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All Tomorrow's Parties
Live from the UK
Filter Grade: 94%
by Jonathan Falcone | 01.01.2007

A five-year retrospective, this festival has two weekends. Thirteen hours of music per day over two stages, times three that's 39, times two that's... 78 hours of hard-core music including everything from Kid606's digital terrorism to Cat Power's acoustic ditties. It's a fucking marathon, so there’s only time for the crème de la crème.

Mogwai curated the first day, filling it with thrash-metal and grind-core, the Monarch’s of which were Isis. Powering on stage like Nordic giants, their doom-metal lies between operatic opus and apocalyptic death-noise. With unrelenting crescendos that oscillate between brutality and frailty, the performance was jaw dropping. Shit… got to mention Turbo Negro who gave us a good dose of retro-glam-punk. It was filled with campy charm, as their bulbous frames wiggled and their puckers pouted to imaginary lovers, before covering the audience in a sea of fake blood and feathers whilst screaming “I HAVE AN ERECTION.”

The Tortoise day really only had one performance of note. Though Mike Watt and the Secondmen played some funky country-lane-soul with ephemeral organs and Watt's own rubber band bass boings, the day belonged to the Sun City Girls. Actually aged men and not girls at all, these guys split the crowd with a schizophrenic mix of music, playing ‘30s cabaret scat one minute, Morricone Western score the next, and some fucked up jazz-wank soon after. You either love it or hate it. It's great. The curators were rather disappointing—electro-lounge music. Maybe it's significant that all things post-rock seem dated as their more exuberant, thrashier younger siblings take the limelight.

The above theory is proved true on Shellac's day, offering the following bands who rocked damn hard: the Dishes, the Seconds, French Toast, Dead Meadow, and McKlusky. Then Uzeda played and changed the world forever. The Sicilian four-piece created sonic blankets so staggered and distorted, so streamlined and twisted that each song nearly induces a bout of euphoric nausea. This band would give David Lynch a suspicious looking pant stain with their MBV-meets-Badalamenti take on music.

So if the smell of stale hot-dogs and broiled onions for three days is not enough, get ready for weekend two. On the first day, Stephen Malkmus played curator/God-man, bringing a hefty slice of American tomfoolery to the quiet Sussex shore, oh and...

ESG. Five women: one bass, one guitar, one drum kit, two bongos and a singer. Therein lies the history of funk, hip-hop and all things soulful. Simple tunes and prominent baselines made the songs feel massive in scale. Bootsy ain't got nothin’ on “You're No Good,” and the genius of “UFO” screamed soulfully into the night. The audience (who ESG continuously referred to as “London”--even though they're about 100 miles away) wouldn’t let the band go and demanded two encores that ESG happily provided.

Saturday had Sonic Youth bringing the noise, a duty they left to Double Leopards, Black Dice and Wolf Eyes, each of whom played with sonic fissures admirably. But Saturday was also the Le Tigre show: electro-punk and schoolyard chant combined succinctly. Their energy was infectious, their siren charm irresistible, their Hot Topic sounds seemed like some childhood dream, and their day-glow outfits acted as a kick in the pouch to Karen O.

Vincent Gallo also played, but was, sadly, boring as fuck. Sonic Youth rocked hard, however, but so they should.

The final day (phew) was organized by festival arrangers the Foundation. The Notwist stole the show and managed to redeem a soporific mid-day lull. Mixing gorgeous, soaring indie-pop with electro-beats, they flittered into dub-break downs and digital noise whilst all the time still sounding like the Notwist. "This is BRILLIANT!” someone shouted after their heartbreaking rendition of “Pilot,” and a roar of approval followed.