Tramlines XII
Looking back through my previous reviews of Tramlines festival, Sunday has traditionally been a day of terrible hangovers, bad backs and loads of food. This year was slightly different as while the day did contain all of those things, this was because I had attended two separate weddings in the run up to the festival and so had missed the Friday and Saturday for the first time since 2012. And so, I arrived at Hillsborough Park at midday having travelled 108 miles in total to get there. I’m too old for this shit…
The Fratellis kick things off on the Sarah McNulty Main Stage bathed in glorious South Yorkshire sunshine. The Glaswegian rockers draw an impressively large crowd and they waste no time in getting people moving with a jaunty rendition of Henrietta complete with a trio of female backing singers and brass section. Other cuts from the bands hugely successful debut album Costello Music go down a storm with a wistful Whistle for the Choir followed by a spirited run through of Flathead. Other highlights include covers of Baccara’s Yes Sir, I Can Boogie and Dion’s Runaround Sue but it is, of course, Chelsea Dagger that provides that first real moment of the day, and as someone who hadn’t attended a gig in 18 months, it really did feel special to see thousands of people singing along to that ubiquitous chorus.
From there, it is time for a Tramlines tradition – faithfully heading over to a different stage to catch whichever members of Milburn, Reverend and the Makers or The Crookes are performing. This year, we are treated to all three with Revs guitarist Ed Cosens taking centre stage with Joe Carnall of Milburn on bass and former Crookes drummer Adam Crofts behind the kit. Cosens is perhaps not as dynamic a frontman as Jon McClure but he is a better singer, and judging from some of his material here, possibly a better songwriter. The whole set is quietly competent as you would expect from such talented musicians but it is with The River that Cosens really comes into his own. A gorgeous, sweeping ballad straight out of the Richard Hawley songbook. Lovely stuff.
Fighting off heartburn, a weak bladder and the urge to take a nap, we head back to the still sun-kissed Main Stage for local heroes The Reytons. Sheffield loves their own and the kids from the estate receive a rapturous reception during a pummelling and soaring set that suggests that these lads will be higher up the bill in future years. Red Smoke is the perfect opening song and the crowd oblige with the familiar sight of smoke bombs spreading through the crowd like… well, like a virus. Let’s move on. Live debuts of On the Back Burner and Antibiotics follow, with each song greeted with an enthusiasm that wouldn’t be matched anywhere else all day. By the time Low Life closes the set, The Reytons have cemented their status as local legends whilst also winning over some new fans. God, I’ve missed this.
Tough act to follow then, but The Snuts rise to the occasion in front of a massive crowd on the T’Other Stage with a set that suggests they too have a future on bigger stages in the coming years. All Your Friends features the kind of chorus that has been the architect of the band’s meteoric rise and tracks such as Glasgow and Elephants sound just as insistent as they do on record. No Place I’d Rather Go closes a tight set and signals my 13th trip to the toilets as well as a misguided visit to a chicken vendor whose hot chili sauce would cause problems for me later in the day. Best not to dwell on that though, I imagine…
Sundara Karma are a band who I have long suspected only have three good songs, and their set here does nothing to dispel that. While they are clearly up for it and tracks like Flame and She Said sound fantastic, the rest of their set is too samey and too uninspiring to really move me. A polite but generally passive crowd perhaps reflects the lack of invention on the stage but they seem like nice lads so who am I, a man who has contributed nothing to the world of music, to criticise.
And so, we are left with the main event. Supergrass. Headliners. Sunday night. It’s the stuff dreams are made of. This moment also provides me with some welcome circularity being as my last gig before the pandemic, some 18 months ago, was Supergrass at Alexandra Palace. Lovely.
The first thing to note is the mass exodus that takes place from the Main Stage following Dizzee Rascal’s set (which I missed). Sure, Supergrass are competing with Everything Everything and The Big Moon on the other stages, but a band as successful and beloved as Gaz Coombes and co. should be drawing more of an audience than this. They don’t seem to care too much though, with an opening quintet of songs to rival any indie band on the planet. A luxurious Going Out into the insistent chug of Strange Ones, then the barroom stomp of Mansize Rooster, followed by the haunting menace of Mary, before rounding off with Richard III’s massive riffs and soaring chorus. And breathe.
Supergrass play a career spanning set that takes in early singles Alright and Caught by the Fuzz as well as later cuts such as St. Petersburg and Diamond Hoo Ha Man. The band play furiously. The sun begins its descent. I go for another wee. And finally, the evening is closed out by a mass dance along to Pumping on Your Stereo, perhaps the great forgotten party classic of the Britpop era. And just like that, it’s all over.
In some ways, this is just another day at Tramlines. A festival I have now attended nine times. But in others, this means so much more. It’s hugging old friends, it’s arms held aloft, it’s beers sank, the slam of portaloo doors, queues for the water points, old friends, new bands and the return of something that is bruised and battered but will never ever die. Live music is back. Roll on Tramlines 2022.
