Dirty Weekender Festival review

DIRTY WEEKENDER FESTIVAL

WREXHAM 6TH/7TH SEPTEMBER 2013

Today it's time to unite and for me to join the second day of Wrexham's annual Dirty Weekender Festival. A non-profit gathering of extreme music, largely under the umbrella of the UK hardcore punk movement.
A two-day feast of punk, ska, doom, crust, hardcore, grindcore, applecore-whatever-core in all it's multi-faceted glory! Here is a scene, a movement, that takes me back to the heady days of Peel Sessions, three-discs-in-one-sleeve vinyl, Liverpool's late-80's Planet X club, Thatcher's government, cider-swilling crustheads and anti-establishment-slogan-patch-covered coats with the whiff of petula oil.
It's a scene and attitude that has continued to this day. Extremely real and passionate. Often looked upon as a square peg, it's as much about the ugly realities of the world, the political lyrics, about the way animals are treated, as it is the music.....music transcends politics, religion and even the weight of social despair, but music can also carry a message with enough raw aggression to shatter windows and nerves!
No-one here today is performing to get rich or get laid, they're doing for the passion, the reason and necessity.

The night previous was a force of nature that had the venue swinging like an elephant's nutsack, it charged on until the early hours, so it's a welcome sight to see such a healthy congregation of punk and crust enthusiasts arriving so early on the second day of the event.The venue is split with two stages that sit opposite one another, an acoustic stage downstairs, a section set aside for the sale of vinyl, demo cassettes and t shirts. It's all done with that true DIY punk ethos.

Up first, it's North Wales' Emissaries Of Syn, their buzzing yet chilled vibe pull a decent crowd for the time of day. It's a full-on, grinding distorted guitar/bass audio assault, their sound is crafted well. A couple of covers are thrown into the set and free CDs offered out. 
Atterkop ramp up the excitement levels next over on the Pumpkin stage. They impress the growing crowd with a fiery brand of dub/punk/ska pulse and dynamics. It's wild, willful stuff with lots of stop-start tempo twists and turns that climaxes in explosive style. This rules! 
Thirty Six Strategies have a challenge on their hands following that. They rub melody and hardcore together like two flints about to start a fire and set their set ablaze with raucous blasts and choruses. Landscape Of Loss, with it's Rutts-esque intro proves to be a stand-out track and the still-thinly spread crowd enjoy it a-plenty.
Truro, with their skate punk vibe, serve up a devastating assault on the senses. This three piece band with what looks like the combined age of 45 smash out some top tuneage. Their song Racist One is their strongest offering and prove there's no adolescent awkwardness about them, just an experienced view on the harsh realities of a grim world.
Flat Back Four continue the super-charged blasts of monumental metallic punk rock. Then a change of tone with Andy T with his deeply sonorous outpouring of poetry and song that resonates in the here-and-now. Spoken word is amalgamated with backing punk band stomp. A remarkably earthy set by one of the original trailblazers of Anarcho-Punk Monolithian unleash an all-conquering set whose balance of visceral blackened-heart metal and super-dense chest-swelling doom invade the filling venue's nervous system. A two-piece band of bass/vocals and drums, don't be fooled into thinking the lack of instruments in any way enfeebles their sound. It's a powerful blitzkrieg of bleak foreboding punch that stabs you right in your soul.
Now it's Officer Down's turn to fuck my lug'oles. Inventive and intense with suitably punishing hardcore dynamic twists. It's no-nonsense and centers around the force and fury of authentic swivel-eyed punk! 
Now things turn insane, the needle is hitting the red even before Ephemeral Foetus even take to the stage. As soon as they do they whip up a suitably old-school-hardcore-punk tornado of aggression and vitriol. Brimming with weighty intent as it is crunching attack. The vocalist is in the crowd prowling like a lion and getting in everyone's face as he threatens to dislodge his own diaphragm screaming. Things go all 'lightening in a bottle' on us as they storm through their set of unflinching muscle and bone. 
Bus Station Loonies add some fun to the proceedings. A fetching green mohawk, kazoo and fancy dance, it's gone all sing-a-long Chas and Dave punk rock. Sheer madcap insanity like a gritty punked-up hoedown. Tons of fun!
Wrexham's very own No Name Janes have more stickers on their low-slung guitars than they do spiky hairs on their heads. Plenty of rock'n'roll bravado as they smash their songs through your eardrums like a brick hurled through a window and are nothing short of stunning throughout a half-hour set of explosive punk.
Hello Bastard's stop/start full-force hardcore bends spines and minds with an unremitting sonic assault. It perks up the assembled mass no end. The absolutely massive wall of noise emanating from the stage is a thick slab of political threat and violent sound with the intent of throttling the system with a phenomenally tight chokehold while commanding the attention of the listener. Every sinew, every fiber of musical muscle is engaged to get their message across.
Sheffield's Dry Heaves follow over on the main stage. The vibes is simple: hardcore-riffs-and-beats that punches at the connections between your solar plexus and your ears. Drenched in sonic savagery, wrapped up in a punked-up vibe.
Defcon Zero are on 100% form, reminding everyone, right from the opener, what a fucking brilliant band the London punksters are. The world shifts a few degrees on it's axis during their uptempo calamity. A band that refuses to chase it's tail but run boldly into oncoming traffic like a rabid dog.
Endless Grinning Skulls play at laxative frequencies and are rapturous to witness. They plunge into the sort of jet-black bursts of controlled hyper-speed hardcore that leaves a glorious trail of destruction in it's wake.

