It's a walk in the Park

Published on Tuesday 14 July 2009 19:02

BARRING one year off for good behaviour, I have attended every T In The Park since records began (1994, actually – the year of Oasis, Pulp and the Manic Street Preachers).

In that time, I've seen many memorable performances on the Main Stage, from The Prodigy (they took my brain to another dimension) to Beck (covered the stage in crime scene tape) to The Flaming Lips (dancers in animal costumes – 'nuff said), and this year's outstanding closing set by Blur.

I have also witnessed any amount of interminable guff and bluster from eminently forgettable acts, so am well aware that, despite appearances to the contrary, you do actually have to deliver the goods in order to get the best from a field full of drunken, partying Scots.

What I had never done, until this year's festival, is experience the view from the other side, the one where you walk behind the scenes, along a ramp, up some stairs, under a tarpaulin, past stacks of flight cases, under a humungous lighting rig and emerge blinking onto the Main Stage.

For the last three-and-a-bit years, I have been a member of The Parsonage, a 40-strong Glasgow-based alternative choir, named after the godfather of country rock, Gram Parsons. We have already sung at a number of Scottish festivals, including Connect, Indian Summer, Big In Falkirk and the Belladrum Tartan Heart festival. This year, we have been invited to sing at the daddy of them all. And so I, along with 34 other Parsonagers, am about to pop my T In The Park performing cherry, by opening the Main Stage on Sunday. No pressure whatsoever then.

As I am also reviewing the festival for The Scotsman, I arrive on site as the first note of the first acts is struck on Friday evening. Over the course of the next day and a half, I scrutinise a bunch of Main Stage acts for tips. Franz Ferdinand are the essence of cool confidence. Noted. The Specials pogo-like men half their age. Could play havoc with voice control. Lady Gaga splays her legs and wears skimpy outfits. Hmmmmm…

On Saturday, the choir perform a couple of low-key sets in the Healthy T zone of the site. The audience respond the instant they recognise a song, but appear less taken with our more esoteric choices. Also noted.

Following a fairly subdued night, we are all up bright and early on Sunday. Or early, at any rate. We are due onstage at 11:55am and have a strict 20 minutes in which to make our mark on T In The Park, so we need to make a prompt start on warming up our croaky voices. We break into a spontaneous rendition of Olivia Newton John's Physical and bust some moves from the video. Now we're ready to take on whatever T throws at us (as long as it's not a pint of piss).

Just over an hour before our slot, our choirmistress Janis is still tweaking the setlist. I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry – which, by common choir consent, is felt to be our best song – has long been jettisoned for being too long and too melancholy. Parsonage material is generally not much of a party – being primarily a country choir, we tend to favour depressing songs about death, divorce and wallowing in a slough of despond. But we do have a handful of chirpier numbers which the audience are sure to know. Our two Johnny Cash songs – Ring Of Fire and Walk The Line – are shoo-ins. So are our two rock covers – Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart and Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit.

The weather is the dullest it has been all weekend, and it has just started raining. Not a good sign. My visions of singing to a captive audience who have converged in the main arena to flake out in the sunshine and nurse their hangovers are rapidly waning. Who would turn out before noon to see a choir they've never heard of, with the added incentive of standing in the drizzle?

A fair number of hardy troupers as it happens. It may not be the multitudes who showed up for Kings of Leon and The Killers, but it is still one of the biggest crowds we have ever performed for.

As usual before a gig, I'm feeling pretty calm, with the odd flutter of excitement. I have never considered myself to be one of those music journos who are just frustrated musicians, but I have to admit that performing in front of a receptive audience as part of such a committed, united group of singers is a blast from first to last. And this is a bigger blast than most. Balado, are you ready to choir?

First up: Ring Of Fire. There are cheers from the crowd as they recognise the lyrics instantly. Next, the newest addition to our set – an a cappella, three-part harmony arrangement of Neil Young's After The Goldrush. Our soloist Lorraine's voice rings out beautifully over the arena. Lady Gaga? Lady Schmaga. Hey Good Lookin', our jazzy Hank Williams number, zips by in no time, swiftly followed by the rest of our set. Before I know it, we are holding that monumental last note at the end of White Rabbit.

I've taken a camera onstage with me and, naff though it may be, cannot resist recording the moment with a snapshot of the crowd, which has swollen in size over the course of our set.

They look cheerful and uplifted; I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy. T In The Park – you're the best and we love you all.