Benicàssim Festival, 17th – 20th July 2008

Sigur Ros

Words: Alex Harvey and Charley Caines
Photographs: Danny North, Baptiste Pons, Rayos Centusoidos and Davide Ravani

After the trials and tribulations of Glastonbury 2007, I and seemingly half of blighty thought enough was enough of the shit English weather and decided to head for the sunnier climes of Spain and Benicassim for our annual festival experience.

Any thoughts surrounding a particularly bad hangover after a heavy night in Barcelona are put aside, as once at the campsite the serene beauty of the mountains bearing down on you and the relatively small town of Benicassim become apparent and just a hint of smugness washed over me. You can keep your rain, your mud and your Jay-Z nonsense, I’ve got a beach, 30+ degree heat, a water park, the picturesque mountains and ok…maybe the small matter of ants nest by my tent but you can’t have it all can you?

On first glance the bill looked comparatively weak compared to previous years, though understandable when you have the competition of the Summercase festival on the same weekend in much bigger cities. Taking a closer look though and there are some brilliant acts waiting to be heard and none more so than Thursday night headliner Sigur Ros. A clash with Lightspeed Champion was unfortunate but there was no question who I was going to see. The Icelandic band duly delivered one of the best sets of the whole festival and if I wasn’t to see another band all weekend I would have gone home happy. Going from sadness to euphoria in an instance and back again, I’m not sure how I held back the tears. Singer Jón þor Birgisson attacked his guitar with his bow with venom as gold confetti rained down over him and the band providing a great spectacle.

Siouxsie

It was a full three hours before I saw my next band, not very good going for music journalist you might think but the Silent Disco was tempting me over like a siren and I dare you to ignore its call. By 3am I was buzzing and there was only one band on at the time that was worthy of attention and that was Battles. The small Vodafone Fib Club tent was absolutely heaving and the sea of people continued well outside, which on one level created a stellar atmosphere but on another you felt sorry for sardines. ‘Atlas’ arrived in the middle of an energetic set and sent in the crowd into a frenzy, throwing shapes and jumping like they were possessed. The festival had well and truly begun.

Friday began in abrupt fashion at around 8am when some excitable Spanish campers decided it would be a good idea to sing ‘La Bamba’ at the top of their voices for what seemed like hours. Not good when you’ve barely had 3 hours sleep, though a trip to the water park sorted out any grouchiness and built up the adrenaline for the night ahead.

For me it started with Metronomy. The Brighton-based three-piece are part of the burgeoning electro-clash scene and put a slightly camp spin on it. Invariably there were points where all three had no need to touch their instruments so instead of standing there like lemons, they had worked on a few dance moves and poses. They certainly got the crowd going but with it still light outside they were on at the wrong time to be fully appreciated.

Babyshambles were the main draw for a lot of people, not least the press who had a massive contingent of photographers in the pit and the organisers were no doubt relieved that Pete actually decided to turn up after a spate of no shows. Coming on complete with a dangling earring that looked like a Ferrero Rocher, he teased the crowd with a short rendition of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ before launching into ‘Kilamangiro’ and ‘Delivery’. I’ll get straight to the point – the performance was dreadful. Pete slurred and forgot his words, they sounded like they hadn’t rehearsed in a while, the sound itself was bad and anyone still thinking Pete Docherty is the messiah is kidding themselves.

Looking at what else was on, El Guincho had a cool sounding name so we upped sticks from the ‘shambles and found a half empty tent bouncing along with a fun Spanish dance act. Two guys with keyboards and laptops etc took a low key stance in order for Pablo Diaz-Reixa to take centre stage singing and chanting whilst the video screens show what look suspiciously like subliminal messages about drugs. They created a really happy atmosphere especially when a clip of ‘groundbreaking’ TV programme ‘Saved by the Bell’ appeared in time with the beat. I also caught the opening Fujiya & Miyagi’s but wasn’t impressed by the apparent self indulgence of a track which repeated Fujiya & Miyagi as a lyric over and over.

