zoo8 festival

A few hours later and the queue’s grown. A bearded beat-poet arrives to apologise for squeezing out the two opening acts, while scuffles begin to break out. Punters are unhappy…. no that’s not right, they’re livid. At least THE RUMBLE STRIPS are here to greet us. Possibly because their bassist Sam is wearing loose baggy boxer shorts and revealing his loose bits to the front row, their audience is quite small. But thanks to Charlie Waller’s Dexy-tastic vocals, the band are far from bollocks – and the festival feels like it may have finally started. Or not. The car park is full, there’s a high quantity of glass in the arena, stages are delayed, the security is heavy handed, there’s a lack of toilets and the running times are all wrong. A word in the ear of the PR flunkies is long overdue. If anyone knows what’s happening surely it’ll be these guys? Er, no. They mumble, they smile; they evade the issues by not even acknowledging there are issues. Every single Nathan Barley clone appears unaware of any problems. It’s all going well. FUCKED UP – that’s the Canadian hardcore band not a comment on the festival promoters – are playing and a funny man in high-rise pants is roaring in the middle of the marquee. It‘s cathartic chaos and the crowd lose some of their latent anger by proxy. The site is filling up and a random MC is dishing out t-shirts and bizarrely babbling about the Wateraid charity. Over at the main stage a man nervously announces that Dizzee Rascal has ditched the event. Cans and bottles hit the stage. Then, it seems that LETHAL BIZZLE is so lethal that he won’t come on unless the crowd aren’t nice to him. Boo hoo! He asks everyone to “make some motherfuckin’ noise…” and struts around, eventually giving way to Mark Ronson – but only after a mind-numbing soundcheck. Away from the self-important pap and back in the real world the action is in the marquee. GALLOWS are frigging with the rigging and causing some structural problems to the tent -but they buck the trend and make the first night end on a high. SATURDAY Jaded by the opening night fans expect something more from Saturday. Sadly the disorganised debacle continues. In the absence of any substantial updates from the PR team the vacuum is filled by rumour. So apparently…the Tap’n’Tin tent is closed. Bands are pulling out of playing the festival. The stage manager has been fighting backstage. Back-stage catering has left because they’ve not been paid. Mark Ronson was paid thirty grand in loose change… Truth is nobody seems to know what’s going on, but the fog of speculation slowly lifts. The second stage is indeed closed due to “safety concerns” and bands will be rescheduled for other stages. In normal circumstances this announcement would count as damage limitation – however, one of the replacement stages is in the V.I.P area, which is denied to all but a select few punters and the usual backstage floosies. Consequently, there’s aggravation when CHAS N DAVE play to the posh and neglect the paying proles who can’t enter the exclusive area. Yet at least the Cockney geezers have stuck around. So many bands have already left due to payment issues. So there’s no Wiley, Frank Turner, The Rascals, or Roni Size. Smaller bands seize their chance. NEEDS MUST resurrect The Ruts sound on Medway while NICK HARRISON becalms the baying Rascals fans with humour and tact. HADOUKEN! play a storming set and instantly befriend everyone with a tirade against the promoter with their rant of “pay your fucking artists!” BRITISH SEA POWER also carry on regardless but with a fairly demure performance including ‘Carrion’ and ‘Waving Flags’. The cries of “oggi oggi oggi” and piggyback antics bemuse many of the baffled young audience hanging on to see Ash. Rumours are rife again. The festival organisers have fled and the event is now in the hands of the zoo boss. Punters and journalists wander about aimlessly, unaware of who’s playing where or when. Yet good news arrives on the cool breeze: the Marquee has reopened! So it’s off to see THE YOUNG KNIVES squabbling in the tent. House Of Lords is apparently “on the pull” tonight and Henry throws brotherly barbs - but they hardly lift the roof off. Oddly, WE START FIRES benefit from the confused scheduling and end up headlining the tent. Which would be great – if it weren’t for the fact that so few people know. It’s just a quarter full by the time Becky and co hit the stage. SUNDAY Everyone has left, the red pandas are in charge, the monkeys want a cut of the profit and the elephants have drunk the rider… By Sunday it seems that more bands have pulled out – and to an extent, this is fine. Surviving the day without Athlete, Charlotte Hatherley and The Metros won’t be hard. But doing without Late Of The Pier, Elle S’Appelle, Johnny Foreigner, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Friendly Fires, Pete And The Pirates and Ox.Eagle.Lion.Man is heartbreaking for many. The line-up is depleted, the attendance is down to a trickling few thousand and the weather is atrocious. The Nathan Barleys are too busy organising safari sweeteners for cynical journalists to offer any kind of service. Yet sightseeing tours to see endangered monkeys won’t buy Artrocker back. Feed the organisers to the lions, then we’ll talk! Back at the ‘festival’ IDA MARIA plays through the rain. She’s improved since her stuttering performance on the Isle of Wight, and ‘Louie’ and ‘Stella’ lift away some of the gloom. DOGS get switched from the marquee to the V.I.P stage but they give it some for ‘Tuned To A Different Station’. Over on the main stage those Cockney pleasers THE HOLLOWAYS do their inoffensive pop thing for a while and the rain falls hard on a humdrum festival. The ordeal is nearly over. Not even THE HIVES can save the weekend now. Pelle Almqvist preaches well and instructs everyone to applause between songs – “please can you do that thing for me, if you don’t feel too ripped off already…” - hinting at what everyone is thinking. It’s a shame that such a worthy charity-focussed festival should fail so miserably and disappoint so many. When the recession takes hold and the economic marksmen take aim, Zoo Thousand will not escape the cull. It’s a jungle out there… and only the strongest will survive.