Beauty Drowns Out the Sound of War

Fine September weather graced the whole of the 2009 End of The Road Festival and reinforced it as the must see event of the season. Its organisation as always excellent with a friendly crew. There were concerns about the site not opening till the Friday morning but we were determined on a Thursday trip from Wales, only to be confronted with a 'not to be taken for a fool' Sun reading steward soaking in the "Get De Beers In" edition and dismissively waving us down the road to a nearby campsite. But this sorted us out as the sun set. We finally set up camp in a field in Chettle not before sampling the glorious Olde England of Tollard Royal, its surroundings and medieval hunting lodges and country houses. Fleeting night breezes, falling conkers, a camp fire, peace and solitude were later disturbed by the distant eerie rumblings of Salisbury Plain chinook helicopters. But the sound of war soon became drowned out by a festival of welcome relief from a cynically spun world.

Situated on the Cranborne Chase in deepest Dorset End of The Road featured an enticing line-up. Some acts rose above the established standard of this fine festival nestled in the enchanting woods of the Larmer Tree Gardens. Standing out were Herman Dune, Alela Diane, The Broken Family Band, Darren Hayman, Steve Earle and Charlie Parr. The Minnesota man's rare visit to these shores delivered two great sets starting with a late Friday afternoon stormer on the Big Top Stage. A reluctant star with bottle neck guitar sharpening the senses for what lay ahead. Herman Dune's Friday night captured the heart with possibly the best show of the weekend. A good hour of drum driven harmony leading the enthralled audience to the edge of their senses. A similar sense evoked by the Broken Family Band on a glorious Saturday Garden Stage. They'll be taking a well earned rest pretty soon, and their performance here was an awesome display of experience.

Darren Hayman's set included a wasp competing for the singer's mike and making the ex-Hefner man re-evaluate earlier advice he'd given to his wife about staying calm and not moving. Just about a wasp defying performance which left me buzzing and looking forward to his secret Sunday early hour gig in the Tipi tent. And what a show that was. A packed out tent rewarded with old Hefner classics and wordsmith genius leaving the audience whooping with delight. Darren's soulful ease of delivery and composed stage presence a real impression on someone now wanting to explore a rich back catalogue.

Alela Diane's grace and squinting reflection facing the sun had her belting out vocals to so many lovely and quickly familiar songs. Alela took us into the zone. A beautiful set as expected by the Nevada City songbird surely about to attract wider attention with a performance on Later... with Jools Holland the following weekend. Alela's trusted band, including her father, charmed an enraptured crowd at the Garden Stage. Steve Earle's presence in a similar vein on the Sunday added a bit more balls to this quite serious yet convincing festival. Steve's rapport prompted a reminder for us all to think twice about throwing the baby out with the bath water when the looming general election hits us. Neko Case...what a fine example of taking the theme further and lightening our load with lusty leering and gutsy warnings to follow up act The Hold Steady which encouraged lots of giggles.

The main attraction this year was undoubtedly The Fleet Foxes. A majority of the 5,000 festival goers snugly filling out the Garden for a Saturday night headliner with all the right ingredients. A starlit night, a gentle breeze, the whiff of a spliff or two. But perhaps the atmosphere, like the weather, had suddenly become too parched and a bit more juice would have lubricated proceedings with lots more devilry. Many had come to witness these talented young men about to earnestly dish out snippets of the eagerly awaited follow up to their exceptional debut album. Robin Pecknold and co took deep chilled breaths and warmed up with the pure yet mysterious sound they conjure. Glimpses of new material about the enormity of everything and earth spinning stuff packed in lots of reflective slow down technique to promise fine things to come. They were nice, on a level, yet curious shyness suggested here's a band who are either on the ball or bumbling, but never to the extreme in either case. ‘Mykonos’ being the most convincing delivery from the geezers (not a term of reference to old men, Robin). Like Glastonbury, Hard Rock at Hyde Park, London and here at End of the Road, The Fleet Foxes convince that they''ll quickly ease into the touring routine and hopefully indulge in a few temptations along the way.

With a naughty glint in her eye I just about glimpsed Beth Jeans Houghton singing her last song in the Local on Friday. She looked resplendent in a hat full of feathers. Yet on the Saturday, the withdrawal of The Horrors left the Big Top Stage open for Beth to add another show. With a quick turn around and mature approach from Beth and the boys we had a hugely enjoyable stage side view of this remarkable young woman and an open ear to her lively tunes.

Come to think of it, End of the Road's appearance by Blues veteran T-Model Ford typified how the festival did indeed have attitude. This man can still mess with the best despite a dislocated hip and advancing years. More merriment followed on Sunday with Jarvis Cocker and Richard Hawley waking up from a Saturday night DJ set to join Bob Lind on the Garden Stage with lots of focused attitude and fun. Which laid the rug out for the daddy of pseudo sleaze Bob Log III to deliver a hilarious and provoking slice of laughter. Tight jumpsuit, motorcycle helmet and guitar slide blues at a high tempo, come on.

The weekend of music could best be described as having a hard shell with a soft centre. A consistent reminder of End of the Road's personality of earnest heartwarming endeavour beneath a sniggering, teasing veneer, with the shamen-like, all-knowing Josh T Pearson perhaps the End of the Road's true everyman.

© 2009 Ronnie Parry