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Truck Festival Review

Maia Gibbs

Oxfordshire’s Truck certainly returned with a bang, after the festival’s three-year delay due to

COVID. Its prodigal return, along with its silver anniversary, meant that expectations were high – to the say the very least, writes Maia Gibbs.


Despite its attendance being dwarfed by the greats of Glastonbury and Reading/Leeds, Truck hosted

some of the best of British music, with indie stalwarts Bombay Bicycle Club, main man Sam Fender and crowd-rousing rockers Kasabian as headline acts. Elsewhere, blossoming artists such as Yard Act and Baby Queen showed off their skills on the smaller stages around the farm. Part of Truck’s appeal is that it can be viewed as a microcosm of the UK’s larger festivals, a relaxing alternative to the summer mayhem. This year it became a pocket of indie heaven for the 25,000 fans gathered at Hill Farm.


After a stressful journey from my Derbyshire hometown to Oxford – including confusing sat navs,

sneaky toll roads and country bends – it was a relief to settle into our campsite, and catch all that

was on offer the first night. After a post-traffic meal deal and one of the festival’s house-fruit-lagers – the night began.


Thursday saw four-piece indie rock band Black Honey take the main stage, gearing up the festival

with their youthful spin on crowd-rearing. Lead singer Izzy B. Phillips' version of singer-audience interaction is encouraging them to “raise your drink if you have a diagnosed mental illness, raise your drink if you have an undiagnosed mental illness”. And by the disconcerting cheers back it seems that it was a common characteristic among fans. Possibly worrying or possibly uniting, depending on how you view it? I guess you know your audience Black Honey, you really do. 


The next trip on the agenda was The Native, playing the ‘This Feeling’ stage. Despite being relatively

new to the scene, the five piece indie band from Plymouth certainly made an impact with their half-hour set. They oozed a relaxed coolness, that matched well with their soft-indie-rock set list. I had never listened to them before, yet they’re now prime place on a Spotify playlist entitled ‘Summer

2022 Vibes’ – and that’s always a good sign.



Headliners Blossoms were a perfect Thursday closer, warming the festival up for the larger acts ahead. What struck me first, when watching them, was how well they looked together; as if they all shared the same stylist, and more importantly the same conditioner. I bet it was Tresemme. Or a really expensive Lush one that you leave in post shower. Do they straighten their hair? Or use moose? Does anyone know the address of their PO Box? I need to send an extremely important letter for an upcoming investigative piece. On their music, obviously.


Anyway – their set list, obviously featuring their best known tracks, had the shocking addition of their

rendition of ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby?’. With their now infamous collaboration with Rick Astley, to

perform the greatest hits of The Smiths, still lodged in people’s minds, most noticeably a disgruntled

Johnny Marr, the band are seemingly showing off their knack of the ‘80s cover. And I think I understand why – it certainly is a crowd-pleaser. Or maybe in this sense a peace-maker, for those in the audience who didn’t know anything but Charlemagne.


The first trip I made on the Friday was to watch Joely on Main Stage, whose alt-folk-meets-indie-pop style struggled to match the weight of the early time-tabling on the largest stage. It was unfortunate, as

she in no way put on a poor set, yet proved how important venues are to live performances. Her songs, often centred on adolescence, relationships and mental health, would probably have been better suited to a more intimate environment, as her emotional sentimentalities were almost drowned out by the sparse bustling field in-front of her.


This was so much so, that halfway through I rushed off to follow the bustling crowd clambering to see Beach Riot at The Nest: a brilliant venue that pulls in crowds as soon as they enter the arena from Zodiac camping, where I was lucky to be staying. The Nest is a perfect venue for any burgeoning band whose fan base cannot be solely relied upon to fill a crowd. Although by the sweaty, sardine-like atmosphere of the following 30 minutes – it can be said that Beach Riot is not one of those bands. Full of infectious energy, they were a pop force to be reckoned with. Their live set had an intensity, and musical intricacies that separated them from other indie rock bands playing that weekend, with little individualities like the inclusion of a six-string bass. It was a wonderful set that intrigued fans and strangers to the band, and cemented Beach Riot’s place on my aforementioned Spotify playlist.



Next on was Yard Act, who I also believe suffered from mis-staging, deserving either a later time-

slot or a larger stage worthy of the bands prowess. Or maybe I’m just saying that because of my devout love for them. Or my ever-growing crush on vocalist James Smith. Along with excellent musicianship, their set was filled with a list of unexpected Rod Stewart disses, including: “Rod Stewart is kinda like your Nanna” and “Rod Stewart is kinda like ET with hair”. It was a wonderful half an hour, so much so that even with the most atrocious first-morning-after- camping back cramp, I was still enjoying it. Yard Act were as gutted to play only a 30-minute set, as I was to only have 30-minutes of them. “We’d have played for four hours,” frontman James Smith assured the crowd, “and play on the main stage, but that slot was already taken.” Hopefully next year this issue may be resolved.


