Tales from the chat room

Tucked away around the corner of the main stage, conveniently between the wine stall and Indian van, was an inconspicuous small white tent. Yet if you hung around this modest location during the weekend, you’d have seen the biggest bands of the festival wander in and out.
For it was the Hot Press Chat Room, the venue for a series of public interviews in front of as many people as could cram into the marquee. After a chat with a top Hot Press journo, the floor was thrown open to the audience to ask any burning questions they had. And that led to some rather revealing titbits.
The brave band to kick things off were The Chalets, who were quick to announce that releasing their debut LP was like “doing a big album-shaped dump”. Good stuff. But just as you thought that their salesmanship needed work, the boys came out with the magic words: “For the right price, we’ll pimp the girls out.” Keep talking…
Next up was – well, was a nervous delay while Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips tore himself away from Goldfrapp, who were playing at the time. But good things come to those who wait, and as interviewer Peter Murphy quipped, “It’s Wayne’s world; we’re only renting space in it”. Indeed: we’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!
Sporting his trademark white suit, Mr Coyne spoke with enthusiasm about flying all the way over from Oklahoma just to play the Electric Picnic, and gave some insight into how the now-famous plastic ball entrance began: “I simply did it because I thought: ‘Here’s this great beginning-of-the-summer festival [Cochella in the US], wouldn’t it be great if one of the performers showed up and acted as if they descended from space in a giant bubble?’ And then I thought, ‘Well fuck, I guess we should do it’. To expect Frank Black to do it would be too much,” he said, to a giggle. If you weren’t a fan before, he’d have charmed his way into your affections by the end.
Last to take the hot seat was Colin Devlin from The Devlins. Talking about his festival experiences, he admitted he'd had "several nightmares. But I haven't fallen off the stage yet, so that's okay."
Always helps, we find.
On the Sunday, hungover people were still trying to forget or remember the night before when JJ72 held court. With a two-year absence, they’d had time to reassess their position.
“We were cool by accident at one stage, and now we’re not cool. But we’re still fucking brilliant,” Mark Greaney stated, factually rather than egotistically.
Those were words that could easily have applied to the next guest, Bob Mould. Given the legend that he is, he spoke honestly and humbly about his time in Husker Du, Sugar and now his own band. Despite ruling out a Husker Du reunion, a keen audience member enquired into his playing with HD drummer Grant Hart last year. To which he replied frankly: “Normally I stay away from the guy because to be honest, I don’t trust him.” Ouch. But no subject was out of bounds, which became clear when he told the gathering about his difficult relationship with former record label, SST, and how the music business had changed the creative landscape in the twenty years he’d been in it.
Right at the other end of the musical spectrum was Declan O’Rourke, who attracted a large, and female-dominated, audience. Apart from treating fans to a stunning acoustic performance of new song ‘At Our Present Speed’, he inspired the weirdest audience question of the weekend: “In a festival situation, when you get out of the tent in the morning, do you spray yourself down with deodrant or wipe yourself with Baby Wipes?”
But as the beer in the Bud fridge depleted and Sunday evening descended, it was left to the comedic – and plentiful – talent of Tommy Tiernan to wrap the interviews up in style. And that he did. Never one to be short of words, the self-declared “king of uncool” recited anecdotes and thoughts on his favourite comics of past and present, and on being a performer: “The person that I am on stage is not me. I’m a lot more intelligent than he is. But there’s something about going on stage that you just turn into this fucking mentalist.” But a hilarious fucking mentalist, he forgets to mention.
Til next year, folks…