“Sanity calms but madness is more interesting” – or – “How I Survived the Yellow Peas”.
Day 1 – THURSDAY – “Best Mind Fuck Yet”.
When the fantastic line up for Ara Deg 2024 was announced a few months ago, I had to hold fire on booking a ticket in case there were summer holiday clashes or other commitments that might get in the way. Eventually there wasn’t, and so, following a pre-arranged Thursday afternoon meeting with a friend in Manchester, I headed off towards the wonders of North Wales and less than two hours after leaving the hustle and bustle of city life I had arrived in the mountain-cradled calon of Bethesda.
The drive never disappoints. Once you have dived down Rhuallt hill and swung past Abergele, the heart leaping views never fail to deliver a sense of wonder. Due to my own lack of organisation I had been struggling to find accommodation, but the wonderful Dilwyn Llwyd (more of whom later) managed to sort something for me and told me to find him when I arrived. He had arranged that I would be in the neighbouring bunkhouse and alone on the Thursday night, but that I might have company the other two nights.
This is important to remember for later.
After unpacking and grabbing a bite from the the Tafarn Tryfan Inn it was already showtime so I ended up catching only the tail end of Group Listening (Stephen Black of Sweet Baboo and Paul Jones a jazz pianist who has worked with the likes of Keith Tippett), but wish I had seen more. Their gentle piano/clarinet ambient sounds sounded like the perfect accompaniment to whatever you may be doing with your day and their choice of artists whose songs they have interpreted is rooted in psychedelia, which grooves with this cat.
Group Listening then were a gentle segue into the banging, blistering set that was to follow courtesy of Das Koolies, who are 4/5ths of the Super Furry Animals. Having seen them a couple of months previously I knew what to expect despite the fact that one of the speakers crashing at Yes, Manchester had softened the experience. No such problems here as the sound is fantastic at Neaudd Ogwen and for such a small village, Bethesda is so lucky to have such a wonderful venue at home. It helps to have such musical luminaries as Dilwyn Llwyd (from the awe inspiring Yucatan – Uwch Gopa’r Mynydd was my album of the year in 2016 and more is being hinted at) and sound engineer John Lawrence (all round legend and former member of the mighty Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci and Infinity Chimps) on hand to ensure it is so. Das Koolies set opened with the banging Best Mindfuck Yet, a brilliant opener with the disconcerting, Lynchian squall melting into a stomping song that saw dance shapes of various descriptions being thrown in a vague approximation of rhythm…almost certainly flavoured by the wares of next door’s Fic pub. The warmth of Police Next Door then bounced off the walls prior to the fantastic Katal being unleashed.
The more familiar you are with the songs the more epic they begin to sound. A Ride and Masters of Mankind levelled things out a little before Dim Byd Mawr and Out of This World began to ratchet things up again with their euphoric coming-up choruses. Music Machine followed and was unfamiliar to these ears so maybe there is more recorded output to come from Cian, Daf, Bunf and Guto, which can only be welcomed. I think there is a problem with the reception Das Koolies have received due to perception. Some see them as the Super Furry Animals minus Gruff, however, listening to them as a new band without SFA preconceptions is the most rewarding way to approach them. They are an entirely different and brilliant appendage to the Super Furry Animals, as is Gruff Rhys‘s solo oeuvre. To hammer home this point, the stomping closing tracks of Pain Down the Drain and The Condemned have echoes of Furrydom but are just fantastic songs in their own right. Neaudd Ogwen was positively pulsing to the beats and it was very much a great party vibe to begin the weekend. Das Koolies are becoming a must watch so, y’know, get ’em watched.
The band was a suitable opening headline act for Ara Deg 2024 and Gruff Rhys a suitable closer because the weekend was dedicated to Emyr Glyn Williams, Ankst maestro and all round beautiful man who through his record label had helped spread the Super Furry Animals sound across Wales before their move to Creation Records and the wider world.
An extended liquid lunch (ahem) had meant that by an hour or so after the gig things had begun to swirl and I was in need of the other RnR, rest and recuperation. It wasn’t far to stumble up to the delightful bunkhouse and the bed was very welcoming.
