Melt! 2009

Melt! 2009

Ferropolis,

Germany

17-19 July

Sadly,
death, accidents and adverse weather conditions marred many of the European
festivals this year but some, like Melt!,
emerged triumphant, if a little tattered. Avoiding Benicassim’s battering at the hands of Mother N and no report of
the tragic death suffered at EXIT, Melt! ended up as much a safe bet as an
inspired choice in hindsight. Despite Saturday’s colossal thunderstorm and the
odd cancellation – Foals and Metronomy both fell foul due to illness
and logistical problems, respectively – and the odd jigsawing of the line up
jacking bands into square tents and round slots, Melt!’s eclectic line up trumped any of its continental rivals.

And then
there’s the location – an event housed under the watchful gaze of a gargantuan
trio of spot lit Megatron-esque
industrial machinery; it’s an impending view that ominously dominates the
skyline. It’s especially awe inspiring on the quarry-come-lake approach – the
lake doubling as a refreshing alternative to the showers in the baking midday
sun. But what really sets Melt! and the majority of European festivals apart,
is that the draconian approach of its British counterparts is almost
non-existent. It’s the relaxed European attitude meeting with typical German efficiency.
An open camp policy means people without tickets can pitch up and enjoy the
party; shuttle buses run from the campsites to the festival, saving you the tenminute walk, and a refreshing, less than stringent approach to taking alcohol
into the arena itself practically rewards ingenuity – the majority of festival
goers fashioning nifty carton carry bags using tape handles.

Having navigated the scenic lakeside walk to the arena, we stumble across James Yuill capturing the Gemini Tent’s imagination with his
mellow acoustic-electro, witness The
Dodos’ ramp up on their potential with a resoundingly accomplished set in
the Coca Cola tent, and Royksopp do what every main stage act
should: dumbfound everyone within ear shot. Back at the Gemini, Crystal Castles put in a set powered by adrenalin and static, if not on any
discernible quality, Travis
transport us back to early 2000 with a turn (geddit?) on the main stage, and
the Gossip bring out the big gun(s) to rattle out a set of vibrant sing-a-long
fodder. Bumped up as a result of MSTRKRFT’s
move to Saturday, Simian Mobile Disco
play out a typically flawless set; dropping monsters with aplomb and airing new
material from their impending album to the fervent delight of the crowd.

And then
came the rain, sending revellers scuttling like rats to sodden tents, culling Deadmau5’s set and killing Trentmoeller’s turn on the sleepless
floor. Of course, in true European style, dawn doesn’t mean it’s way past your
bedtime, but a marker that breakfast and a siesta are still a few hours away.
True to form, the Sleepless Floor is
the all night open air disco that plays out until the last person’s standing.
Or sleeping. Or when it rains loads. Whichever comes first…

SATURDAY

Earnestly
brightening up, Saturday leads us back to the Gemini for Filthy Dukes, who, for all their rampant energy, fail to galvanise
anyone with a mediocre appropriation of LCD cool that falls woefully flat.
Thankfully, Caribou, to a near-empty
Coca Cola tent, summon the full force of the Benicassim hurricane with twin
drum assaults and blinding strobe dropping you into a near wordless wormhole
from which you don’t want escape. Lucky, then, that Animal Collective have
no intention of letting you – Geologist’s mining light leading the psychedelic
excavation to a wall of warped visuals, hell bent on sending you to a different
mind dimension. Dazed and confused, !!! snap us out of our psychosis with their
libido-charged punk-funk, frontman Nic
Offer, a pouting, flamboyant cross
between a Footloose Kevin Bacon and Scissor
Sisters’ Jake Shears. Buraka Som Sistema crank it up by bringing a carnal,
carnival atmosphere, buoyed by all the favela promiscuity a hot pant clad
singer can muster while the kuduro boys whip the front rows into a frenzy.
Elsewhere, an alive and amplified MSTRKRFT
insistently pound the swarming

Red

Bull

Academy
lakeside congregation with a rampaging set of thunderous, brutally unremitting
bass slabs, filthy electro drops and a destructive frat party grind that has
you by the throat from the moment Jesse and Al-P step up.

A mere husk, we tentatively shuffle to the main stage to find solace in the
stellar embrace of Bloc Party, now
every bit the indie royalty we predicted they would be. Kele’s in playful mood; not so much the abstinent singer anymore
but a fully fledged performer, cheerleading and barracking the crowd to join
the show, jokily admitting ‘we probably won’t stay for Oasis’. Playing through an instantly recognisable back catalogue,
they pick up the pace in the second half; the frenzied tempo of ‘Helicopter’
and jerked off-beat rhythm of ‘The Prayer’ sending arms flailing and bodies
flying in a master class of a finale that more than befits their billing.

SUNDAY

Someone
who isn’t shy about proclaiming his Oasis
allegiances, Tom Meighan is a tad
impressed by Melt!’s industrial setting. Settling on a Transformers theme, his regular calls to the crowd are more
Catchphrase challenge than genuine encouragement, ‘Come on you Megatrons’,
‘Jump with me robots!’, ‘Transformers, let’s go!’ are all yapped out into the
night sky. And for all the furore about their recent Mercury-nominated album,
it’s when they step back to the visceral arrogance of their debut that they’re
truly impressive; Meighan skanking
and swaggering to the easy-pulse of ‘Processed Beats’, Serge and the boys getting their backs up, collectively barking to
the surge of the ever empowering ‘Clubfoot’. Otherwise, it’s a solid set with
Meighan the consummate showman he always purported to be and newbies like
‘Underdog’ ringing out with the superlative anthemia many bands strive for but
never achieve. Ever eager to work the crowd for ‘my friends, Oasis’ we stick around for ‘Fuckin’ in
the Bushes’ and then, erm, politely fuck off.

And so it falls to Tiga to close the
festival at the more Brit-friendly time of 2am as opposed to the less than
productive 7am. Following a heavy, albeit strait-laced effort from German DJ Brodinski, Tiga initially keeps it clean and constantly moving before letting
loose with the dance floor swallowing ‘Mind Dimension’ to the giddy delight of
those who didn’t take the early opportunity to shuffle home. With many at the
festival having ant-trailed it out on account of their two day passes, there’s
almost room to spare as people take random root with deckchairs mid dancefloor.
With some neat tech-house touches, Tiga
starts to work the breakdowns, the entire audience voluntarily lowering
themselves to their haunches to simultaneously leap up when the bass kicks back
in, much to the Canadian’s mirth. The tail-end lets him cut loose for a final
time, scuffing his Soulwax produced
‘Shoes’ to winding, synth-grinding, bass rumbling climax of which Optimus Prime would approve, leaving
the emboldened few to claim the Sleepless
floor one last time, and us to contemplate our Autobahn sound track. And no,
before you ask, that pile up on the A2 wasn’t us.