St Gallen Open Air 2009

St Gallen – it was founded by an Irish monk called Gallus, every second shop seems to sell clothes and it has a famous business school. It is also home to
Switzerland’s equivalent of

Glastonbury, St Gallen Open Air, now in its 33rd year.

However, while the English festival has morphed into a mega event, its Swiss counterpart stays true to its roots and could teach many a

UK festival how things should be done.

For a start, it’s in a sensible location. Take a train direct from

Zurich airport, get out an hour later in St Gallen, fight your way onto a free bus outside the station, and ten minutes later you are dropped outside the local rubbish incinerator, set on the banks of a pretty river in the midst of some charming woodland.

St Gallen Open Air lets punters take in their own food and beer, while tents can be pitched within spitting distance of the main stages. Local farmers, whose houses are inside the festival site, sell bundles of firewood and bales of straw to those looking for some rustic comforts.

Although the full on festival runs from Friday afternoon until Sunday afternoon, there is a limited programme for those arriving on Thursday. This year early birds are treated to the gypsy ska of Disko Partizani, an excellent choice to warm punters up for the days ahead. Although frontman Shantel boasts a girl’s name and looks more like an East Berlin hairdresser than somebody who should think twice before booking a holiday in

Belfast, his credentials are impressive and he even boasts a BBC Award for World Music. 

The band’s blend of accordion, brass, violin and guitar is the perfect way to woo the unpretentious crowd, which knows what it wants – good music to jump around to – and by the end of the set they are well primed for what lies ahead in the coming days.

FRIDAY

Despite the early welcome for those arriving on the Thursday, St Gallen Open Air doesn’t kick of in earnest until the Friday afternoon, which means that people could pretty much arrive from any part of Switzerland and only have to take half a day off work. 

The new arrivals are greeted with sunshine, and many of them take advantage of a new delivery service introduced by the festival this year. For SFr60 [+ SFr 48 deposit], they can order a case of chilled beer which is delivered to their tent. And with camping being inside the festival area, this means that they can drink it while watching the bands. With a 0.4 litre glass costing SFr6 [+SFr 2 deposit] this is the closest thing to a bargain other than the ticket price [under £100 all-in].

At 1830, local heroes Lovebugs take to the main stage to a great response from the happy punters. In the late nineties the band’s brand of pop rock had them tipped for an international career, but although this didn’t materialize, they have maintained their popularity at home.  Their songs tend to have singalong choruses on the commercial side of indie rock, the sort of fare favoured by XFM’s daytime playlist programmers, when the station decides to have a break from Oasis, Coldplay or the Chilli Peppers. Things move up a gear with a cover of eighties synth pop anthem ‘Living On Video’ and the band finish with their first major hit, ‘Bop Til You Drop’.

Meanwhile, a five minute walk away, German act Get Well Soon are also no strangers to the unusual cover versions, giving Underworld’s ‘Born Slippy’ such a makeover that it can only be recognized by the lyrics Lager, Lager, Lager. On first impressions this is the sort of band you would be forgiven for hating, unless of course you like Radiohead and similar whiners, but before long it’s clear that the main man Konstantin Gropper has charisma and depth, mixed with a certain cocktail-bar quality perfected by the likes of Richard Hawley and Jarvis Cocker. Judicious use of xylophone and trumpet further enhances the experience, leaving the listener with the impression that if Get Well Soon were British or American, they would be playing at half a dozen

UK festivals this year.

With St Gallen’s close proximity to the German border, many acts from the neighbouring country go down well in this part of

Switzerland. Peter Fox used to be in the colossal

Berlin combo Seeed. The band specialised in giving reggae, ska, dub and dancehall a teutonic twist, and their former frontman continues in this vein. Flanked by five be-suited drummers, he pulls a massive crowd for a collection of song setting German lyrics to the tune of pretty much every Jamaican genre ever invented.

With the botanical aromas omnipresent on the festival site, and a stall which tests the THC content of your reefage, it is hardly surprising that Cypress Hill are the biggest draw of the day. A backstage interview is broadcast live on the screens flanking the stage, but when asked, the band appear to have difficulty remembering that they played here back in 1996.

Despite the live percussion and some cool films projected onto the backdrop, the show fails to rise above the usual standards of a festival hip-hop performance. With no quality banter to engage a crowd, which is clearly here for the hits, the band’s DJ resorts to shouting “

Switzerland make some mother-fucking noise!” with such regularity that he might as well have looped it and spared his voice.