Phew....Grand Collapse's lengthy soundcheck gives me time to gather my thoughts...it's been a long day....ok......another slug of water to wash down some more pain-killers, my head's banging.......yeah yeah...tick-tock-fuck-the-clock.... I'm seriously in need of some food and respite, but something tells me to wait and check out Grand Collapse. They repay my patience with a set that bulldozes the venue! The guitar sound stands out, the exact execution of the crisp tight picked guitar breakdowns and thrash'n'strum bolster the hardcore punk spit'n'snarl. We're all sharing the same cage here as they pound through a genuinely affecting and addictive run of frenetic quality. Judged by it's own merits this is a stellar and gloriously individualistic collection of songs and a top performance from one of the highlights of the day.
From the dark, dank recesses of Gateshead, Hellkrusher! A relentless, shifting battery of oozing hostility that is tightly hewn perfection with no chord left behind! A solid slab raw thrashing brutality.

I take time out to go to my car, recharge my phone, eat chips and stare into the middle-distance for half an hour and return just in time for the pioneers of UK's hardcore punk movement, Extreme Noise Terror. Real heavyweights in their own right. They kick it all off with opening song Deceived. Boom! That's the sound of minds and ear-drums being blown!...and..errr...the power cutting out? No electricity to the sound desk? Next thing you know, smoke is coming through the floorboards of the Pumpkin stage and the decision is made to evacuate the venue.
It transpires the electrics have melted the downstairs fusebox. A perfect way to end the opus? Punk rock for sure!
It's worth mentioning, with further headlining bands to follow, that no body kicked off or asked for a refund and the remaining bands understood the situation (Oi Polloi had flown their singer in from Finland), so kudos to everyone involved! 
Not only has the weekend's essence been wrung out of every note, every beat and every riff, but all the profit from this weekend, over £3000 pounds, goes towards Greyhound Rescue, All Dogs Matter, Hope Pastures, The 1 In 12 Club and Asylum Magazine!

Crust, doom, hardcore, anarcho-punk have all been an important 'cogs' within that greased-up, oil-spitting extreme music engine. Tonight, like pistons in a runaway train, each buffeting the other to new heights, all the bands combined propulsive brawn to headspinningly captivating effect. It's all still bleak, still harsh, still punctuated by moments of sheer dizzying slabs and stabs of grimy grind and apocalyptic deliverance that keeps battling the current.

Roll on next year's Dirty Weekender Festival!

Simon 'Wezz' Howe