THURSDAY
My Thursday starts in the middle of the afternoon with a set on the main stage by THE NATIONAL. The National are a band I have a tremendous amount of respect for; they’ve never been forced down people’s throats with expensive marketing campaigns, but have always let the music do the talking.
Today in front of a large receptive crowd they seem relaxed and pleased to be here. They play around with the arrangements of the songs; all them a little more epic than their recorded counterparts with the brass section taking more of a lead. They finish up with a triumphant pairing of ‘Fake Empire’ and ‘Mr November’. The sun shines (briefly) and everything is good.
SONIC YOUTH teach me one or two ways of playing a guitar with a drum stick that I didn’t already know. This is useful information duly noted. I am not massively familiar with their back catalogue, but I love Daydream Nation and to my relief a good proportion of the set is given over to the album.
They strike a fine balance of love for, and disregard for, their instruments. Not many bands can maintain their relevance and hunger throughout a 26 year career, but Sonic Youth prove the exception to the rule. Maybe the secret is in the name.
My night ends in the company of SIGUR ROS on the second stage. Sigur Ros have been an important band for me since I first saw them in 2001, and although I was somewhat under whelmed by their latest record, as soon as the old familiar Svefn g englar ‘ping’ announces their arrival, magic comes flooding back. Decked out in American civil war apparel, they seem like a band reinvigorated and intent on putting on a big show.
They are joined by their ever present four piece string section, and also a five piece marching brass band, decked out in dazzling white uniforms, replete with the most unwieldy of rock and roll instruments, a whacking great contrabass tuba (I think!).
The set ends with their recent single ‘Gobbledigook’, all 13 people on stage banging drums, blowing horns and singing their hearts out. For a moment all are lost in a sea of confetti, and I realise that somewhere along the line, Sigur Ros morphed seamlessly into the Icelandic Polyphonic Spree. How did that happen? It matters not, as this is life affirming stuff and the set of the festival as far as I’m concerned.
FRIDAY
Everyone loves the laidback summery vibes of FLEET FOXES, so I fully expect to hate their set first thing on the Friday. Yet they come on, and before playing a note they build a great rapport, getting the crowd on their side with talk of their Norwegian ancestry. Their sweet harmonies drift over the Oslo fjord on a bed of reverb, and the sun comes out properly for the first time this week. I’m won over. Fleet Foxes really are a hard band to dislike! Scuppered.
Next up on one of the smaller stages, are Canadian organic kraut techno band, HOLY FUCK. iLT have had the fortune/misfortune of having to figure out how to follow this act on two separate occasions. I feel it’s better for all concerned that this is not the case today. I can relax and enjoy their stunning performance, and they don’t have some miserable guy’s coming on afterwards to wreck the party atmosphere!
They make dance music its ok to love. The four of them, drums, bass and two keyboard/effects fiends, pulsate as one very tight unit. They have great intuition, in building up tense funky grooves and releasing them into all out sonic assault, or atmospheric breakdowns. The set is less improvised than it used to be, but this just serves to focus everything into a more cohesive whole.
Friday’s main event is MY BLOODY VALENTINE. Before they take to the stage there are warnings on the big screen that my MBV will be very loud, and proper precautions should be taken. My ear plugs are in Leeds, so I decide that proper precautions probably mean not standing too close to the front.
The sound for most bands has been really good all week. Unfortunately for the MBV sound engineer, he has reputation for sheer volume to uphold, and as such I find the initial mix is fundamentally flawed. At the risk of sounding like my mum, the vocals were too low in the mix. I don’t mind that I couldn’t understand the words, it’s not really the point of MBV, but I couldn’t even hear if they were singing at all for the first two or three songs.
Things settle down, and we are induced into a comfortable trance like state. It’s something I’d never given much thought to when listening to a MBV record, but it’s all deceptively simple, and relies completely on the layered textures of the guitars rather than alternative tunings and complex arrangements.
They finish with ‘You Made Me Realise’, and descend into their famous 20 minute noise section. The sound is relentless and disorientating, a little like being born, but also like being strapped to the engine of a Boeing 747. They leave me with mixed feelings. Much of the set was a little underwhelming, but somehow my heart is beating faster and I’m feeling very alive. Strange.
SATURDAY
The final day of the festival, and there is nothing on the programme that really excites me. Thankfully the sun is shining. I stumble across some joker called BRYNE CHRISTOPHER, who is busy murdering a Portishead song. He is one of very few new British artists on show at Øya, and I despair. I have attempted to be reasonably positive throughout this review, it generally isn’t in my nature, but someone really needs to ‘fix’ this guy’s career before he gets anywhere near our radios.
Sweet relief comes in the form of Jagga Jazzist member LARS HORNTBVETH. He is premiering his neo classical piece Kaleidoscope, accompanied by various Norwegian indie musicians and the Norwegian broadcasting orchestra. The main stage is full of instruments; synths, harp, vibraphone, marimba, xylophone, guitars and drum kit. It’s mesmerising and refreshing after three days of the rock and roll, and three minutes of Bryne Christopher.
YEASAYER are the closest I come in my mission to find the next A-ha, and they aren’t even Norwegian. Still they possess some great 80’s style pop songs. The frontman switches seamlessly from a tuneful falsetto to a baritone croon, all the while jerking around the stage like David Byrne. They were also notable for good use of a fretless bass. As a general rule, I would avoid a band with a fretless bass like the plague. Somehow they carry it off in some style.
I decide to leave the rock and roll extravaganza there. At the beginning of the week, four days of loud music and expensive beer sounds like a good idea. Maybe I’m getting too old, but by the middle of the fourth day I’m happy to turn my back and leave. I have enjoyed the festival and my experience on the other side of the note book. It certainly puts a different slant on the process of watching a band play a rock show.
PHOTO: CARMEL MCNAMARA
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