Manchester Psych Fest 2022, Various Venues. 3rd September 2022

Gareth Crook
Sep 4, 2022
10 min read

It’s Manchester Psych Fest time again and straight away it feels like they’ve upped their already impressive game. Wristband collection is rapid, allowing me to quickly smash a Gregg’s and get in The Ritz with time to spare before Gruff Rhys hits the stage. I’ve not seen him since SFA last toured, but some of his solo stuff is awesome and that’s what we’re treated to. The set is largely the more trippier stuff you’d expect for this festival, the fact that the first song is stripped back on acoustic guitars before Gruff grabs a keytar for the follow up tells you all you need to know about Rhys not wanting to be restrained. Neither is the drummer, who I can’t work out if he’s an absolute monster or if it’s just that he’s so high in the mix, he’s kicking the shit out of everyone else on stage. There’s some beautiful stuff though, samba rhythms, wistful Americana, driving juggernauts and Rhys’ gorgeous voice. I bumped in to him after too, but he didn’t seem overly sold on the selfie.

Next up it’s Déjà Vega in the always glorious Albert Hall. I always get a little thrown in here with daylight gigs though, the light pouring in through the old church windows, it just seems weird. I’d almost forgotten how fantastic this band are too. I’ve only seen them once before and it was a religious experience. Fitting then that we’re in an old church for the second coming. This three piece are solid and with only half an hour to play, they’re going for the jugular. It’s ferocious stuff. The rhythm section will give your internal organs something to think about as they flex and test Albert’s famously epic acoustics. It’s 14:30 and the guy next to me is losing his shit, quite rightly so, this I suspect is going to be one of the sets of the day. If you missed it (and their later set at Deaf Institute) you’ve made a huge error, but fear not with a tour just announced you can rectify that. Your ears will thank you, once they’ve stopped ringing.

Legging it back to The Ritz, I catch Loose Articles. It’s got hotter in here in the last hour and I’m dripping with sweat as they tear up the stage with poppy post punk. Don’t be fooled by the bounciness of these songs, live there are brutal. There’s a few new ones in the set that slows the crowd a little, but they sound great and I think maybe everyone’s just struggling a bit with the heat. Singer Tree Nah isn’t having it though “LET’S FUCKING AV’IT!!!!!” she screams as she dives into the crowd, sending roadies scurrying and the guy with a stuff frog bouncing deliriously.

Duvet are rather handily playing just downstairs in the basement, where yes, it’s even hotter. It’s packed too, meaning I get to take probably the worst gig photo ever, but they sound good. It’s a real mix, screamy blistering assaults, mixed with more straight up power chord rock and a bit of slower indie grunge. As if to hammer the point home, they’ve a song called ‘Sweaty Dog’ which sees the singer have a bit of a lie down, before she detonates like a ball of pure energy for the set closer. I definitely need to hear more, but I’m thankful for a few minutes of air outside and a sit on the steps.

Not for long though. FEET are about to knock out a set of indie psychedelic garage rock. I’m stood near the mixing desk and appear to have found a faint draft of aircon around my ankles. I can’t put into words what are revelation this is, but then the band are called Feet. Sorry. Anyway I’ve only seen this lot once and it was a while ago. They’ve beefed up the sound a little, but it’s the more melodic stuff that sounds better and ‘English Weather’ is still their best song. Last time I saw them, the five of them were packed on Gullivers tiny stage, with more space, singer George gets to show off his frontman chops and he’s pretty damn good.

Back down to the basement again, where mercifully it’s not as busy. I guess that’s a shame for October & the Eyes though. It does fill up, probably as other sets nearby finish. They’re the gothiest band so far and the prettiest too, the bassist looks like he might’ve just stepped off a moody black and white photo shoot. They pack a helluva punch, demonic garage rock, with squealing guitars and bludgeoning drums. There’s a guy at the back attacking a symbol with a saw nailed to it with a bow. Fucking brilliant. The sound is loud, but the mix is a bit thick down here and I’d like to hear more of the wailing vocals. It’s still great though, a dirgey wall of monstrous noise. The singer announces “I think we’ve saved the best for last” as a song called ‘All My Love’ has me bouncing in agreement. It’s a sleazy roadhouse cinematic slab of sexiness, with a wig-out finale that leaves me determined to see this lot again as soon as possible.