Day 2 – FRIDAY – “This Can’t Go On”/”I love the smell of Napalm in the morning”.
As is my wont I was up early the next day, and this was where the essence and importance of the location of Ara Deg really kicked in. On the Friday there was nothing on until the evening which allows you to use Bethesda as the perfect base (and it is) from where to explore the majestic country of Cymru. Within very small distances are some of the most dramatic scenic drives you can imagine.
From experience I knew the Oriel Art Gallery on Anglesey does a fine breakfast so I took the 20 minute drive up on to Ynys Mon. I am pleased to report that their reputation remains intact and after scoffing the veggie option I ventured in to the world of Williams because I have always been mesmerised by the art of Kyffin, such is it’s absolute precision in illustrating the harsh beauty of the local environment, like a Siamese twin to the poetry of RS Thomas. I then remembered I had been birthday gifted a signed print by him of an area near Mynydd Bodafon and so with time on my hands decided to seek it out. It wasn’t easy to find but I eventually found the exact location and his knack for creating drama where there is little was aptly illustrated. Having ventured deeper into the island, I decided a trip through to Moelfre and Llugwy were in order. As such I visited the 5,000 year old neolithic burial chamber, the 2,000 year old Lligwy village and then slipped through to Moelfre to devour a seconds old ice cream. Then taking the road through Pentraeth back and up over the suspension bridge, and having picked up essentials (crisps and chocolate – I’m a simple man with simple tastes), I headed back through Bethesda and on to the Tryfan area of the Ogwen Valley for some sensational views behind a blizzard of Seabrooks (Worcester Sauce. Innit.) and Kit Kat wrappers. 5 hours after setting off I was back having seen the following:
And that ladies and gentleman is why in Ara Deg you have one of the greatest festival locations, and when they are putting on artists as wonderful as this weekend, it really is an unmissable event. Arriving back in the Fic pub at about 3.30, I was shooting text messages to a friend I was meeting later whilst being highly amused by the antics going on at a neighbouring table. Sometimes two, sometimes three, sometimes four young lads were positioned there, drinking as if their life depended on it. I had met one of them briefly, thirty minutes earlier, and his smiley bonhomie and welcoming introduction could not quite hide the fact that he was already many sheets to the wind. I got myself a drink and asked the barman Barry if he knew who was supporting tonight’s main event, Bill Ryder Jones. He gestured towards my neighbouring table wearily and said “Them”…and that was how I met Pys Melyn. I recognised the name because a couple of months ago I was in the Night and Day café in Manchester with a friend who I happened to be meeting tonight and who’d asked if I had heard of them. The conversation went:
“Melin Melyn?”
“No Pys Melyn“.
Not Melin Melyn?”
“No Pys Melyn“.
ad nauseum until I finally said “No“.
Well now I had heard of, and had met them, and they were displaying a heroic capacity for absorbing whatever was on offer in the Fic. I thought I should get in touch with my en-route pal and tell him that they were supporting, so I asked them what time they were on. They responded first by looking at each other, then at me, then at each other again and then there was a heated and very serious discussion in Welsh and then;
PM1 – “9.30”.
PM2 – “No that’s not right, Bill Ryder Jones is on then”.
PM3 – “Oh 9 then”.
PM 2 – “No because we have to clear the stage before he comes on…”
PM1 – “Ahh fuckin…We’re not sure to be honest”.
I began to wonder if they might actually make the stage at all. I told my friend just to get here asap and when he arrived we popped out for something to eat and then returned to the spectacle of seeing Pys Melyn still there and still throwing alcohol down themselves at an alarming rate. You could tell they were a tight group of lads because they completed each other’s sentences whilst switching between English and Welsh and they were, noisy, raucous and up for fun, and there was even a hint that they might be a little troublesome if they were to be denied it.
We decided to go into the venue just after 8, thankful that the pub was next door to the venue and therefore they surely couldn’t get lost on the way? Could they?