Instead of making noise, the imminent appearance of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs arrival proves a stronger lure. Frontwoman Karen O takes to the stage wearing a bizarre mask of illuminated spirals, but even when she takes it off, her vocals don’t get better. Not that it really matters –her energetic punk performance and attitude is what this band is all about. That, and the fact that she has the appearance of an early 80s British hardcore actress, when classic perceptions of beauty were over ridden by a simple willingness to shag in front of the camera.

Recent hit ‘Zero’ works particularly well in the tent, with the old school keyboard line giving a nod to a bygone era of rave. ‘Golden Lion’ further energizes the crowd and even has punters singing outside. And then Karen O goes and spoils it all by going in for some Cypress Hill-style audience engagement. “

Switzerland, blah, blah, l-to-the-o-to-the-v-to-the motherfucking – e.” What is it with Americans? Until the braces come off, no sentence is complete without the word awesome, then they become obsessed with people shagging the poor woman who gave birth to them. Freud would have had a field day in this Swiss field.

No such profanity passing from The Flaming Lips, and frontman Wayne Coyne mercifully keeps his usual touchy feely “we love you guys” guff to a minimum. Making his entrance in a giant hamster ball which he gingerly manoevers over the crowd, he hosts a show which is reminiscent of some kind of out-of-control children’s party. Teletubbies wiggle either side of the stage and steamers, giant balloons and confetti are launched over the crowd. 

For the first time a reference is made to the passing of the self-styled “King Of Pop.” “This one is for Michael Jackson,” says Coyne with a wry smile on his face, before launching into the band’s cover of Madonna’s ‘Borderline’.

The band and their teletubbies put on an inspiring and moving show, but unfortunately its getting late, and most of the masses who turned out for Cypress Hill appear to have returned to their tents to ride out their whities. When the heavens open up at shortly before 2am not even the die hard fans can elicit an encore, which leaves just enough time to check out the end of the Cold War Kids, whose final two songs reveal a surprising brilliance live, which appears to justify the recent attention more than their studio recordings.

At most other festivals catching the end of a set after the headliner had finished would have been difficult, but one of the great strengths of St Gallen Open Air is the proximity between the main stage and the Sternbühne, which is housed in a large tent. Matters are helped with intelligent timings so no acts come on at the same time.

SATURDAY

Today the festival is in full flow, not least because it keeps pissing it down. It seems that regardless of the experience, excellent organisation and first class facilities, as soon as a bit of rain comes on, conditions descend into something reminiscent of the first world war.

For acts performing in the Sternbühne tent this is probably an advantage, as people seek shelter. It is in this venue where German singer/songwriter Olli Schulz disproves the theory that his people have no sense of humour. Donning a white glove he embarks on some comedy moonwalking, much to the approval of the audience. 

One of the refreshing things about this festival is that nobody is subscribing to the Princess-Diana style hand wringing going on in other countries. The festival paper marked the death of the Herr Whacko by getting people to be photographed in their favourite MJ pose [most opted for gripping their crotch].

While Scottish rockers Biffy Clyro cancelled because they needed to finish their new album, rap act Stress appeared in force. Despite hailing from the French-speaking part of

Switzerland – there are four official languages in this country – his popularity extends to the German speaking areas and a huge crowd gathers to catch the show. More of a pop act with intermittent rapping, he has a strange tendency to play well known party hits such as Blur’s ‘Song 2’, White Stripes’ ‘Seven Nation Army’ and er, Lenny Kravitz’s ‘Are You Gonna Go My Way’. While this might seem strange to an outsider, the Swiss would probably be mystified as to why thousands of Brits would pay to see Susan Boyle or even worse, Razorlite.

While Stress is busy stressing on the main stage, local singer/songwriter Sophie Hunger demonstrates her vocal talents over in the tent, delivering some pretty reasonable compositions in English.

By now the mud is getting grim and mini swamps are beginning to form a few metres away from the impressive range of food outlets which include a kebab shop, Thai, 57 varieties of muesli and the Swiss speciality raclette [melted cheese on top of potatoes].

However, the punters seem unconcerned, and flock to see Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds, whose warped charisma distracts from the fact that he can’t actually hold a tune. As the various Bad Seeds are projected onto the screens, memories of Deliverance spring to mind and the possibility of some hapless Swiss festival goer being exhorted to “squeal like a pig” in the nearby woods, suddenly doesn’t seem all that outlandish. Overall the show is captivating and what Cave lacks in vocal talent is compensated for in charm and a natural ability to perform.

It sets the tone well for Nine Inch Nails, whose show is preceded by written warnings that it is going to have a lot of strobe lighting. Indeed this proves to be the case and to begin with the band’s initial intensity perfectly matches the visuals. Trent Reznor acts like he’s denied himself sex for the past three months [or maybe his broadband connection has been cut off] and three songs into the set hurls his guitar over the stage.

