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The second weekend in July is a busy one as far as festivals are concerned, with Latitude, Guilfest, Larmer Tree, and Indian Summer all taking place across Great Britain.

Bristol’s own Ashton Court is one of the longest running, celebrating its staggering 33rd birthday, and returning to the grounds of the Ashton Court mansion.



It couldn’t really have been a better day for the event, and if sunshine really does make festivals, then it certainly put a smile on the faces of Saturday’s Ashton Court clientele.

Onto the bands, and with a name like a dodgy backstreet computer repair store, Angel Tech make 'blissed out electronica with the rattle & clatter of a 3 piece guitar band to create unique future pop', or so their biography says. Which, if slightly ambiguous, is a pretty good explanation of what they actually do.

It’s breezy and melodious at times, haunting and atmospheric throughout, and creates a sound not wholly unique from the 90’s Bristol scene. The guitars pull them away from the pigeon holed electro ambience that I’m tempted to lump them in with, and the package generally sounds like Kid A Radiohead, with local influences Portishead emerging now and again.


The diversity of their sound makes them increasingly hard to categorize, but it is undoubtedly beautiful, touching music and one not to be missed.

Mea Culpa (latin for ‘my fault’) had missed their earlier slot on the Amphitheatre Stage (something to do with dodgy map reading according to the compére) and had consequently been slotted in for a brief slot later into the festival. Not all bad news for them, as they get to enjoy the increased crowd capacity as a result.

It’s blood, spit and heartfelt mic screaming to accompany brutal thrash metal at it’s finest. The explosive intro certainly shakes awake anyone who had enjoyed dosing off to the relaxing chilled vibe of Angel Tech, and Mea Culpa’s aggressive furor isn’t one to be meddled with. Personally, it’s just a lot of indecipherable shouting to me, backed up with a competent hardcore outfit, and while my own taste finds the rawing a little too discomforting this early in the afternoon, it’s certainly embraced by the younger members of the audience. Good if you like things loud and heavy, bad if you’re suffering from a headache.


I wandered around the site for a while and found myself in a double tippi, parked on the side of the wonderfully titled ‘Enchanted Garden’, where people were trying their hand at painting, finding love at speed dating, or just chilling out and listening to the pleasant duel guitars of Vince Callan and his mate. Certainly the mellowest part of Ashton Court, and the vibe was relaxed and surreal. Not a place for the young and restless though, as one girl remarked to her friend after stepping inside the tent, “it’s hardly banging in 'ere is it?”



Over on the acoustic stage was the soulful Katey Brooks, whose vocal chords reach low enough to qualify her for a place as a barbershop baritone. Setting her apart from the majority of female solo artists like Regina Spektor or Emiliana Torrini. Her voice is perhaps not as flexible as the formerly mentioned artists, but her deeper tones certainly suit the more soul-like style of music. There are definite similarities to the likes of Tracy Chapman, and while her lyrics are intelligent, her smile warm and radiant, and her demeanor enchanting, she may well break from folk roots into the mainstream.



You can’t argue with good old, jingly jangly rock n’roll when the sun is shining this bright, and Santa Dog deals out plenty of frivolous heart-warming music, doused in that sparkly feel-good factor that can lift even the most persistent of bad moods. The look of Blondie, the hooks of The Cardigans, and the vibe of The Thrills make for a rather good alternative group, and lead singer Rowena Dugdale has mastered the elegance of glamorous chic, with aviator belittling glasses and a sexy black number to boot. Some nice fiddly guitar work from Rob Williams completes a tight outfit, definitely one of the day’s highlights.



Local boys The Francos play lighthearted acoustic indie strikingly similar to The Kooks. Fitting in with today’s trend of summer pop they have the hooks all in the right places, and form a melodic style reminiscent of the Liverpudlian charm seen before in bands like The La’s and The Coral. There is a definite pop sensibility to each of their well delivered tunes, and if familiarity breeds contempt for you then you are most likely to pass The Franco’s off as predictable indie kids, going through the motions of white middle class boys with guitars. Two-dimensional indie it may well be, but in a hugely competitive genre this lot have mastered the art of melody, and maybe, just maybe, that will be the crucial string in their bow. Only time will tell.



Onto another one of Bristol’s other indie bands making waves on the music scene at the moment; Fortune Drive. Unlike The Franco’s, who worked an acoustic / electric combo, Fortune Drive have two electric guitars, and the heavier distorted sound is all the more noticeable.

Angsty, raucous power chords move us from The Franco’s charming swinging 60’s vibe, to a grungier, dirtier sound. Again, influences are aplenty and it would be far too easy to reel of a collection of booze inspired, lads on the pull groups to draw comparisons too. They don’t wear leather or swagger around the stage with unfounded arrogance, but they do sound awfully like Iggy Pop, The Black Velvets and of course The Ramones. It’s a good enough performance, but I’m not entirely convinced what makes this band unique and wander off to find something a little more interesting.



Thankgod for Jazz/soul nine-piece Dr. Meaker. Glastonbury favorites, and you can see why. Dr. Meaker’s ensemble create sublime dancefloor fillers, transcending early 90’s underground dance and rolling in some great funky breaks. The mixture of styles gets the Ashton Court crowd grooving and it makes for the most colourful moment of the festival yet. Great stuff.



50,000 fall fans can’t be wrong, apparently, but if we’re going by figures, 60 million people voted for George Bush, and over 30 million of us all own a copy of Celine Dion’s ‘Falling Into You’, so excuse me for being skeptical.

The Fall is basically Mark E. Smith and friends, and with 58 line-up changes in their 31 year history, it’s clear they’ve swapped shirts more times than the Brazilian international football team, and the way Smith rotates his backing band is pretty similar too.


The Fall are before my time, so my apologies for not rightfully acknowledging the huge impact they’ve had on the music scene, the plenty of imitators that have spawned from their inception, and the vital role they had in the British post punk movement of the late 70’s. All very well, but that doesn’t excuse them from being shit live.

Smith’s unremitting ranting down the microphone would be all the more better if we actually knew what he was saying. Besides, political warbling aside, The Fall’s standard punk sound even sounds dated at such a young festival. As Smith swaggers casually back and forth across the stage, muttering indecipherable lyrics to a particularly young crowd, I decide to take a look over at what Stephen Fretwell has to offer.



Fretwell was in the midst of performing some gentle and moving tracks from his new album, the follow up to 2004’s fantastic ‘Magpie’ album. It’s more gentle acoustic indie-folk, and there’s an honesty to Fretwell’s work that aligns him with the likes of Bob Dylan. He performs on his own, aided just by an acoustic guitar, another tribute to early Dylan.

I left half way through Fretwell’s set, opting for an early night before Sunday’s performances. Unfortunately, heavy sustained rain throughout the night reduced Ashton Court to a one day festival and the second day was cancelled.

I was genuinely disappointed, as what I had seen on Saturday (my first Ashton Court) was a friendly, young and varied festival, catering for all music types. The vibe was a very relaxed one, and it did feel that the majority of people weren’t there specifically for the music, but to just amble around and enjoy the sun, and there’s certainly no harm in that.

The only trouble I saw at the festival came from fence jumpers, who weren’t finding it too difficult to exploit the weaknesses in the Ashton Court security. Well, it wasn’t exactly hard, my mum even wandered in past a nonchalant security guard without being challenged. Security might be something they want to tighten up on in future.

But even lax security, and below parr performances from the main headliner didn’t spoil what was otherwise a very enjoyable day out in Bristol.

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