Stockton Calling 2016
A lazy morning and a heavy breakfast laid uncomfortably on me as the taxi arrived. It was Saturday but I was mentally on Sunday. Rumbling through the grey streets and the white noise of a dilapidated transit van created a glum mood and I felt that I didn’t really want to go to Stockton Calling this year. I had vague memories of my last visit two or three years ago and they were foggy but good. If push came to shove I would always have of gone, the alternative would of been another day on the computer or watching TV but I was not excited. We jumped out of the cab and paid. The town didn’t seem aware anything special was happening. At this end of the high street the Weatherspoon's is king but it wasn’t part of the festival. I had said I wanted to see inside a bar called Room 21 near by. It wasn’t busy on the streets. A few people wandered around but there was no sense we were going to a festival of any kind.
I never like the idea of an in town ‘’festival’’. A festival is special because you are away from home. Living in a tent. The music can be secondary. Something you dabble with. The festival experience is the whole thing. People of all ages and backgrounds immediately adjust to this makeshift place. They adjust their behaviour. They are more open, friendlier and excited. The do things they wouldn’t at home they eat unfamiliar foods and have a holiday spirit a joie de vivre. A city festival takes away all these opportunities. You aren’t going back to sleep in a field with 1000 others with little expectation of sleep. You can get a taxi and leave at any time you feel its all too much something you can’t at 3 am in a festival and apart from the bands there isn't anything special about the place you're visiting. I know Stockton. I drink there from time to time. I can go in most of the venues any day of the week.
Initially I was right. It’s 2:30pm Room 21 had cleared half their floor space and a handful of people watch an acoustic guitar being played well with an interesting voice. Nothing new but nice. The other half of the pub was running as per usual. Pool tables were surrounded by people there for the pool, not the music. None of them even looked in the musicians direction. We had to beg to gain entry with our printed tickets but needed to swap them for wrist bands so we decamped and headed for the hub of the festival Arc.
I walked along a pint of lager brighter but still unexcited about the prospect of quietly watching bands in half a venue. However Arc is where the feel changed. Arc is a funny venue. A pretty and modern building built by Arts funding. It has floundered for years but has slowly become more a part of Stockton generally by showing less obscure arts and more stand up and beer festivals. I’d say it’s a shame but to be honest i feel the venue should always have drip fed the town. You can’t build a venue and expect everyone in the town to love Norwegian contemporary dance. Other local theatres survived with a stable diet of Blood Brothers tribute act and Agatha Christie's who done it’s. Today Arc was was alive. Stockton Calling had sold out and here was the first sign. People queue for wristbands and the blue neon flickered as people moved up and down the stairs from its venue (the Point) to the bars. Nothing was on right now but people were expectant and alive. We had missed the band but now armed with our paper bracelets of privilege we headed next door where a band was playing.
Storytellers is not really new any more but it is still being discovered by many returning to Stockton for nights out after years in Middlesbrough and Yarm. Inside we saw how busy the festival was, the pub was rammed and approaching the band at the far end was not going to happen without spilled drinks and much hassle. So we listened from the far end near a pool table. We chatted and texted the rest of a growing party who were due to join us. The band sounded alright. The crowd weren’t easy to pin down. Some uni students, 30 somethings, some older muso’s in faded t shirts. I had perked up and was more excited and began perusing the map and schedule. The iced pink sugar filled cider had also helped and we decided to see what the venues were like on the other side of town.
Over toward the river we hit The Georgian Theatre an old building that is a good venue in it’s own rights but is often associated with ‘’Goth Nights’’ that in reality probably haven’t been a feature since 2001. I often remember waiting for buses around then and watching pale skinned metal fans scurrying from the Georgian to the Wobbly Goblin avoiding any contact with mountain bike riding locals. The venue is busy but you can get to the bar with little trouble. A band start and are plodding out plain rock. The singer solemnly sings his song with little effort and acts almost bored something I am sure he is feigning considering he is playing to a packed house which I doubt is familiar to this young outfit. I am annoyed by his indifference onstage. What does he expect? That's his songs will be so powerful that we will immediately fall in love with his cool indifference and scream ourselves horse at his casual empty gaze. Perhaps I am being mean. He’s young and perhaps that’s how he looks when very scared. Either way the ladies with us had decided to go ahead to another bar. I had heroically said I’d stay to listen to the band but i now regret it. I down my pint and follow after them only 6-7 minutes later sheepishly.
