Crack

The impact Swn festival has had on the musical landscape of Cardiff simply cannot be underestimated. It’s given the city a point of reference, an annual musical landmark. Year after year, Swn is brilliant. In fact, most years are even brillianter than the year before.

Crack was sadly unable to attend on Thursday, a shame considering the mouth-watering electronic triple-header on offer at Buffalo consisting of Disclosure, CRST and Martyn, but the array of acts lined up for Friday sums up Swn in all its eclectic glory. Unfortunate timing meant we are only able to catch the final two songs of Gross Magic’s set at Clwb Ifor Bach, but that’s plenty of time for the young Brighton foursome to win us over with their wall of Dinosaur Jr-esque guitar fuzz, diminutive frontman Sam McGarrigle’s androgynous tones giving them a truly unique edge.

Next up is one of the most surreal yet memorable sets one could ever hope to witness. Other Lives’ last record, Tamer Animals, is a stunningly spacious and lush collection, so the opportunity to see them on a stage where you’d expect to watch your mates’ band ain’t going to come around very often. The upstairs room at O’Neill’s is heaving, almost as much so as the small ‘stage’ where the five members and their innumerable instruments are crammed together to the point of chaos, under lights as bright as your living room. But out of that chaos, those wonderful songs begin to flow. Jesse Tabish’s vocals soar, the strings and textures swell, and moments like the album’s title track and For 12 are impeccable. At one point a man in a Wales rugby shirt with a mohawk runs forward and grabs Jesse, his mate stepping up to take a photo. “We’re not finished, man!” Jesse pleads. “I know mate, that’s fine. Just stand here,” comes the reply. The sublime to the ridiculous doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Wrexham boys Gallops are next up in the rammed upstairs section of Dempsey’s. Joining the likes of Three Trapped Tigers in creating rock music with complex time signatures and jarring electronic elements, they jump from quirky, juddering numbers like Miami Spider to carving out some of the most pounding, groove-laden riffs you’re likely to hear. A special word for drummer Dave Morait, who exudes raw energy throughout, smashing seven shades of muck out of his kit while negotiating his way around some impressively intelligent rhythms.

Queues for entry to the Crack-hosted end of evening party upstairs at Clwb snake far outside the venue, but due to the complexities of emptying and refilling areas between separate sessions, Ifan Dafydd plays the early part of his set to a sparse crowd. His warm and smooth electro and *shudder* post-dubstep beats expertly get those in attendance swaying, and it quickly becomes apparent that people are getting here as quickly as they physically can. The room quickly turns into a riot, the young producer’s set effortlessly slipping into party mode. Seams’ glitchy and percussive sounds continue the momentum, fully justifying the hype-heap currently gathering atop his name from the likes of James Holden, before Crack is required to dart off for the last bus homeward.

Saturday night is all about the indestructible ego-machine that is The Fall at the Great Hall. As the first of the current bundle of faceless backing musicians (which, despite the well-worn quote, do not include your granny on the bongos) begins to peel out some guitar sounds, he arrives; staggering onto the stage, dressed sharply in a grey suit, the man himself, living (almost) legend, Mark E. Smith. Unfortunately, upon stepping up to the mic, we are regaled with the groaning sounds of an intoxicated old man. Not the most encouraging of starts, but, truth be told, we didn’t come tonight to be blown away by the forces of musical enlightenment. We came to see an old legend doing his thing. Do some swearing, say something angry, be obnoxious. Masses of respect to the Fallettes, the poor, browbeaten backing band, who weave that intimidating back catalogue flawlessly, and deal with Smith’s mumbles and sudden changes of tempo admirably. But alas, we are left feeling sorry for the poor talented buggers, as halfway through the show it seems Smith decides he has something better to do and staggers off into night, leaving his merry minstrels to hold the fort. They look less than impressed. Crack however, got exactly what we came for, so leave feeling fairly delighted.

After a frenetic couple of days, a Sunday evening set from Ben Howard at Clwb is impossible to turn down. The shy young man perches on his stool and strums, his understated melodies merely rippling until a blast of strings is heard and the true musician erupts forward.
 
His voice bears a similarity to the likes of Bon Iver, riddled with ferocity and passion. A stand-out comes in the form of Diamonds, which merges both bleak and uplifting tones. The audience morphs as the songs rise to a grand peak, stomping feet and chanting voices. Howard has the ability to send us silent, Old Pine and Keep Your Head Up exuding a gentle brilliance. When his eyes close and his voice expands towards the high notes, it’s clear this man throws himself deep into his music, a music each member of the audience is hooked upon.

- - - - - - - - - -

http://www.swnfest.com/

Words: Geraint Davies, Emyr Glyn Rees and Thomas Stewart

Photo: Ben Price