Named for the Psychedelic Furs song of the same name, Midsummer Sunday’s Forever Now festival had been billed as the UK’s answer to Stateside’s Cruel World, that is, a showcase of post-punk, and post-punk—adjacent, bands past and present. Having been envious of the Cruel World bills over the years, I was rather pleased to hear this UK equivalent announced back in December.
However, my biggest draw on the bill wasn’t any of the more prominent acts like PiL, Chameleons, the aforementioned Furs et al: as much as I dig those bands, they tour often enough to make seeing them at an out-of-town festival a non-necessity. No, the band that really made this a must-see event for me was none other than the decidedly less post-punky, more synthpoppy, less prominently placed Berlin. Yes, the very same Berlin who took the world’s breath away via their contribution to the Top Gun soundtrack back in the day. Of course, there’s far more to their discography than just that formidable entry, far more that’s left me yearning to see them onstage, and given that they were last over here when I was in fucking primary school, their addition to their bill made this as must.
That said, I was reluctant to throw down the £150 required for a front-standing ticket right away, so I held off till much closer to the time; good fucking thing I did as the event organisers put on a flash sale just weeks before the event—in honour of the 44th anniversary of festival headliner Kraftwerk’s eight album, Computer World—offering tiered discounts to those who’d held off on splurging out triple figures (much to the chagrin of those who’d spooged a hundred quid or more). As a result, I managed to snag a general standing ticket for just under £30, saving my wallet quite a bit of a battering. I figured, given the layout of the standing area, I’d still be able to snag a place at the front, if not the “front standing” area, provided I showed up early enough…
…and, come the day, that’s pretty much what happened!
Staring over at the “front standers” enclosed to the right of me, I couldn’t help but think, *There but for the grace of flash sales go I*.
Snug and secure in my adjacence to the “front standing” area, I awaited the main stage’s opening act, cult post-punk act UK Decay. I’d picked up an album, curious about the hype, and found them to be a solid, though not stunning, bunch. Their opening set upheld that perception, giving those attendent a nice ease-in to the day’s proceedings and a wider platform for the band itself, well regarded but relatively niche in the post-punk milieu. With a combo of old guards—founding members Steve “Abbo” Abbot and Steve Spon (guitar) and longstander Ed “Twiggy” Branch (bass)—new blood—most prominently, backing vocalist Kyia—the band knocked out a showcase set of old-school and more recent material the latter, like ‘Shake ‘Em Up’ from their 2014 release, New Hope for the Dead, sitting rather well alongside older staples like ‘Unexpected Guest’ and ‘Testament’.
Then came the band that inspired me to make the trip out of the city to Milton Keynes…
…a whole five minutes late, that is.
Not that a five-minute set delay is a big deal in itself, but placed within the context of an already compressed set, it kinda becomes one. Still, things kick off well enough with a video intro followed by ‘Masquerade’, one of their earliest hits, its searing synths dissolving much of the frustration and inertia from the prolonged wait…
….only for the next track, ‘No More Words’ to introduce its brand of the former, ironic given as it’s a firm favourite of mine, with its soaring, audaciously dated early ’80s synth lines ‘n’ drum machine work. However, for this live performance, Terri Nunn and co delivered an “updated” version that diluted all that, adding only a touch of the tepid to proceedings. Disappointing. Thank fuck ‘The Metro’, the following track, avoided similar modernising molestations.
Of course, they performed ‘Take My Breath Away’, with Terri expressing gratitude for the UK making it their first number one back in 1986. She even made a point of taking a piggyback ride around the audience enclosures, touching hands with those at the edges—but missing mine!
The set closed with a solid rendition of ‘Sex (I’m a…)’, with John Crawford adding his interjecting vox work, as on record. Still, I found myself somewhat underwhelmed overall, considering my anticipation, thanks to the convergence of frustrating factors (that cover of ‘Highway to Hell’, which could’ve been left of the setlist in favour of another original, didn’t help either!). All the same, ere’s hoping they follow through on their UK appreciation with some semblance of a tour, one that doesn’t repeat the missteps of this set.
Next came The Chameleons, who did a good job of showcasing old, new, and previously unreleased songs in their 40-minute set. That said, I’m not sure that I’m a fan of their decision to hand over a quarter of their set to a rendition of ‘Soul in Isolation’, one of their longest songs, as superb as that rendition was. Me being me, I would’ve liked to have heard more material from their debut, and my favourite album of theirs, Script of the Bridge, but at least I got the ever-reliable set-closer ‘Don’t Fall’ for my patience on that front. The lungwork of Vox, i.e., the Artist Formerly Known As Mark Burgess, was as flawless as ever, as were his and the other band members’ instrumentals. Shame their setlist choices didn’t allow for more of their discography to get an airing.
