Day One
Niceness is a quality which I've always valued highly, however it's not always in abundant supply when it comes to live shows. Nice isn't cool, it doesn't get you through the crowd to the front row and it certainly doesn't tally well with the traditional ethos of sex, drugs & rock 'n' roll.

Truckfest however is undeniably nice, from the reasonably priced tickets and the emphasis on promoting local talent, to the genuinely good-natured atmosphere and the village vicar running the ice cream stall. Truck is a veritable field-full of pleasantry.

And a jolly good thing too, as I was about to find out.

My first experience of the contagious congeniality at my fourth Truck took place even before I arrived at the site. Trundling along the cobbled pathways of the picturesque village of Steventon with my heavy bags, I heard a shouting from a little way up the road. Not quite being able to make out what was being said, I doubled my pace to find that I was being offered a lift - and a few minutes later having squeezed my luggage into an already heavily laden car, I was off, in the charming company of Claire and Cathy (cheers girls!)

It wasn't long before we arrived at the site and, supplied with wristbands (nice cotton ones - none of that unpleasant plastic rubbish that you usually get), headed our separate ways to construct our tents. At least, that was the plan.

At this point I should probably take you back a few days to Thursday, when I was given final confirmation that my press pass had been organised. "I'll need a tent" I thought, and so arranged to borrow one. A green bag full of poles and whatnot was duly delivered, and being a bloke, I thought "I'll work out how to put it together when I get there, how hard can it be?" And pootled off on my merry way.

On arrival, I unpacked the bag and was surprised by how few poles there were, and the absence of pegs, groundsheets and other such traditional camping paraphernalia, however undeterred I went about constructing the pieces that I had at my disposal. It all seemed remarkably easy, that bit fold out like that, this does in there, wiggle that a bit to make sure it's on properly; and soon it was done. I took a step back and admired my handiwork. It was a camp bed. shit.

Fortunately for me, this was Truck rather than Reading and I was surrounded by nice, helpful people, who inbetween attempting to stifle their giggling were more than happy to offer their help with my predicament. Huge thanks to everyone who offered to put me up, especially to Joel (go and check out his band Akira - they were ace even before he lent me his tent). The shelter proved extremely timely, as not long after the camp bed was packed away and stored under cover, Truck was hit by a rainstorm of almost biblical proportions.

I had just enough time to catch a snippet of The Madeleines' catchy, if ultimately forgettable indie pop tunes before the deluge hit and I made my way to the nearest available shelter and a chat with Truck legend Chris T-T (the results of which can be seen here).

Eventually, having changed into my hiking boots and parachute-like waterproof I decided to brave the elements to watch the highly regarded Good Books (not to be confused with Good Shoes, more of whom later). Sadly, their nondescript sound wasn't worth the soaking, so I made my way to the Barn in search of shelter once more.

Having perused an exhibition of local artists' work (much of which I must say went straight over my head), I wandered into the adjacent stage to catch the tail-end of Mesaplex's set of foreboding electronica, and which I'd done so earlier. Not to worry though, as coming up were one of the first bands on my list to see (having of course gone through my stage planner with a highlighter as soon as I'd arrived) - The Half Rabbits, whose bombastic quiet/loud tunes fitted the atmosphere perfectly. Frontman Michael Weatherburn belts out his lyrics and twists his guitar into intriguing shapes, barely visible behind the plumes of dry ice that are belching from a hyperactive smoke machine.

Sadly at that point I had to move on, as the curse of the clashing schedule had ex-Black Nielson frontman Mike Gale performing a solo set in the Lounge Tent as Co-Pilgrim at the same time. I arrive in time to catch the second half of his set, and enjoy his tranquil acoustic sound, bolstered today with the inclusion of a track from his old band's back catalogue. I grabbed a quick interview with Mike in the carpark (avoiding the rain which was still hammering down), which you can read here.

By the time we'd finished, the rain was starting to subside a little, but the ground had become a muddy quagmire, particularly on the path that links the campsite with the stages. So I decided to head for the Lounge Tent, where The Neutrinos were kicking up an enjoyably punky strop onstage. Eventually though the sun made its first appearance of the day, and hundreds of Truckers emerged blinking from beneath sodden canvas and headed for the main stage to see Truck stalwarts Brakes put in the best performance I've seen from them, finally proving that they are more than the sum of their parts - for which read 1 part British Sea Power, 2 parts Electric Soft Parade + 1 bassist of unknown origin (to me at least). They manage to keep a lid on their tendency to play 45 second bursts of silly voices and loud guitars, and instead play a set of urgent lo-fi sprinkled with surprises and obscure cover versions (Camper Van Beethoven anybody?)

