Irish group 3epkano have played in cathedrals and galleries, but there is something special about performing in the great outdoors, with an audience on the grass and the sky overhead, writes bassist Laurence Mackin
AS A BAND, we’ve had our fair share of highs and lows with outdoor events. We once played a live soundtrack to a screening of Faust in Dublin’s Fitzwilliam Square and halfway through the show some chancer pulled the plug out of the generator (though in fairness we were back in business 20 minutes later).
Our worst experience, though, was at the Mantua festival in Co Roscommon in 2007. We were booked to play a slot well up the bill and, given that it was a festival still finding its feet, we expected the organisation to be on the ad-hoc side.
It had been raining steadily in the days leading up to the event and we got stopped by marshals on a laneway leading into the site. Band or no band, we’d have to abandon the cars and carry our gear to the stage. So the stage manager and some help were radioed for.
The roadies were two cheerfully drunk blokes full of that special enthusiasm that several flagons of cider can bring. Then news came through that stage times were running two hours behind schedule. We had a quick band chat and decided that we might have to pull the gig, just as the stage manager arrived, looking a little tired and emotional. We told her we weren’t entirely comfortable doing the gig. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “Do what you want. I really want to see the Sultans of Ping.” And off she went.
So we decamped to a Ballinahown pub, delighted to not be stuck in a Roscommon field. Which was just as well as we later found out that halfway through the festival somebody had pulled all the power going from the generators (him again!), and just as we were due to play, somebody had driven a tractor through the tent.
(It wasn’t just us – allegedly, one of the headline acts arrived in Shannon airport and, when no one appeared to pick them up and not having a clue where they were supposed to go, they decided to turn around and catch the next flight home.)
It has not all been bad. That Faust show was pretty special (even with the minor blackout), and we did a similar show in Dublin’s Dartmouth Square where we optimistically expected 400 to show up. They did – and brought about 1,600 others with them, and spent the night clapping and cheering along to Sunrise, sitting on rugs under the stars.
Electric Picnic has been similarly kind to us. We’ve played there twice before, in the Body and Soul section, in 2008 and 2009. I went there first as a regular punter, and then returned as an “artist” (waving the wristband at anyone who would half look at me and desperately showing it to security who just wanted me to keep moving). This year, to make sure we get no sleep between now and September, we’ve been asked to play the main stage.
Our gigs there have always been eventful – and it has even given us the name of our new album. A few hours after playing in 2009, I was standing near the sound desk chatting about my brilliant concept for a television show with Richard McCullough, the keyboard player (it’s called Shark Versus Tiger). We were discussing the difficulties of getting a snorkel on a tiger when a young Scandinavian who was standing nearby said he reckoned it was tricky but possible. His name was Hans and he was performing, against his will, at the festival. He was a wolf juggler. It’s a tough and terrifying career that he felt forced into by his father – wolf juggling is a family tradition, and Hans was the eldest son.
We swapped stories, cigarettes and cider before Hans had to go off to practise. “The tricky part is you have to throw them by the tails,” he told us. “If you do it by the muzzles you’re asking for trouble. Get it wrong and – snap – you lose a hand.” Off went our sad Scandinavian, and Hans the Reluctant Wolf Juggler was born.
But back to the Picnic proper. We’ve been lucky enough to play some incredible venues: the parks mentioned above; St Canice’s Cathedral at the Kilkenny Arts Festival; the Brooklyn Academy of Music; the Lincoln Centre in New York; the Shaw Room in the National Gallery; and the National Gallery of Art in Washington, to shamelessly name a few.
Fire off that list to most people and they’ll smile politely; mention the Picnic and their eyes light up. There is something special (and something gravely, teeth-grindingly terrifying) about playing there. If things fall into place you can open up your music to an entirely new audience. The exposure is enormous, and news of a good set spreads around the festival like word-of-mouth wildfire.
A good outdoor show depends on so much, and the cold, rational part of me has reasons to be doubtful: we have an early slot on the festival’s biggest stage. What if it rains torrentially? What if everyone decides to go watch the wolf juggling instead? What if the generator man is up to his old tricks? But then again, early slots on the main stage are often when a little bit of magic happens. The gospel sessions there have become part of Picnic lore. At that stage in the day, people tend to wander over, take a seat on the grass, and get the day’s first bit of music into their bones. If the sun comes out, it’s the best place in the whole festival.
So we’ll take our chances, hope for good weather, keep an eye on the generator, and trust that a little bit of Electric Picnic magic rubs off on us. And we might even throw in a bit of wolf juggling.
st 3epkano play the main stage at 1.45pm on Saturday. Their new album, Hans the Reluctant Wolf Juggler, will be released in October
