This is the coastal town they forgot to close down. Somehow the words of Morrissey take on a deeper meaning as we rock up at Minehead Butlins, the slate grey sea just visible through the driving rain. Britain has never seemed so monochrome, but just head on past the stationary Waltzers and into the family funtime pavilion and De La Soul are testifying in rainbow colours. They are celebrating 20 years of Three Feet High and Rising and they soon get the ghost white indie fashionistas waving their hands in the air. There’s a tonne of crowd participation, maybe a tad too much even, but I don’t think we ever got to the bottom of whether the ‘party people’ were on the left or on the right. Bizarrely they choose not to play ‘The Magic Number’ but ‘Ring Ring’ sends everyone away with a grin on their face. So, just time for a quick game of air-hockey before Primal Scream.
De La Soul
C’mon Butlins Gillespie witheringly yelps, Make some noise. He’s got a tough job as there are just so many Primal Screams for him to juggle and, although tonight only sees the bitter and twisted Krautrock Scream taking on the luvved up Screamadelica hippies, it is an uneasy mix. First he urges us to kill all hippies and then, in the blink of an eye, he’s crooning the impossible swoonsome ‘Damaged’. This is about the fifteenth time I’ve seen the Scream since Sonic Flower Groove and, super cool rock star posing aside, I think it’s fair to say that the law of diminishing returns is kicking in.
Bobby Gillespie
Talking of diminishing returns, well, I never saw my bloody valentine back in the day and, sitting here now in the cold light of a December day, I kinda wish I’d left it like that. It is a bizarre set-up for their show as, being too loud to play on the main pavilion stage (basically a big tent-like affair) they are forced to play 3 nights in a row on the smaller stage in order to accommodate everyone. We get to see them on the first night and that’s all I can judge them on but, considering that this is their event, they behave abominably. I say they but what I mean is Kevin Shields who essentially treats the audience with thinly disguised contempt, coming on stage and then proceeding to halt and delay and delay and delay proceedings as he’s not happy with the sound. The rest of the band stand, looking as though they wish the stage would open up and swallow them as Shields proceeds with a seemingly endless personal soundcheck. One, two, one two – OK, turn the PA off. One, two, I said turn the PA off. One, two, one, two - repeat that ten or twenty times just to get an idea of how much of a ‘party mood’ Kevin was in. One has to say that if he was that bothered about sound quality then maybe handing out the cheapest foam earplugs to all attendees wasn’t the ideal move. When they do, eventually, play then they sound amazing, just what I’d always dreamed of but, it isn’t enough for Kevin and it gets to the point where the gaps between songs are longer than the songs themselves. It reminds me of the emperor Nero who built a golden house and invited people to lavish parties where he would literally shower people with gold and scented flower petals – this is similar although we are being showered with bile and excrement. I eventually wander off when people in the crowd start ironically calling for them to play Christmas Carols. Maybe the other shows were better, I certainly hope so.
Kevin Shields
The new dawn fades to grey, but the rain holds off long enough for a bracing walk along the sea front. We’re wide awake and back in the game just in time to catch the frenetic return to the stage of the fabulous Membranes. John Robb proves to be the ultimate frontman and, despite his misgivings that they might be ‘too punk rock’ for the delicate indie kids they turn in one of the performances of the weekend. Robb is like a man possessed; he’s all over the place and inevitably ends up on his arse after failing to clear a stage monitor, much to the obvious glee of his bandmates. He spends as much time in the crowd, who shower him with impromptu confetti, as he does on stage and it’s a welcome shot in the arm. They won’t go back to the toilet circuit, he confides later, but they’ll be back when the time is right. When the time comes you need to see this band.
