..Fife.. Fest

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  Once again, I had seriously overindulged on the old mayhem the night before.  Every time I make a serious commitment to a worthy cause, some form of depraved activity presents itself to me and I embrace it with arms wide open.  This undoubtedly will be my downfall.  As a semi consummate professional in ventures such as these, I usually prescribe myself around 4 hours worth of sleep in order to have at least some sort of moral bearing the next day.  Waking up in a pool of my own sweat, my eyes refused to accept the sunlight pouring through the open curtains as anything but wholly unnatural.  These were bad times.  Swift action was required, but exactly what that was still remained unclear.  Venturing through to the living room, I was met with several bodies that all appeared to be in the same condition as my depleted self.  Sleep had been a hideously unattainable mirage for all concerned.  Just as one of us had almost crossed that final stretch of the sandman's fares, some incessant piece of nonsense would once again enter our fragile minds and re-start the cogs of madness that would keep us awake with Prodigy songs on loop mixed in with terrifying faces and skulls in a continuous state of metamorphosis.

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  Today was "Fife Fest".  To give the reader some indication as to what the inventive title means, it is the coming together of some of the most talented bands currently playing along the Scottish music scene and having them brandish Fife – in particular, Dunfermline – with their bravado.  In other words, we turn up, we laugh, we drink, we listen, we cheer, we drink some more then we all bundle out into the cold night knowing that our Saturday night has indeed been "a right gid ane".

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  An hour or so had passed and my nightmare hadn't even begun to kick in yet, although the sweating and severe anxiety most definitely had.  Nursing a pint of Amstel whilst receiving jibes about how the night before I was in the worst states many had ever seen me in was doing nothing for my self-esteem, never mind the imminent eye popping headache that was most certainly on it way.  I can't remember who cracked first.  It may have been me.  It may have been Lanky.  Either way, the infamous phrase of "I think the joab is fucked" was remorsefully mumbled.  Today was definitely on the brink of being described as tragic.

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  With heads firmly in our hands, and stagnant pints sitting there idly, I seriously considered leaving the dark and morbid surroundings of "The Creepy Wee Pub" and wandering home to enjoy the simple pleasures in life such as a comfortable bed and hot meal.  Realistically, I could easily make the gig later on – there was no way I would break an agreement made over a pint of lager.  What would Winston Churchill do?  I pondered this quietly to myself and eventually decided that no foreboding dread would keep me from my duties as a Field Officer in Acts of Mayhem.  How could I even show face around these parts if it became local knowledge that Tomas Bird missed Fife Fest because of a hangover.  This would simply not do at all!  In booze we trust I proclaimed and lunged mercilessly for the bar.

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  'Three Voddies and a can of Red Bull please bar keep!'  This order has yet to let me down as it is the saviour of the damned.  With the good company of Davie Barr and Lanky, belting tunes in the jukebox and a fine order of drinks to quench our thirsts, the scene for redemption was finally set!

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  The caffeine laced elixir worked like a charm and our spirits began to lift.  Laughter filled our bellies and echoed round the pub.  Music soured, toasts were made, drinks were downed, high fives painfully connected, and as the song "Feelin" by The La's played its final notes, our stature as jovial members of the drunken community had once again been restored.  It felt glorious!

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  Sunlight washed over our faces as we stepped out into the refreshing day.  Making our way to Velocity, I realised for the first time that I was about to set foot in the place where icons such as The Who, The Kinks, David Bowie and Marc Traynor's  favourite, The Clash enthralled their legions of fans.  Obviously, this was back when the venue was called the "Kinema Ballroom" and over the years the building has traded hands several times, each time with a new renovation to suit modern tastes until its eventual closure in July 2007.  I suppose the town of Dunfermline could only deal with offers such as £10.00 all you can drink / get battered for, or play the taxi rank lottery (who gets heidered…a pissed up ned decides) for so long.  Regardless of the more infamous aspects of its history, the Kinema Ballroom had once been a thriving part of the British music scene and after an intense schedule of refurbishments and upgrades; the old Kinema Ballroom re-opened on ..Wednesday 13th December 2007.. as "Velocity" – much to the delight of the scene.

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  We arrived at around 17.00, which as it turned out was perfect timing as most of the bands playing at night had also just pitched up and were in the processing of unloading.  After many a hand shake and how do's, I re-positioned myself in the darkest corner I could find and soaked up the backstage atmosphere.  I sat in rare spirits – literally, as I had sneaked a bottle of Vodka in with me – as the usual hustle and bustle of guitars being re-strung and sound engineers confirming with bands their specific requirements danced around me.  With a fresh drink in one hand, and my pen in the other, I relaxed with the young and upcoming band, Crayons.

