I feel I ought to apologise to the ‘Electric Swing Circus’. They seem like nice people but tonight they dared to “step a little bit closer to the edge”.
My daughter has talked about them for a few years now. I saw them for the first time last year at Boomtown Fair in the absolute pissing rain. Then a couple of times at Shambala Festival and then again this year when the girls wanted me to take them to Swingamajig festival that they organise and run in Birmingham.
I recently saw on Instagram that amongst their recent tour dates, they were scheduled to play locally as part of the ‘Bradford festival’ and a free gig to boot. Not sure how they managed to pull that short straw whilst the equally cool ‘Dutty Moonshine Band’ are a few miles up the road at Beatherder.
Anyway, never one to look a free gift gig horse in the mouth, off we went after I’d got in from work.
We felt that we should go and support them, as I feared for what sights might greet them in the craphole that is Sadford Town on a Saturday night. Centenary Square on a stage in front of Wetherspoons, where most locals’ idea of music is gangster wannabees in balaclavas, riding gypsy horse carts through streets, singing “I don’t fink so” on Youtube.
The bands’ instagram feed has showed them in lovely places around Europe with bouncy crowds of smiley happy hipster people. I feel like they may have looked out over the motley bunch tonight and mistakenly thought that it was a homeless spice tramp convention, or like that scene in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest when they sneak hookers in for a party.
A man in a Pink Floyd tee shirt who looked as if he had been drinking all week cheered them on as they warmed up, applauding the sound check and shouting for one more tune. A small man in a running vest, also the worse for wear for something and reeking of Lynx, sidled up to me at the barrier at the front and tried to rub himself against me. I booty-bounced him away from me and the Childerbeast and gave him a look that strongly said, “Back the hell away from me and my kids”.
The childerbeast kept their dancing and jumping to a minimum with the self-consciousness of being teenagers who are out locally and might see a teacher or someone from school. My friend, asked if they were the type of band who did the old selfie with themselves and the crowd at the end of the gig. I said, “Sometimes, but I suspect, not tonight” They probably didn’t want to alarm their parents into thinking their musical offspring were playing gigs at a jobseekers festival for the pharmaceutically addicted and criminally insane, on the island of Doctor Moreau.
Good to see the security fully on top of the old unattended backpack situation at the barrier right infront of the stage aswell.
I was convinced I’d seen a one-armed security person at one point – quite possibly due to a previous unattended bag scenario.
Poor crowd turnout aside – the band played a cracking gig, giving it 110% regardless. Not quite the glamorous speakeasy of Shambala Festival or a gazebo in my back garden (the offer still stands guys). If they’ve any sense they will be already on site at Beatherder sharing tequila shots with Dutty Moonshine. I was astounded they did an encore TBH. If it had been me I would have been back in the van quick smart, shouting “Leave the equipment, we’ll get more. Just put your foot down and get the hell out of dodge FFS!”
So well done ESC. I look forward to no doubt seeing you again at Shambala next month. I’ll get Rhona to bring her mini pan pipes so she can play along. That’s providing we’re still alive living round here, where the rules of the road do not apply. We all had to run to cross the road when heading back to the car park. The green man was still lit when some tosser flew down the road through the lights at about 80mph, not even attempting to slow down!
Welcome to Bradford. You may never leave. (Although you really should!)