They ambled onto the stage and by now I knew their names at least. Left side was Ceiri looking like a member of The Byrds and the most together member of the band which naturally for these lads is not together at all. In the middle and standing up from drummer Owain was Jac, sans cowboy hat and Nefyn FC cagoule. He had been the first member I had met, already off his head at 3pm in the afternoon, and on the right was Sion, of serious demeanour but with a fun streak hidden beneath. There is no point saying what instrument each played because they swap them around and all seem to be talented multi instrumentalists, but as a rule Ceiri and Sion are on guitars whilst Jac plays bass with Owain on drums. They all arrived on stage with plenty of pints and continued their all-dayer whilst playing, and play they did! Opening with Dyn Doeth O’r Dwyrain the loose and laidback vibe was indeed Byrds-like whilst the following Cywro is a bouncy jaunt, and the beautiful vocals and lazy strum of Bolmynydd sounds like the sort of thing Brian Wilson might have written had he spent a week on the Llyn Peninsula. It’s beautiful. Pys Melyn tick all the boxes of a great Welsh band following in the footsteps of the Super Furry Animals, Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci and Zabrinski. Mama Leoni and Codi Speed continue in the tradition, the latter sounding like White Album era Beatles. Rowch I Mi Wybodyaeth and Pregethwr Stryd further illustrate just what a tight unit Pys Melyn are. They know each other’s second move (they have been making music with each other since they were 12 years old) and they mooch along together with ease, seamlessly incorporating country tinged rock, straight country, funk, folk, reggae, easy listening, world music and jazz noodling into their youthful back catalogue. Three more unreleased songs Mympwy, Wyt Ti’n Teimlo’n Rhyfedd and No Name in D all paint a lovely and loose psychedelia. The band evidently have a real groove about them, they are evidently talented musicians and they are evidently completely bonkers, but a very bright future beckons if they can stay on track and keep writing the way they do. They are a band that are truly a sum of their parts and it has to be hoped they can stick together and avoid the pitfalls that they look entirely capable of creating for themselves. Soundwise Pys Melyn are difficult to pin down. Indie yes, and in their gloriously anarchic demeanour they had me thinking they could be the Welsh Brian Jonestown Massacre yet Pys Melyn‘s musical palette mainly visits sunnier climes as evidenced in the lovely Defaid and Orenllwydd which has such a pretty guitar line running through it’s core. Given this then, musically they might be the Welsh Grateful Dead and they certainly seem to share the same predilection for experimentation in all areas. At this juncture I heard someone ask how many songs they were doing but I imagine Pys Melyn will do as many as they bloody well like! Two more unreleased songs are aired; Isho Hi O Hyd and Os Ti Ddim Angen Fi Gad Fi Fod before the crowd (they appear to have a sizeable following) requested Hosepipe Ban which was Sion‘s moment to step into the fray and assume main vocal responsibilities, the band having swapped throughout, and over a lounge bossa nova beat he regaled the audience with the effects the hosepipe ban has had on people from forcing them to listen to Wham, Takka going to Japan, someone being on the can, another eating spam and British Gas being the only thing worse than a hosepipe ban. “HOSEPIPE BAN!!”
It is mad; irreverent genius, ramshackle, hilarious and downright cool and then they are off, not before shouting something incendiary from the stage of course, something I didn’t happen to catch but judging from the laughter I wish I had. Pys Melyn were entirely beyond my expectations and I loved everything about them, not sure I’d want to be their parents though. Maybe their vibe is so casual and laidback simply because they know how good they are now, and potentially can be. With bands like them around the future of music Cymraeg is entirely safe which is heartening to see and hear.