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  Having only seen them a couple of times, I had still to make my mind up properly about them.  In my mind, it is not always just about having the songs and musical ability to tear a place apart.  Personally, I always like to see how a band condones itself around others and view how they accept line-up decisions and set times etc.  Professionalism is always something to be revered.

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  They do not let me down.  Brimming with enthusiasm, regardless over the fact that they are on first does not bother them at all.  If anything, the fact that they've been given the chance to warm up for this stellar line-up has got them even more mad for it.  They are more than aware that the Scottish music scene is no trivial thing – The View and Glasvegas to name but a few of its finest productions.  On the grand scale of it all, when opportunities come along and give bands like Crayons the chance to play with other acts who have built solid foundations to whatever aspirations they may have, then the lessons are there to be learnt as well as the legions of their fans to be won over.  In my opinion, bands like Crayons are definitely a cause for celebration as there is nothing better when another inventive and exciting genre of music comes along to freshen up our lives.  Hangovers aside, these are the good times!

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T-Time for Crayons

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  Frenzied uproar is really the only way to describe the Crayons set.  Throughout their performance of intricate combinations of synthesizer and guitar work comes the feverish drumming that is enough to generate a whole new booklet of maths equations.  It is awkward genius yet honest, fresh music and it certainly does not by pass the hundred or so teenagers revelling in ecstasy down the front.

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  The energetic rampage of front man Sean is enough to tire the audience out, but luckily, we are resilient and contently put down our pints or whatever beverage has graced our hands and embrace the jagged dance moves that seem to be taking over our bodies.

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  Songs such as Parle and Follow the ....Yellow Brick Road.... sees Lanky – my co-pilot of the day – take me to one side and proclaim loudly in my ear “fucking hell mate, they’re shit hot eh”.  I agree whole-heartedly.  Responses such as this are echoed all over the room…Fife Fest is off to a good start!

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T-Time for Modern Faces

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  This is swagger.  This is a séance of pure Rock ‘n’ Roll.  This is louder – much louder – than all the marching powder ....Columbia.... could ever hope to flood our fair shores with.  Modern Faces seem to have captured everything the 90’s had to offer and catapulted it into the naughties.

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  Stepping up to each of their songs with a coolness and suaveness that even some of their chosen idols would be in awe of, Modern Faces prove within a mere few seconds why they are playing this gig.  They bring the crowd into their rapturous midst and make them part of musical coliseum that they are literally building round us.

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  Love Frustrates Me, Fallen and the epic finale of Change My Ways takes all religion and makes it irrelevant as the grainy voice of Monty and serotonin pumping riffs of Mick soar to unholy levels – Jesus himself couldn’t turn anything into this outrageously decent salute to Britpop.  They may sing “So long, goodbye, my time here is ending” but I can most certainly say that they are going no-where soon, in fact, if my opinion is anything to go by, Modern Faces are just beginning.  Here here to that I say!

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T-Time for Ray Summers

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  If you came to march on the spot in sheer joy, then Fife Fest was definitely the place to be.  Ray Summers – their name is homage to Bassists Billy Kay's dad's former band – evocative sound takes you straight back to the 60's where free love and good feelings are a 'plenty.  Their summery vibe – no pun intended – is for all to see, hear, and frankly get involved with.  If modern day comparisons are required, then the all the bits from The Coral mixed in with The Bees are apt in my opinion.

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  Having only formed in 2008, songs such as Careless Leader, Boots 'n' Cats and of course my personal favourite, Heishka Rashka are already the most played efforts on many a folks I-Pods.  Taking the fact that they've recently released their debut single The Shepherd, Ray Summers are definitely one of the must see acts of the moment.

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Their dress sense is sharp, but their musical ability is sharper and each song is obviously cultivated with harrowing finesse to achieve the outcome of their on stage performance.  Curly haired singer Urey is prone to go on tambourine-rattling rampages whilst guitarists Jackson and Dougie take turn about showing why other musicians should just give up now.  Davey Foghorn and Billy Bass take care of the harmonies that give new song Follow Me Down their retro edge and the drumming prowess of Lee Burgoyne is second to none – any man who can combine the coolness of Reni mixed with the savage beats of Animal from the muppets is definitely to be revered.