Next on were the Ditz back at The Nest. Luckily the festival is so small, that with all this back and forth blisters were wonderfully avoided. Being a band that is most well known for their erratic live shows, they certainly garnered a crowd who was willing to join in on the fun. The quintet’s performance, obviously influenced by the hardcore punk and noise rock of the 80s and 90s, best set them apart from other post-punk bands this weekend. They certainly know how to get a crowd going, if not with their music, with the promise: “the longest person to crowd surf gets my last Red Stripe”. And you’d be surprised at the loyalty people have towards that £5 Jamaican beer – you really would.


"Noisy's eclectic stylistic routes, as the playlist generation, were clear within their live set. Their incorporation of the sounds of hip hop and R & B, alongside the eternal swagger of the Happy Mondays, was rolled into an intoxicating whole"

Next on were Truck regulars Only The Poets, for their first ever stint on the Main Stage. Hailing from

just down the road, the Reading four-piece, fronted by Tommy Longhurst, are best known for delicate guitar tones and catchy pop elements. This characteristic seemed jarring compared to the energetic, ruthless and aggressive indie rock and post-punk of the acts before. It may be because of this comparison that the band appeared lacklustre to me, almost like background music to festival socialising and boozing, and not an event to capture attention. Maybe it was the lack of shoving, free booze and burns at the ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ singer, or maybe it was just a boring set. I don’t know. I probably should know. I think that’s technically my job as a music journalist. To know.


Yet what I can say for certain is that punk band Loose Articles were certainly not boring. Especially as

they captured the audiences’ attention with the proclamation that “Gary Lineker fucks crisp packets”. This must be an advert that plays after the Watershed that I missed, or maybe a cursed urban myth propagandised by football fan pages across the British isles. Last time I found out what happened in

Mr Lineker’s shorts is when I discovered out he followed through mid-match – yes actually. And with

the image of the now-pundit grabbing his own poo out of his shorts at the 1990 World Cup still firmly in my mind, I doubt I would like to watch him make love to a Walkers bag. The lyrics of their tracks followed a similar crude absurdity, bouncing around topics of sex, booze and general potty-mouthing. They’re definitely a band that makes your grandparents tut. And isn’t that the goal with any real punk music?


Noisy were the metaphorical sunset of the Friday night, signalling that the night had truly started.

Even though the sun was still shining for another three hours. The three-piece, built on a hybrid of

hooks, beats and escapism, are a genre-defying band that intrigued a variety of audiences. Formed

on the south coast of England in Worthing, Noisy's eclectic stylistic routes, as the playlist generation, were clear within their live set. Their incorporation of the sounds of hip hop and R & B, alongside the eternal swagger of the Happy Mondays, was rolled into an intoxicating whole. This could possibly explain their audience being a hodge-podge of all ages, creeds and groups. Their fan base saw no

boundaries, as when the band proclaimed to ‘Fuck the Tories’ I saw a toddler on his dad’s shoulders wave his arms and clap. Maybe Noisy are the voice of the next generation?


As well as this one of course, transforming the classic “everyone put your lighters in the air” to “everyone put your vapes in the air” with proclamation: “This one goes out to Fatboy Slim, raise your elf bars in the air” was an audience-to-crowd interaction that was much better than the following band, Spector’s on the Main Stage. The rock band, from London, started off by making a Covid-19 joke, playing a song, realising said joke might be offensive, backtracked and made a Princess-Diana Conspiracy joke instead, played a song, backtracked and made a Monkey Pox joke instead. Yes it was as confusing as it sounds, and no I didn’t enjoy it.


"..harnessing catchy melodies and earworm hooks into an almost nonchalant net of lo-fi sounds, it was a relaxing start to the morning. Wonderful for any guests whose heads were hurting."

The Leicestershire band Sea Girls, luckily gave respite to this, with their comforting, uplifting,

ferociously reflective and honest set list. We could rely on their age-old influences from Amy Winehouse and Lana Del Rey to Bloc Party, Arctic Monkeys and Foals. It was familiar and enjoyable, and I felt a comfort in knowing that none of them were going to bring up the People’s Princess and ruin the mood.


Later, Sigrid gave one of the most polished and emotional performances of pop music I have ever seen live. “I just had a moment…I love my job,” the Norwegian star tells the crowd after performing Sucker Punch. Quite cinematically, it began to rain as the singer began Strangers (“Just like in the movies / It starts to rain”). It didn’t seem to bother fans, with them climbing onto others’ shoulders to dance and sing along. “I’m kinda speechless,” she says, and I could understand why.



