The Homegame diaries - Day 1, Friday 12 March

Popping our Homegame cherry shouldn’t be a big deal. After all, it’s only a music festival. And a small one at that. But there’s a definite churn in the pits of our stomachs as we navigate the trail that leads into the quaint Fife harbour town of Anstruther.

Perhaps our somersaulting nerves can be put down to the curvature of the roadway that confronts our dinky motor, but with a weekend of incessantly good, Fence-backed music ahead we suspect it’s something a little bit more.

Press passes in hand, we start the day drowning in a sea of corduroy-garbed folk eager to ingest the hallowed sound of Eagleowl. Although firmly lodged at the back of a packed out Hew Scott Hall, we’re able to confirm two things from the all too brief set: (1) Eagleowl know how to hush an audience. (2) There’s no better time for Bart Owl and co to forge a pathway into a wider music-appreciating sphere.

Trekking up to Anstruther’s Town Hall, we’re confronted with a dose of light-hearted tomfoolery from our master of ceremonies, Johnny Lynch, and KC himself, Kenny Anderson (much to our swooning photographer’s delight).

The lung-puncturing Mr Meursault, Neil Pennycook, kicks off proceedings with a spell-binding acoustic set that has jaws dropping floor-wards as he bellows out a short succession of psalms from new record ‘All Creatures Will Make Merry’.

Next up are London-based ensemble Player Piano who muddle rickety melodies with rock wig-outs that shudder the rafters of a, now bulging, venue. Coming across a lot like Tapes n’ Tapes without the cowbells, the quartet rummage through their closet of smarting, jaunty pop to pull out a sterling set teeming with vibrancy.

After refuelling with a somewhat underwhelming platter of fish ‘n’ chips, we’re back to catch Rozi Plain at the Town Hall. Despite her vibrant stage merriment, Plain’s armoury of light-weight nu-folk does little to galvanise our bloated bodies and flagging attention spans. Well, that’s until the appearance of a dancing on-stage toddler makes for the weekend’s most endearing spectacle.

Thankfully, the flour covered Withered Hand resuscitates us from our food-induced comas. Tooled up with a flush of buoyant Country-washed tunes, Dan Wilson and his star-studded cohorts rattle out cranky, melody fuelled cuts with a verve that’s been lacking in recent showings. Strolling off stage to a barricade of applause, Withered Hand are, without doubt, the defining moment of Homegame 2010 so far.

Having retreated in front of the fireplace of an olde tavern to sample some refined local ale (in reality we’re not sure a pint of Tennent’s could truly be considered local or refined), we make our way to Legends to see Findo Gask close out the opening day.

Inside, it’s a fuzzy picture of Phoenix Nights decor crossed with methadone clinic-like ambience. And, judging by the lunatic shapes being pulled on the dancefloor, you get the impression the over-enthusiastic punters are at home in this scorching asylsum.

By the time Findo Gask take to the stage the atmosphere’s rabid and the Glasgow-based-but-Fife-born quartet take their time to adapt to this frothing hovel. But once they’ve hit their stride, the scuzzy setting erupts as a gush of sweat and discobeat that’s so luminous it’s almost blinding. Finishing on a triumphant Va Va Va, the band bow their head and say goodnight, clearly overwhelmed by the rapture blowing their way.

For us, it’s a long drive on the road home. It’s times like these we wish we’d booked a room.

Words: Billy Hamilton
Picture: Su Anderson