With the sun now full in the sky it almost seemed a shame to head back indoors, but needs must, as the second of the new Black Nielson projects was due in the Lounge Tent, in the form of guitarist Will's Brother Francisco. Unlike Co-Pilgrim, they take a very different approach from Black Nielson, more guitar heavy with a grungier sound akin to a toned down Dinosaur Jr.

After a quick snack on one of the festival's divine pasta salads, it was off to the Trailer Park tent for London new wave popsters Good Shoes, who proceed to pleasure us with their angular Futureheads meet Spoon guitar jangles. And after that comes one of the festival's highlights. No, scrub that - the highlight of the festival - Mr Chris T-T. Chris is playing his solo acoustic set today, which works well in the cosy (if slightly orange) environs of the Market Stage. The atmosphere is hushed, almost reverent to begin with, but once he gets going with tracks like 'Giraffes #1' things soon get livelier, and it's not long before everyone's singing along. Much of today's set is taken from Chris' recent '9 Red Songs' album, and these are particularly well received, which obviously means a lot to him, but there's no place today for the more lighthearted likes of 'Drink Beer', 'Cull' or 'Eminem is Gay' today, though at the time I was so wrapped up in the music, that I didn't even notice. Chris T-T has become a permanent fixture and Truck, and if he can continue to produce sets of this quality, long may it continue.

Nothing was going to match that for atmosphere, poignancy, charm and wit, so it's probably a good thing that the next band that I see aim their music in a distinctly opposite direction. Last year, iForward Russia! closed the Trailer Park stage with an explosive set that made up in energy what it lacked in variety. Today, following the chart straddling success of 'Twelve', they've been upgraded to the main stage and set about making it their own, sending the crowd into spasms with the sheer ferocity of their guitar onslaught. They've learned a few tricks since last year too, and their set shows a far defter touch - the odd change of pace, and switching of volume, particularly noticeable on the slowbuilding 'Sixteen' which features drummer Katie sharing vocals with the seemingly epileptic frontman Tom, who has spent much of their time on stage twitching manically and entangling himself in his microphone lead. Today iForward Russia! are a class apart from last year's ragged adrenaline rush, and they finish their set with a serrated burst of sculpted noise, featuring an invasion of extra drummers, who smash Katie's cymbals into submission, while a lone trumpeter attempts to bring cohesion to the tumultuous storm that is building around him.

And that, for today, is about that - just enough time to catch the end of Anat Ben David's set, which she finishes wearing little more than a couple of scraps of masking tape, and the closing act of ex-Popworld presenter Simon Amstell's scathing stand up routine, before heading back to the main stage for headline act The Futureheads, who to be honest I wasn't particularly looking forward to seeing, having twice been disappointed by their live shows in the past. Today though I got a pleasant surprise - the singles were given a good run through, and despite the rest of the set comprising mostly of indistinct filler, there were enough decent pop tunes to keep us entertained. The highlight of their set, perhaps unsurprisingly, came with their cover of 'Hounds of Love', featuring full audience participation. I 'Uh-ah Oh-Oh-Ohed' along with the rest and then, having searched unsuccessfully for the promised indie disco, had a quick boogie by the fantastic disco shed in the market field, before heading back to the tent tired but happy.

Day Two
Awoken at silly o'clock in the morning by a neighbouring tent's acoustic renditions of what seemed like Gomez's entire back-catalogue, I was up and running again and thankful for the few inches of canvas and plastic that had separated me from what would otherwise have been a cold, damp and thoroughly unpleasant night.

Truck Sunday gets off to an early start, with the first band on before 10:30, though somehow the though of watching a band called Skulltrash at that time in the morning while still half asleep didn't particularly appeal. So after grabbing a quick breakfast, it was off to the Trailer Park Tent for the thoroughly peculiar sight of what appeared to be a collection of rejects from the earlier series of Dr Who dancing to waves of synth pop. This, it turned out, was The Keyboard Choir, and thoroughly enjoyable they were too (though I doubt I would have noticed them without the cardboard & tin foil robots).

