Crack

We learned two things about Peter Tatchell – the LGBT community’s most fearless campaigner – after his stirring opening speech this Saturday at Pride.

Firstly, he's a powerful orator, driven by an honest hunger for equality; and, secondly, he can spell. "Gimme a G...Gimme an A...Gimme a Y...and what does that spell? GAY!” he shrills.

But he isn’t quite finished. No, he continues geeing up the small congregation with cheer-leading chants of LESBIAN, BI-SEXUAL, and TRANS, letter by wheezed-out letter. It is a rousing, if not absurdly exasperating pep-talk. Credit where it's due, though, it gets everyone pumped. Bemused, but inspired, Crack wanders off to see what else the festival has in store.

And so begins Bristol's second Pride outing. In the face of 2011’s cuts to arts funding, budgets and sponsorship budgets, the event’s organisers pulled through to bring the LGBT community a sincerely rounded cultural experience. Pride's decision to charge for this year's event was a bold move in the current climate, but it ensured a massive headliner and despite the foreboding weather forecasts, the sun comes out, blessing this lively, rainbow-hewn melange of artistic diversity.

Over on the cabaret stage, a woman signs (no typo) her way through Pink tunes. Oddly powerful though her act is, Crack catches wind of Bristol funk troupe the Funkinsteins over on the Showcase stage. Playing to an empty park the three-piece nevertheless get their heads down and jam out numbers that channel the smooth-grooves of Lenny Kravitz and the slap-funk titillation of Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

Back to the Cabaret stage, and the family-friendliness-ometer is plunged to zero by smutty Welsh drag queen, Fanny Dazzle. Between chain smoking and slugs of Carling, she shoots off cheap period gags with children around, while sneakily reassuring parents: 'Don't worry, they'll get them one day anyway.' It's bad taste, but a Pride celebration wouldn't be complete without cringe factor.

Heg & the Wolf Chorus, meanwhile, lift the spirits with their wind-in-sails fantasy pop. Heg Doughty's piano motifs glide and pirouette in ballads imbued with fairy-tale whimsy. However, shades of angst lurk close to the surface. Red, inspired by Little Red Riding Hood, grapples with inner beasts. Ending with a gorgeous cover of Sufjan Stevens's The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out To Get Us, Heg reconfirms her status as one of Bristol's most notable rising talents.

Ambling on, Crack is allured into the Queer tent, which has been throbbing all day. Hard industrial beats are being dropped. A group of steam punks are contorting their bodies merrily to glitchy goth-core. A few more beers needed before getting involved here we think.

By the time Bristol party-starters Dr. Meaker hit the Main Stage, festivities are in full swing. The sun beams benignly on Castle Park. Beers are flowing. Everyone's loved up. Crowd favourite Moving And Grooving is a botty-wobbling work out, as is the rest of their half-hour set, which gleefully combines all the best bits of soul, breakbeat and dub. Their saxophonist is loving it so hard he looks like he's going to put his foot through the stage. Marvellous.

'Give it up for fucking gussets...FUCK YEAH!' Novelty exhibition of the day without a doubt goes to the barmy gusset parade, as a bevy of young beauties showcase a colourful array of lycra-filled camel toes. And the prize for the best gusset goes to...Miss Fucking Universe Gusset, no less.

Later, Eric Ness gets people up on their feet, stomping to his good-time, whisky-spillin' folk n' roll. Ness occasionally veers into Mumford territory, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, with his big, rousing, hearts-and minds choruses. Mandolin solos skitter about in the mix for good measure too. Spotify-botherer Clare Maguire is on schmaltzy form in the golden evening sun. Her fist-clenching, lovelorn and eighties-inspired ballads aren’t enough to raise our blood-pressure, but the masses approve, flapping their flags in adoration as they do.

"Her milkshake brings all the gays to the park!" our compere announces as the US superstar Kelis takes to the stage in an all-in-one, Buck Rogers-esque spacesuit. And the soul minx admits that she hasn’t come here to pleasure the crowd: "I’ve come here to pleasure myself." Ooo er. She’s turned her back on her older, soulful numbers, preferring instead to rinse out hands-to-the-lasers trance reminiscent of 90s euro-dance. Milkshake gets a mash up with Madonna’s Holiday. Smells like Teen Spirit, is even deployed. The crowd don’t even notice how underwhelming her vocal performance is - they’re too busy bouncing to notice. Millionaire, gets turned out too, and she ends on a high with Acapella.

A thoroughly belting day and a timely reminder that variety is the spice of life.



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Words: Jamie Skey

http://www.pridebristol.org/

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