Shiiine On Happy People

On a cold and frosty morning, there's not a lot to say. Have I stolen a pint of milk from work for coffee? Have I packed my Thousand Yard Stare t-shirt? Have I been to the gym enough to get through the onslaught of Shiiine On?

I catch myself in the mirror. Greyer and fatter but, never more ready for the annual trip to Minehead. Why the fuck did I have the 6th pint at Gerry Cinnamon last night?!

The first rush of excitement as old friends meet is allayed by hips falling out of place. Much like 4am finished, hugging around a hand brake is a young person’s game. Four hours of shit jokes, farts, and laughing at your mate for pissing in a bottle as you deliberately ignore Fleet services fly by. This alone is worth 200 quid.

Being the musical geek of the gang, inevitably I’ve spent hours making playlists. Agonising over which new Candy Opera track to add or about which new band is the best Oasis re-hash. The Crooks or Columbia? (it’s The Crooks for me). As you take that exciting right turn past every supermarket under the sun and the Big Top becomes a reality, so does that they haven’t listened to anything you have curated. When Liam Tyson shreds later, then they’ll listen!

Admin. Bleurgh. Queuing for check-in for 30 mins, why didn’t we get here at 10am? Maybe next year. In the meantime, I’ll stare at everyone’s trainers and parkers like a fourteen-year-old staring at strap-on sally chasing you down the alley.

Beers in the fridge. Beers in the freezer. A warm beer whilst we wait. Lammo on 6music. I wonder if he’ll repeat the same John Peel joke again. I wonder if I’ll laugh again. One hour until Ivory Wave, keep drinking!

Then it happens. Like it does every year. There are only three, of the four of us in the lounge. The extractor fan is on. The slow waft of service station expulsion meanders into the room. The wretched fog is here, and with five thousand middle-aged folks digesting the one nutrient between them in Burger King all weekend, it’s loitering with intent.

That first walk to the main arena is like the coronation. The laughter at the Inn on the Green grows steadily, the bouncers friendly (that’s not very 90s), and then it begins, Stone Roses is booming. As it surely always is here. Minehead, in November, is grey, bitter and the seagulls have come beyond the North Wall in Game of Thrones but, ‘She Bangs The Drums’ paints night like a Jackson Pollock masterpiece.

Jug after jug come. I should eat, maybe after Rev. Jug, jug, Thatchers, jager bombs, jug repeat! I should eat. Maybe after Cast and Lightning Seeds. Shit, I can’t hear the Seeds properly, maybe I should eat no? Not before Sice, never before Sice! I eat, it’s not legal, Apollo 440, Adamski and Cut La Rock take me to a buffet of love among strangers I forgot existed. I should sleep. One more pint with this couple as they tell me about meeting at Spike Island.

Chalet. Bed. Sleep smiling. Best friends. Best strangers. Best day one ever.  

Shiiine On the Underdog

"The fact of being an underdog changes people in ways that we often fail to appreciate. It opens doors and creates opportunities and enlightens and permits things that might otherwise have seemed unthinkable."

David and Goliath, Malcolm Gladwell, 2013

Shiiine On 3 was a glorious display of David vs Goliath. Every act seemingly should never had made it but did. A fervent reminder that belief can be all, especially when its in the art of our working class.

Headlining Friday night were the indestructible Levellers. Could a group of Marxist folk-cum-punk rockers ever be considered mainstream anymore? Nevertheless, the fire of 'Liberty', rueful melody of 'Fifteen Years' and the togetherness of 'The Road' are a stark reminder that pop music can be full of love, socialism and make a difference.

The examples of the underdog just kept on coming over the weekend. Clint Boon, an organ player from Oldham, now an icon of the industry Dj-ed to adoring fans. The criminally unknown Theatre Royal continued their good run in 2017 in the Inn on the Green pub. Recent single 'Locked Together On The Lines' drew the crowd, but the power of 'French Riviera' will place them in hearts forever.

Amidst the big choruses lay two beautiful. Firstly, celebrating their 30th anniversary, The Orchids played arguably the most angelic indie set known to man. 'Something for the Longing' will ring in the heads of anyone who watched until they next see this remarkable band. The jingle jangle of 'Bemused, Confused and Bedraggle' brought on a freeness that would have had Arthur Lee beaming from his multicoloured cloud and 'Peaches' was, is and always will be a classic.

The second came from a man, without who, this festival simply could not exist, Steve Lamacq. He was this generations John Peel, shining light on anyone who dared record a demo. His set covered his 30 years but more importantly, it gave little indie nights their dignty back. It became about the people in the room singing the 'Size of a Cow' chorus as one, feeling every bit of angst of 'Mis-Shapes' and, as Lammo stopped to tell all, it was about what John Peel fought so hard to give us, 'Teenage Kicks'.

A conclusion is usually appropriate at this time but, Shiiine On 3 can only be summed up by The Orchids' 'A Kind of Eden'. See you all next year!