I was looking to jump across the road to Gorilla next, but due to a late change, the bands there have moved to Canvas. This is a new venue for me though and that’s always a treat. What a great space it is too. A big white room, nice change from the usual black… and aircon! I can see myself being very happy here. The fact that Bleach Lab are playing helps too. It’s a radical change from the last band, the wall of glorious noise, replaced with equally beautiful melody. They effortlessly build blissful soundscapes that if you close your eyes, I swear you can float. Jenna’s voice too is a marvel, she’s the glue that fuses this dreamy surf pop. I was blown away last time I saw them, but they’re getting better. ‘Real Thing’ might be the perfect pop song and has me swaying and smiling like the music junkie I am. It’s the sort of stuff that makes your chest swell. It’s still early but fuck it I’m dancing. The only problem is it’s not long enough, they really should have been given a full hour.

Canvas fills up, a lot, for The KVB. I’ve never heard of this duo but I’m glad I’ve (partially) rectified that now. They’re like The Raveonettes, but electronic. There’s still a guitar on stage, but this is all about those motorised beats and monotone dangerous vocals. The start of the set is marred with technical hitches and sound issues though. Packed room, lights on them, it’s every bands nightmare. They look throughly pissed off and rightly so. New venue gremlins? I get chance to catch a few songs though and they sound fantastic. Thanks to the basslines we’re again in Northern new-wave goth territory. They’ve got some genuine dark brooding bangers and I’m loathed to leave, but I can’t stick around. It’s a real shame but they’re firmly on the list of gig tickets to buy.

I need to get back to The Ritz heat for the Psychedelic Porn Crumpets. Surely the best and most apt band name of the day, this lot bring the raaawwwwkkkk!! It’s 70s prog, but less noodley and more fun. Locked into a groove, the temperature visually rising as steam rises off bodies. It’s not gonna change your life, but it still sounds ace and it’s the biggest crowd I’ve seen so far. I’ll admit on reflection I should’ve stayed to catch the end of The KVB, but as PPC (getting into the abbreviations now) dig deeper there’s a lot more than the straight up hooky riffs. Alright they’re often not far off much to the delight of the moshing masses (in this heat I’m surprised no one passes out), but I’m definitely up for the lighter side. A sentence I never thought I’d utter. That said I’m talking about the lighter side of heavier stuff that would raise a RATM eyebrow. Anyway, I might just be getting tired.

Ironic then that next up is The Lucid Dream in Canvas, where the sound is once again spot on. The name is misleading though. This lot deal in pulverising apocalyptic rave bangers with guitars shredding over top. I like it, but I’m not keen on the singers voice. It’s not a problem live as it’s so fucking loud you can barely hear him, but I’m not sure how it’d sound on record. Some of the slower tempo stuff is good, it gives them space to build, but I’m not immediately sold.

It’s time to admit that I’m not sure this years line up is quite as strong across the board as last year and most of the headliners either don’t interest me much or I’ve seen recently. Goat Girl are the exception, but I’ve chosen to miss them and skip out on the festival altogether to head to the Arena and watch Arcade Fire. A controversial call perhaps in light of recent news, but for all that you’ll need to read the review on the site.

In short it was great and a good call, but now I’m back. You didn’t noticed I’d gone had you. Anyway, I’m next in Yes’ basement for the first time of the day for Japanese Television. It’s a wonderful return after the slightly jarring experience of being in a vast space with thousands of people. I’m now rammed in a tiny basement with hundreds listening to some slightly doom laden but reflective instrumental Psych rock. At this hour really, what more could you want. I can’t get that close to the stage, but they sound brilliant. Some might say majestic. I’m stood next to the merch table and I’m tempted by the vinyl, but I’m not done yet and carting it around would be a pain. They ride the space rock wave deftly though, the last song having a kick drum you could reprogram your heart to. Its not the last though, there’s a call for more and as the sound desk give the thumbs up they unleash again. Really cool stuff. It’s yet another band I need to come see again. That list is getting loooong!!