Off to a good start then, I headed to the Lounge Tent for epic post-rockers The Early Years, whose gargantuan Spiritualised-esque sound certainly blew away any remaining cobwebs, though I'm not convinced that a small tent in the middle of the morning was the best environment in which to enjoy their slow building rock outs. I'd been convinced yesterday by an enthusiastic fan that I just had to see Poptones signings The Dodgems, so I headed over to check them out. I soon regretted it - bands like this are ten a penny at the moment, and they did nothing to distinguish themselves from the crop of well groomed boys playing retro guitar pop.

I had just enough time to catch the start of Chris McMath's set on the main stage before heading once more to the Trailer Park stage for the hairspray and confetti rock & roll attack of The Priscillas. I'm glad that I made the effort - their three minute bursts of infectious garage rock and their effervescent stage presence soon has the whole tent dancing. We head off for a quick interview (which you can read here), and almost stumble into the BBC collective studio, who were busy interviewing the Mystery Jets at the time - you can watch some interviews & Truck highlights on their website.

By the time we're done, I've missed The Race, who I was keen to check out, so it's over to the Lounge Tent for the sparkly Shangri-Las meets casio keyboards pop of Shimura Curves. I'm slightly apprehensive about reviewing them, as they count amongst their number some of my favourite music writers - suffice to say they're ace and you should go and see them at the next available opportunity.

Next, I headed over to the Market Stage, for two acts that have come to epitomise Truck over the years, and yet again provided some of the highlights of this year's festival. First up, mad inventor Thomas Truax and his menagerie of home-made instruments, including the Hornicator (an ear horn with a variety of microphones and looping electronics), Sister Spinster (a percussive contraption of wheels and spokes) and the Back Beater (which straps to his back and provides a beat, obviously). Thomas then proceeds to put his invented bandmates to good use, spewing out songs that are at turns creepy and jocular, and mostly about his life in Wowtown, which was apparently airlifted out of the USA following some form of disagreement with the federal government, and deposited in the sea. He appears to be quite, quite barking and all the better for it.

Next comes the delightful Piney Gir Country Roadshow, who continue where they left off last year with a beautiful, charming set of charming country and western tinged pop songs. I'm not generally speaking a fan of country music, alt. or otherwise (and this is certainly otherwise), but Piney has the combination of charisma, wit and crucially tunes to throw off my musical preconceptions and enjoy a good old fashioned hoe-down, I even attempted (with limited success it must be said) to join in with the line-dancing which was enthusiastically demonstrated by a bunch of volunteers who'd been trained up in the performance tent earlier.

I'm on a roll now, four great bands in a row have staved off the tiredness that was starting to seep in, and I'm off to the Barn for what I'm sure will be the undoubted highlight of the festival - a band that have meant a great deal to me personally over the years, and without whom I may not even have started making music websites, the inspirational Chicks on Speed. They spend what seems like an age to set up their equipment, and appear to be dressed as a mutant combination of sailors, clowns and dalmatians, but that's ok - the outlandish DIY stage outfits have always been part of their charm. Then they announce that due to two of the band have been struck down with a mystery virus, so we just get Melissa Logan & Anat Ben David. Still, I'm sure they'll put on a great show regardless. Then the music starts, and the singing starts, and the room starts to empty. Today, Chicks on Speed are awful, their set represents all of the pitfalls of 'artistic collectives' that they've always managed to avoid. It's a disappointing blow, which brings the tiredness flooding back. I head back to the field and have a couple of pineapple slices to cheer myself up.

Fortunately, things don't take long to pick up again, and I'm in the Trailer Park tent watching The Research carve lush nuggets of pure pop from their casio keyboards. The three part harmonies are heavenly, and there's a real charm to Russell's vocals. It's a great way to wind down as the festival draws ever nearer to a close.

Speaking of which, I need to start thinking about how I'm going to get home! In previous years, there's been a regular(ish) bus service laid on to get Truckers from Steventon to the nearest train station in Didcot, but for some reason this year we're being left to rely on public transport - that's one bus every two hours! Thankfully the delightful Claire once again stepped into the breach & gave me a lift, for which I can't say thankyou enough.

There's just enough time to catch snippets of The Young Knives' bouncy indie pop, The Organ's understated Electrelane-ish dark guitars and Mystery Jets' off-kilter music hall mash-up before saying a fond farewell to Truck. See you again in 2007.

Review & Photography by Paul Madden