Incendiary do the OFF FESTIVAL:
Baaba play mad jazz. Good mad jazz. Yeah, I know, but you'll just have to trust me that that's not a contradiction in terms. And I'd love to bring you photos of their impressive sax collection and the drummer's astonishing sideburns (you could land a 747 on them) but it seems security is rather tighter in the press compound today; no beers in, and by the time we've downed ours the first three songs have passed and just getting a camera out is greeted by stern head-shakes, although quite how you know with this kind of music is beyond me...
They have precisely none of the po-faced-ness generally associated with experimental jazz, play two- and three-minute bursts of wonderfully Can-esque nonsense, and look like they're loving every second of it. And this time the sun does come out. Properly. A bit about this beer thing though - think of the word "festival" and think, yes, watching live music outside in summer with a pint in a paper cup disintegrating in your hand. Not here. Be it the VIP area or the regular punters' bar (where the beer is actually cheaper, if rather fizzier) there are security on the gate and you may not leave with drink about your person. This might well be normal for
There are yet more unusually large saxophones over on stage 2, along with a melodica, pennywhistle, accordion and French horn, courtesy of the quite bonkers looking Czeslaw Spiewa, who does a distinctly left-field take on traditional Eastern European folk. Much more haunting and atmospheric than that which normally escapes westwards, it's rapturously received by the flag-waving crowd at the front - and a delighted toddler near us at the back, who's driving his parents round the twist by adopting muddy twigs faster than they can confiscate them.

Right, time to check out the Experimental stage, which given some of what we've heard today could well mean just about anything. And appears to be situated in... a fire engine museum. But of course... "What would broken beat, new jazz or avant pop sound, if it was created behind the Iron Curtain in the 70s and 80s?" says the guide book. Frankly we dread to think, but we're intrigued.
"The musicians from a group Plazmatikon are looking for an answer to this question. They use the original East German Vermona beat machines together with the legendary Soviet Elektronika and Polish Unitra keyboard instruments...." and yeah, it's jazz. Fuck me, they do like their jazz here. But those old keyboards have a glorious sound to them, the sound of the earliest days of machine-tuned music. Then suddenly they ditch the jazz and turn into some insane hybrid of Kraftwerk and early 808 State playing something that sounds like The Whip's Divebomb if it had been recorded in 1974 on spares from the Soviet space programme. From thereon in we get a wonderful journey through primitive electronica, stuff that's got the beats and the tunes of nascent acid house. With a bit of jazz, yeah, but what was

Unfortunately towards the end of their set we are summarily ejected from the hall due to one of our party being caught with a can of lager. Back over in the tent, Icelandic visitors Singapore Sling are doing BRMC doing JAMC pretty well, but we have places to be...
Piotr Stelmach, presenter of the Offensywa radio show, is renowned across the country for his exemplary taste and musical knowledge; a local fan describing him as "the John Peel of
The crowd stretches back as far as we can see.


The rest of the evening is, in the manner in which you dear reader have probably by now come to expect from Incendiary's forays into festival reportage (we've just had a phone call from the Haldern contingent which made precisely no sense at all), mostly about drinking. British Sea Power's roadie invites us to the upstairs after-show, before discovering that whilst our blue VIP wristbands grant us access anyway his yellow artist's one doesn't and we have to go and find their manager to issue him with a blue one; the strictness of this bizarre level of bureaucracy has us laughing our heads off. Although not quite as much as the discovery that the drinks at the after-show are free with the compliments of one of the festival's sponsors. Eventually we reach the point where we physically can't fit any more beer in and take one last cheeky VIP liberty by asking the receptionist to call us a taxi, only to discover when it arrives that we're a man down. He'd gone for one last sausage.
As a teenager in the 80s, your correspondent had a pen-pal in
Fast forward two decades and back home in Manchester following an international journey arranged with a few clicks of a mouse, writing for a magazine in Holland which can be read instantly across the world, I'm sticking in the Myspace links and thinking about how Rotofobia and Broadway Taxi are not even old enough to remember a time when Polish music only made it to the West in battered cardboard packages adorned with stamps depicting spaceships. Click through to Piotr's Offensywa page to see what other musical delights his country might have to offer - and there, in his Top Friends panel, middle-aged and balding but still dressed head-to-foot in post-punk black, are Republika. In their 27 year career they've seen more New Situations than their angry young selves could ever have imagined. And in 2008
Words and Pictures: Cath Aubergine.
To go back to part one, click here.
http://www.myspace.com/trojkaoffensywa
http://www.myspace.com/ofmontreal
http://www.myspace.com/clinicvoot
http://www.myspace.com/dick4dick
http://www.myspace.com/heyechosystem
http://www.myspace.com/broadwaytaxi
http://www.myspace.com/rotofobia
http://www.myspace.com/poiserite
http://www.myspace.com/rentonrox
http://www.myspace.com/baabapoopemusique
http://www.myspace.com/plazmatikondzwieksystem
http://www.myspace.com/singaporesling
http://www.myspace.com/britishseapower