They say that there are six degrees of separation between any two people on Earth – me and Zach Braff, for example. That’s an overestimation for Dublin at the best of times – but for the wrist-banded contingent of Temple Bar this weekend, that gap has been reduced to all of one degree. Nearly everyone knows someone in a band – but they are also here to get a taster of the 100-odd acts that form part of what amounts to a kind of “MySpace in a live format”. Perfect for those who love live music so much they’re able to drown in it for a weekend.

So with a deep breath, Hot Press dived straight into the depths of The Hub, where All Star Charge were entertaining an impressively large crowd. Frontman Mark Healy certainly has the voice to hold their interest, but the songs have too little edge to make a lasting impression on first exposure – a criticism that can be levied at a number of bands throughout the weekend. The Shakes however – now they’ve got enough edge to rival a decahedron. They have the choons too – not to mention spunk: all that’s needed is a bit of work on their live shows before we end up desperately trying not to inflict the next-big-thing curse on them. That’s if Angel Pier don’t get there first. They clearly aren’t in the business of trying too hard – but boy did their easily digestible alt-pop sound draw you in. Top class stuff.
Among the more established acts on the HWCH bill, The Marshals, The Rags and The Immediate showed the young ‘uns how to do it – as, indeed, did the opening night’s headliners The Future Kings of Spain, who reminded us all how much we missed them – then promptly blew us away with new tracks like ‘Guess Again’. Went to bed praying for the second FKOS album to come out soon...
On Saturday, we joined the visitors to the photography exhibition at Filmbase, but when the sun went down and the lights went up, it was all about the rock. Or unobtrusive indie at least, in the case of Saso, who provided a gentle introduction to the night’s live action, plugging their new album The Middle Ages at Meeting House Square.
As a live venue, the square is great – but unfortunately throughout the festival, the sound there left a lot to be desired. Poor Envelope got the worst of it – which was a shame, as their Radiohead-esque explorations had the potential to be a real highlight of the weekend. Dublin’s Novastone weren’t far off the mark either, with a polished O.C.-ready sound and lots of confidence in their work, boding well for their chances of making a longer-term impression.
With most of the venues within 20 metres of each other, Hot Press made the trek over the Liffey to catch Niall Lawlor in Pravda. With a guitar on his lap and a stetson on his head, he looked the part and gave a fine performance – but sadly it was always unlikely to be appreciated in a busy bar on a Saturday night.
Patrick Freyne and His Bad Intentions who followed a little later had enough ooomph to hold the crowd’s attention. The six-piece band made a strange sight, all cramped onto the stage with their army of instruments but they carried the evening well.
Staying on the north side, The Mighty Stef sounded rip-roaringly amazing – though in the jam-packed sweatbox of Spirit’s basement, only the first few rows and Dan Hegarty of 2FM could see anything more than the top of Mr. Stef’s head!
The venue’s ‘ahem modest dimensions also put a damper on the festival’s closer act on Sunday, Giveamankick.
Much more impressive was the spectacular gig by Simple Kid in the main room. U2 can have all the onstage technology they want, but Ciaran McFeely proved that you can stun a crowd armed with no more than a guitar and a harmonica. Oh, and a laptop to provide the cheats! The relatively unsung Star Turtle also had a lead singer who shone like a natural star.
If Sunday was the day of the frontperson, it also saw Pinky prove what all the fuss is about: these boys have got their finger out, that’s for sure. Less impressive were The Radio, who can’t seem to match the quality of their records on stage – or not yet at any rate.
Wanna see a great frontlady? Though by all accounts less outrageous than during her last appearance here two years ago, Peaches didn’t do too badly in that regard, downing a bottle of ‘vodka’, assaulting Hot Press snapper Naomi McArdle (well, kind of!) and repeatedly reminding us all that she has a crotch.
Yet the oddest aspect of the whole festival was that despite it being mid-October in Ireland, it didn’t rain a drop. A telling sign: it was a weekend to have expected the unexpected.
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