Sawley, near Clitheroe, east Lancashire

Out high in the northern Pennines, between farms and mills towns, where life is hard, men are men and women are women, lays the Beat Herder, where men are women, women are cows and cows aren’t sacred.

Despite our foreign dress, we’re welcomed, and the locals show us the many delights of this isolated pagan settlement. There’s jerk chicken, THE Lancashire Hot Pots, living rooms in tunnels, Can-Can girls, the hardest of drum and bass and Dewsbury’s finest cabaret singer. By the fall of night we go walking in the wild wood, where we find their temple. The children watch us as we disappear into the flurry of beats and watch through ominous trees the sky turn from red to black to blue and, as the birds start to sing, we run, freed at last from the head-down mentality of the city. We worry the sheep, but there’s not need to be worried. Jeff is with us, and there’s no turning back.

By Kenn Taylor

30^th October-6^th November

This is the fifth Liverpool Music Week and the biggest yet. It’s the UK’s largest winter music festival and one of the biggest events in the city’s musical calendar.

Since it began in 2003 as a Merseyside answer to Manchester’s In The City music business showcase, the event has changed it’s spots every year, but has grown consistently in both size and the profile of its headline acts, though the event still puts on a large amount of local talent.

Suitably on the opening night, the first act we catch in the chilly confines of Nation, a venue more used to housing 3,000 sweaty clubbers than a few hundred grimacing indie fans, are The Seal Cub Clubbing Club. Over the last couple of years, this band have consistently been one of the most original and exciting of Merseyside acts, but have so far failed to make that leap into the popular consciousness.

Their music is based around intense and multi-layered soundscapes and frontman Nik Glover’s atmospheric vocals, all tinged with an element of pop. This is the first time we’ve seen them for a while, and there seems to be a renewed sense of purpose in the band tonight though and they play with a whole new level of tightness and vigor, pushing the experimental aspects of their sound even further. Hopefully the new, improved Seal Cubs will find the audience they deserve soon.

Post Seal Cubs, The Fall, emerge, minus Mark E. Smith, all looking fresh-faced and young – unlike their boss. Despite the lack of Marky, we’re straight into classic Fall mode: dark, twisted and funky.

Smith eventually enters stage right and casts a beady eye over the audience before shifting into his unique vocal style. Like with the Seal Cubs, the Fall’s music is all about the feel that they give off, vibrations that get deep inside you and lead you to somewhere between the sublime and the ridiculous.

Other Fall fans have informed us that a gig with these guys is either going to be one of the best or worst shows we’ll ever see. Well, tonight, E. Smith, wearing something resembling a grin, is on form. He manages to convey this despite the fact that he’s clearly fucked off his face and greatly resembles the mad old man on the bus who makes you nervous when he whispers in your ear.

But despite this, Mark E. Smith conquers this night by doing what he does best – putting an unintelligible world to rights, unintelligibly. Encore? What do you think?

We’re out again on the next day for Goldfrapp at Liverpool University and, suitably for Halloween night, the soundtrack from The Wicker Man is playing as they emerge, dressed as druids, save of course for Alison Goldfrapp herself, decked out in her usual extravagance.

On arrival, she asks the crowd to desist in any flash photography, as it’s ‘distracting’. Most punters take her advice, but the odd flashgun still goes off and two songs in, we only get a few bars into ‘A&E’ before, apparently angered by the continued flash, Ms Goldfrapp storms off the stage in a huff.

As might be expected there’s a lot of dissent in the ranks, and bitter murmuring as people contemplate that a show they have just paid £22.50 plus booking fee to see might be over after less than two songs. A few minutes later though, one of the band emerges and announces that they’re going to come back on, but will leave again if there’s anymore flashing. As Alison et al return to the stage, the majority of sound coming from the audience isn’t relived cheering, but dissatisfied murmurs and booing. Goldfrapp have got to do a lot of work to win this crowd back.

Once the music starts up again though, things quickly start to look up and the murmurs die down as ‘U Never Know’ kicks in. We quickly fall for Goldfrapp’s unique style; disco with depth, glam with a dark underbelly, and their great knack for shifting quickly from throbbing songs that make you grind to delicate and multi-layered songs like ‘Little Bird’.

