electric gardens festival

Let’s be honest, mud might be a novelty for the Tarquins and Tabithas of this world but this is Kent. Mud just doesn’t mix well with the serious business of quaffing cheap lager, lying back and getting ridiculously sunburned. Lucky then that Electric Gardens was perfectly timed to coincide with England’s hottest weekend of the summer - and ‘Kent’s biggest music festival’ dazzled. Early afternoon and the button-badge set headed for the main stage as Blood Red Shoes broke through the afternoon haze. Laura-Mary and Steven made a surprisingly loud sound which soon sorted out the neat from the chav. Next up, Pull Tiger Tail. Bassist Davo preened and posed throughout a scorching set while Marcus was busy doing the singing bit. Meanwhile at the back of the stage a Northern bloke started babbling about ducks and the carp in the nearby lake. Moments later the same lanky chap transformed into Reverend & The Makers own contender Jon Mclure. Things were whipped enough to inspire the debut launch of the beer can…the flip-flop…and hat on to the stage.. Chart-botherer Kate Nash captured a large following despite the lure of Lethal Bizzle and some tasty rare breed burgers just over the hill. Britain’s answer to Regina Spektor came on like a dotty nursery teacher and delivered a faultless stream of consciousness for over half an hour before sending us off for our tea. Then there was the Sixth Form dancing courtesy of those polka-dot princesses The Pipettes. They’re still the worst choreographed girl-band in history - yet somehow so charming, and there’s no denying their ‘best mate’s big sister’ charm whislt they pull shapes and tell tales of one night stands. Later on, main stager Calvin Harris lost some numbers to New Young Pony Club - but Tahita played such a passionless set I was sure she’d been struck with festival fatigue. An older and chubbier Supergrass provided a gutsier end to proceedings on the main stage and day one was all over by a rather too civilised half ten. Things got hotter on Sunday. Hot Club De Paris soundtracked the sizzle with ‘Shipwreck’ and some stage banter. Holiday traffic kept The Noisettes delayed but Shingai soon made light of the scorcher and leaped about like a sprite possessed; clambering over both drumkit and amp to strike the right pose and reach the right note. Milburn followed - but still resemble an Arctic Monkeys tribute band however hard they try. Electric Gardens finally hit high voltage for The Maccabees. The edgy London chaps teased, tempted and taunted throughout and rudely awoke the security muscle from their siestas. Forget old baggy geezers and Britpop veterans - The Maccabees were the people’s champs. Sunday’s scoff and slurp slot was given over to The Young Knives, but despite drawing a large crowd they never really showed their sharpness and were too hot for the usual internecine insults. Maybe it was the stifling heat but The Rakes seemed to go on forever. Alan Donohoe may have meticulously read the Jarvis book of stage moves but even the poptastic ‘22 Grand Job’ seemed insipid as it floated through the orchards and into the evening air. The weekend closed on a low. The pills ’n’ thrills of 1990 are truly a bellyache these days for The Happy Mondays - who take valuable stage space away from new talent. Shaun Ryder spent most of his time clutching a cola bottle looking like a soon to be senile uncle. Bez – never the complete ticket himself – shook his maraccas and traversed the stage as if newly freed from a strait-jacket, whilst the rest of the band carried them through. It’s a shame the clowns provided the only clouds of the day. Despite the choice of headliners Electric Gardens is a most welcome addition to a summer scene already pregnant with portaloo experiences. A beautiful setting, a friendly vibe amongst the sunkissed fourteen thousand…and all the apples you could ever wish to eat.