The End of the Road Festival
…or Poshfest, as I like to call it. Honestly, it was the most middle-class, civillised event I can possibly imagine. Even the toilets remained usable all the way through the weekend.
That may sound like I am mocking it, and in a way I am, but myself along with it because you see, I loved this festival. It was absolutely, absolutely inch perfect for me and from the looks of it a good few others too. I don’t know if it’s a sign of age, but I truly don’t think I have ever liked the grotty side of festivals – the shit-splattered toilets, swimming in a sea of someone else’s piss; the denuded field covered in used cans and broken plastic glasses, the seas of polystyrene shit and leftover food strewn about the place, the ninety minute queue at the bar for warm beer that is invariably the flavourless and piss-weak rubbish that is Tennents and a whole myriad of other whining-old-bastard-in-his-slippers complaints.
End of the Road, on the other hand was superb, primarily I think because it was pretty small. The fields generally retained their grass, people were spread pretty nice and thinly throughout the gardens, the toilets were kept clean and even had bog roll in them pretty much all the time, the food was good, the bar queues were genuinely pretty minimal and the beer was really quite nice. A pint of Leffe for £3 is pretty comparable to a high street bar, unlike the usual almighty fleecing you tend to get at these things, and the fact that Leffe was available at all is in itself a good sign.
You know the only complaint I have about End of the Road: the lineup was actually just too good. It was a brilliant combination of the up-and-coming, the alternative staple and the indie legend. I had to miss about half a dozen things I really wanted to see just because there was so much good stuff on, and that’s even with Dan Sartain and Micah P. Hinson dropping out. I didn’t get to sample the excellent film and comedy selections for example, which I would have loved to do, but I am delighted they are there as it means I am almost certain to be able to persuade the musically indifferent Mrs. Toad to come along with me next year.
The other problem with the strength of the lineup was that, apart from missing several things I wanted to see – Malcolm Middleton, Herman Dune, James Yorkston, Jens Lekman, Josh T. Pearson, Giant Sand, just the list of people I missed would make an impressive festival lineup by itself – but also it never gave me time to just wander in on something random and discover new things. It’s nice at festivals to idly meander from one small venue to the next and take a chance on things you’ve never heard, and I couldn’t do that this time because there was just so much stuff on that I really wanted to see.
So Simon, my only complaint about your festival is that it was just a bit too bloody good! Oh, and a few more showers would have been handy. But all in all, I could have gone to the exact same festival the following weekend and still not been bored – superb it was!
So here are some tracks from the groups I missed. I’ll be writing up the bands from the individual days pretty soon, but for now, here’s what I could have won…
Malcolm Middleton – Fuck It, I Love You
Herman Dune – 123 Apple Tree
James Yorkston & the Athletes – A Man With My Skills
Jens Lekman – No Time For Breaking Up
Lift to Experience – These Are the Days
Giant Sand – Cracklin’ Water