And so to Friday night’s headliner, Bill Ryder-Jones, whose first act is to take a selfie with sound engineer John Lawrence and bow in reverence to one of his oft cited influences, Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci. Opening with the bittersweet thrill of If Tomorrow Starts Without Me, his band are slick and professional and very large these days with seven now on stage. The cello and bass work together to bring a lovely gentle pulse to proceedings whilst keyboards, three guitars (including Bill) and drums all strive to, and succeed in bringing his back catalogue to life. I Hold Something in My Hand and Christhina continue to mine from the recent Iechyd Da album, and with that title alone and his burgeoning live collaborations with Gruff Rhys it seemed apt that he is at Ara Deg 2024 tonight. The band’s input makes Anthony and Owen something quite majestic with Liam‘s slide guitar imitating the soar and swoop of the seabirds that inhabit the fringes of many of Bill‘s songs. 2013 is revisited four more times with the drama of Hanging Song and the sheer beauty of A Bad Wind Blows in my Heart Part 2. Wild Swans is a showcase for anyone who may have forgotten just what a great guitarist Bill Ryder-Jones is, and is quickly followed by Wild Roses, the pair often played in tandem lately. The heart-wrenching Daniel brings a calm to the Neuadd Ogwen crowd before Bill gets tropicália on our asses with the sumptuous Samba hints of Its Like This. A Bad Wind Blows In My Heart Pt 3 ( I wonder if he has ever considered doing all three as a suite?) sways sweetly, whilst the bludgeoning opus that it is Nothing To Be Done is something quite epic tonight. This Can’t Go On brings the night to a close and Bill‘s vocals seem to be getting stronger and certainly more yearning as time passes-by, and in tandem with his consistently excellent song writing he is now very much approaching the status of his Welsh heroes.
The Friday night was a real treat, showcasing two widely differing set ups, types of music and characters, and the beautiful thing about music is there’s room for all. I hung around and chatted to my friend who was getting off back to Liverpool that night then decided to go for a pint in the Fic before snuggling down for some much needed sleep. The place was rammed and needless to say Pys Melyn were there trying to drink the bar dry. I was just draining the remnants of my bedtime pint when Dilwyn appeared asking if I had the keys to the bunkhouse and offering to introduce me to my new roomies, one of whom wanted to get into the room.
I followed him down into the back room where he uttered the immortal words; “This is Jac…”.
“Ah we’ve met”, I replied as the realisation that I would be sharing a room with mushroom munching party animals gradually dawned upon me.
“We’ll be fine Dilwyn” Jac replied with a beatific smile, with me nodding less convincingly and now knowing that my final pint was going to be anything but. Sion shot up to the room and as the night moseyed into morning and as the clock hands stood somewhere between 1.30a.m. and 2, I could feel Barry from the Fic shaking my chair vigorously having bellowed last orders some time ago. I complied dutifully and willingly, John Lawrence, for he was with us too, and Jac, less so. Barry took matters into his own hands and placed John‘s bike outside whilst Jac continued to debate the licensing laws with the world-weary bar manager before eventually conceding defeat, but not before asking anyone and everyone if they had alcohol and various other sources of mind altering substances to ensure that the party continued. Having corralled enough to sate his urges we retired to a back alley where Ceiri already was and where we remained until 4am with Sion joining us for a while from the bunkhouse; meaning Sion had the keys, only Sion had come down without the keys, in fact Sion had left the keys in the room and had locked himself, and us, out. This led to frantic phone calls at about 3am to get someone to open the door, after which I took possession of the keys. Throughout this drama Ceiri was blissfully passed out on the floor. However it became apparent during the night that the band’s musical influences and knowledge has real depth. Charlie Rich, Serge Gainsbourg, Andy Williams were all being bandied about (and sung – with harmonies – and in Serge‘s case in perfect French) as well as other brilliantly obscure influences as a bout of metaphorical record collection exchanges took place, and despite the copious amount of mind altering substances they had ingested, they were coherent, polite, funny and sparklingly intelligent. They also adore John Lawrence, for he was still with us too, and he was helpfully using his bike light to illuminate the alley every time the roof lights flickered out whilst keeping us howling with laughter. I finally hit the sack at about 4.30 a,m, and on awaking three hours later discovered prostate bodies of Pys Melyns in the bunkhouse, bathroom and kitchen. It looked like a murder scene. Jac meanwhile had ended up sleeping in their van, a vehicle that, incidentally, contained all of the merch they had forgotten to take to the gig the night before.
