Photo: Jules Annan
Ask an avid festivalgoer in the UK what band they last saw at a festival and the reply would probably be as follows: “Well I think it was Arcade Fire at Glastonbury...or was it Reading. Actually I think I saw them in some woodland in Suffolk.” Welcome to 2007, where the British summer has been saturated with outdoor music events, most of which have included Arcade Fire. That’s not been the case in Jersey. Ask these UK residents who they last saw at a festival and you’d get the following answer: “Snow Patrol at Jersey Live 2006...unless you count the fringe-folk event where Ron from Chattersworth Farm played banjo.”
It’s no surprise then than that the atmosphere on this 80,000 strong Island – where the history runs a lot deeper than an 1980’s fictional detective sergeant (that’s ‘Bergerac’ kids) – as 10,000 festivalgoers bound onto the intimate site is one of fantastical, trouser splitting excitement. You’d have thought this lot hadn’t ever seen live music before.
Jersey might be attached to the UK constitutionally, but this really is a music festival Jersey style. A festival where the beer hasn’t been tampered with distilled water; where you can buy a beer for under-inflated prices, and; where you can drink a beer in the sun. Yes, we said SUN...and beer. Nice.
With its one main stage and a dance tent Jersey Live is like the Isle Of Wight festival on a glucose-meets-social commentating bands high. That’s right, the line-up on day one reads like a who’s who of 2007’s finest (and worst) social commentating, “if you don’t give us a better standard of living we’ll give you an ASBO to think about” bands. There’s Birmingham’s, The Twang; Coventry’s, The Enemy; Sheffield’s, Little Man Tate, Glasgow’s, The Fratellis, and...er, Bournemouth’s Air Traffic.
OK, so Air Traffic aren’t exactly social commentators, in fact, there far from anything at all today. The sun might be shining but it says a lot that the highlight of their set – bar the Coldplay meets Athlete, ‘Shooting Star’ – is an underage girl regurgitating her insides on the fence to the backstage area. It might not be attractive and only 2pm, but there’s more tension coming from her stomach muscles than Air Traffic create during their set.
Little Man Tate struggle to top Air Traffic either as they croon around the stage led by their frontman Jon Windle (who we later witness lapping up a bottle of chardonnay in the backstage Jacuzzi while straggling a WAG-a-be). Today they sound muffled through the main stage’s imposing sound system, and while their tales of teenage frivolity might be being played out by the teenagers in the crowd during songs like, ‘Sexy In Latin’ and ‘House Party At Boothy’s,’ that’s only because there’s little to bare witness to on the stage.
Just as Jersey Live looks like it might turn into a festival where we witness the unravelling of the post-Monkey’s kitchen sink boom - where it dawns on bands like Little Man Tate that they actually won’t have anything to write about for their second album - along come The Enemy.
In twelve months this band have gone from three unknown teenagers bored of their inner city living to three post-punk specialists hell bent on taking over the universe, dragging everyone along for the journey. Today – like crowds at every other festival this summer – Jersey gets swept up in all the excitement. ‘It’s Not OK’ is every bit the euphoric, chest thrusting anthem it is on record, while ‘Technodanceaphobic’ throbs like a thumb trapped in a revolving door. Although the band wrap up their frenetic performance with new single, ‘You’re Not Alone’ – which for three minutes makes the audience feel like they’ve known each other for years – it’s ‘We’ll Live And Die In These Towns’ which is the real standout track. The closest anyone has got to 
The Jam’s, ‘That’s Entertainment’ is crammed with all its usual acoustic wonderment and Tom Clarke’s resonant singing voice, and leaves 10,000 festivalgoers in Jersey with their mouths wide open in appreciation.
Earlier in the day The Twang were spotted trying to crash a ribbing boat in Jersey harbour led by their captain/lead singer Phil Etheridge who’d (perhaps foolishly) been given control of the vessel. On stage six hours later, with the taste of sea salt still on their lips, they seem to be having just as much fun. Although Etheridge’s voice is failing after months of non-stop gigging, he – and the rest of the band – are intent on picking up from where their Midland’s compatriots left off. ‘Either Way’ sees inflatable balls bounce off the heads of the audience as Etheridge and co. lead the crowd in their usual lager driven singalongs. After thirty minutes on stage, ‘Wide Awake’ ends proceedings with Etheridge’s voice crumbling like an old Jersey war relic. “I’m sorry about my voice,” he proclaims, as another vocal chord snaps in his throat.
As Saturday heads towards the midnight hour and the festival crowd start to mellow under the influence of one too many beers and the blistering sun, The Fratellis headline slot is almost an anti-climax. While there’s no bigger crowd involvement than the band manage to whip up during ‘Chelsea Dagger’ (Yep, the “de-de-de-de-derr-de-de-de,” one), there’s little else on offer during their hour long set - which they’re barely capable of filling.
As the Jersey crowds clamber through hedges and stubble down dimly lit country roads, it’s The Enemy who they’re all talking about – from people whispering to each other how impressive the band were to people trying to drunkenly sing the words of ’40 Days And 40 Nights.’
Pictures courtesy of Jules Annan/Concertphotography.co.uk
For the full gallery, CLICK HERE