New York Dolls took to the main stage and there seemed to be a mass exodus after Babyshambles because the ease with which I could get virtually to the front even though I arrived late was quite alarming. Revived in no small part to Morrissey in 2004, David Johansen, with his Mick Jagger posturing, and co undoubtedly put on a good show but it all seemed a bit dated to me so off I trotted to get a good position for the modern sounds of Hot Chip. Thank god I did too because by the time they came on it was rammed and by all accounts many people were left straining their necks for a decent view outside the tent. I find their albums pretty hit and miss but this set was a highlight of the festival. They decided to leave out the slower songs from their limited back catalogue in favour of one big rave, with hits ‘Over and Over’ and ‘Ready for the Floor’ particularly manic. Only the odd choice of closer, a cover ‘Nothing Compares to You’ was a bone of contention but after an hour of non-stop sweating and gasping for air the change of pace was rather welcome.

My Bloody Valentine

I’d never really got into My Bloody Valentine before but was aware that they were supposed to be one of loudest bands you’ll ever hear and of the supposed genius of their output. Now, this performance has not by any means got me searching for the Loveless album as i didn’t find it particular engaging, but I was in utter awe of final track ‘You Made Me Realise’.  The intense 20-minute epic gave me dodgy hearing for the next few days and I wasn’t even that close to the stage it was so loud. If a Jet engine was taking off down the road I doubt you’d have been able to hear it above the incredibly noise this band were making. A fair few people understandably couldn’t hack it and left halfway through but I’m proud that I stood firm, even if my eardrums did take an absolute pounding.

The Brian Jonestown Massacre has gone through many personnel changes over the years and we may see more after their main stage performance on Saturday evening. Band leader Anton Newcombe seemed to be off his face and thought he was in France, then had a couple of rants and a heated ‘discussion’ with Joel Gion the tambourine man in chief. Also, before leaving the stage Newcombe led a mass sing-along of ‘Lets go fucking mental, lets go fucking mental la la la’. Oh and they played some music too, which actually sounded pretty tight under the circumstances.

Clem Snide member Eef Barzelay played a solo set to a relatively small but captive audience in the Fib Club tent playing ‘loser rock’ with a country twang by way of a slide guitar. You could tell he wears his heart on his sleeve and was gaining in confidence as the set went on but there wasn’t much to distinguish him from any other singer/songwriter out there. My Morning Jacket produced an extremely assured performance with frontman Jim James running about all over the place and ‘shredding’ his guitar. Although a lot of the songs ran a bit too close to M.O.R. for comfort, there were a few hidden gems as well that brought them above ordinary and having not heard much of their material before after this impressive performance I may investigate further.

My Morning Jacket

The Kills is a band that thrives on intimacy and sexual tension so putting them on the main stage was a big mistake in my opinion. James Hince and Alison Mosshart started off so far apart to try and fill the vast amount of space that it just didn’t work, which they must have realised as they gradually got closer and closer before their mic’s were only a few feet away from each other. By then though it was too late and only a rousing version of ‘Fried My Little Brains’ stopped it from being thoroughly disappointing.

One of the biggest crowds of the week turned up to see arguably the biggest rock band on the bill, The Raconteurs and they would not be disappointed. The band was on fine form, leading us through a rollicking set comprised mostly from new album ‘Consolers of the Lonely’. ‘Steady as She Goes’ and ‘Broken Boy Soldier’ were played one after the other, which got the crowd jumping and they never looked back.

By this point the week’s activities had started to take its toll and my lower back was in an incredible amount of pain. Any break in bands was spent either lying or sitting down to take the pressure off. When Gnarls Barkley came on after The Raconteurs an initial curiosity for them soon gave way to an extremely satisfying crouch. From my vertically challenged view I could still tell I wasn’t really missing much and it passed me by somewhat. After ‘Crazy’ probably over half the crowd left but the people that did stay to the end were treated to a cover of Radiohead’s ‘Reckoner’, which, by staying true to the original, actually wasn’t too bad, and the up-tempo ‘Smiley Face’ to end the night on a high.

Determined to make the most of the last day and after a couple of pre-game back stretches, I strolled into the venue in plenty of time for The National. One of the few bands I saw to have a hitch big enough to delay their entrance, they started with a few sound problems especially with the mic before getting into their stride. They stayed pretty stationary throughout though singer Matt Berringer stomped around the stage really getting into the music that was played to perfection by his band mates. This was to be the last gig on their current tour before starting agan at Lollapalooza and even though they overran they insisted that they played one more to the delight of the audience.

