End Of The Road Festival

The price goes up by fifteen pounds, and the sold-out announcement, despite the increased capacity, comes a few months earlier than usual: needless to say, no matter what happens, "they're right to do it". One might raise an eyebrow at the somewhat youth-oriented lineup of headliners and, more generally, at the main stage bill, with a few exceptions (Midlake, for instance). But it would take a fairly biased view to argue that the festival's increased capacity, with the addition of a new Main Stage compared to previous years, has in any way undermined the atmosphere of the festival or its overall enjoyment.

Although less distinctly defined than the genre it's associated with – the days when Sofia and Simon picked their favourites without a care for charts or promotion are probably long gone – it's still very easy to trace a path through the End Of The Road roots, that indefinable kind of music, a blend of American and British folk, singer-songwriters and emerging bands, with flashes of alt-rock and psychedelia, that forms the natural backbone of the lineup.

In short, this year it was enough to avoid, as much as possible, the aforementioned new main stage, perhaps a little too crowded with buzz-of-the-moment acts (from the promising Dry The River, who, without even a released album yet, are already sliding into the easy slope of gut-punch anthems, to the dreadful show put on by Best Coast, who don't even bother to mask the pretension of a drawled vocal and a Stratocaster played in the most basic way with a few trendy effects thrown on top). You'd only really venture over there for the nostalgic return of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! – a gig that was perhaps a bit too "nostalgic", with the band itself seemingly surrendering by playing almost exclusively songs from their still-brilliant debut – and for Midlake, among the best of the festival after swapping out their unbearable lead guitarist and his console-driven arabesques for an actual musician. It's clear to everyone by now that they'll never recapture the dreamy freshness of their early days, shaped by the shy electronics of "Bamnan And Slivercork" and the poignant stories of "The Trials Of Van Occupanther". But what a texture, what a sound!

Another act that confirms it has great potential is Treefight For Sunlight, who open the stage on Saturday and deliver a fun, colourful live set (including a surprising cover of "Wuthering Heights" and a less successful one of Built To Spill), despite a few vocal slips and some difficulty in harmonising the alternating voices, since all four members take turns singing lead on different songs.

The journey to piecing together your own personal End Of The Road begins with the rarefied sounds of the imperturbable Lanterns On The Lake and arrives at the explosion of joy that is Leisure Society, passing through the rugged East Coast charm of Walkmen. The voice of the superhuman Leithauser sets off images in your mind of Scorsese's teeming cities, of sunset over the Hudson seen from the roof of a New Jersey building, with a sound that has never, on record, sounded so vivid and evocative.

But it wouldn't be a true End Of The Road without great songwriters. The "country gentleman" Daniel Martin Moore, delightful with his minimal but intensely classy set at the Tipi Tent; and above all the sublime, laconic virtuoso showmanship of M Ward, a true one man show that nonetheless explodes during the rendition of "Story Of An Artist" by Daniel Johnston, together with Jolie Holland. A master of quiet irony, the American songwriter can move the crowd with the simplest facial expression, ignited by the harsh sarcasm of "Transfiguration Of Vincent".

Beyond the artistic archetype that holds together the necessarily broader fabric of this year's End Of The Road, veterans like Leisure Society and Okkervil River now form a living pantheon of the festival, true custodians of its atmosphere. It's no coincidence that they're among the few - as far as we know, the only ones this year - to improvise a surprise acoustic set in the "Forest Disco" or in the tiny room in the woods, now that the secret concert is no longer an institution (perhaps the only thing left for the nostalgics to cling to). The Garden Stage, with its natural amphitheatre of hedges and centuries-old trees, a sky that on this exceptional occasion offers a window onto the galaxy, and the fact that a good part of the crowd considers Okkervil River genuine headliners, all combine to win over and rouse an even more overflowing Will Sheff than usual, who delivers a truly superlative solo rendition of "A Stone", its intensity greatly amplified by the audience's rapt silence. The new tracks still clash awkwardly with the earlier material, but the band's generosity, and its natural affinity with the mood of the festival, make this show the polar opposite of the tough performance they gave about a month earlier at Route Du Rock.

Priceless, on the other hand, is the joyous collective trance that accompanies the Leisure Society's live show - they're also among the very few spotted wandering around the food stands and happily getting drunk on cider the night before the gig. A band with a good dose of (self-)irony, less burdened by the "rock" impassiveness of almost every other act, the five Englishmen staged their entrance as the first beats of "Into The Murky Water" rang out, each of them grinning from ear to ear while pounding away at some more or less unlikely instrument. The feeling that precedes every song is that of a kid in a candy store, such is the strength of the Leisure Society's repertoire after just two albums. Claps started before the band even asked for them, improvised dances led by the sound engineers, and so on.

The rare explosion of pure joy that the show delivers would be enough on its own to make it special, but on top of that there's a new self-awareness in the band, a musical maturity that goes beyond the Hemming/Hardy dualism, making the band's repertoire far more than a mere vessel for melodies.

In short, it hardly matters that the official headliners were a disappointment - which was already clear the moment they were announced, anyway. Of the three, only Beirut was really followed (and partly replaced, for half the set, by the by-now anachronistic Fall), with his ever so lightweight songs, especially those from "The Rip Tide", and a sound that's Balkan in name only, as far as the instruments go.

The expansion of End Of The Road has amply shown that not only has the festival's spirit stayed intact, but it's still possible to carve out your own personal festival experience, despite this year's drift in certain directions. What matters is that the lineup doesn't lose, at least broadly speaking, its genre identity, and doesn't turn into the shapeless melting pot that most music festivals have become (not a bad thing in itself, but why give up your own distinct character?). This year's choice to "theme" the stages - the more youthful, trendy Woods, the more "purist" Garden, the Big Top for psychedelic trance, the predictably more intimate Tipi - wasn't a bad idea; if anything, it was just the theme of the main stage itself that failed to convince, generally speaking.

That said, after the third End Of The Road, any curiosity about other festivals is barely noticeable: back home, the four days just gone by still leave behind a sense of the miraculous. The only thought on your mind is coming back next year. And keep an eye out for the new No Direction Home Festival, curated by the same organisers, at Welbeck Abbey in the middle of Sherwood Forest, next June!

Photo contributions by Francesca Baiocchi

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