For those of you not privy to Glasgow’s labyrinth of subterranean hot spots, elaborate grid system and imposing industrial edifices, unlocking Glasgow’s incomparable musical riches may seem a daunting (if ultimately worthwhile) venture.
After a lengthy, arduous and traffic-jammed journey, I finally arrived in Glasgow under a cloud of dejection (having missed arranged interview with one of headline acts), and was forced to traverse the city centre numerous times in search of the elusive press-pass (those of a paranoid disposition might say forces were conspiring against me). However, reaching The Classic Grand, I was greeted with loud waves of reverb-drenched drones (nothing resonates more to a gloomy soul): Trailer Trash Tracys are one part My Bloody Valentine, two parts The Cocteau Twins. Their music evokes a cinematic Lynch-esque vision of disquiet mixed with dreamy soundscapes, while Susanne Aztoria’s wistful voice transcend the wall of sound.
In keeping with this foreboding-but-engaging sound were Orphans & Vandals, straight from the bohemian underbelly. Set to discordant violins and harmonium, they seemed to fuse the noisy sleazy minimalism of The Velvet Underground with the folk-infused rock of the The Waterboys. Using an array of instruments against extended (and oftentimes explicit) spoken word expositions (almost verging on beat poetry), and with a drummer who resembles Karen O gone feral, there’s plenty to capture the imagination.
If the aural stimulation offered so far wasn’t enough, then downstairs the surreal and dumfounding offerings of Geordi La Force really took me by surprise. Manic shredding, unsettling mathcore/prog/jazz-metal (delete where appropriate) stylings, startling visual montages punctuated by white noise, it all made for some magnificent moments. Words can’t really put into perspective the perplexed-if-impressed reaction of those experiencing GLF for the first time.
The nature of any kind of festival means the inevitable timing clash of acts, which in turn throws up the dilemma of who to exclude… in this case, the question was: “do I make the journey half way across the city to witness of the aural, assault of Glasgow’s finest purveyors of visceral noise DeSalvo, or stay here in my comfortable surrounding and lap up Meursault’s minimalist folktronica?”
I plumped for the sweaty bowels of Nice ‘N’ Sleazy, walking in to the final brutal strains of Desalvo’s last song, greeted with the sight of frontman/performer/intimidating-inseminator (our upcoming interview will enlighten you on this point – Ed.) P6 drenched in sweat, stripped to the waist, sporting bandages and a pig-snort mask (with limited sensitivity to Swine Flu hysteria), goading the crowd in a terrifying manner. This brief experience of their live show, left as a lasting impression on my psyche as the bar prices did on my pocket. After a quick interview with P6 – who, when stripped of his depraved stage persona and attire, is surprisingly pleasant – I hotfooted it back across the city to The Arches to see a band of legendary proportions, renowned for incendiary live performances with a cantankerous figure at the centre: The Fall.
‘Ramshackle’, ‘off-key’, ‘shambolic’ and ‘bemusing’… these aren’t usually adjectives used to denote a positive review. However contradictory this may seem, that’s what many of the packed-out Arches crowd expect from a Fall performance. True to form, that was exactly what they delivered. Mark E. Smith skulked around stage, spouting indistinguishable rants backed by a distorted lo-fi groove from the latest incarnation of backing musicians, lead by his wife on synths (though at a whim, Smith would take over whatever instrument he pleased). Never let it be said that ‘shambolic’ has to be used in a negatively.
Following The Fall was going to be a no mean feat, so I decided it was time to the much-lauded party haunt, Sub Club, to indulge in some of the subterranean indulgences there. After twenty years, it’s safe to say they know how to throw a party, and it was indeed in full-swing when I arrived, swaying to the smoother than smooth flow of Theophilus London & DJ Melo X. Not content with rocking the crowd with their flawlessly hip tunes, they worked the local lot a little more by downing a bottle of Buckfast between them. It’s safe to say they succeeded in turning the party atmosphere up a notch or five, with everyone engaged in some form of rhythmic movement. After a quick chat with the Brooklyn duo, a drink and an uncharacteristic shimmy around the dancefloor, my first day of the Hinterland experience was at an end. Though the night was young for many partygoers, I had a bus to catch… roll on tomorrow’s carnival of delights.
Stay tuned for the Friday reports from the Hinterland Festival, along with more photos and interviews.
Articles our internet goblins think may interest you...
Craig Harkness is a radio journalist and promoter in Fife, Scotland. 
