Visions Festival

Back for its second instalment after a highly acclaimed debut, Visions festival ensured it will be kicking around London Fields for years to come. The multi-venue escapade nestled itself at the tipping point of high summer, with a hot and heady mix of acts to delight and dishevel.

Perfect Pussy has attracted a great deal of talk. Their noise punk is unforgiving and yet enthralling, hinting at melody in a wall of distortion that somehow hooks you in. Buzzing through more songs in 25 minutes than seemed possible, it was unfortunate that Meredith Graves’ vocals were entirely inaudible for the duration of the set as if her mic was off. Rather than indecipherably enhancing the ferocity, as was hoped and expected, their absence left things a little flat. For whatever reason the audience was left mostly unmoved which is not a good look for a band known for the energetic stage presence.

Over at the New Empowering Church on the other hand, an entirely different scene was coming to a close. Songhoy Blues, fantastic purveyors of funk and blues audibly emanating from Mali, were just about done captivating a discerning audience. It was disappointingly a casualty of a packed schedule that can only be testament to Visions’ varied booking nous.

Much less disappointingly however, Eagulls’ performance easily justified every good word that can be uttered or written. They’re fucking good at what they do, given that they seem to give so little of a fuck about anything else. That attitude got The Laundry crowd moving freely for the first time of the evening, throwing themselves around because they’re pissed off and happy and miserable and euphoric. Over four years Eagulls have evidently grafted, honing their gritty melodic punk sound to deft effect. Frontman George Mitchell’s presence on stage is steeped in bravado, but the hint of vulnerability in his stance – eminently clearer in the lyrical doldrums he professes – makes him almost impossible to stop watching. But you ought to, because the whole lot of them are killing it. Stand out performance of the festival.

The hole left by the withdrawal of much-anticipated Fat White Family due to illness freed up some time to explore some of the other stellar venues. Edinburgh’s lo-fi hip-hop outfit Young Fathers were to be found rousing a busy Oval Space audience as the sun painted the old gas works orange.

But The Laundry called once more. Having earlier ruled himself out of an arm wrestling competition with an aggravated shoulder injury, questions over Andrew WK’s ability to party sufficiently hard hung heavily in the muggy air. Like a self-styled Jesus of Party, the headliner entered dressed all in white to a sea of raised devil horns. The ‘very special solo show’ ended up consisting of a hype-man, a backing track and live vox’n’piano from Mr. WK. But the joyous relief that greeted his head-banging piano-bashing physicality was palpable, smothering all former worries. Never had a mosh pit been punctuated by as many glissandos. The frequency of crowd-surfing and stage invasions exploded as anthems We Want Fun and Party Hard ramped up fan’s enthusiasm. But security eventually quashed the light hearted mood, pulling the plug on WK after a centurion countdown to his last song saw one too many reveller join him on stage. The party was over, but for Andrew WK the party will never stop.

Perfume Genius was caught skillfully serenading the New Empowering Church, but in keeping with what had gone before, it was left for Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats to round off the evening with their late-60s influenced psychedelic metal and an incredible display of hair. Finally ejected into the warm night having visions, many more summer days will be spent with this new friend.

Photos: Hannah Godley