Within a couple of hours of being on-site you realise you’ll need two showers afterwards to get really clean and your white socks will never be the same again. The lush grass of Victoria Park has been turned into a dustbowl by the relentless lack of rain over the summer, and as the crowd moves from stage to stage, huge plumes of dust kick up to resemble a post-apocalyptic scene. You’re Mad Max, and this is Thunderdome. Eating food becomes a battle against time, and everyone’s drinks get covered in a layer of dry earth if not chugged down quickly enough. The wise have bought face masks, the desperate scoop their t-shirts up to cover their noses. Bloody snowflakes.
Sunday’s Outbreak Festival is dusty, delirious, and packed with line-up clashes. A decision needs to be made whether to dash around to get in and see as many bands as possible or not. For you, dear reader, your faithful hack’s step count was off the charts.
Mannequin Pussy rouse everyone from their Sunday afternoon slumber with a raucous set that’s as politically charged as it is feral. The explosive “OK? OK! OK? OK!” and “Pigs is Pigs” are stunning, and the crowd engage in a communal primal scream therapy session before “Loud Bark” closes the show. Marisa Dabice is mesmeric, commanding the stage and the crowd hangs off her every word. A more than decent way to start the day.
Good Health, Good Wealth seem to be a last minute addition to the bill – or maybe I just missed them from previous announcements – and they play the E3 Stage to a sizeable crowd. Vocalist Bruce Breakey has a way with charming any crowd, and he introduces “Beautiful Boy” with a story about his dad that feels heartfelt. They aren’t even trying to hide the fact they’re loving life right now.
It’s over to the East Stage to briefly catch JPEGMAFIA who’s resplendent in cowboy hat but by the time I arrive I’ve already missed his cover of CRJ’s mighty “Call Me Maybe” which is sad. One of Outbreak’s main pluses is their ability to create bills that transcend genre but the relatively sparse crowd here is a surprise. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty of people here but the day’s guitar bands pull much bigger crowds on this stage. The audience spring to life for “i scream this in the mirror before i interact with anyone” and “don’t rely on other men” but as you move closer to the back it’s clear that many can’t work out what’s going on as the mish-mash of genres is too much for them. Those at the front are having a whale of a time, though, and ol’ Barrington DeVaughn Hendricks is feeding off that.
Wisp has a sound that’s textured live in a way few other shoegaze acts can manage even with all the Holy Grail pedals in the world. Natalie R. Lu’s voice is ethereal and note perfect throughout. Her on-stage chat breaks the icy persona in her songs and she comes across as dizzily excited and unassuming. Most of the set is lifted from last year’s wonderful If Not Winter album and the claustrophobia of that album still manages to work well in the blazing sunshine.
On the X Stage, Ecca Vandal’s set is charismatically short. She’s a ball of frantic energy on stage and “EYES SHUT” feels more frenetic live than on record. There are almost no pauses between songs and it feels like a race against time to rattle the songs off at breakneck pace. “MOLLY” gets the crowd singing while “CRUISING TO SELF SOOTHE” gets the loudest reception. The major chat after the set is that she needs a bigger stage, and not many would disagree with that.
The closing pair of “Slow Hands” and “PDA” show that Interpol have lost none of their charismatic cool. The huge video screens behind them make it feel like a much more intimate gig than it is. Paul Banks’ slicked back hair is almost as sharp as Daniel Kessler’s spiky guitar lines. The sound on the East Stage is surprisingly great at this point, something that won’t be able to be said later for the headliners.
Concrete Vehicles steal the day, plain and simple. The Vancouver band play the Rising Stage to just a few hundred people and absolutely storm it. A fevered mosh pit creates a dusty haze which only adds to the feral performance from the band, the six piece contorting their bodies as much as their sound. Synth player Kenan Gray bounds around in tight white vest and shorts before a note’s played – the gym class teacher of your nightmares. Jackson Bell’s saxophone isn’t quite loud enough, and hats off to the woman at the front who keeps telling the band this while they stare at her blankly wondering why she thinks they can hear her above the ferocious din. There’s an unexpected charm to the band – singer Ben Lock’s guitar lead keeps falling out at inopportune moments, Gray’s energy is infectious, and bassist Jacob Pepin never quite knows what to do with his sunglasses – but the jagged post-punk math noise alt rock or whatever it is is compelling and they win people over. Band of the day.
Back to the X Stage where Blawan is knocking out skewed electronica to a mix of delight and bemusement from the crowd. Jamie Roberts looks to be having fun, and his sonic mutations build and fall in a way that frustrates a lot of people. Just as they think a drop’s coming he goes off on a wonderful tangent. The sign of a good musician is someone who doesn’t do what you expect, so it probably sucks to be the raver guy who kept putting his hands in the air like he knew what was coming next.
The North Arena is rammed for EsDeeKid and the entrance is closed on one side and a crowd gathers, compliantly craning their necks behind some makeshift barriers when a 30 second walk around the other side would have got them into the huge tent. Kids these days, eh? The Liverpudlian rapper who definitely isn’t Timothee Chalamet is way above the stage on a castle set and he prowls around like someone who knows he has the crowd in the palm of his hands. Every word is shouted back by the crowd, overly polite mosh pits break out, and everyone under the age of 20 looks to be having the time of their lives. As the only artist of the day to reference Everton (on “Tartan”) it’s an even bigger thumbs up overall.
It’s not far from there to get to see IDLES draw the biggest crowd of the day on the West Stage. The standard fare is on display – thumping anthems, Mark Bowen hurling himself into the crowd, Joe Talbot prowling the stage like a wild-eyed maniac, and everyone having a jolly old time of it. It’s their first London show for two years and the band seem to have regained some of the edge that maybe was waning a few years ago.
All other stages close at All Points East for the headline act, and I’m never sure if that’s a clever idea or not. Choice is good and so is space sometimes. There’s a continual surge of people into the crowd for the first 20 minutes of the Deftones’ set (Idles haven’t finished much before Sacramento’s finest come on) and an equally noticeable number of people leaving in the last 20 minutes or so, presumably to catch a train despite the relatively early 10 o’clock curfew. Or maybe they’re off to queue for churros or something.
Deftones are on blistering form. Their sound, fanbase, and visuals are made for this moment. As they hurl themselves into opener “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)” there aren’t many not singing along. A good part of the crowd weren’t born when the song came out and there are loads of parents with their teenaged kids here, and that can only be a good thing.
The setlist careens from early highs to material from last year’s private music and the new stuff stands up. “my mind is a mountain” is sandwiched between “Around the Fur” and “Feiticeira” and Chino Moreno’s constant running around means he’s dripping in sweat and you start to wonder how long he can keep this up. Thankfully, Deftones are such a well-oiled machine now that they know how to build a setlist that not only shifts between the hard-hitters and their more mellow material without losing any focus from the crowd but also gives their singer a rest when most needed. His energy is infectious, though, and his vocals are spot on all night.
“Rocket Skates” is monstrous, while “Entombed” brings a lighters-in-the-air moment, even though naked flames on this parched earth would be problematic so it’s a good job the light comes from phones instead. The double header of “Change (In the House of Flies)” and “My Own Summer (Shove It)” near the end of the main set shows the effect Deftones have on the crowd as there are mass singalongs and the crowd surges at the front become a little more fervent. A three song encore brings proceedings to a close, with a rapturous “7 Words” seeing out the night.
The crowd trudge away, shaking the dust off as they go.
