Ash Birch spent the weekend popping to venues around town and soaking up the DIY spirit that sees Sheff really come into its own on festival weekend.
“Oh, it’s not what it used to be.”
“It’s just not the same.”
“It was better when everything was in the city centre.”
Around Tramlines weekend, you hear this kind of chat a lot; some of it’s true, to be fair. It’s not what it used to be – how could it be the same following the relocation? If the ambition was to have a huge festival drawing big-name acts to perform within the city boundaries, then the Hillsborough Park site has achieved this with bells on.
But with progress comes compromise. With bigger names come bigger prices, and more than dubious ownership models – that part of the weekend isn’t for everyone anymore, and that’s the reality.
However, having spent a weekend eschewing the main site and soaking up the atmosphere of The Fringe at Tramlines, I don’t think you could argue that this weekend in the city centre would have been bettered 15 years ago.
There was that same buzz. There was live music everywhere. The bars were rammed. Shakespeares on Saturday was hotter than the sun! Tramlines may have left the city centre, but its spirit and heart remain in The Fringe at Tramlines.
A big part of that heart (like, maybe both ventricles) can be found in the promoters, venue owners, bands, artists and photographers who keep the local scene beating all year round, but who reach cardiac arrest levels of activity across Tramlines weekend.
This love of local was epitomised by photographer Benji Wilson, who was handed a photo pass for the main site by Femur as a thank you for his work shooting the band over the years. Instead of hanging around and taking in Pulp et al, following Femur’s set on the main stage, he instead hot-tailed it back to Sidney and Matilda to shoot Micky Nomimono, Sister Wives and Nervous Pills – that is dedication to grassroots!
As a Hillsborough resident, I usually head to the main site – one: it’s convenient, and two: the kids love it – and you’d be forgiven for thinking all the music lovers in Sheffield are in the park. But this year, I ventured into town for the first time in years and was pleasantly surprised by the sheer volume of fun and excitement on offer. I didn’t feel like I missed out at all.
So, while Tramlines hosted its first unsigned headliners, The Reytons, on the main stage, here are some of our highlights from the unsigned – but no less talented – artists tearing up the Fringe stages.
First up, the weekend’s worst-kept ‘secret set’. No, not Barry Chuckle DJing at The Riverside (yes, that happened!), but Femur at Shakespeare’s.
Following their main stage shenanigans on the Friday, Femur headed to their spiritual Tramlines home on Saturday for a (badly kept) under-wraps Shakelines appearance, taking to the stage in novelty Groucho glasses disguise (you know, the ones with fake noses and moustaches?).
“Did you know it was gonna be us?” they asked, ironically. “You didn’t think we’d forget about the Fringe, did you?” And with that, they tore into the sweatiest set of the weekend.
Femur have long been my favourite local band, and their progression in recent years has been a source of great joy. These days, they’re tight as fuck. They always deliver – and everyone gets it now. People know these tunes. If they don’t ‘make it’, I’m not sure any of our current crop will.
As you’d expect, the room is heaving, bursting out into the corridor. Everyone is bouncing (and I mean, everyone). Closing with crowd favourite I Don’t Like, Felix manages to crowd surf all the way from the stage to the back of the room – and back again. I need a shower.
Taking second prize for sweatiest gig of the weekend was Sister Wives in Sidney and Matilda’s basement room. Another band who, in another universe, could be on the main stage with their atmospheric, Welsh-language-inflected grooves.
There’s a disorienting beauty in their playing that evokes the power of the roiling Welsh countryside they bring to life in their lyrics. A top set from them, as ever – though I can’t imagine how hot it would’ve been if their slot had gone to a band that demanded a mosh pit!
Lastly, a shout-out to Tellyeaters – an impossibly young and very raw indie band with bags of potential. On Saturday afternoon, they took to the stage at 95 Mary Street, bringing a refreshing youthful exuberance and no lack of craft.
Full disclosure: the band’s guitarist, Jackson, is the son of Sheff singer-songwriter Neil McSweeney, who in turn is a friend of a friend – which is how we found ourselves heading down to show our support, with little idea of what to expect.
They’ve earned their place in this roundup, as I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw. Jackson’s guitar playing is well beyond his years, and frontman, McGrail, has more than a touch of David Byrne about him.
Just one of many to keep an eye on following another lively, jampacked Fringe weekend.
