Summertime Blues & Rock Festival
Beckford Village Hall, Gloucestershire| July 23rd – 25th
As we know, time can be fickle, mischievous and unforgiving…
An impressive show of camper vans, tents and gazeebos sat expectantly on the closely-cut, litter-free field, as we were hailed at the gate on the sanguine Thursday afternoon. Saliently, 12 months on from Beckfest 1, it was obvious the Summertime Blues Festival, or Beckfest 2, was most definitely on the festival map.
To begin with the festivities were definitely underway as we settled in to appreciate the youthfully exuberant Jesse Garwood Band. Their sinewy careering blues contained self-penned songs performed with confident gusto. With a musical knowledge beyond their years the band’s rampant versions of Tore Down reminded me of another Blues outfit: Nine Below Zero. JGB’s swaggering version of the Boys are Back in Town unwittingly captured…
Concluding on the Saturday night, the village hall was full to the obvious satisfaction of the highly experienced Stray. Clearly living their best life, Stray were determined to present the best version of their selves and performed as if they were at Shea stadium. The bassist, Colin Kempster, gleefully hand-clapped, above his head, throughout the gig, reflecting the band’s working ethos. A knowledgeable crowd embraced Jericho and was testament to the band’s legacy,provoking a collective response.1600 Pennsylvania Avenuewas given a presidential treatment by the audience.
Previously, on the Friday afternoon, the urbane Thomas Heppell was in a stoical and reflective mood. Seated and a study in composure, the singer-songwriter’s What Causes a Man to Break was a contrast to some of the muscular blues rock and a genuine tonic. His admission he’d had a tough week, before articulating “music was a great healer,” much like time, was a timely and tender moment. Heppell’s walkabout in the hall whilst playing his guitar, towards the end of the gig, must have won him even more friends.
Friendly and amiable Beckfest 2 was run with a knockabout humour and a “we are all in this together philosophy.” No one even seemed to mind when the bar ran dry late on Saturday night.
Taking us back to a period when Dr. Feelgood strutted around Canvey Island, Sparko’s Going Back Home didn’t quite defy time but their solid performance brought forth much arm jabbing and shouted accompaniments. Interspersing tracks with his well-rehearsed ad-libbing, John Simpson – ever the professional in his black suit – made sure the band retained their sense of purpose. The versions of Can’t do my Homework, Down by the Jetty, She does it Right, mere precursors to Sparko’s opening bass line to Roxette. Classic.
The schedule for the weekend was run with atomic clock precision. In between bands on Friday afternoon the ethereal Crimson Flame could be found outside the main hall. Under a heavenly cloud-less sky the duo entertained with Hendrix and Rory Gallagher acoustic interpretations. The self-penned song about the inner rebel in all of us must have aroused more than one or two in attendance…
In truth the weekend was a debauched debacle of wanton decadence. Thomas Heppell was content to openly shoot coke on stage, albeit a diet coke. For crying out loud, there was even a querulously posted comment left on the local Facebook page about needing to shut their windows. Furthermore, James Oliver also appeared on stage clutching an armful of coke…before unceremoniously kicking a can over, mid-set! Reckless.
Whilst James Oliver takes his music seriously he certainly does not take himself seriously. Gently mocking Norman Watt-Roy and Geraint Watkins for their time won experience – “I‘ve got two of them to care for now and you know how they get a bit dithery!” – the next ninety minutes were a Music Hall cavalcade of one-liners and unfiltered witticisms. Musically, JOB are as tight as a modern supermarket’s parking space. JOB’s own tracks off Twang and Frantic underpin the set while the well-chosen opuses exposing the band’s musical knowledge are genuine crowd-pleasers. The usual closing track Misirlou shows off the band’s musicianship and sense of drama. Not only was Geraint Watkins a perfect foil for Oliver he was also the personification of modesty; take a moment in time to research who this keyboard player has played with if you don’t already know? Yes, Rory Gallagher’s name is on the list.
In the penultimate slot on Saturday night was another man who has far reaching credentials: John Verity. With a countenance that suggests I have seen it all, a stage craft that exudes confidence and an array of selective guitars, the singer song-writer subjected the village hall to a time defying performance. We were regaled with real Rock & Roll stories and an admittance he managed to skilfully side-step the chance to play Woodstock (sic). However, regardless of the march of time, I will never forget his version of “Star Spangled Banner,” which morphed into “God Save the King” before a set crowning version of Hey Joe inspired an ovation that must have had Verity smiling all the way back to Bradford, even without taking LSD.
The sleepy village of camper vans, tents and gazeebos sat contentedly on the closely-cut, litter-free field, with twinkling lights swaying in the night breeze as we sauntered past, hailing another successful weekend at our local village hall. Will this Beckford micro-festival go down as the best ever, only time will tell? Already looking forward to next year…
By: Swilgate Scuttler
Photography by Paul Dubbelman – Dubbel Xposure Photography