Headliners Bombay Bicycle Club were similarly overjoyed to be playing Truck. Singer-guitarist Jack Steadman said they were “having the time of our lives” frequently throughout his set. Fortunately their newer works were as well received as their older material, and the latter had huge strength live with fans loving Dust On The Ground and Lights Out, Words Gone.


Saturday morning started with Oxfordshire-locals Lime Garden. The quartet delivered a master-class

in genre defying, creating a set that was uplifting yet laid-back. Harnessing catchy melodies and earworm hooks into an almost nonchalant net of lo-fi sounds, it was a relaxing start to the morning.

Wonderful for any guests whose heads were hurting. Yet it was the Oxford Symphony Orchestra who were truly the stars of the day. With renditions of ABBA and Queen, they became stuff of legends for the rest of the day. Whilst some kicked back and relaxed, others got up and danced, moshed and even crowd surfed. Yes. To an orchestra.



Kelis offered an interesting shift to this, with a medley of her classics as well as a DJ covers mash-up.

The contrast in sound from the other guitar heavy, and one violin heavy, acts of this weekend to the

extravagant electronic dance party by the American singer was a most welcome one. Kelis’ soulful

vocals were outstanding on tracks like Millionaire, Trick Me and Milkshake, whereas she defied

expectations with mash-ups of Crystal Waters’ Gypsy Woman, Donna Summer’s I Feel Love and,

most surprisingly, Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit.


The Kooks equally played on their musical nostalgia, as I nearly (nearly) had forgotten how infectious

tracks like Shine On, She Moves In Her Own Way and Ooh La truly are. Singer Luke Pritchard sounded straight from the album, his vocals as young and tuneful as when his hit indie tunes were first released. Judging the mood of the crowd, he said, “Don’t worry, we’ll be playing Naive tonight”, later busting into the noughties song that was the soundtrack to many of the audiences’ youth.


Unfortunately the same vividity cannot be said for headliner Sam Fender, who seemed slightly off, not vocally (he never is) but energy-wise. He revealed he was battling a terribly sore throat. “You’ve revived something though”, the audience vocals bolstering his own in parts. A surprise appearance

from Shaun Williamson – Barry from Eastenders – to sing Getting Started, equally revived spirits.

Despite him being introduced as a ‘British legend’ no one seemed disappointed to see the soap star

instead of an actual musician. And honestly – why should they?



Sunday was a less busy day for musical adventuring, mainly because I fell asleep in the middle of a field, after the upsetting pitfalls of Truck’s fruit lagers. I believe that’s what separates me from simply being a “young journalist” and more specifically a “student journalist” – I believe in showing the

truth of student festival going. No matter the costs. Luckily I revived myself with some cheesy chips in time for the wonderful Inhaler, who impressed later on with their pitch-perfect harmonies and ear worm rock tracks.


Easy Life brought in one of the biggest crowds of the weekend, proved by what frontman Murray

Matravers noted to be the most “legendarily big” moshpit of the Leicester band’s gigs to date. Fans live up to gig-record breaking feats, as crowds storm, crash and dance to tracks like Skeletons and Nightmares, while the lead singer and crowd both were determined to one up the crowd surf with

the legendary, but not often accomplished, crowd walk.


Yet the pinnacle of the whole weekend was the explosive headline set by legends Kasabian. After the departure of singer Tom Meighan in 2020, guitarist/singer Sergio Pizzorno didn't feel seem to feel the pressure of filling his boots. He commanded the stage with ease, almost one-upping much of Meighan's swagger . “This has been the best fucking gig of the summer… it’s absolutely insane. This is what you join a band for,” he says, before launching into LSF and Fire. Having hired additional support musicians, their track list was performed with fantastic vim and vigour. Catchy tunes You’re In Love With A Psycho and Empire are thrilling live, with Serge scaling the stage infrastructure to get a better look at his fans. A spectacular fireworks display closed out the set, and in turn the gestalt, in celebration, one that also feels like a nod to the festival’s 25-year milestone.


Truck might be a stripped back affair but that's only to lay focus on the music that is at the heart of the

festival. Not over-commercialisation or gimmicky nonsense. It is what it is, and it is for the music. I would also like to give a special shout out to all the food stalls this weekend. Special shout outs include a chilli-loaded hot dog and loaded squid chips. Yet my true holiday love was the loaded Yorkshire Pudding to cure my Sunday hangover. I miss you. We had such a tender time. Why won’t you return my calls?


I will return for you.


Maia Gibbs

 

Edited by: Caradoc Gayer

Cover and in-article images courtesy of Truck Festival via Facebook. In article videos courtesy of YouTube.

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