Although not officially a venue ‘’The Wasps Nest’’ is our next stop. I am snubbed an old neighbour from the past and spend my time at the bar worrying if I had upset them or forgotten some historical drama that meant they had nothing to do with our family? Then I realised i’m a lot older and chubbier now and she probably didn’t recognise me. We go outside to drink and smoke. The rain is spitting and the town is greyer than it has been all day. However we are all a few pints in and merrily chatting about the festival. I may have sounded very negative so far but frankly I’ve really enjoyed being out and about in the town. Visiting a few places hearing a song or two. I am starting to feel the ‘’festival’’ spirit in some small way. People are out in force all here for one shared experience in unfamiliar pubs and bars. To add to this we are reinforced with our friends arriving.
The larger group is hard to mobilise but we head to the next place. The Sun Inn. A pub on the high street. The bar staff battle to keep supplying beer pulling a half ……. Leaving it settle ….. and pulling the second half. However they seem to be keeping up,just about. Again this venue is too busy to approach the band. I try and squeeze in but i am alone and feel unfamiliar with the band so late in their set although what i hear is an exciting rocky 80’s synthy fusion. We snag a recently abandoned table and squeeze around it. Then we are surrounded by another layer of people squashed by the busy bar. This become unimportant now we have a table. We chat a until i decide to go outside to smoke. The rain had come on strong and soaked you in seconds. I ran to alley way and found a couple. She smoked as the guy enthusiastically chatted to me about how great his day had been. Our conversation basically involved us repeating this for 10 minutes with very slight variations on the theme. Still a nice guy. I went back in and noticed the covered smoking area I hadn’t spotted. A friend and I quickly decided to brave the rain and dash back to Arc where a well known local band were due to play. I was familiar with the lead singer but he had rejigged his band and renamed them and I had not seen this incarnation.
We got to Arc and the two floors worth of bars seemed far less capable of serving the people queued than the tiny pub i’d just left. Eventually drinks were bought and we went inside. An impressive multi projection and light setup made the stage look professional. The venue is big and has a large open space and racks of seating so we weren’t squashed. In fact at the back on the floor i could put down my drink. My friend went to the toilet and I was alone for the first time. I rarely spend any time these days without radio, you tube or company so this was odd. I have never been someone who could enjoy a gig, film or drink on my own and I felt uneasy. It was too dark to people watch so I began to practice the essentially pointless hobby of low light phone photography. The fuzzy images kept me happy till the band came on stage.
This was 6-7 in the evening and this was the third act I’d actually seen with my eyes. They began.The lead singer had as I said evolved into this new group. Their music felt like a movie score and was very dark and moody. I became preoccupied trying to spot the rest of my group. I often get too focused on the unimportant. I spotted a friend but the crowd had grown and I felt i’d lose a great spot if i moved so I tried to wave to him. This went on for too long but i stuck it out and battled through the embarrassment. He stood awkwardly on the stair with his girlfriend. I never did get their attention. I lost them shortly after this and when I did find part of the group i felt out of sync.
We moved on the a new venue. The Vault is in a basement but surprisingly sizable. An Oasisy band played and we chatted by the bar. It took a while for me to get my head back into the groove of the evening. However I chatted with friends and I decided I didn’t like the look of vapourisers that people are using these days. They are silly. The evening carried on with the two groups split until we reunited and went to the Green Dragon studios. It was later and the band were a dance outfit with live drums. We got drinks and they began. They were highlight. I was drunk enough to really let go and they were loud enough to fill a venue 10 times the size. We danced. A drunk guy obnoxiously stood in front of them facing the audience and tried to draw attention. I think he liked them but the booze had turned him into a narcissist. A girl pushed him aside and I worried he might lose his mind and punch her but no. They played for a while then finished. This was the last of the bands in any venue and next was what bars like to call an ‘’after party’’ as if you are somehow privileged to be there among the stars.
We weren’t finished so we went along and a DJ from national radio DJ’ed. I had always liked him and was surprised to see him in the booth playing with no one even looking his way. I was drunker and the songs floated my boat. It was an excellent set. I looked over at one point and realised he was gone and that I had been dancing to someone else choices. I felt annoyed for a second then realised how silly that was and had a word with myself.
In conclusion the ‘’festival’’ was excellent. I enjoyed my town in a new light and remembered what I had enjoyed the three years previous. The ticket mathematically was pennies! 9 Venues and 70 bands although in reality you would struggle to ‘’see’’ many. See Stockton through fresh eyes!