We tease and encore and, as the whole shebang ends of a thundering ‘Sex Machine’, the earlier incident is forgiven. Maybe you can get way with being a diva in this town, but only if you deliver the goods.

Having been felled by illness, it’s the following Wednesday before we can sample Music Week events again, but we’re back out at one of the free all-evening events featuring local and up-and-coming bands that has always been the core of Music Week.

Unfortunately, some of the city’s best bands have had to pull out of tonight’s proceedings at the last minute, all struck down apparently by a similar condition being bravely fought by yours truly, but we do have Voo, who’ve been plying their stirring jangle around the city for a few years. Influenced by the likes of Guided by Voices, they make heart tugging but dynamic pop music that is both joyous and sad in equal measure.

Next up is a lad called Hackney Carriages, who looks to be another one of those MacBook troubadours in the same vein as Patrick Wolf and Get Cape.Wear Cape. Fly. His lyrics are more G.C.S.E than Sixth Form and his overloud computer backing tracks are creative rather than good, but he’s pretty, emotional and wrapped in a plaid-shirt, so no doubt he’ll find an audience.

In the next room, The Down and Outs do a good impression of an American-pop punk act, somewhere between Dropkick Murphy’s and Less than Jake. All good clean unpretentious fun, but after the umpteenth song that sounds exactly like the last one, we disengage our attention.

Back in the backroom are Dananananackroyd bright young things who ignite straightaway and keep on burning with little let up throughout their whole set. Playing with mind-grabbing volume and effort, they have enough bounce and visceral power to hold you attention for a long time, and a fair amount of audience interaction keeps everyone on their toes. It’s their sheer enthusiasm that keeps them going, but they have an edge of depth in there as well.

goFaster >>are another local band also apparently also hit by illness tonight, but they solider on. Based around an infectious keyboard-pop assault and local-dialect lyrics, they’re like Mates of State on cheap Scouse speed. They hold their own despite being obviously subdued, but weren’t at their best tonight.

Johnny Foreigner share what a lot of tonight’s bands have – enthusiasm and oomph – but they’re just not as good as Dan Ack. More dynamic perhaps, but there’s less feeling and consequently they’re less overpowering. Overall this year seems to lack some of the bustle of previous Music Weeks, and we feel that the larger amount of headline acts have spilt the crowd somewhat from just hanging around in a venue and seeing who might turn up, which has been key to the fun of Music Week in previous years. As JF grind to a halt though, things end on something of a high, and it seems there’s hope yet for next year’s week of music.

By Kenn Taylor

Various venues, Cardiff 15^th/16^th November

That’s pronounced something like ‘Swoon’ by the way, if you come from the land of double-height road signs that is. That’s right readers, The Fly has headed down to Cardiff to check out the second year of Huw Stephen’s very own Swn music festival held in his hometown and dedicated to the best in new music, especially that from Wales itself.

Having trekked from THE NORTH it’s Saturday before we make it down to catch the festival, but we throw ourselves straight into the city and it’s sound. We head up past the Reflex’s and Subway’s that epitomise what is it  is to be British and come across something strange an unusual, a big bloody castle, right in the middle of town. We’re impressed, and handily right next door is Cardiff’s very own Barfly.

The first people we catch on entry are Broken Records, who play (Melo) dramatic indie rock pop. It’s mostly good, but every now and then they ramp themselves up a little too much and turn into a Killers pastiche. Stick to your roots lads, it’s always best when it’s real passion.

Next on Amazing Baby are from Brooklyn and mates with MGMT apparently. Though they have an electronic element they’re quite different from their friends and initially have a rather unconvincing Stone Roses vibe. As we go along though, they hit a darker, deeper groove and we’re a little moved. One to watch, maybe.

Queues bar us from the infamous Club Ifor Bach we so hoped and we have to make do with the delights of the local indie discos above the pub at Dempsey’s and Barfly

Saturday, and having also sampled the delights of a chain hotel on an industrial estate, we’re back at Barfly for Friends Electric. There’s an obvious Gary Numan influence on the name there. They begin with fairly mediocre indie, but start to slip in those electronics and things get a little better. There’s a touch of new rave about them but they have more subtly and that can only be a good thing.

