Sunday 27/08/06 Get Loaded In The Park @ Clapham Common, London

An inauspicious start to proceedings as the press passes run out and Gigwise are denied access to the VIP area with its free Nando’s chicken and hob-nobbing celebs. More importantly our poor photographer is forced to fight with the scrum around the stage area for half the day instead of gallivanting backstage as is only proper. Alongside this The Cuban Brothers are the soundtrack to this logistical nightmare- perfectly inoffensive festival filler but not exactly inspiring much confidence in today’s musical integrity. Perhaps the surfeit of music festivals this year have made us jaded and hard to please. Get Loaded in the Park is a fairly average, Radio One-y affair so there’s little chance of experiencing that special, other worldly, festival feeling when you are sitting on Clapham Common for a day surrounded by middle aged professionals or teens in **** Forever t shirts. The ticket price isn’t too steep, however, for a decent amount of bands and DJ’s and so to the music.

65 Days of Static have been bumped from their slot by the altogether wetter and totally un-Prog Boy Least Likely To. Like Belle and Sebastian’s wet dream they tick all the fey Indie boxes and as if to illustrate this point two giant soft toys join the band on stage, a la Flaming Lips. At times they manage to achieve a hoochy-coochy, Bolanesque noise but mostly they sound like Prefab Sprout so we wander off to see The Young Knives.
A more interesting proposition by far, the Knives’ spunky, explosive Suburban-Punk suits a large stage. Despite the muffled sound they have the crowd singing along to their hits ‘She’s Attracted To’ and ‘Weekdays and Bleak Days’ and their Alan Bennett style tales of middle England cheer and endear the audience.

Next up the Guillemots surprise us with a much harder and noisier set than expected. Fyfe’s vocals are rich and bluesy through his ‘I’m spasticated with emotion’ twitches and jerks. We were shocked to see evidence of feedback artistry as we assumed a much girlier performance would be given. The full on epic nature of all of their songs does desensitise one a little though; a little variance in intensity might provide more stimulation.

The enduring popularity of Graham Coxon continues to mystify as we listen to his post Brit-pop tunes, dumb lyrics and flat, whiny voice. Perhaps the British accent cloaks his music in a veneer of irony, making it sound cleverer than if an American Skater-Punk was to sing it, as they obviously should. The Clapham crowd lap it up, however, making the jolly atmosphere quite persuasive.

Finally Babyshambles appear, on time, and draw the biggest crowd of the day. Fresh outta rehab, Doherty is clean and coherent if a little tetchy- one poor photographer gets a good shoeing to their camera, for no apparent reason and someone else clocks a guitar round the head. Apart from 'Killamangiro', no particular song stands out from the general post-Poguesy racket. Surely this sub-pub, Chas and Dave nonsense will lose its appeal soon? The inclusion of a Libertines number only serves to highlight the tawdriness of Doherty’s later work. If it weren’t for his courting of the press, to whom he then turns his back and plays the victim, there wouldn’t be half the crowd that stands here today.  The night draws to a close with slightly pikey laser beams glinting off the giant Metro ball bouncing over the crowd, which should make a nice shot for tomorrow morning’s paper.