Swn is brilliant. It’s great. If you don’t know what Swn is, you should. And you should be here.

continued...

Swn is a festival in Cardiff that last night (November 14) geared up for the second time after debuting last year with the likes of Bobby Conn, The Cribs, Eugene McGuinness and Gindrinker. That was all a bit of a blur, although I distinctly remember Steve Lamacq playing ‘Hotel Yorba’ during a DJ set and someone asking for his autograph.

Gallops at the Kaz Bar

The bash, curated by Radio 1 don Huw Stephens, bills itself as a kind of Welsh version of SXSW or In The City. Which is kind of wrong.

Firstly, unlike those two events, Swn is not populated by music industry smarms more interested in when they can next send a firerocket up their nostrils than seeing bands.

Secondly, unlike SXSW or ITC, you don’t have to queue like you’re waiting to go on the Nemesis at Alton Towers every time you switch venues (gigs take place all over the city for Swn).

Thirdly, because they’ve got no money, the Swn chiefs, rather than relying on reliably popular hot new acts to get the punters in, instead use their impeccable taste to coop up the best below-the-soil-level new talent.

Hence the first band I saw, at Tommy’s Bar at UWIC, was the delightfully raucous Chapman Family.

Their descent from buttoned-up Ian Curtis-lickers to Fucked Up-esque axe-smashers was one of the most captivating things I’ve seen in yonks.

I especially liked it when the bassist stamped on his guitar, totalling it, then walked off enigmatically with his bandmates as the feedback rubbed into our ears. Then 30 seconds later walked back on, picked up his wrecked instrument forlornly and mouthed “FUCK…” to himself.

I was going to go to The Gate next because I erroneously thought that the former drummer of Jarcrew, Rod, who used to play wearing just his pants and projected videos of him and his bandmates with their schlongs out behind their live shows, was playing a solo set. But it was a different Rod, so I went to Buffalo Bar to see Chew Lips instead.

Good move. The electro-pop trio siphon elements of Crystal Castles, New Young Pony Club and Yeah Yeah Yeahs – with singer Tigs boasting a Karen O—aping yelp that’s only more pleasing considering the absence of any frickin’ new YYY stuff in about a decade.

They need an ‘Ice Cream’, but it was impressive.

The thing about festivals like this is that despite it being so exciting, what with a trillion bands playing each night and all, you only actually get to see about three a day because of timing.

So the last band I saw was Pete And The Pirates. They don’t really look like a band, do they. Which only makes me like them more.

It was rammed, and they played a plethora of new material that sounds even more ear-crinklingly melodic than the stuff on their first album. Excellent.

We ended the night upstairs at Clwb Ifor Bach, where a few of the Pirates were throwing shapes, and two of The Chapman Family were sat in the corner sneering at everyone for dancing to Xtina’s ‘Dirrrrty’ (I can never remember how many Rs there are supposed to be). Then they got up and danced themselves.

Tonight I’ll be camping out at Barfly. We’ve got an NME night with Amazing Baby, Broken Records, The Last Republic and The Muscle Club, then possibly me playing CDs at the wrong speed afterwards. Come and say hi.