Day 3 – SATURDAY – Set Fire to The Stars
I stumbled into Neuadd Ogwen which was hosting breakfast this morning and ordered a fried egg butty. The talk was of the fantastic shows thus far and of Pys Melyn‘s behaviour, mostly with smirks and knowing smiles.
My sandwich arrived with a “There you go Prince” which caused me to do a double take. It is indicative of the Ara Deg vibe that Manon behind the counter, Dilwyn, Barry and all the staff connected with the festival engender the wonderful atmosphere by taking an interest in the visitors and making sure their visit is a special one. I may have detected a hint of pity in their voices, perhaps knowing what last night was likely to have been like for me.
Gruff Rhys was omnipresent all weekend; chatting to visitors, enjoying a pint in the Fic, shopping with his family in the Londis as well as being at most of the other events. By the end of the weekend people are befriending other people and arranging to meet up again the following year. It is without doubt the friendliest festival I have been to. And that’s a great thing! I asked Gruff if he and Dilwyn could be classed as the ‘curators’. He was reticent in including himself under that description and replied that “Dilwyn does all the hard work”. It was 9.35 a.m. when I saw Dilwyn who asked if I had seen John Lawrence. I replied not since about four hours ago. Apparently he was meant to be there at 9.30 to do the sound. “Rock n roll”, I replied laughing. “The sound manager’s not meant to be rock n roll” came the mirrored laughing reply. John turned up five minutes later looking remarkably and unbelievably spritely and so Saturday’s first event could begin on time. Apparently after he left us at 4am, John got on the whisky, went online and bought a very expensive bike…as you do.
The Saturday especially was commemorated to the memory of Emyr Glyn Williams and being the film buff he was (as well as being the Ankst label supremo, he was the cinema co-ordinator at Pontio in Bangor) it was appropriate that a Louise Brooks movie should be soundtracked by Pat Morgan from Emyr‘s favourites and Welsh legends Datblygu in tandem with Alan Holmes, multi instrumentalist from Ankst artist Ectogram. It was wonderful and despite it’s length of 2 hrs 20 minutes the soundtrack was consistently spellbinding enough to ensure bums remained on seats and that a standing ovation was warranted. Incidentally about ten minutes in, I spotted a member of Pys Melyn enter ( my new roomies) accompanied by, you guessed it, a pint.
Two years ago when I came for the day with Emyr there had been a wonderful talk on Welsh album cover art. It seems that Ara Deg focuses on far more than just the music itself to get the creative juices flowing.
There was a bit of a gap in proceedings so Jac, who I had bumped into, frogmarched me to The Bull public house where the rest of the band were, singing and harmonising in full flow, as was the ale. I left them to their carousing briefly, and went to see Peiriant in the Jerusalem Chapel. Their music is lovely, violin and piano driven and their various songs perfectly captured the beautiful countryside we had the fortune to be enjoying currently. Strawberry Guy followed them. Information is sparse on Alexander Morgan Stephens other than he was born in Wales (no specifics) and that following his studies at LIPA, he remained in what many view as the unofficial capital of North Wales. However, one million YouTube streams and an avid fanbase suggests that he is another of this weekend’s acts that could be destined for bigger and better things.
He arrived looking very dapper in shirt jacket and trousers touched off with some precisely painted fingernails from which he elicited some beautiful piano driven ballads of introspection. Highlights were Without You, the faster paced Sun Outside My Window, F Song and the song that brought him to the attention of TikTok and YouTube views, Mrs Magic. His set is testament to the care that is taken in selecting a wide and varied assortment of artists to whet the appetite of all comers to Ara Deg. Strawberry Guy is very softly spoken, charming and a very good songwriter. His trajectory might be like Novo Amor. A friend asked if I wanted to go and see him in Manchester. A brief search showed he was from Aberystwyth so I offered my nationalistic support. No-one I asked prior to going had heard of him, yet New Century Hall was rammed and his set and stage show were wonderful. I have asked people since if they have heard of him and even here, just down the road from Aber, the answer was “No”.
