ATP v's Breeders

After reading and dealing with the hard sledging from a certain Ms Fakaray (how kind), I once again seize the gauntlet to report on ATP (All Tomorrow’s Parties), and my favourite band of the weekend, Holy Fuck.

Friday was a none-starter; I was stuck at work watching the clock tick, contemplating the arduous four-hour drive ahead. We had to ensure arrival pre 11pm in order to gain entry, with that slap of fear I managed to flee work and hit the road, armed with a burger for sustenance, this would turn into our weekend staple.  Sat in shit traffic surrounded by bad weather and boredom, we entertained ourselves by playing the good bands we were missing out on at full volume. Minehead drew ever closer, we began to gather speed and the evening’s medicine was dispensed.

Upon arrival post hearty introduction from the security, we quickly abandoned our car and began a game of Challenge Anneka, cue us running round like idiots in a bid to collect out tickets, we had missed the curfew (thank you once again to Sarah for sorting us out). With bags dropped off in our disabled chalet, we ran toward the music arriving just in time to hear the final strum of Bon Iver, we headed to the bar for a well deserved beverage.

Re-fuelled we headed up stairs to be greeted by the sweet smell of cheap ass hotdogs and booze drenched carpets. Buffalo Killers rocked our worlds, this was the first time the band had made it out of the states and onto a plane. Pit Er Pat eased us into the night, gathering legs we headed on to the Crazy Horse, which was an interesting adventure. As dawn broke we left the school disco slash Western bar with our new buddies, and marched off for chalet fun.

Saturday greeted us far too early and after eating the worst meal ever, we explored our surroundings in the cold light of day. And what a place Butlins is, all I can say is while intoxicated it is an Aladdin’s cave of delights. Hung over and rough it is sheer hell, the only sensible thing left to do, we hit the booze. Blood Red Shoes were playing on the daunting main stage with its indoor/outdoor vibe. With the memory of summers past CSS took to the stage, so we did the best thing and went back to the chalet. After hitting our meagre supplies I decided to have a wash and proceeded to destroy the shower and flood the chalet (Sorry NME). The music was well underway when we stumbled back to the pavilion, which took the form of The Breeders, who I am afraid to say, bored me. After catching the end of Tricky as he murdered Love Cats by The Cure, I debated about returning to the chalet and putting an end to it all. However, I stuck it out for Zach Hill, what the fuck that was, I will never know. But Mariachi El Bronx brought it back with natty outfits, please guys just rock that look forever. Holy Fuck the treat of the weekend took to the stage, bar a few minor instrument breakdowns and a bouncing floor they were as the name suggests, impressive. Afterwards it was a return to Crazy Horse and a Chalet party or two.

Sunday promised the best line up and kicked off with The Soft Pack on the main Stage, there wasn’t any need to go anywhere except the bar. Heading up stairs I stumbled across the hype band Melt Banana, holy christ thank god for drugs. Deerhunter greeted us with a gleeful Bradford Cox. There timing couldn’t have been more perfect, the set also featured a duet with the Deal sister (milking it if you ask me). Back upstairs, it was turning into stage tennis, I caught the very sweet sounding Kimya Dawson. Who had the stage stealing audience backing singers.  Downstairs again, it was the never disappointing Gang of Four, his unfathomable energy is amazing. With a brief visit to the worst crack den in chalet-ville it was back to see the Foals, easily a band to hate, they delivered a great set, with a rocking final track. After this, it was Distortion Felix and the worst placement of a mike stand ever.   Alas bed was finally calling, after our last visit to BK we hit the wet carpeted chalet.

And so to summarise, keep a watchful eye over the obtrusive security and their voyeuristic tendency to look over into the cubicles. Never allow me into a disabled bathroom whilst high. And never ever ever let me eat a hotdog from Butlins again.