Such a criticism couldn’t be levelled at the next band to take to the main stage, The Psychedelic Furs. As with Berlin, I’d been looking forward to seeing them for the first time, yet unlike Berlin, they lived up to my anticipation. Unlike Vox and co. before them, Richard Butler and his merry men packed more of their discography into their 45-minute set, with hits like ‘Heaven’, ‘Pretty in Pink’, and personal anthem ‘Love My Way’ getting more than respectable airings alongside formidable recent numbers like ‘The Boy That Invented Rock and Roll’ and deeper cuts such as ‘President Gas’, though, surprisingly the track that named the festival, and an album, was conspicuously absent. Butler’s distinctive vocals sounded out in fine form, having clearly avoided the ravages of time. My first favourite set of the day.
Ex-Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr delivered my second favourite set of the day, not only playing a selection of hits from the band that put him on the map but also showing himself to be no slouch in terms of his solo material, with bangers such as ‘Generate! Generate!’ and ‘Easy Money’ playing well with (semi-)covers of ‘Panic’, ‘This Charming Man’, ‘How Soon Is Now?’, and ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’. I’d been unsure as to his pedigree and prominence on the bill, but the combo of familiar jangle work and surprisingly good standalone songs won me over to the prospect of seeing him play a future headline show.
I’d previously seen Billy Idol onstage as part of Generation Sex at Crystal Palace, where he struggled to cover Sex Pistols material alongside renditions of his output in Generation X (much to the later scorn and amusement of John Lydon, which made me wonder, given PiL’s appearance on the other stage, how the two had interacted at the festival). As patchy as that show had been, I’d had enough regard for his recorded output to look forward to his Forever Now showing, and I have to say that he mostly delivered here. All the familiar hits were done justice, including the made-for-driving anthems ‘Rebel Yell’ and ‘Blue Highway’, the relatively slow-burning ‘Eyes Without a Face’, with some great backing vocals from one Kitten Kuroi, the unwittingly #me too-baiting “sex attack” of ‘Flesh for Fantasy’, and, of course, the ever memorable ‘White Wedding’. There were some cuts from Idol’s most recent album, Dream into It, some good, others that could’ve been shelved for more oldies, including the glaringly absent ‘Dancing with Myself’. A great bells-and-whistles set, all in all, despite the gnawing omission, and a definite step-up from his Generation Sex performance a couple of years prior.
I got two or three songs into The The’s set before deciding to bail to take a shit, get some grub and merch, and find the other stage in time for Death Cult’s performance; though a technically polished band, they’re not one with which I have a strong-enough resonance. Turns out that I should’ve waited a couple of songs before bidding adieu to my sweet standing spot, as the band invited Johnny Marr on stage for a couple of songs, both of which sounded stellar even all the way from the (not too decrepit) bogs.
Eventually, I got to the other stage, a tucked-away, dust-strewn, decidedly unglamourous affair, nicknamed the “Car Park Stage” by several fellow attendees. Such was the level of aforementioned dust that it still caked my boots several days later. In any case, I got to the stage in enough time for Death Cult, only to wait another half hour for the fuckers to come on! Turned out there had been a series of late starts on that stage, resulting in a knock-on effect that derailed my plans to catch the second half of Kraftwerk’s headline set on the main stage.
Still, unlike many of the secondary stage’s unfortunate acts, at least Death Cult got to play out their full set, and it capped off my night nicely. Whilst not a huge fan of The Cult, its earlier incarnation had made enough of an impression on me to encourage me to check them out live, and very glad I did too, as regretful as I am of missing Kraftwerk. ‘Ghost Dance’, ‘Horse Nation’, ‘Christians’, and my personal favourite ‘God’s Zoo’ were performed with passion and panache, frontman Ian Astbury, tambourine in hand, taking on something of a post-punk shaman role. Between said songs and the assorted Cult covers, he made a point of extending his gratitude to the audience for choosing his band over that dominating the main stage. A solid rendition of ‘She Sells Sanctuary’ brought the set, and my day, to a fine end.
Despite the ups and downs, I rather appreciated this stab at a UK answer to Cruel World. Hopefully, its organisers will learn from the mistakes of this first festival and bring British fans of new wave, post-punk, and synthpop something stronger and sturdier next year.
~MRDA~
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