“Come on you fucking pricks – March!” he screams by way of introducing ‘March Of The Pigs’, a definite improvement on Cypress Hill’s mantra the night before. Things are shaping up nicely for an anger-laden set which would do an eighties punk band with a bundle of issues proud. But then Reznor forgoes the rage to show his gentle singing abilities and skill on the piano, like a little boy performing at a family reunion rather than a raging rock beast who could probably batter Henry Rollins. It seems the band have failed to read the audience, most of which wants to jump around, and when people can’t do that, they begin to drift off.

Nine Inch Nails finish with ‘The Hand That Feeds’ and ‘Head Like A Hole’, ending the set with what the two songs most people in the crowd came to hear.

They are followed on the main stage by German rap act Jan Delay, who shot to prominence in the late nineties with a reggae cover of a Nena song, while over in the tent French dance act Yuksek deliver their brand of sub-Justice tunes to the hardcore element still up for partying beyond 3am.

SUNDAY

Rather unusually for an important festival, the last band at St Gallen Open Air finishes at 7pm on the Sunday, which means that some pretty big names take to the stage relatively early in the day.

California’s Aggrolites come on at 1.15pm treating many of the same die-hards who were in the crowd on Sunday, to what they call “dirty reggae.” These guys have actually bothered to learn some German and encourage their audience by getting them to be lauter bitte [louder please] and rewarding them by frequently saying danke [thanks]. It helps generate a good atmosphere and gets people dancing at a time when at other festivals they would only just be getting round to sorting out breakfast.

Although The Streets’ Mike Skinner doesn’t quite display the same linguistic talents, he seems instinctively aware that to win over an audience in the middle of the afternoon, requires a bit of engagement. Resplendent in shorts and multi-coloured t-shirt, he looks like the quintessential English prole abroad. At one point he addresses somebody in the audience and asks if they are camping, not realising that the festival is due to finish in a few hours. Undeterred he then asks if the person is driving. Again the answer is no. Skinner concludes that the audience member is going home in the train and adds, “good, that means you can drink.”

Thanks to this sort of banter he holds the crowd’s attention at a time when many are already leaving the site clutching tents, sleeping bags and other possessions. Unfortunately The Streets haven’t been around to experience the healthy attitude towards the death of Michael Jackson displayed at this festival, and the next thing Skinner’s right hand man treats us to a rotten version of ‘Billy Jean’. Michael Jackson might have had some very inappropriate relations with children, he definitely put his name to some appalling dross [‘Dirty Diana’, ‘Black Or White’, ‘Ben’, ‘Bad’, etc] and his attempts to alter his features were wrong on countless levels – but at least he could sing!

A couple of hours later things take a further turn for the ridiculous when one of the two frontmen for Swedish outfit Mando Diao, starts whiterring  on about “Michael” as though the pair had grown up together. Launching into a number which, we are told, will “ease the pain,” he seems oblivious to the fact that the real pain is caused sickening tributes such as these.

Fortunately, the day ends on a far better and entertaining note over at the Starbühne tent, where one of Germany’s best-ever bands are rounding off the festival. 2Raumwohnung [pronounced Zwei-Row-m-vo-nung] are one of those rare acts which manage to successfully combine indie, pop and electronica to create an infectious hybrid. Imagine Goldfrapp with a sense of humour and German lyrics, fronted by a singer who is probably the same age as the British diva, but who comes across as though she is enjoying herself as much as the audience.

In many respects 2Raumwohnung are the perfect metaphor for the St Gallen Open Air – fun, effortlessly cool and diverse. Clearly the audience agrees, and the assembled crowd in the tent are determined to go out with a bang. It’s a truly moving moment and the final example of a festival which is curated like a great exhibition rather than booked like a regular festival.

Glastonbury, which takes place the same weekend,  will inevitably dominate the consciousness of the masses, who seem oblivious to the fact that it’s a ball ache to get to, it’s expensive to be there and that if they manage to see half the bands they want to check out, they will be lucky.

For the connoisseur keen to experience an event which embodies the early festival spirit and watch a quality selection of bands from big name Anglo artists to Continental stars and local Swiss acts, there is St Gallen Open Air.

Ultimately it boils down to one simple question. Why have a burger when you can have raclette?

Olaf Furniss

St Gallen Open Air – June 25, 26, 27, 28. www.openairsg.ch/

Olaf Furniss flew from
Edinburgh to

Zurich courtesy of BMI [www.flybmi.com]