The legendary Leonard Cohen took to the main stage to a hysterical crowd that would struggle to hold back the tears as he rolled out ten songs from his highly expansive back catalogue. I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet during a gig before such was the respect for the well dressed poet. Though when ‘Susanne’ and ‘Hallelujah’ were played back to back, you felt like you were in the midst of a 30,000 strong choir and with the sun starting to go down it was a glorious sight. I have to say during some of the songs my mind did wander to the excruciating pain in my back which did hamper my experience, but for a lot of people it was a defining moment.

Morrissey

A highly enjoyable lie down set me up for Richard Hawley and a front centre position. Get in! Coming on to chants of ‘Yorkshire! Yorkshire!’ this was more like a homecoming gig than a festival performance in Spain and he loved it just as much as we did, proclaiming us “the best festival crowd I’ve ever had” even taking a minute to take it all in between songs. Needless to say his brand of rockabilly got everyone dancing and listening intently during the quieter moments and it was an extremely enjoyable experience for everyone involved.

One of the acts I had been looking forward to the most was Justice and they were up next in the Fiberfib.com tent. They had been on ten minutes already by the time I got there and I wasn’t going to get anywhere near the venue. There were people everywhere, in trees, on top of the meeting point area and they could have filled the 10,000 capacity tent at least twice. Obviously the sound from the outside wasn’t the best but the atmosphere was incredible, everyone was dancing and going mental and the French duo pulled out one of the anthems of the festival in ‘We Are Your Friends’. People were still singing it long into the night and the next day bringing strangers closer together as they knew they witnessed something special.

From the joyous highs of Justice came the depressing low of Morrissey. Wandering around aimlessly like a stray dog, he came across as a tired old man drunk on his own smugness. It was painful to watch and this time it wasn’t because of my back. Collapsing and rolling around on the floor was the last straw for me and it was in such stark contrast with the class of Leonard Cohen before him. Shame.

Sioxsie would prove to be my last act of Benicassim 2008 and she was a bit hit and miss. Her stage presence is immense and she commands the stage showing off impressive agility for a person in their 50s by doing high kicks and throwing a variety of shapes. It was a shame then that her songs didn’t quite come up to par and sounded rather dated and stuck in the ’80s. The extraordinarily low turnout could be down to the fact that people were shattered from the previous 4 days worth of acts but she may be struggling to find a place in the competitive solo female market. I’m not sure how relevant she is now or who she’d appeal to but songs like ‘Nightwish’ still came across imposingly well.

So with my back on the verge of breaking and my ears still recovering from My Bloody Valentine’s brutal assault, my first Benicassim experience was brought to an end. After a week of camping in searing heat, two cold showers a day, consuming endless amounts of prawns, sandwiches and San Miguel and living on 4-5 hours of sleep a night I was ready to return home, but bar the extortionate prices inside the venue (Five Euros for a can of Red Bull) I can’t really fault this festival and I’m sure one day I’ll return.
by Alex Harvey

Babyshambles

For the last four years I’ve spent my holidays getting drenched in rain and cider at British music festivals, which has been fantastic and money well spent.  However, after Glasto’s 2007 downpour I decided that I was in need of a little dose of sunshine as well as my usual live music hit.  So I booked my ticket to Spain’s answer to Glastonbury; Benicassim.

The media have been yapping on for months over the cost of UK festivals, implying that it is cheaper to attend a festival abroad and they also have better line-ups.  So this was also a bit of an experiment, to see if they actually are.

Benicassim promises a hefty line up of high and low profile acts, a beautiful beach and weather to match, a great atmosphere.  And it does deliver, almost.  So here’s my personal account and festival guide to Benicassim.