Skipping to the Buffalo, a lovely little bar off Queen Street, we get the classy delicate folk of Pete Greenwood before we head back to Barfly to catch Picture Books in Winter. It’s a name that sounds like you put emo+twee into a computer and asked it for an answer. Despite this, we enamoured by their stomp, which combined with quality guitar work, some jig-style violin and the passionate vocals of the frontman add up to something that is possibly our fave act of the festival.

Tubelord follow them with gusto. They make a lot of noise for three people and, throwing themselves into the crowd, they nicely wake up a subdued Sunday audience. They seem to owe their melodies somewhat to Hot Club de Paris but with less wit, but they make up for that in dynamism and sheer force.

Once again we walk up Queen Street to the Buffalo and we switch from the bright young things which dominate this festival to John Head, one of the brothers from seminal Liverpool band, Shack. John carries an air of having seen much and, armed with just his voice and acoustic guitar, plays plaintive but beautiful songs of hope, regret and most of all, experience. It’s some of the most moving music of the festival.

We venture out of town to the shiny regeneration land of Cardiff Bay, and into the cool converted church venue that is The Point and we’re soon greeted by a show from Newport’s finest, Goldie Looking Chain. Some would have them down as a joke act and, while they’re not Bon Iver, with their re-appropriated beats and witty lyrics, they say a lot more about life in the UK than a thousand whiny indie bands could do. Crucially, they’re also really fucking funny. We question whether we’re drunk enough for this sort of thing but it’s fun and riveting and we are clapping along by the end.

Genod Droog are the last band on. They’re a welsh hip-hop act, but unlike the last act they peform in welsh, they’re passionate, and have a dark edge. Unhinged, mesmerising and loud, the group is made up of two lads in hip-hop gear, two geekyish guitarists and a woman, all steaming drunk. . It’s strikes us that might be something uniquely Welsh and we’re sad to hear it is their farewell gig.

Rob da Bank graces us with his DJing and then the carnival starts. Stiltwalkers, big lasses doing mad disco dancing on stage,  ballons, fancy dress and general decadence. Sportsday Megaphone interrupt the records with their music, they have nice line in urban alienation euro electro srock, but we’re more interested in dancing by this stage.

We’ve had a good time in Cardiff and this is a suitable ending. There has, as always, been plenty of chaff and only a small amount of wheat, but that is good enough for use, especially when combined with Cardiff’s unique charms and party atmosphere but having been to a lot of these urban music events, we can’t help thinking that the fundamental flaw of having so many bands on in such a short space of tine, when people are constrained to a place like at a real festival, is that fatigue inevitably sets in and you don’t see all that you could do. Either that or we’re just getting old.

Now, if we’ve learned one thing from Cardiff that we’d like to pass onto you dear readers, it is that the best place to get your brains, is in the goat major. Farewell.

By Kenn Taylor

Condensed damned shebang: 9 days, 8 venues, 150 performances, top hats, Norwegians, a free buffet, all in the city which gave the world Sonia. Still, singer Magz slides from sweet to samba and back again before some matching aprons and thrash metal on piano-accordion from a.P.A.t.T, and the apocalyptic, entertaining damnation of Multi Purpose Chemical.  The V.C.s demonstrate excellent ElectroSurfRock and we’re treated to muthafucking-brilliant jerky punkage from 28 Costumes. Ambulance make a lot of noise – mostly long winded and pretentious –  while Lovecraft sing of trees falling in love with each other. Former Miss America’s synth-folk veers between brilliance and blandness and The Silhouettes party like its 1969.  Scouse. Future. Bang.

By Kenn Taylor

Robin Island Country Park, Isle of Wight

11-13^th September 2009

There aren’t many festivals that you need to get a ferry to, but Bestival is one of them, and it’s a really pleasant way to arrive at the beautiful bays and rolling hills of the Isle of Wight.

Conceived as a ‘boutique’ event by Rob da Bank and his wife Josie, Bestival has grown year-on-year from its inception in 2004 to reach its current 40,000 capacity.

Despite this, the event still manages to maintain a homely feel, and this combined with a line up filled with big name acts makes it fairly unique.

You can’t organise the weather, but this year it couldn’t have been better, and we are blessed with sunshine and warm breezes for almost the whole of the festival.

