Festivals are often strange and idiosyncratic beasts – each has their own quirks and staples, and there are also a few select things which festivals are often associated with. For Glastonbury, it’s mud. T In the Park? Lager. And Supersonic, curated by Birmingham promoters Capsule, is synonymous with metal, beards and a plentiful supply of black clothing.

Taking place at the city’s Custard Factory, this was the sixth annual Supersonic festival, which has become shorthand for the best in avant-garde music since its inception in 2003. Combining the best bits of All Tomorrow’s Parties and Sonar, but with a large twist of Capsule magic and transplanted to Birmingham’s city centre, this year’s event was bigger than ever before, expanded to three days.

Friday night saw Dalek and DJ Scotch Egg kicking off proceedings, but it was on Saturday when the festival really hit its stride. Cath and Phil Tyler’s beautifully subtle yet slightly inauspicious folk went under-appreciated while the throngs were still piling into the festival, but there were plenty of people in attendance by the time Alexander Tucker began his set.

Suitably noisy

Already something of a Supersonic regular, Tucker was joined here by a band which created a swirling, freeform jazz maelstrom, where saxophone, clarinet and brushed drums collided with laptop experiments and also loops from Tucker, who switched between guitar, violin and cello. Concocting a Tortoise-like groove, the five-piece shifted from krautrock to free-jazz and back, providing a suitably noisy introduction to what was yet to come.

Back on the outdoor stage, folk was still the order of the day; or specifically, the Owl Service. Their lilting folk songs, tinged with a prog hue, were gorgeous and insidious, especially Apple Tree Man and the scorched melancholy of Child Ballad No. 49. The audience thinned out during their set, which was hardly representative of their quiet beauty, but such airy, intimate songs nevertheless translated well to such a large space.

Former 4AD darlings Magnetophone were not so lucky. The local duo, beset with sound problems, struggled to connect with the audience, although their woozy electronica was impressively dream-like on Much Less Than a Day. A smaller space would have suited them better, but instead the pair’s psych-fuelled ambience was left to drift with the cool early-evening breeze.

Pick ‘n mix

The beauty of a festival like Supersonic is that its compact scheduling allows you to see bits of lots of different bands, although this also leads to a few timetable clashes which pose more than a headache when so many worthy acts are jostling for your attention.

So, Guapo’s set appeared to be an unlikely delight – theatrical avant-metal performed by a band clad in sequinned lycra, a look that surely only the greatest bands are capable of pulling off. Sounding like a lost soundtrack to a Dario Argento film, the quartet in spangly clothing were just one band who benefited from this democratic scheduling.

Likewise, with nothing on at the other stages, there was a rush to get to see Oxbow. Uncompromising and impressively loud, their set was punctuated by semi-naked frontman Eugene Robinson prowling the stage in cat-like readiness, shoving a microphone in his pants and bemoaning the lack of red wine available.

Scandinavian dandies

At the other end of the sartorial scale, Danish prog-pop ensemble Efterklang were dressed in matching white outfits with little black capes, their dandy-ish appearance contrasting with the sweeping, quasi-choral arrangements and massed harmonies heard on their latest opus, Parades. Efterklang were certainly ear candy in comparison with the metal fiends on display elsewhere, and the likes of Caravan and Mirador won over the audience, coupled with their earnest banter.

It’s easy to forget that there are a huge range of other things to do at Supersonic, not least browsing around the significant merch area and food court, but for a break away from the music – and, perhaps more importantly, taking the weight off your feet – the theatre space provided a treasure trove of films, archive footage and talks.

You could hear Nicholas Bullen dissecting grindcore aesthetics, or watch Heavy Metal in Baghdad, a documentary charting the post-Saddam experiences of Iraqi heavy metal band Acrassicauda. The latter was even worthwhile just for the sight of a moshpit in what looked akin to a Bedouin tent.

Battling against problems

The Heads were rifftastic and Wooden Shjips were spacey, before headliners Battles took to the stage, seemingly exasperated with the technical difficulties which dogged their set. An impeccable rendition of Tras was taut yet frenetic, but otherwise the post-everything combo looked relieved to exit the stage, although you wouldn’t have guessed from the adoring applause.

Saturday night was closed out by the deliriously heavy Harvey Milk – performing their first ever European show - before we walked away with our heads pounding and ears ringing, still another day to enjoy at this year’s shindig.

Day 3 started in equally loud fashion, with Brummie space-rockers Einstellung channelling krautrock legends Neu! and My Bloody Valentine, blowing off the Sunday lunchtime cobwebs. Building around repeated patterns and effervescent drone, the four-piece’s crunching guitars were a welcome addition and despite being unfairly maligned with the ‘shoegaze’ tag, the only disappointment was that they weren’t later on the bill when more people could have absorbed their metronomic power.

Sickly sweet (but warm inside)

Max Tundra provided something eminently more danceable, although his glitch-pop seemed too sickly to be worth sticking with – mildly fun, it began to grate very quickly. Pastiche for pastiche’s sake? Probably. Much more enjoyable were Brooklyn’s Parts & Labour, a hardcore punk act with thrusting rhythms and added melody, who treated those gathered to (gasp) something approaching choruses on top of their squealing guitars.

Rock Action signings Errors are essentially Mogwai’s protégées, but rather than just serving up glacial post-rock the Glaswegian foursome brought New Order-style electro-pop too, so synths and beats grappled with live drumming and shards of guitar noise and melody. Early singles Hans Herman and Mr Milk were dispatched with grace and prompted a mass outbreak of nodding heads and twitching bodies, which is as close to physical appreciation as studied cool allows.

Brian Duffy’s talk on circuit-bending was packed out, Pierre Bastien’s Meccano orchestra was enchanting, and a change in the timetable culminated in missing the screening of FW Murnau’s classic Nosferatu, with a soundtrack from Matt Eaton (Pram, Micronormous), Grandmaster Gareth and assorted other members of Bearded favourites Misty’s Big Adventure.

Play it loud

Red Sparowes were thunderously loud, as was the narcotic drone of the Oscillation, and it was left to ZX Spectrum Orchestra to administer a much-needed shot of geekiness to Supersonic’s arm. Brian Duffy’s way with an audience was as splendidly beguiling as ever, and charming takes on T.V.O.D and D.I.S.C.O sat alongside tributes to their favourite equation (x+x=0, in case you were wondering). Glitchy electronica at its most fun, performed – as you would expect – on the battered creations of Sir Clive Sinclair, ZX Spectrum Orchestra were a binary joy to behold.

Krautrock legends Harmonia and Gravetemple closed the festival on opposing stages, which is testament to the pulling power the festival has, coaxing bands from the outer reaches of musical experimentalism. Is it really 12 months until the next one? Console yourself with the knowledge that it will be more than worth the wait.

Words: Simon Harper
Photography: Katja Ogrin

This article was originally published by Bearded.

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