They could’ve ploughed the campsite with a hundred tanks and I’d have slept through it. Having not allowed the evils of alcohol pass my lips since Rebellion Festival, I wiped out my tray of cider on the Friday night. So full refusal to pay the asking prices of beer on site, where the staff wear their ‘Happy To Rip You Off’ badges meant my mind was going to be clear for the remaining duration of this fine festival; well, once this Holy Mother of a Hangover moves on to the next victim.
Incidentally, Festival No.6 have yet to retweet or share one of my reviews… funny that…

Pete FowlerThe Landscape had changed – it was different to the one we fell asleep in… Our domain had been invaded… I unzipped our front door to find two tents on double-yellows, parked nuzzled up to our porch… A head pops out of one, it’s Aaron from Brixton, he’s 21 and in Art College and here for the duration and then off to the Czech Republic on Thursday. In the next tent is Kate, she’s 27 and also lives in Brixton, although originates from somewhere like Nottingham. They’re nice people (as most humans are), and we scribed down our ‘Must See’ lists and compared and discussed different acts. It was evident that we were going to have very different festivals, but one thing we did agree on was the OBSCENELY EXPENSIVE programme that cost £10 – TEN FUCKING QUID…! Ker-fucking-ching…

Our Saturday began with the hypnotic cool as fuck farmers R.Seiliog. These three young lads, whether deliberately or unwittingly, make a festival sound. It’s a great noise – so simple, yet so effective… You can keep your Yngwie Malmsteens and your fret wanking guitar icons, I’d watch R.Seiliog all day, everyday ahead of them… As we walked up to the Clough Stage we were greeted by a very loud pulsing throb of a sound, reminiscent of Mandragora and if you closed your eyes you’d swear R.Seiliog were festival hardened crusties with dreads, drugs and dogs on strings and not clean cut boys who whiled away their school days risking death riding their bikes down Peniel Hill near Denbigh.
Buy their 10″ EP Shuffles here…

Earlier we had slipped into that ace dinner lady canteen near the Piazza for a Full Welsh Breakfast, ‘Ddim cig, diolch.’ ‘Ok, tisho ddau wyau?’ – Yes Please! On the way back we were verbally accosted from above by someone suggesting we had a Northern Soul Dance Lesson. My delicate equilibrium would not have sustained those 360s, so we declined, but these lessons were being held at The Tim Peaks Diner, where that Charalatan Tim Burgess had his own little mini-festival cum-community centre high up in a domed monumental tower overlooking the Piazza, where he even served you a cup of tea. It became a bit of a haunt for ourselves over the next two days and we first saw Slowgun (great name), a young (and again) simple 4-piece band signed to Tim’s label and due to release their new single Maybe Next Time. We only caught them by chance as they were due to play last night but their vehicle broke down on the way. It’s a great set up, drummer at the back and the band perched on the steep steps and platforms to play their nice two minute indie pop songs. They finish with Steven and we try to sidle up to that Super Furry artist Pete Fowler, but he’s in hot demand for conversation before doing something without a canvas, and that’s playing records…

Y Niwl
now appear on my Bands Seen List a good ten times and we went to see them because A/ It’s rude not to and B/ We really like them.
I had it in my paracetamol’d head that I wasn’t going to review them today, it’s hard to write about the same thing you’ve seen 10 times over, but, as the tent filled with people drawn by that familiar semi-acoustic guitar surf-sound there was something slightly different. Yes, Alun was sporting a new beauty of a light blue guitar and matching amp, yes, Gruff forgot to wear his joke beard, but there was an air of them being more pumped up than usual. They had some cool racing car sounds being scratched by a token DJ side-stage and there was more of a 1950s feel to their set – maybe it’s been like that all along and I’ve not noticed it! Some good new tunes in there, and the last one sounded more like R.Seiliog than Y Niwl, although Alun did later explain, ‘The last song we played was brand new, we only wrote it on Thursday and it’s based around a riff that I play, and I totally went blank! More practice!’
Overall Alun said, ‘Really enjoyed it, looking forward to making a record now, need to get my organising cap on. It’s a brilliant festival albeit a posh people one, but the setting is incredible.’  (Y Niwl on Bandcamp)

