Larmer Tree Gardens, Dorset, September 1-3, 2017
Pure comedy! Jazz odyssey! Starring Bill Callahan, Father John Misty, Ty Segall and more!
PERFORMInG a free-form jazz exploration in front of a festival crowd is not widely recommended. At End Of The Road, though, it’s probably OK – these are not the usual collection of festivalgoers holding out for the hits, but instead, avid, cultured music fans who’ll get up early to see stage openers they might not have heard of, then buy their LPs at the on-site Rough Trade stall.
For Ryley Walker, a highlight of the first day at this year’s festival, starting with his own jazz odyssey turns out well. Backed by four stellar musicians, including regular collaborator Bill MacKay on guitar, Walker goes fully electric during the first half of the set. Even when he switches to his trusty Guild acoustic for “Primrose Green”, he’s still pursuing a new vibe that seems to mix electric Miles, Henry Cow and a ragged Zappa playfulness.
“Those were some new indie-rock songs,” shouts Walker sarcastically after two new, improvisatory pieces, apparently titled “22 Days” and “Opposite The Middle”. “Maybe now we can start making some fucking money!” “The Halfwit In Me”, from 2016’s Golden Sings That Have Been Sung, is a little more sedate, with the guitarist on acoustic and his bassist on double-bass, but Primrose Green’s “On The Banks Of The Old Kishwaukee” is warped, extended and almost unrecognisable. Walker ends with a frenzied “The Roundabout”, after giving out his home address and inviting the audience to come and stay. What his next solo album will sound like remains an intriguing mystery.
Moses Sumney takes nearly as many chances during his Saturday slot on the Garden Stage, performing what he admits is “a very experimental set”. On record, the LA singer-songwriter’s minimalist neo-soul is something like latter-day Radiohead meets Curtis Mayfield. Live, though, his stripped-back textures become huge blocks of sound, generated by Sumney’s looped and treated falsetto, his Moog Sub Phatty and the guitar and soprano sax of his onstage partner.
The pace is glacial throughout, but Sumney’s voice and charisma anchor the drones. “I’m gonna play some more sad, boring music, is that OK with you guys?” he jokes to the rapt audience, before a greyscale “Quarrel”, a drifting take on Björk’s “Come To Me”, and a closing “Doomed” which, unlike its recorded version, blows out in a white-noise crescendo.
Taking that fuzz and doubling it is Ty Segall, headlining the same stage that night. His Freedom Band – consisting of regular collaborators Charles Mootheart and Mikal Cronin, alongside guitarist Emmett Kelly and keyboardist Ben Boye – started off channeling Crazy Horse when they began touring behind Segall’s self-titled LP earlier this year, but they’ve developed into an ampedup juggernaut, all pummeling drums and grungy fuzz on “Break A Guitar” and new song “Alta”. Kelly and Segall, now sporting a metal-bodied Travis Bean guitar instead of his usual Les Paul, often solo simultaneously over the din, spinning off into their own worlds.
“Warm Hands” is the most incendiary moment, a riotous 12 minutes of tempo-changing prog-punk that even expands on Ty Segall’s epic version with its Santana-referencing jam section. Segall is clearly having as much fun as the crowd, who take the rare opportunity at End Of The Road to mosh, throw drinks and even crowdsurf. After nine albums as a solo artist and countless sideprojects, one gets the impression that the Californian is not only more popular than ever, but that his potential is limitless.
While Father John Misty might not spark such wild behaviour at the larger, windier Woods Stage – his first time headlining a British festival – he draws a big crowd of die-hard fans, peppered with those wanting to see what the fuss is all about. His set doesn’t deviate much from the show he’s been playing since Pure Comedy’s release in April,
but it’s undeniably impressive, with his horn-assisted band channeling the power of Van Morrison’s rock and soul revues, and Josh Tillman dropping to his knees at all the climactic points.
True to form, Tillman gently ribs the festival for its ethical “alpacashaving” reputation, but he keeps the chat relatively low-key and generally lets the hits from his earlier, more festival-suited albums do the work. Standalone single “Real Love Baby” comes off as the most anthemic, honest moment, but the snark of piano ballad “Bored In The USA” is just as effective. After a tumultuous “Holy Shit”, complete with a jazz meltdown, and a boisterous “The Ideal Husband”, Tillman upends his mic-stand and is gone, ready to take his Pure Comedy cabaret to Ireland’s Electric Picnic.
It’s not clear how Bill Callahan fares with knee-slides, but the strength of the former Smog man’s songs and his eerie charisma certainly grip the attention as he closes the festival’s final, very wet day. The Garden Stage is surrounded by trees, lit in oranges, greens and purples – coupled with the downpour, the scene has the vibe of some submarine fever dream, with Callahan’s hypnotic songs an apt soundtrack. Dressed in a Western shirt and jeans, both festooned with uncharacteristically showy sparkles, he only delves back to the last century for a rearranged “Cold Blooded Old Times” and “Dress Sexy At My Funeral”. The rest of the time he draws on the more meditative songs from the recent Apocalypse, Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle and Dream River, including “Spring”, and “America”, which evolves into a head-nodding groove and even inspires some damp dancing.
Callahan is on nylon-stringed guitar, leaving regular foil Matt Kinsey to provide the soundscapes for these circular songs. Running his Gibson SG through tremolo, wah and echo pedals, Kinsey is an intuitive, imaginative player, and perversely is perhaps best on the songs he didn’t originally contribute to: on “Jim Cain” his curlicues replace an entire string section, while on “Too Many Birds”, he mimics the trilling of those avians high up the neck. There are no new songs from Callahan’s next LP, but the new, atmospheric treatment of the Morricone-esque “Drover” feels just as fresh.
Man of few words, Callahan ends his lengthy set with the elegiac “Riding For The Feeling”, and a gruff “Thank you all for coming” – a low-key, but fitting end to an event that, like many of its performers, continues to flourish outside the usual conventions.
Father John Misty’s horn-assisted band channel the power of Van Morrison’s rock and soul revues