St. Augustine’s managed to rope in Plan B, Kate Nash, Reverend and the Makers, Calvin Harris, Scroobius Pip, Late of the Pier, The Maccabees, Mr Hudson and the Library or Jack Penate to judge the marrows.

Nestling in the Kent countryside in the grounds of the painfully quaint Mount Ephraim Estate, the Electric Gardens Festival has just turned two and is running around charming the arse off everyone in between having tantrums, puking a bit and shitting itself (I took it too far didn’t I?). After falling asleep on the train and getting sunburnt through the window (annoying) Gigwise parted with £6.99 for a tent marketed as ‘army coloured’ and set up camp next to the pear orchard. Now, you don’t get that at V…

The scorching heat doesn’t stop Blood Red Shoes’ Steve and Laura-Mary enticing the parishioners away from the apple-bob and craft fair for a spot of volatile spit-in-your-face-and-slap-you-around-the-ears art punk. Far too sexy for her own good, Laura-Mary manages to milk the shit out of the fast-burgeoning crowd all the while remaining cool, composed and blood red lipstick perfect throughout. Insanely possessed drummer Steve Ansell brings the animation to their aggressive but undeniably classy set, playing flawlessly in tandem with the blazing sun. Releases ‘You Bring Me Down’ and ‘It’s Getting Boring By The Sea’ draw the sensitive skinned out of the shade to burn and jerk around involuntarily. Like sausages on a big grassy barbeque (?) BRS flip the throng over and over until they are done. Only the cringe worthy Master of Ceremonies (not sure if he deserves capitals actually) impinges on the impact this twosome have on the crowd. Note to you Sir; talking over applause while swanning around in a straw Stetson does not a good look make…I haven’t finished with you yet either pal.

After a quick meander past the festival’s three food stalls and two clothes/bong stands we swiftly bop back to the main stage to drink in some angst-soul with synth broo-haha.
Pull Tiger Tail’s high octane, extremely danceable tunes flirt with emo while entertaining that terrible mistress ‘nu-rave’ on the side but just manage to introduce some wife material in the form of Strokesy chords on each verse. Some bands are infinitely better in the sun, and if you’re rocking the lethal cocktail of sunstroke and delirium you’ll pretty enjoy anything, but that’s not to detract from the bite that the ‘Tail inject into their performance, and a decent clutch of kids go away happy with tiger masks to match their sunburn and ringing ears.

How. ****ing. Good.  Are Reverend and the Makers? Very, that’s how good. If Kasabian had a sense of humour and used it to impregnate Ian Brown and spawn a bastard love-child, that offspring may have produced the record Jon McClure is about to release. With the throng nice and sun blistered and drunk, The Makers’ electro-clunk dance-funk is just the ticket. Bravely spunking hit single ‘Heavyweight Champion of the World’ pretty early on, the rest of The Rev’s material stands up to the test and backed by his superb and numerous disciples he keeps the congregation all riled up and sweaty. Killing every song with a stupidly throbbing bass line and sitting murky alongside funky this set hits hard and to the face. Closing with new release ‘He Said He Loved Me’, Laura Manuel’s screechy, intentionally abrasive vocal adds a new strain of wit to their game and sets them apart. Not only from the batch of Arctic aping bands constantly seeping out of Sheffield, but everyone else on the hit parade too. Halle-****ing-lujah.