Dot to Dot Nottingham - Various - Gigs - Reviews - Soundblab

Dot to Dot Nottingham - Various

by Louise Harlow Rating: Release Date:

With my most recent 24-hour intensive festival experience being the Camden Crawl 5 years ago (slept in a beer garden followed by the tube station. Oof) I am practically a born again one-dayer virgin. High time then, to clamber back on the back and overcompensate at Nottingham's Dot to Dot.

DtoD been rumbling along since 2005, previously unleashing the live might of Late of the Pier, Gallows and Friendly Fires (among others) upon dotters in various intimate venues round the city. This year's event continued in the same tradition, offering a smattering of big draws (Ellie Goulding, Mystery Jets) alongside those right on the cusp widespread acclaim and many unknown pleasures ripe for discovery.

First pick of the day was Casey Dienel's set under her White Hinterland alias. The bulk of her set was drawn from third release Kairos, in which the American quirk nymph pits her gossamer vocals against the glitching of sequenced synthesisers. Smart move, as it kept her the otherworldly quality of her song-writing from sliding into the contrived territory of a 2nd rate J Newsome.

Having been persuaded by a giddy, under-sexed friend to hang about for Chapel Club's following set, we crossed over to the dark side. Besides having a clearly magnificent gene pool, they continue to prove that misery does make rather excellent music, and possess in Lewis Bowman a front man who houses the baritone resonance of Ian Curtis in the body of a pre-pubescent schoolboy. Didn't see that coming.

Georgian chillwave merchant Washed Out arrived just in time to pull me back from the brink of and gin'n'goth induced coma with his perky laptop pop. Wafting about the stage like a sweaty dandelion and encouraging his sizeable crowd to 'get happy people!' like some kind of musical peripatetic preacher, it was hard to resist the hooking churn of his set.

Here, sadly, is where events become slightly more hazy and critical opinions less and less crystallised. An 11th hour attempt to soak up the sea of alcohol with a late night dinner date was undone by the unwise purchase of yet another bottle of wine. We regrouped just in time to make it to the Bodega Social for Villagers' set. The affecting unease of Conor J O'Brien's lyric and his pressed-coil delivery were not lost in the boisterous live atmosphere, and his good-humoured patter with the packed room silenced any accusations of shoe-gazing abstraction.

And so, listing in a sea of whiskey and writing off all previous intentions of powering through the night at a warehouse rave, I retired- I may not have joined all the dots, but the picture looks good from where I'm stood.

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