My final visit to The Ritz is to catch Battles as the clock strikes midnight. I remember seeing JOHN in this very same slot last year. It’s a lot busier for Battles as people cling on looking a bit shell shocked and bleary eyed. The effect JOHN had on me though is the same here. It’s a fucking WAKE UP CALL! I last saw them destroy Gorilla across the road and wondered how they’d sound in a bigger space. Short answer, monolithic! The genre of psych is pretty loose to say the least, I’m not sure all the bands here qualify, if qualifying really is required. Let’s face it labelling music in genres is a stupid idea. Wherever Battles fall though, they’re brilliant. Layered synth and guitar, melted together with some of the best live drums you’ll hear from anyone, anywhere. This duo are technical wizards, but for such a sound, their music is packed with heart and emotion. It’s like jazz… maaan. Really sharp, let’s fuck with all the rules jazz. They’re by far the most experimental band I’ve watched today and although it’s going to be impossible to pick a favourite band of the festival, let’s just say that Battles are right up there.

I should keep my powder dry though, for next up it’s the band I’ve been most eager to see. I don’t see many bands who’s set starts at nearly 1am, but I suspect Ghost Woman are a bit special. They’re playing in the marvellous Deaf Institute. Their debut album has become an obsession. There’s a lot of things I detest about America, but this desert crusted psychobilly sound isn’t one. You can tastes the vistas in this music. I know that sounds pretentious, I don’t give a fuck. It’s effortlessly cool. Their debut album is incredible and live they live up to it brilliantly. There’s an impressive amount of people here for this time of the morning. Any time in fact. Everyone’s here to hear resonating guitars feedback over bass rhythms that would guide you beautifully down a dark highway with David Lynch in the back seat. If you’ve read this far, first of all well done, you’ve got the sort of endurance I admire and if you only listen to one band I’ve talked about, for all that is good in this world, make it this one. Unfortunately at this time things can unravel a bit and so instead of the promised 45 minutes, we get 25. It’s disappointing but again just makes me hungry for more.

I’m really flagging now, but determined to catch the last band on my list. A refuelling trip in Spar gives me severe student flashbacks, as I enter a weird sort of twilight, recalling the uncertainty and excitement of being completely untethered. I suspect I might also be a touch drunk.

The last stop is back at Yes for Fake Turins. Surely they’re a bunch of musical theatre students, they have that vibe. They’re also really tight and ridiculously funky. I can’t count them. There shouldn’t be that many people on the basement stage, but they’re in the double figures and making it work brilliantly. There’s also a bloke next to me with the loosest feet I’ve seen in a long time. His ankles are like rubber, he’s got the perfect moves for this this fluid bouncy euphoria. The singer is like an open shirted coked up Jarvis Cocker with highlights. The rest of the band, including a sax and clarinet bang out brilliant disco funk. It’s the sort of music that maybe only makes sense at this hour, but I’m sold.

I’m a curious sod though, so I head upstairs to the pink room to find a shirtless man in a shit hat fronting a band called Fat Dog. They sound utterly bonkers. Like a NIN ska band with a kazoo. Actually it’s another saxophone, but you get my point, I’m clearly delirious and might now be making this all up. There’s lots of squelchy synth, bouncy bass and shouting from the semi naked cowboy. You know what though, it’s good fun as everyone slow dances in the mosh pit to lyrics about being covered in vasaline. They’re probably the shitest band of the day, but who cares.

At somewhere around 3am I admit defeat. My phone is dying and so am I. Manchester Psych Fest you’ve been victorious once again. I’ll be back for more next year. Thank you xx