The four-day event tucked away in the grounds of Catton Hall on the banks of the River Trent in Derbyshire continues to go from strength-to-strength...
Pick up a paper, turn on the news, scroll through Twitter... there’s a lot of doom and gloom in the UK at the moment. But there is hope, one thing we’re still dead good at: music festivals. We’re brilliant at them - world-class I’d say. And Bearded Theory is one of our best. Lovely location, well-organised, wonderful line-up, great food and drink, and when you couple it with the single most important factor (dry, sunny weather) well, you’re on to a winner, aren’t you?
Now in its fourteenth year, this four-day event tucked away in the grounds of Catton Hall on the banks of the River Trent in Derbyshire, continues to go from strength-to-strength. Leeds’ finest Yard Act take to the main stage at teatime on Friday in glorious sunshine. Hailing from nearby Belper, bassist Ryan Needham sports a vintage Derby County shirt which is greeted by cheers and boos in equal measure depending on which end of the A52 you’re from. They’re all on great form, too - frontman James Smith’s laconic, wry delivery works perfectly in unison with their spiky post-punk indie rock and left-wing lyrics.
Elsewhere, Manhattan gypsy punk collective Gogol Bordello are typically rabble-rousing, if a little one-dimensional, while Stockholm six-piece Viagra Boys bring the noise to The Meadow tent and close Friday’s proceedings in a glorious swirl of bass and bellowed lyrics.
Saturday dawns and it’s a hot one. A cloudless sky and woozy heads sees a large chunk of the crowd decamp to the shade and bucolic loveliness of the Woodland stage, which is the perfect home for genial singer-songwriter Beans On Toast. Curating the stage for the day, where he performed two sets himself, he runs through cuts from his lengthy back catalogue including a homage to apples and the Major Oak. He’s almost outshone by his five-year-old daughter Wren though, who takes the microphone to tell us about her fantasy creature creation, the dragicorn.
Back across to the main stage and The Wirral’s She Drew The Gun are mega. Frontwoman Louisa Roach looks ice cool in a black boiler suit and races through their psych-pop armoury in front of eye-catching dystopian graphics. Meanwhile, Elvana, predictably draw a huge crowd, didn't disappoint. Performing an electrifying mash-up of Nirvana and Elvis Presley (it works people, it really works!), The King shines in his marijuana-embossed jumpsuit, rallying and working the crowd like a consummate pro.
Billy Bragg, looking the part in a summer suit, follows and rolls out all the crowd-pleasers (Milkman of Human Kindness, Sexuality) with his usual peppering of anecdotes and political pearls of wisdom. Back in The Meadow and Brix Smith crackles and pops with her LA drawl and California glamour, but it’s to the East Coast of the States where the weekend’s true stars hail from. Interpol are incredible - no fuss, no chat, just a set absolutely jam-packed with ice-cool gothic hits bathed in white light. 25 years in, Paul Banks and co. look and sound every inch the rock titans they are up there.
Whizzing back across to The Meadow to catch the second half of Echo and the Bunnymen’s set, it’s an effort to get inside the tent due to the sheer size of the crowd they’ve drawn. Bring On The Dancing Horses sounds immense while The Killing Moon, tagged here as ever ‘the greatest song ever written’ by shy and retiring Ian McCulloch, is majestic (it’s hard to argue with Super Mac on this evidence).
Sunday’s early starters The Undertones could run them close for that crown with Teenage Kicks mind. The sing-along it sparked was probably the biggest of the weekend and made a lot of old punks scattered around the crowd very happy, while My Perfect Cousin and Here Comes The Summer bounce happily across the gathered masses.
Lancaster’s The Lovely Eggs are noisy - brilliant and noisy. Featuring married couple Holly Ross and David Blackwell, this guitar and drums duo are fabulous, and have the stage patter down to a tee, too. One tale of Blackwell penchant for dragging home abandoned palettes on drunken nights out sparks much mirth.
Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs continue the raucous mayhem. The Geordie stoner rockers are fronted by Matthew Baty, a man who knows a thing or two about moustaches. Strutting around the stage like the love child of Freddie Mercury and Ted Lasso, if Fred and Ted had hooked up in a dive bar off Shoreditch High Street, Pigs x7 are mega and please punks, hippies and straights alike.
Garage rockers Warmduscher maintain the pace and standard, in what rapidly turned into a breathlessly rollicking afternoon. The Pretenders bring things down a notch, running through newies and cuts from their lengthy back catalogue (although criminally no Brass In Pocket), with Chrissie Hynde’s rock chick sass only shaken when she was spooked by Bobby Gillespie side of stage.
And so, to Primal Scream. Has any other band had more ups-and-downs, yet still know how to make you "shake your bits to the hits" as Brett Anderson once said? Mr G looks magnificent in an ice-white suit backed by a gospel choir and powered on by glam rock bassist Simone Butler, Come Together shimmers while Loaded is a riotous joy.
Drawing the whole event to a close is the wondrous Public Service Broadcasting. Peppering their set with offerings from the lengthy back catalogue of concept albums, it’s clever, moving and heart-swelling in equal measure. J Willgoose Esquire and co’s nods to trains, planes, mountains and the moon shouldn’t work in this climactic set, but they do, perfectly. They really are a national treasure and celebrate the best of us.
Thank you Bearded Theory, here’s to number fifteen next year!
Bearded Theory took place 25 - 28 May 2023 at Catton Hill, Derbyshire.
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