Stage times (we thought) seemed to be slipping, we met up with Simon Price and tried in vain to get into the Comedy Tent to see Mark Thomas, it later emerged that someone somewhere had got the days mixed up, whether it was Festival No6 or simply Mark Thomas committing one of his 100 Acts of Minor Dissent. The tent was rammed, and those ramming it would have to wait 24 hours to see Mr Thomas. On account of this mix up we managed to stumble across John Cooper-Clarke about to start his set at The Piazza as the sun slid behind the tall buildings and the half moon shone bright in the clear sky. When I say John Cooper-Clarke, I really mean Sir John Cooper-Clarke, or St John. He shocked and he awed, charming us with his down to earth wit, and banter with a few poems chucked in for good measure.
He started with the hilarious Start Taking Drugs Again You Fat Fuck – and when one of the lines was changed to ‘You fat cunt’ – there were several gasps from this huge audience. There were little old ladies dotted amongst the crowd looking at each other in mortal disgust, and yet they remained and carried on tutting and shaking their heads as Lord Clarke chundered through his extremely entertaining repertoire. I couldn’t understand why the Blue Rinse Brigade would stay and be indirectly insulted, then it dawned on me; they were here for the next act The Brythoniaid Welsh Male Voice Choir.

These 70 unsuspecting local boys, who are probably retired policemen, farmers, freemasons and magistrates have gained celebrity status since their inauguration into the minds and hearts of people who would not normally listen to a male voice choir. The pleasant shock had softened on us having seen them here last year, but they still warmed our cockles with their wit, humour and magnificence. They did traditional stuff along with last year’s ‘hit’ Blue Monday, a Chic number, Design For Life, and Muse‘s Uprising, sparking rumours that the choir had been ‘commissioned’ to do so as the Devon trio could be here next year. They encored with Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau (Welsh National Anthem), which is moving in itself, moving enough to have ‘I’m Alan Partridge’ and ‘Spaced’ actor, James Lance who was stood in front of us, cheering and a hollering. It was heart pounding and earth moving (the choir, not James Lance!)

My Bloody Valentine
were bloody loud and I somehow missed the boat when they first set sail, I guess it was when I was triple-bad-acidly immersed in Sons of Selina; I missed a lot of bands and music on account of being in that band, and MBV were one of them. So when everyone got all excited about their first recording in 20 years, I looked over my glasses, puffed on my pipe, tutted and carried on reading The Independent…
SteveF was kind enough to fast track me, furnishing my iPod with MBV, Loveless, Glider and Isn’t Anything, and yeah, I can see what all the fuss is about, although they don’t rise above the outstanding tracks/bands on the Psychedelica Compilation series. The Main Stage tent was dripping in psychedelia, far too fucking loud psychedelia, too loud sometimes to hear the drums through the soup of guitar feedback, MBV played a non-contact sport and at times looked as if they wished they were some place other than this setting of absolute beauty and tranquility.

In order to break up their set, I did so by way of doing a little live interview with Adam Walton for BBC Radio Wales, who were broadcasting live, inexplicably next to the Main Stage tent – and with MBV being so bloody loud it was hard to work out what Adam was saying to me! I did catch, ‘This is going out live Neil, so please don’t swear!’
The swirly guitars and the wash of cool colours for visuals were relentless and the clock struck 10pm, Bethan Elfyn had just wrapped up her show and being ushered by producer Ed Richmond, Adam Walton takes to the air on Radio Wales. He’s cold, he’s deafened by MBV – we’re all deafened by My Bloody Valentine! Adam played a track, then we talk about this festival and the importance of including local bands. We also discuss Radio Rhydd (whom he plays next) and how the Welsh scene needs Radio Rhydd…
Would be great to see them here next year…