You can plan the line-up though, and one of the masterstrokes of this festival is its realistic, audience-orientated programming. Friday night, when the audience are at their most up-for-it, has perhaps the strongest line-up, and The Fly finds itself running from stage to stage to cram it all in.

Wave Machines are a great upcoming act that we catch on small stage. Armed with masks and a collection of songs that manage to be rhythmic, ethereal and accessible, we have no hesitation in predicting that they will go far.

Other Friday highlights include Florence and the Machine, who wow us with great stage presence, though they don’t seem yet to have enough tunes to be playing in the festival slots that they’ve got. Then there’s Massive Attack. It takes them a few songs to get into it, and for the audience to get into them, but when tunes like ‘Teardrop’, ‘Risingson’, ‘Unfinished Sympathy’ come out, they’re nothing short of breathtaking.

Less impressive however, are MGMT. An act that should be a top festival band, they seem totally spent, suffering from some of the worst sound of the event and, despite their lavish costumes, lacking any sort of presence on stage.

The sound on the main stage was a major niggle though throughout the whole of Bestival. I’m sure there’s a good logistical reason for having the stage at the top of the valley, but as anyone who knows anything about acoustics will tell you, that’s not brilliant for live sound, especially on a windy, exposed island.

Saturday is fancy dress day. This year’s theme was ‘Space Oddity’. The Fly wears a fetching Disco Ball hat, but is easily outclassed by a myriad of other festival goers ranging from Button Moon to the Beastie Boys.

It’s great to watch everyone dressed up and chilling in the sun, and as with all festivals, it’s really the stuff that happens around the music that makes it a great experience. Despite the homely and ‘quality’ feel to Bestival, such as gourmet curries rather than rat burgers, the festival is still lively. That said, if the intensity and madness of Leeds or T in the Park is more your thing, it may seem a little tame.

Saturday appears to have been programmed with dance/party in mind. Returning to the music, Klaxons end their four years of touring promising “a new Klaxons” on their return. They’ve survived the ‘nu-rave’ bollocks and here at Bestival prove that they have great skill in creating overwhelming dance-pop that can ignite a big crowd.

They warm up well for Kraftwerk, who proceed quickly to cool things down. Clinical as ever on stage, but this is easily made up for by the visuals and those songs which, even putting their influence aside, are nothing short of brilliant.

As you’d expect from an event organised by a DJ, there are some great sets on offer too. Annie Mac Presents…a very sweaty tent featuring Toddla T and Erol Alkan amongst others and some very good vibes. Robbie himself DJs on several occasions, including a classics’ set he plays from his very own pod made out of an old jet engine that shoots flame up into the air. It’s eyebrow singeing but good.

Sunday meanwhile, seems geared up for relaxation and reflection after all that action. We sample some more of the different festival delights that Bestival does so well, including high tea and entertainment with Time for Tease Burlesque. Something of a trend recently, Burlesque has suffered at the hands of a lot of poor amateurs, but these girls show how it should be done, and you get tiny cakes and tea along with it to boot!

Mancs’ Doves and Elbow, with their rhythmic melancholy and jovial stage presence, are brilliant acts to finish the final day with. But for those with a party left in them there are still samba bands and a Carl Cox old skool set going on into the night. We, however, retire to our tent very satisfied with this event.

Leaving on Monday however, is not so nice. There are massive gridlocks at both the camp exit and the ferry terminal. There’s also poor management of the crowds, with little information given and, at the ferry terminal in particular, large numbers of people hemmed in with no way of getting out for water or the toilet. Bestival is a great, but it seems as if the event and the Isle of Wight just can’t cope with the amount of people that now want to attend it. If they want to retain the special feeling at Bestival, the organisers need to think about either limiting the numbers next year, or moving to a bigger site because, if not, they risk losing the great thing that they have created.

By Kenn Taylor

Roskilde, Denmark

Maybe it’s the frenzy watching the fractured crystal disco of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah or hearing 200 – the Faroe Islands answer to Dead Kennedys. Perhaps it’s Sigur Ros filling our hearts till they almost burst or wandering across the common with good tunes and people coming at us from all sides. Though it could be dancing to Northern Soul in a sand-filled barn at 2am. We’re not sure when, but at some point it strikes us: this is how it should be done.