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T-Time for Beatnic Prestige

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  When it comes to ..Dunfermline.. band Beatnic Prestige they really can do no wrong in the eyes of Fifers.  In fact, I’ve no idea why I am merely limiting their appeal to just Fifers, as over the past couple of years the Beatnic boys have applied their trade up and down Britain and with their relentless passion for good old hard work they have made a name for themselves – and rightly so – in every city they unleash their mod / punk / indie sound.

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  Walking out to the home grown chant of “We are the Beatnic, the Beatnic Prestige, the lads prepare for another set of sheer carnage.  The crowd down the front – that so far has not stopped bouncing – gear up for what surely will be the most trying for their young knees.  As they tear through old favourites such as Doubtfire and 9 Clicks, I begin to properly realise that Dunfermline’s scene is now well and truly thriving, and to be blatantly honest, Beatnic Prestige – along with a few others along the way – have more or less spearheaded our stake for acclaim in Scottish music.

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  On both technical and song writing terms, with regards to the genre of music they play, Beatnic Prestige hold their own against any of their contemporaries.  Every member plays their part in achieving the amplified “Fucking Rights” and “Mon the Beatnic” that seemed to be getting roared all around.  Charlie Brown – as always – takes the T-Award as my favourite song of their set but it is Butch’s drumming that has made my night…sheer Bonham!

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T-Time for Sergeant

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  From sell out shows with Oasis, to supporting Britpop legends Supergrass, to special heart warming shows in Wick, Sergeant are always received in an overwhelmingly joyous way.  To be fair, the Glenrothes four piece have forever been a band of the young and happy.  Their effortlessly summery sunshine hits have took them from festival to festival and in turn have forged themselves into one of ....Scotland....’s most revered bands.

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  It’s not just the blissful melodies such as See When I See You, or the jingly and jovial treat that is Swiftly Does It that makes a Sergeant gig special.  No, for me it’s the strange and surreal coming together of complete strangers who are all just there to have a good time yet somehow manage to come away with 15 new best friends from all over the country…Bathgate and Lochgelly to name but a few places.

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  As well as what can only be described as their summer classics such as Away With The Fairies, K.O.K and of course the almighty Sunshine, Sergeant have been slowly introducing new songs into their beloved set.  Seven Year Itch and Booksales for Jesus show us that the aforementioned old school songs were not accidental.  A varied direction is definitely starting to bloom in the Sergeant camp and it is good to see that it has been welcomed with open arms by their ever growing army of fans.

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Summary

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  How can I sum the night up to anyone who wasn’t there?  I can’t!  I can only ask the question…where the fuck were you?

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  Cheers to Miller and all the bands for having a T-Bird along…it was indeed a right belting night!!

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The End

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Tomas Bird

Field Officer in Acts of Mayhem

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Weekend Revolution ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

31-05-2008

Glen Pavilion

Val Verde

Beatnic Prestige

Figure 5

Sergeant

  Every single person who has made a considerable difference to the Scottish music scene in 2008 was at King Tuts for Hogmanay.  It is almost as if an unwritten, unspoken vow was made between several key figures in order to pave the future with music and mayhem of the highest degree.  Some may say that that is nonsense, but when you look at Calum Traynor and Dominic Alari's White Riot club night, and then of course the recent debut of Blair Welsh and Jamie Laverty's Streetrogue Promotions, then this uncanny fact speaks for itself.

  Although this was not the first Weekend Revolution, for me, it certainly was the first one that had caught the town of ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Dunfermline's musically strained – other than P.J Molloys – bloodshot eye.  Making my way towards the Glen Pavilion, I freely admit that I was in the grandest of spirits, and upon reaching the entrance to where I would imagine "the toons" entire population would soon be flooding through, I was filled with a great deal of awe.

  My last memories of this place were from ten years back and to be honest, that only really involved us hanging around, waiting for my mate Stu to finish his work.  But now the pavilion – a place associated with wedding receptions, high school proms and scout quizzes – had the feeling of The Doghouse, Tunnels, Capitol, King Tuts and all my others favourite venues rolled up into one.  It was a sterling display by Miller, no-one in their right mind could state that he had let the side down with this effort so it was now up to the bands to repay him – the revolution was here!