Firstly let’s get one thing out of the way, don’t camp.  Under no circumstances should you camp. Imagine if you will, waking up at the crack of dawn in a sweat in your tent which has now turned into a make shift solar panel/oven.  Now imagine this everyday for 8 days.  Secondly imagine queuing for at least one hour for a shower which is easily comparable to Chinese water torture.  Thirdly imagine queuing for a toilet, again for at least an hour only to find a turd sat happily on the toilet seat mocking your misfortune.  You turn away to face the wall in horror only to find more turd smeared on the walls.  This is the “ladies” toilets.  And of course there are also the rats, giant ants, preying mantises, spiders, mosquitoes and maggots to contend with.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to my fair share of festivals and am not phased by a bit of poo and expect a bit of grime but this really was horrific. Just to reiterate-don’t camp. There’s a fantastic immaculate campsite with air-conditioned bungalows just down the road, called Bonterra.  Be warned though you must book in advance, like now.

Onto something a little more positive, the music.  Last year saw the likes of Muse, Amy Winehouse and the Artic Monkeys grace the sun drenched stage. So I was a little disappointed to see that the headline acts were seriously lacking, excluding just a few. One word, Mika. I did contemplate going just to pelt things though.

However festival goers were given a treat to exceed all expectations on the opening night. Iceland’s ethereal ambassadors, Sigur Ros arrived to give their audience a non-chemically induced high. Soaring vocals, delicate pianos and some astounding percussion arrangements.  The beauty of the gig itself was watching a predominantly English speaking audience attempt to wail along in Icelandic, myself included-unfortunately.

Although they were a fantastic opener I can’t help but think they would have gone down better closing the festival as the sun went down. Still they lived up to all expectations.

The Kills

Electro pop-tastic Calvin Harris went down a storm in the FIB tent, the sweat excreted from the audience was only excelled by the great, Justice who followed with a rapturous applause. Booka Shade were another stand out with ambient relentless beats keeping the crowd on their feet for hours.

Spiritualized left little to be desired believe it or not. You could barely hear the vocals and the music seemed to mesh into ambient rock with 15 minute guitar solos. The Kills were a great surprise.  Despite the media speculation over lead guitarist and Kate Moss’s latest squeeze Jamie Hince, I couldn’t take my eyes off lead singer Alison Mosshart. She dominated the stage, oozed sex appeal and her vocals were incredible.

On the whole the music was fantastic with incredible performances from The Raconteurs, Gnarls Barkley and a blinding Josh Wink Dj set.

The crowd were perhaps to most disappointing aspect of the festival. I have to say without trying to cause much offence to my fellow English festival goers, I was ashamed to be English. What was a beautiful Spanish beach town on the first two days was tarnished by the arrival of the majority of the ticket holders on day three. The once picturesque beach with tradesmen manning their stalls of parasols and trinkets was destroyed and left in ruins on the beach. The crystal clear sea was literally soiled by 18 year old public school kids shitting in it. And the streets littered with paralytic young girls smashing bottles of vodka outside the local family’s apartments and restaurants.

Gnarls Barkley

I was ashamed to hear one girl say to a waiter in a Spanish restaurant “Like don’t you speak fucking English, how gay is that”. Embarrassing. The girls were all kitted out in their best Kate Moss inspired festival gear and all adorning Bat for Lashes inspired headbands, like an army vodka glugging clones.  The boys were wasted adolesants clutching litre bottles of San Miguel walking around with signs and mega phones begging for Ketamine.

This brings me on to the price of alcohol. An eight pack of Amstell would set you back 2 .50 (Euro), bargain. On the campsite or at the festival site  it was 7.50 (around£6.00) for a beer or spirit and mixer, shocking when you consider that back home we thought £3 for a cider/beer at a UK festival as overpriced.

Controversial as it may sound this is not a festival I will be revisiting. I spent an absurd amount of money and was not living lavishly. I expected a lot more from the festival itself and hoped for a better bunch of people to be there. I’m not an old lady at 23 but I didn’t expect to spend the week avoiding screaming, drug hammering 18 year olds who had no respect for the locals. I certainly didn’t expect the extortionate drink prices. Yes the weather was beautiful and yes the music was great but give me Glastonbury and some rain any day.

Survival Guide
Learn some basic Spanish
Be prepared to walk at least 2 miles to the festival if staying on Beni-camp
Drink at the camp site but pace yourself-the main acts don’t come on till around 2am.
Clear up food-unless you want to eat your breakfast with rats and maggots
Shower at the beach not the campsite
Not sure if I mentioned this one but, don’t camp.
Visit Aquarama water park
Take plenty of money
by Charley Caines