Once a year, the fine city of Roskilde is invaded for a music party with all the profits going to charidee. The fun begins with the ‘pre-festival’ several days before the main shebang. Danish acts provide the tunes and other thrills include skating, swimming and drinking too much reasonably priced lager. As the big bands roll in, the weather shifts to head-cooking heat, while music wise there really is summat for everyone. From the witty spits and beats of Lady Sovereign to the Gypsy-punk jiggery of Gogol Bordello, the Lo-Fi, doom-Blues of Silver Jews, the ferocious grinds and scratches of Coldcut, and the fast and loose discolicks of Franz Ferdinand. England go out of the World Cup, but with an atmosphere like this who cares.

Roskilde is about top music and great times, not making a fast buck and it shows – even the security shakes their booty. As the sun sets on a great festival, Infadels keep the last loons standing with their anthemic Trance Punk as The Fly hits the road with sounds ringing in our ears and the smell of urine in our nostrils. It’s been a good week.

By Kenn Taylor

Novi Sad, Serbia

9^th-12^th July 2009

EXIT festival was formed in the heat of a revolutionary situation and, a decade later, the event held in the citadel overlooking the Serbian town of Novi Sad has an enviable reputation as one of the edgiest and best music festivals in Europe.

EXIT isn’t easy to get to from the UK, and Serbia is a country still getting over the war of ten years ago. But this does add to the sense of adventure, you really do feel like your reaching the edge of our Safe European Home.

There’s an array of big-name, mostly UK acts, on the bill. The Manic Street Preachers play a sterling set featuring songs from throughout their career and Patti Smith also plays all the best from her back catalogue with a passion and verve that betrays her age.

Kraftwerk have stunning visuals, and it’s great to see them work through classics like ‘Computer Love’ and ‘The Model’. You have to ask though, with their trademark clinical stage presence, why not just get the DVD?

Away from the main arena, the stages are mostly quite small and unimpressive affairs. The Dance Arena, however, is something altogether better. With raking that goes right up the side of the castle walls, it’s a great place to dance on till the sun rises.

And the sun does rise. EXIT is an event for late nighters. There’s no music till after 7pm, and some stages keep on going till 9am. After which, there’s no option but return to your accommodation or campsite.

Ah the campsite. It is a LONG walk from the main entrance. That said, the facilities are good and it does have a lively festival feeling in the day, which I would assume just isn’t there for the large number of EXIT punters who choose to stay in hotels or rented accommodation.

Prodigy top the bill on the final night, and it seems like every young person in Serbia have come to see them. We’re less impressed, they just seem to lack to mind-blowing OOMPH they had at their peak.

They’re aren’t a patch on final main stage act, Chase and Status, whose constant pounding DnB energy keeps us going that little bit longer than we otherwise might.

EXIT is a great festival, but it isn’t perfect. It’s not nearly as radical or intense as its reputation would make out, navigating the site is awkward and the difficulty in getting to the site from the UK is painful.

If you want to experience some big name acts in a location that’s a little bit out there, then head for the EXIT. If not, there are many other European festivals were you get a similar fix with a lot less grief.

By Kenn Taylor

Garden Festival

Petrčane, Croatia

3^rd-5^th July 2009

Many factors go into what makes a great festival great. There are the acts playing of course, the facilities, the people you go with, the location.

With Garden Festival, held in the grounds of a hotel in the Croatian holiday village of Petrčane, it’s the location that is everything.

Sure, if you just want dance in the sun you can go to Ibiza or any number of other places, but nothing really compares to this small but well equipped little village in a country that, perhaps accurately, sells itself as ‘the Mediterranean like it used to be.’

The Croatian coast, this area around Zadar included, is simply beautiful. It’s touristy enough for you to be able to get pretty much all the supplies you might want and not have to worry too much about not speaking the native language. Yet, equally, it isn’t over-developed and retains a ‘paradise’ like atmosphere.

When you’re sitting on the beach with some old skool tunes playing behind you, a couple of smiling dancers keeping the rhythm going and a lot of sunbathers just lounging about, all the many problems of today’s world slowly drift away.

It’s hot, but you can just jump in the water at pretty much any point. Mind the sea urchins though, DiS had to learn the hard way (It’s like getting lots of tiny wood splinters in your foot.). Swimming in the morning in the beautiful blue Adriatic is also the best hangover cure ever invented bar none.

