Crack

The first thing to leap out on entering the We The People site was that it simply wasn’t a festival. There was no feeling of occasion or atmosphere to speak of, and while the dense, muggy air and oppressive dark grey clouds could not be helped, the overwhelming colour of grey which characterized the entire site probably could. A couple of them inflatable multicoloured things tied around the top of the main stage does not a party make.

But there was solace in the fact that there had been some killer booking done, and the line-up still held more than enough diversity and quality to keep you hooked for the day. However, in what can only be described as a monumental fuck up, the decrease from 3 stages to two, and the accompanying line-up streamlining, meant that the day’s two most eagerly-anticipated sets, Roots Manuva and Doom, were inexplicably at exactly the same time. Sigh.

A quick opening scan of the site yields mixed results - Crack having turned up embarrassingly, rather than fashionably, late and missed Lee Scratch Perry, which by all accounts was very quiet. This is likely to have something to do with the incredibly stupid door policy of not allowing re-entry once punters had entered the festival site. This almost certainly would have meant people stayed at home for a few more cheap drinks beforehand.

While Beardyman has to be applauded for developing his style rather than sticking staunchly to his technically outstanding beatboxing skills, and his use of loops and effects is as technically proficient as those aforementioned skills, there just isn’t enough substance there to truly hold the attention. As he flits between songs with far too much frequency, presumably to try and keep the crowd interested, Crack shuffles off to the Dance Tent.

There, a potentially outstanding set from some of dubstep’s very finest in Pinch, Mala and Sgt. Pokes is a complete missed opportunity. The system is just not up to scratch, and with names like these that’s really not acceptable. The rootsy and organic yet pummeling sound is reduced to a tinny clatter and, try as we might, we just can’t get into it. However, as the set draws to a close the tent starts to frantically fill in anticipation of Roots Manuva’s set. Perhaps the sound improved drastically at that very moment, but as at that point we had to negotiate our way through the hordes to go and check out Doom, we will never, ever know. Sigh.

A small but obviously psyched crowd has gathered in front of the main stage, obviously a mix of genuine hip-hop heads and excited kids - about a million of whom will suddenly appear about an hour later, but that’s a different story - and for the first time since entering the site, there is a little bit of electricity in the air. Doom, while not necessarily the most celebrated of rappers, has established an extremely committed following and due to his persona, almost as much as the exceptional quality of his records, still inspires a certain degree of awe.

If anyone was expecting an intimidating figure glaring out at the crowd from behind that metal mask, that’s not quite what they got. The mask sits atop a body boasting a spectacular belly, clad in a striped polo shirt and joggers. The set up consists of just Doom and his onstage partner, who is an absolute mountain of a man, taking care of their own beats, but Doom just exudes a certain charisma, and it makes for an engrossing set.

Unfortunately, sound issues once again hamper the first couple of tunes. While the beats come across clearly enough, the vocals lie far too deep in the mix, only to completely cut out. However, when they return the levels have been dealt with and the overall effect has far more impact - only for the heavens to properly open. As the only real spot of cover in the site people must have been hanging from the rafters back in the Tent, because the outside crowd is down to its bare bones. After 10 minutes of constant water torture, even the most dedicated among us are struggling to show any kind of energy. And it’s a shame, because Doom is actually brilliant. Highlights come, predictably, from his fantastic Mm.. Food? album, namely Hoe Cakes, Deep Friend Frenz and stunning closer One Beer - slabs of essential and timeless hip-hop which ensure that despite fighting against all manner of elements, Doom’s set is a triumph.

In another spot of mystifying scheduling, Doom is followed onstage by Ben UFO. An unassuming chap at the best of times, thrust onto the main stage in front of a sparse combination of the drenched and the disinterested, his perfectly well-selected combination of house, UK funky and garage just drifts over everyone’s heads and into the big grey sky. Poor bugger might has well not have bothered.

That short interlude, however, allows the throngs to gather for Subfocus. I know, I know, Sub fucking focus, but while we’re there ... and in fairness, all of a sudden this dank car park is rammed with enthusiastic kids clad in sunglasses and baseball caps that the rain-sodden Crack can only assume are some kind of ironic statement, running around quite clearly off their little boxes on all manner of Gary Gurners, Disco Biscuits and Sandy Toksvigs or whatever else they’re calling them now. And d’you know what? Crack joins in. Maybe it’s some kind of heightened sense of awareness and collective consciousness. Or maybe we just overindulged on £4 cans of Tuborg, but Crack decided to dance like a bell-end too. And yknow what? Crack enjoys it. Well, for about 15 minutes - Subfocus is really shit.

There is therefore a bit of time to kill before The Streets’ headline performance, and an attempt to take in a bit more of what the site has to offer whilst trying to ignore Subfocus’s MC endlessly referring to the festival as We Are The People. Turns out there’s nothing. So, The Streets.

An impressive booking for an event in its first year, a couple of years ago The Streets would have been closing far bigger festivals than this one, so the crowd that gathers at the main stage is a pretty sizeable one. The set is one of ups and down, based purely on the quality of material on show - and The Streets’ career has certainly been changeable. So while Don’t Mug Yourself and Fit But You Know It has the entire crowd boozily skanking, and Let’s Push Things Forward is outstanding, the set descends into fairly extended lulls. And while Dry Your Eyes has quite a few people singing along all loved up, it just leaves Crack cringing. So while the set certainly has its moments, it doesn’t quite feel like an event befitting of what, if we understand correctly, will probably be Mr. Skinner’s final Bristol show.

It does, however, finish early enough to enable us to pop over to the Tent in time to catch the end of Tensnake and get all overexcited to Coma Cat.

In short, while we are constantly hearing about teething problems in the first year of festivals - tales of the horror of Field Day 2007 are a thing of legend - there was technically nothing glaring amiss at We The People, but it seemed to go a bit deeper than that. The treatment of ticket buyers, meanwhile - being encouraged to buy early-bird tickets, only for tickets to be sold at half the price closer to the event - was appalling. Despite some redeeming qualities, if there is to be a WTP2, there’s some serious work to do.



- - - - - - - - - - -

Words: Geraint Davies

Photo: Laura Palmer

http://www.laurapalmerportfolio.com

- - - - - - - - - - -