jersey live

While waiting for our wristbands, we witness DOES IT OFFEND YOU, YEAH?, via the huge screen, next to the main stage. Beat heavy and punky, like an updating of Test Icicles, they seem to impress the early crowd. THE ENEMY are not the kind of band you’d find within our pages, and here’s why. A simple blending of haircuts and populism, they jump and shout and cajole the audience. And it all seems to work, for some. But their music lacks a meaty core, a beatific backbone. It appears to be made up of a hollow shell of jangles and beats. Worse still, the arrival of THE TWANG makes us yearn for the days of The Enemy. Come back, all is forgiven! I swear, at one point, a lady taps me on the shoulder to enquire of my journalistic efforts. She is at great pains to impress upon me that I should write, I quote, “This band is shit.” I agree wholeheartedly with her sentiment: watching a bald guy who looks about 50 (though he’s probably about 30) fronting a band who sound like the most asinine excesses of the late eighties is not my idea of a good time, but I explain that I should pursue a considered approach as a professional. Oh, fuck it, she’s right, as are many of the hoards walking away from the stage area – this band is shit! Warning to readers: if you are badly behaved, we will force you to watch The Twang, or maybe The View (on first offence). “You know they don’t give a fuck about anybody else!” sing the SUPER FURRY ANIMALS, ad infinitum. They are perfect for a sunny afternoon, though I do admittedly miss half their set, on account of being at the local pub (decent pints are hard to come by at festivals, you know). With a great first and much-maligned second album, THE RAKES bring their Germanic beats to the Channel Islands. Not the wisest of ideas, perhaps, considering the history here, but it works none the less. Tall and urbane, Alan Donohoe is like a cross between Jarvis Cocker and Kyle MacLachlan. He also takes a leaf from the sacred book of Argos, and jumps into the audience. Unlike our dear Eddie, though, he lasts about 30 seconds. The masses gathered to watch don’t care in the slightest, they’re too busy dancing to those Germanic beats, much like their grandparents did all those years ago. All in all, though, a great time is generally had by all, in the sunblest isle. *The Rakes photographed by Jules Annan CONCERTPHOTOGRAPHY.CO.UK