Don’t worry though, it isn’t all boring bliss. As soon as it gets dark the party really starts. There’s a main stage in the courtyard, complete with a paddling pool in the middle that makes it better than any foam party. Then there’s the ‘beach stage’ a raised podium over the sands which, despite not having the biggest DJs, was where the best atmosphere was often at to be found as the merry splashed in the water and swung from overhanging trees.

The killer aspect of Garden though, is the boat parties. DiS had some advice from previous attendees to buy some boat party tickets in advance, and not to miss out. They were not wrong.

Our first party on the ‘Argonaut’, renamed ‘Argonaughty’ for the proceedings, is ‘Electric Mind’ featuring Dolan Bergin, Yam Who? and Ilija Rudman.

Onboard, things are subdued for a while. It’s ridiculously hot and the boat takes a while to leave dock. There’s also a terrible queue for the bar, caused by the ‘Funny Money’ system that the festival employs. You have to exchange you Croatian Kuna for receipts which you then take to the bar staff. Unfortunately, whether on the boat or the festival site, there are not enough cash takers – the organisers have had a lot of thieving go on in the past apparently – and this all makes for a very slow and frustrating system.

The solution, though, is to buy a lot of drinks at once. Which people do and, as the boat picks up speed and cruises swiftly up the coast in the brilliant sunshine, everything changes. With the waves lapping at the sides and the music kicking off, tops are removed, people get up and start dancing on benches, stand on the prow or grab onto the mast.

The party gets bigger and bigger to the point DiS can’t actually believe that this is all actually happening. The nearest thing we can equate it to is like being in the video to ‘Rio’ by Duran Duran, except without the Brummies in dodgy suits.

The beats and the sun and the party go on for hours, no one wants it to stop, but there’s another party waiting to board, and at 6:00pm everyone tumbles back onto the dock having experienced something that is genuinely ecstatically mind-blowing. There is no matching it. It was even worth the queue for the bar.

There are various accommodation options in Petrčane; hotels, guest houses, apartments and camping, though you should book early to get the best. The same goes for flights, there aren’t many and they fill up quickly. But even if you have to travel quite some distance to get the festival from wherever your flight lands, the scenery is likely to be beautiful and the times good.

DiS opted for traditional camping. There are two sites in the village. Both well appointed. ‘Autocamp Punica’ was ours, a little further from the festival site, but still a nice twelve-minute walk and right next to where you get onboard the boat parties. There are half-decent facilities and Maria, the owner, is lovely. It’s also the cheapest option. That said, it gets very hot very quickly of a morning, and there a lot of very funky looking (but harmless) insects knocking about, so if you’re very into your creature comforts, another option might be best.

Dancing carries on long into the night on all three days. The action in the arena is added to by the boat parties that leave at 2pm and 6pm every day, while Late-nighters can also carry on till 5am in the original 1970s Barberella’s Discothèque in the hotel. though that’ll cost ya extra.

Daytimes are usually spent either on boat parties, chilling or dancing to a few tunes on the beach. It’s all bliss, and it’s only when the music really begins to kick off that you feel inclined to do anything at all beyond just being there. It’s so blissful we almost considered not telling people ‘The Beach’ style lest it all be ruined. But we’re informed that after expanding the capacity of the festival to 3,000 people last year, this year they’ve put it back down to 2,000 to retain the intimate atmosphere and that’s the way they plan to keep it.

This year Garden is operating over two weekends to cope with its popularity, though this did have an effect on the line up. It looks like in order to drum up interest in the second weekend, that they got most of the big names.

Highlights of our weekend though, included Faze Action, whose disco-dominated set also featured a live band and a brilliant vocalist who we meet again later when she does an impromptu performance on the Argonaughty, and Norman Jay, who plays a great mix of quality tunes and crowd pleasers.

But, to be honest, it really doesn’t matter who’s playing. The music is good. The sun is high. The waters are blue. The people are cool and the boat is leaving for another party in an hour. Who the fuck needs Tiesto? Garden Festival is an amazing event for festival lovers, dance lovers and beach lovers. As the festival expands to have an event every weekend of the summer, we have no hesitation in recommending that you find the event best suited to your tastes and get the next flight to Croatia. Just don’t tell anyone else.

By Kenn Taylor