Bakewell Music Festival - Acoustic once more

This was the third Bakewell Music Festival, formerly the Bakewell Acoustic Music Festival. A bit of history first. It was started in 2010 by Jonathan Rowland, something of a legend in Bakewell and beyond, as former manager of Rod Stewart and the man behind Captain Beaky. He got involved with the Bakewell Arts Festival in the early days, and brought Tim Rose in to perform a memorable concert. Jonathan is a great man for making connections, and he saw the opportunity offered by the chance to use the patrons’ marquee after the Bakewell Agricultural Show at the beginning of August. To those of us who live in Bakewell there is something slightly incongruous in seeing the rugby pitch and showground morphed into the venue for a music festival. I would love to know how it appears to the happy campers who have put this festival on the map. There are a few stalls and food tents, and Dave Kennedy from the fantastic Bakewell Music Shop moves across with his stock and his caravan for the duration. You can get a henna tattoo, a funny festival hat and a wood fired pizza. And the shops of Bakewell are a mere two minutes away. It’s odd living so close to the festival. It means that I have the comforts - and responsibilities - of home, and somehow fail to grasp the festival spirit. I have a feeling that it’s a very mixed spirit, due to the range of music represented. On Friday night the main band were from Sheffield – the Everly Pregnant Brothers. Spoof lyrics to well known songs, delivered with ukulele accompaniment and a Sheffield accent. The audience loved them, and most knew all the words. ‘No oven, no pie’ to the tune of Marley. It gave it a holiday camp feel. The wedding marquee with chandeliers and gold painted upholstered chairs added to this. Those Show patrons can show a festival crowd a thing or two about creature comforts. The ladies loos were a bit special too. On Saturday we went as a family to celebrate my mother’s birthday. My son, her grandson, is the singer in Neon Railroad. I told her not to wear her hearing aid, and I suspect she had cotton wool in her ears too. A great time was had by all – a fabulous home coming gig for the band. Dave Kennedy, their honorary manager (he doesn’t get paid) was moved to tears with pride, and so was I. In 2010 Charlie had appeared in the festival’s first Acoustic Idol competition, and Jonathan had told him to go and get experience in a band. He and the other members of Neon Railroad have done just that, and could hold their own at any festival. It was particularly sweet to see them on home ground. Sunday came round, and I was feeling slightly unfocussed about when to go down to the festival and who to see. I ended up watching String Driven Thing, with echoes of my past and the sensational Alex Harvey. It was good to see two generations on stage together, and the bass player had amazing stage presence. You will know what I mean if you were there. The timings were shifted and I missed Bo Walton because I needed to go home and make some tea – a case of responsibilities rather than home comforts, and a cause for regret. I resisted the temptation of the Olympics closing ceremony and headed back to the showground for the final acts. I met some friends and as we chatted we noticed the night drawing in – that’s August for you – but then we realised that all the power had gone off. No loos, no lights, no sound, no bar. The cry went up for an electrician in the house. One got up and disappeared into the gloom with the organisers. The last band had just arrived after a long and delayed drive from Bristol. They announced that they could do an acoustic set. Someone brought some solar powered fairy lights from their tent. A camping light was hung from the chandelier. Tables and chairs were moved into a circle. Their redundant keyboard player held a flashlight. Double bass, acoustic guitar, a simple drum and an electric guitar with a battery powered amp – and a singer with a beautiful, soulful voice. The Blitz spirit. It was a magical end to the festival. Triumph in adversity. ‘Intimate gone nuts’ as Yolanda said. The spookily named Phantom Limb had saved the day. At the end of their set they announced that Yolanda had been saving her voice – not that it showed – because they were recording a session for Bob Harris’ programme on Radio 2 the next day. I’d love to hear them at full power, but for those of us there I would say that their unplugged set will be a magical memory for the rest of our festival going lives. Then home for the megawatt spectacle that was the Olympics closing ceremony. I know which I preferred. And I saw the caravan of my dreamsand I didn’t know I even had a dream of a caravan – an Eriba Puck! Thanks Jonathan – looking forward to next year.