Val Verde

  The last time I had ever seen or heard of Val Verde – not the fictional country used in Commando, Die Hard 2 or Predator – was at an all day festival called Toole Fest.  Well, when I say all day festival, I really mean that when my mates – the Toole's – parental unit went on a two week holiday and left those pair of maniacs in charge, the result was that they emptied the living room of all its furniture and valued possessions in order to set up, what most of us are used to seeing on the NME stage at T in the Park.

  It is fair to say that a good time was had by all, for the day had contained a whole horde of merry revellers – not unlike tonight, a barbeque, Tennents lager and of course, some of the finest musicians Dunfermline had to offer at the time.  I have to admit though, that my favourite part of the day – other than chuckling at the comical wee dog that was utterly baffled as to who all these people were in his house – was when Val Verde took to the stage / where the two and three seated couches used to be.  I think what impressed me most about them that day was how different they sounded to what we had been treated to so far.  Boasting a style verging somewhere in between Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and Gomez – two of my favourite bands I may add – was indeed a lot for a lounge to handle, but to its credit, it stood up to the task well.  As for Val Verde, well they had just taken their first steps to becoming touted as being one of Fife's finest bands.

  Fast forward two and a half years and they are now a four piece with lead vocalist Ryan Sharpe also taking up Rhythm Guitar duties.  Walking out to a sizeable – and to my ears – Val Verde daft crowd, I found myself standing with Grant Dickson and Paul Grieves, who in their time have been closely associated with The View and The Law respectively – a tangible compliment in itself.  Together we stood and listened intently to the 1968 Ford Mustang roaring vocals, groovy ska upstrokes mixed with what sounded like an accompaniment of military drumming of songs like That Road and the almighty Billy Magazine, which has a penultimate chorus that sounds like what I assume the Buckfast Abbey Monks chant when they are making their sweet Tonic wine.  Frank Bullit and two hit men in their 1968 Dodge Charger would have a hard enough time dealing with the formidable bar that Val Verde was raising – never mind the rest of the bands on the bill.

  Although in my mind I had no doubt that I was witnessing a great band in the making, I had that evening managed to fall over and land on my head – no thanks to my disgraceful football skills – so found myself constantly looking to Grant and Grievesy for re-assurance.  Loud cheers from both, backed up by a healthy dose of applauding from the now more than mad for it audience, confirmed that my failure to control a suspect cross from Rory Buchanan had not impaired my judgement whatsoever.  Val Verde had set the tone of what was surely going to be an epic night.

Beatnic Prestige

  The tail end of 2007 was owned by the Beatnic Prestige.  Venues across Scotland were being sold out, stages were being invaded by "Dougie fae the Toon", and Beatnic chants were emanating from the midst of French Rugby fans mock scrums courtesy of me, The Face and Traynor.  So when the chimes of midnight struck on the 31-12-2007 thus welcoming in 2008, the Beatnic boys decided that the forthcoming year should be no different, and therefore set about causing the exact same uproar.  Every gig, club night and festival would achieve the same result:

• Aching limbs from bouncing
• Vocal chords stretched from chanting and singing
• My sense of achievement of having annoyed everyone by constantly pointing out such classic Beatnic moves such as Butch's drum solos, Albo's ridiculously amazing guitar playing and of course the Finn shuffle
• And of course the jubilant feeling of have just seen a mega show

  The ethos of the Weekend Revolution was no different, however the atmosphere most certainly was.  Seeing that this was the biggest home crowd that Beatnic Prestige had possibly ever played in front of, the Pavilion's crowd and bands, was almost as hyped up as Kriss Akabusi on a record breaking attempt for consuming as many blue smarties as humanly possible within an hour…AWWOOOOOGA!!

  As expected, the Beatnic showed no mercy and powered through a set that was as impressive as I have seen them play.  Jim McNab, as always was on form with the Fife banter – something to which he excels at – and the band near ripped the place down with ease.  The many months of hard practising, fine tuning and constant gigging had paid off royally! 

  The Beatnic Prestige is getting to the same point as last year, and if they continue with same steadfast formula as they have been, then it will not be long before the really important heads are turned and the champagne corks are popped.  Jack Kerouac, who was best known for his heavy involvement in the Beat Generation – where the term Beatnik would eventually stem from – once wrote: -

 "The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars, and in the middle, you see the blue centre-light pop, and everybody goes ahh..."

  To me nothing sums up their slice of the Weekend Revolution better than the above, perhaps instead of "ahh" though, I think "We are the Beatnic, the Beatnic Prestige" is slightly more appropriate…PEARFECT!!