The Membranes
Arkestra
The Membranes may be making a comeback after a few years but, tip your cap to The Arkestra as Sun Ra left planet earth over a decade ago but still they are preaching his message. It’s an impressive and colourful sight as they troop onstage but it would be a mistake to see this as a novelty act – they are here on merit and there’s a cumulative few hundred years worth of serious jazz talent on show. Hell, if these guys can convince a pavilion full of geeks that ‘Space is the Place’ while performing in Butlins then they really deserve medals. The unexpected is, of course, what ATP is all about and it’s a truly unforgettable experience, unlike the visit to Pizza Hut which follows it. So, we’ve had full-on punk rock and avant-garde jazz before lunch, where do we go from there? Twee indie sounds as good an option as anything and we are happy to forego a visit to the ‘ice cream factory’ to spend some quality time with The Pastels. Sadly there are some who can’t cope with the eclecticism and, spying a flute on stage, harangue the band for being too fey. Quite correctly Stephen Pastel gently rebukes them, noting that It’s not as if there’s no noisy guitar bands playing today.
Stephen Pastel
Having only seen Dinosaur Jnr a few weeks ago, and MBV last night, it is time to give the eardrums a break so we opt for the new-wave, gothic angst of The Horrors over Jay Mascis. They prove to be entertaining enough to keep us away from the air-hockey table for an hour but there’s no real sense of event about their performance and we slip out before the end to ensure that we don’t miss a rare performance from Peter (Sonic Boom) Kember. Catching him here scratches my Spacemen 3 itch and almost balances the horror I experienced when I mistakenly attended a Sonic Boom Six show, anticipating it to be an evening of drone rock rather than shrill, budget-barbie ‘punk’ rock. He drops the majestic ‘Revolution’ early into the set as though it were a matter of trivia but, looking around at the misty eyed middle aged men surrounding me we know that this is the true heart of ATP beating right here. Spellbinding but, again, we have to head out early to brave the scrum of photographers in the pit for Sonic Youth.
The Horrors
Having seen the band both before and after the year that punk broke I’d yet to be fully convinced by their live shows as the balance of art-wank and rock n roll seemed to be skewed in the wrong direction. This is the perfect time to catch them however as, riding on the wave of their most commercial album in ages, they are here to entertain rather than torture. Not that it is easy listening, at times Kim and Thurston appear to be playing their guitars with the contents of a plumber’s toolbag rather than picks, but the atonality and experimentation is encompassed within some almost conventional song structures. It’s a great way for us to bow out of a festival which has been exhilarating and frustrating in almost equal measure. It’s been a great experience though and just the opportunity to see both De La Soul and Sonic Youth at Butlins has got to be the most punk rock thing you can imagine on a wet weekend in Minehead.
Thurston Moore
ATP Nightmare Before Christmas Gallery
Sun Ra Arkestra
Sun Ra Arkestra
Sonic Youth
Sonic Youth
Sonic Youth
Primal Scream
Primal Scream
Peter Kember
Pastels
Pastels
Membranes
Membranes
Membranes
my bloody valentine
my bloody valentine
The Horrors
The Horrors
The Horrors
De La Soul
Membranes
All Photographs (C) Steve Burnett
C’mon Butlins Gillespie witheringly yelps, Make some noise. He’s got a tough job as there are just so many Primal Screams for him to juggle and, although tonight only sees the bitter and twisted Krautrock Scream taking on the luvved up Screamadelica hippies, it is an uneasy mix. First he urges us to kill all hippies and then, in the blink of an eye, he’s crooning the impossible swoonsome ‘Damaged’. This is about the fifteenth time I’ve seen the Scream since Sonic Flower Groove and, super cool rock star posing aside, I think it’s fair to say that the law of diminishing returns is kicking in.
Talking of diminishing returns, well, I never saw my bloody valentine back in the day and, sitting here now in the cold light of a December day, I kinda wish I’d left it like that. It is a bizarre set-up for their show as, being too loud to play on the main pavilion stage (basically a big tent-like affair) they are forced to play 3 nights in a row on the smaller stage in order to accommodate everyone. We get to see them on the first night and that’s all I can judge them on but, considering that this is their event, they behave abominably. I say they but what I mean is Kevin Shields who essentially treats the audience with thinly disguised contempt, coming on stage and then proceeding to halt and delay and delay and delay proceedings as he’s not happy with the sound. The rest of the band stand, looking as though they wish the stage would open up and swallow them as Shields proceeds with a seemingly endless personal soundcheck. One, two, one two – OK, turn the PA off. One, two, I said turn the PA off. One, two, one, two - repeat that ten or twenty times just to get an idea of how much of a ‘party mood’ Kevin was in. One has to say that if he was that bothered about sound quality then maybe handing out the cheapest foam earplugs to all attendees wasn’t the ideal move. When they do, eventually, play then they sound amazing, just what I’d always dreamed of but, it isn’t enough for Kevin and it gets to the point where the gaps between songs are longer than the songs themselves. It reminds me of the emperor Nero who built a golden house and invited people to lavish parties where he would literally shower people with gold and scented flower petals – this is similar although we are being showered with bile and excrement. I eventually wander off when people in the crowd start ironically calling for them to play Christmas Carols. Maybe the other shows were better, I certainly hope so.