I can see Strawberry Guy following a similar path to success, a kind of secret society of followers before going overground.
Merched Loerig and Flapogram were amalgams of groups and artists that had been on Ankst Records and they served to remind the audience of just how important Ankst was. Age may have sated some of the fury of their original work and performances but nevertheless it was a captivating watch, paving the way for possibly the most recognised and celebrated artist from the Ankst roster, Gruff Rhys.
Arriving on stage with Pat from Datblygu they launched into a beautiful bass laden version of Y Teimlad, Gruff taking on the role sadly vacated by David R Edwards, a hero to both Gruff and Emyr Glyn. Both David and Emyr are big losses to the indie/outsider Welsh music scene but on the evidence of this weekend there is plenty of talent ready to step into their shoes, both amongst those performing and those in the audience. Pat was celebrated widely and on her exit Gruff‘s set began in earnest.
It must be difficult for Gruff to choose his set lists such is the length of his back catalogue these days and indeed two years ago he performed an all Welsh set taken from both his solo work and the Super Furry Animals. Here he began with more recent compositions, hilariously toying with the audience during Bad Friend by deliberately stopping to chat to John Lawrence on the sound or the audience in general before each chorus just as the crowd was ready to launch into it. Taranau Mai was wondrously delivered and indeed this was a more laid back set of songs with a few liveners lined up in-between. Pang saw drummer Kliph Shurlock, almost as much as a focal point as Gruff during gigs these days, jump off his stool to exhort the audience into yelling “Pang!” before Mausoleum of my Former Self and Celestial Candyfloss ably demonstrate that Gruff‘s pop chops remain fully intact. Meanwhile, Silver Lining, Lead Balloons has such a lovely sentiment running through it with the occasional twist and tonight’s version was spot on. Hugging hold of a picture of John Evans he delivers a vulnerable, plaintive but delightful Walk Into The Wilderness from American Interior. His forays into world music have added further dimensions to his melodies over the years but whatever path he travels his songs are always unmistakably Gruff Rhys. A case in point is tonight’s They Sold My Home to Build a Skyscraper reminding us that behind the shiny melodies and sonic excursions overseas there is often a subtle political message, a position he has not wavered from since the days of Ffa Coffi Pawb onwards. The bouncing positivity of Babelsberg‘s Negative Vibes (how similar to the opening lines of Bill Ryder Jones‘s Christinha – you know what they say about people who spend a lot of time together) is delivered with aplomb and the largest crowd of the weekend is enraptured. Sensations in the Dark whips them up further before a splendid singalong with Ni Yw Y Byd, one of the last great Welsh folk songs and one that should be sung alongside the likes of another of Gruff’s musical heroes, Meic Stevens and his Brawd Houdini. In my head I am sure I once saw a sixteen minute version of Gyrru Gyrru Gyrru and despite tonight’s closer being a briefer version, it served to whip the Bethesda crowd up into a frenzy. A plethora of signage then made it clear to the audience that this was the end of the show with a flutter of ‘diwedds’ and ‘diolchs’. Every year Gruff seems to come up with something different and having had the experience of this weekend, I fully intend to be back next year to see what he does. The Pys Melyn lads were out and about after the gig but, I think in a bid to prevent the previous nights shenanigans, the pub closed early (more debates about licensing laws ensued) which meant there was less strong stuff for the boys over at Neuadd Ogwen, not that it really matters to them, they just drank more of it to the accompaniment of Don Leisure and Andy Votel who spun discs into the early hours. Bedtime came at 2am, so was some improvement on the previous night.
The next morning having crept out so as not to wake a seemingly comatose Jac, I was sad to leave. Everything about this place; the setting of the festival, the friendliness of the event, the professionalism, the attention to detail, the short walk from each venue, the people and, even though Pys Melyn left me feeling like I’d done a tour of Vietnam I include them too, everything just conspired to make this my favourite ever festival.
Wonderful World, Beautiful People…indeed.
“Music..,eh?” – Sir Alex Ferguson (allegedly).
All is irie,
Prince Far Out.
