Exactors of Harmonic Spectacles,

The Big Tent is a gathering celebrating the environmental movement, cultural revival, and positive action for change. I suspect that this is a case of “preaching to the converted” in my estimation of who would be most likely to attend. Along with all their stalls, there was a schedule of live music; seemingly a range of artists of lesser repute were playing but Saturday was to be headlined by King Creosote, thus I made an effort to wear trousers, give a few hours of my time to driving to Falkland and existing there whilst listening to music.

As it happened – As it was supposed to happen (he adds as a precursor to a forthcoming book review in The Bellyaches before realising that it is completely inappropriate) – B Raymond & The Voicettes, the penultimate act of the evening, had yet to take the stage, namely due to the mess created by the master of ceremonies encouraging children to throw grass at him. I looked anxiously at my watch.

B Raymond & The Voicettes have already featured in The Bellyaches; they’re a band from just along the road. They won a contest to provide music to a Brylcreem commercial. They seem reasonably competent in turning out their pop tunes; musically, they break no boundaries and lyrically, we’ve heard them all before. On the other hand, wondrous songs about house sparrows, collared doves (I saw 18 on our telegraph pole) and kingfishers (I haven’t seen one this year) or topical songs about the poisoning of the River Leven threatening the Blue Flag status of Leven Beach (I hate pollution and Blue Flags, why can’t it be a win-win situation?) or the man who fell off a pavement in Kennoway are arguably not what their target audience wants to hear. I counter this argument by saying British Sea Power would and they’ve just been nominated for the Mercenary Music Prize.

I was not impressed with their use of bad language between songs and during the foul-up which required them to start one song over again; the audience was varied, they may not have been the eco-warriers I had expected, they were unbelievably random but I would have expected the band to be aware of the higher proportion of children and duffers than they would be used to in their audience. They finished their set with Old Man Marley, the Brylcreem song, it wasn’t the show-stopper they thought it was but it allowed them to leave the stage and walk around the site like the rock’n’roll stars they want to be.

After half an hour of setting up, King Creosote and his many helpers were ready to go. King Creosote played some of his songs; Not One Bit Ashamed, Twin Tub Twin, Esther’s Planet, You’ve No Clue Do You were amongst them, they were nicely done but I felt they were wasted on this audience who were far too ragtag for my liking.

Pictish Trail took over for 4 songs. My thighs were becoming painful by this time, I was suffering from football training in the morning. The Pictish Trail is a mystery to me; he seems an integral part of King Creosote’s live shows, he has a tremendous voice, yet for all the attention KC and Fence receive, we’re just arriving at the stage of hearing Pictish Trail on the radio. His penchant for modern electronic sounds and traditional folk music will make his forthcoming album interesting to say the least, to say a bit more, I’m a bit apprehensive about the Hot Chip influences. Although in pain, I stayed on in case he played I Don’t Know Where to Begin which is an incredibly beautiful, honest and fragile song. He didn’t bother; he threw out a mix as was perhaps best to a festival audience. The electronic noodling was alright, I thought that I would perhaps have to spend some time with it and be able to hear the words.

King Creosote returned to the fore, but by this time, a couple of ne’erdowells had begun to infringe upon my territory. I stayed for Nooks and perhaps one other song, I looked at my watch anxiously before giving into my legs and retiring to watch the football friendlies on the television.