The new dawn fades to grey, but the rain holds off long enough for a bracing walk along the sea front. We’re wide awake and back in the game just in time to catch the frenetic return to the stage of the fabulous Membranes. John Robb proves to be the ultimate frontman and, despite his misgivings that they might be ‘too punk rock’ for the delicate indie kids they turn in one of the performances of the weekend. Robb is like a man possessed; he’s all over the place and inevitably ends up on his arse after failing to clear a stage monitor, much to the obvious glee of his bandmates. He spends as much time in the crowd, who shower him with impromptu confetti, as he does on stage and it’s a welcome shot in the arm. They won’t go back to the toilet circuit, he confides later, but they’ll be back when the time is right. When the time comes you need to see this band.
The Membranes may be making a comeback after a few years but, tip your cap to The Arkestra as Sun Ra left planet earth over a decade ago but still they are preaching his message. It’s an impressive and colourful sight as they troop onstage but it would be a mistake to see this as a novelty act – they are here on merit and there’s a cumulative few hundred years worth of serious jazz talent on show. Hell, if these guys can convince a pavilion full of geeks that ‘Space is the Place’ while performing in Butlins then they really deserve medals. The unexpected is, of course, what ATP is all about and it’s a truly unforgettable experience, unlike the visit to Pizza Hut which follows it. So, we’ve had full-on punk rock and avant-garde jazz before lunch, where do we go from there? Twee indie sounds as good an option as anything and we are happy to forego a visit to the ‘ice cream factory’ to spend some quality time with The Pastels. Sadly there are some who can’t cope with the eclecticism and, spying a flute on stage, harangue the band for being too fey. Quite correctly Stephen Pastel gently rebukes them, noting that It’s not as if there’s no noisy guitar bands playing today.
Having only seen Dinosaur Jnr a few weeks ago, and MBV last night, it is time to give the eardrums a break so we opt for the new-wave, gothic angst of The Horrors over Jay Mascis. They prove to be entertaining enough to keep us away from the air-hockey table for an hour but there’s no real sense of event about their performance and we slip out before the end to ensure that we don’t miss a rare performance from Peter (Sonic Boom) Kember. Catching him here scratches my Spacemen 3 itch and almost balances the horror I experienced when I mistakenly attended a Sonic Boom Six show, anticipating it to be an evening of drone rock rather than shrill, budget-barbie ‘punk’ rock. He drops the majestic ‘Revolution’ early into the set as though it were a matter of trivia but, looking around at the misty eyed middle aged men surrounding me we know that this is the true heart of ATP beating right here. Spellbinding but, again, we have to head out early to brave the scrum of photographers in the pit for Sonic Youth.
Having seen the band both before and after the year that punk broke I’d yet to be fully convinced by their live shows as the balance of art-wank and rock n roll seemed to be skewed in the wrong direction. This is the perfect time to catch them however as, riding on the wave of their most commercial album in ages, they are here to entertain rather than torture. Not that it is easy listening, at times Kim and Thurston appear to be playing their guitars with the contents of a plumber’s toolbag rather than picks, but the atonality and experimentation is encompassed within some almost conventional song structures. It’s a great way for us to bow out of a festival which has been exhilarating and frustrating in almost equal measure. It’s been a great experience though and just the opportunity to see both De La Soul and Sonic Youth at Butlins has got to be the most punk rock thing you can imagine on a wet weekend in Minehead.
ATP Nightmare Before Christmas Gallery
Sun Ra Arkestra
All Photographs (C) Steve Burnett