Figure 5

  Hemodynamics elicited by an impulse of neuronal activity as predicted by a dynamical biophysical model (see Friston et al 2000a for details).  A burst of neuronal activity causes an increase in flow inducing signal that decays with first order kinetics and is down regulated by local flow.  This signal increases rCBF with dilates the venous capillaries, increasing volume (v).  Concurrently, venous blood is expelled from the venous pool decreasing deoxyhemoglobin content (q).  The resulting fall is deoxyhemoglobin concentration leads to a transient increases in BOLD (blood oxygenation level dependent) signal and a subsequent undershoot.

  I have absolutely no idea as to the meaning of what I have just typed there.  Because the Weekend Revolution saw me making my debut to Figure 5, I thought it best to research into them a little bit.  The above is the result of my futile attempt.  Now I'm not entirely sure if one of them is perhaps some sort of mad scientist and the above is the formula for Count Dracula's very own brand of Cheerio's – more likely I've clicked on the wrong link – but what I am sure of is when Figure 5 took to that stage, they had swagger and look of a band that was about to aspire to statements such as:

"Have no doubt; this is a proper rock band" (NME)

"A vicious blend of sixties fuelled punk pop" (Art Rocker Magazine)

"Utterly infectious guitar pop that's begging for the big time" (The List)

  As soon as they kicked off what was to be 30 minutes of psyched up Garage Punk, I instantly knew that the above plaudits were deserved.  In 2007, Figure 5 had had festivals such as T in the Park, Rockness and Belladrum thrown at them.  Not to mention the XFM Winter Wonderland with the Stereophonics.  The phrase "took it all in their stride" was definitely applicable.  But it was now 2008 though and The Weekend Revolution demanded nothing but freak beat, mariachi and skiffle-toned rousing psychedelic pop played from the heart.  We were not disappointed and when they played tunes such as Never Believe and former single Nitty Gritty, well you would be forgiven for thinking you had been transported to the UFO Club and were witnessing The Coral and Syd Barrett jamming, with special guest Sergio Leone in the corner filming it for future Clint Eastwood endeavours.  What we had here was a band that could pull of their influences incredibly well, and the sign of that in my opinion is that you couldn't tell what their influences were.  On the risk of using a boring descriptive such as it was indeed a special performance, I'll round this off with my own statement for them to aspire to.

"Figure 5 give a performance that would even inspire a Sunday school teacher to bump Church and go on a 4 day bender" (Tomas Bird)

Sergeant

  With already such an impressive line up under the Weekend Revolutions belt, the fact that Sergeant had still to play made the anticipation all the more nerve racking.  I can never pin point as to why I get nervous for them coming on.  With their perfect pop based structures, accompanied by Mercers invigorating and refreshing lyrics that pretty much define everyone's summery smiles (for me it's drinking Tennents), they need not worry in the slightest – so why should I?  What ever this nervous disposition relates to, it does not last long, for as soon the lads take to the stage and burst into the now John Leckie'd finely tuned set, the mayhem that follows, far outweighs any butterflies – yes, even the ones that flutter near the Sizewell B nuclear plant in Suffolk.

  Storming through their already instant classics – which has favourable hints from say bands like The Stone Roses or The Las – such as Swiftly Does It, Counting down the Days and Away with the Fairies, it almost as if the crowd and the band are as one, much like a Super Soaker and Lonnie Johnson would be on a warm July evening.  The faces in attendance were painted with sheer wildness and I did not recognise a single one of them.  I knew some of the old school would be somewhere in this sea of bodies, but this further proved – in my eyes at least – that their fan base was spreading nicely throughout the Kingdom of Fife.

  It was not long before we reached the end of the Weekend Revolution as It All Comes Back To Me was hurled into the crowd causing the entire place to nearly collapse in on itself – well the security barriers anyway.  These had already been severely tested earlier on when the legions of Rory Buchanan fans had obviously got a little too carried away with themselves – myself included – but it was all in conjunction with the nature of music and mayhem so no harm was done.

  I was gladder than glad that Miller had managed to secure Sergeant.  As bands get bigger and bigger, the smaller towns sometimes seem to miss out as the circuit the current Scottish music scene revolves on, does not yet incorporate the Dunfermline's and Bathgate's etc.  Thankfully, with the continued selfless work of everyone mentioned in this, music and mayhem will soon flow everywhere – something to which I am more than delighted about.

Tomas Bird

Field Officer in Acts of Mayhem