The Lonely Planet guide to Spain introduces Castellón with the words:

“The outskirts of Castellón are drab, industrial and rambling, so the centre comes as a pleasant surprise to the few tourists who penetrate.”

Being one of those few tourists I can confirm it certainly is pleasant but that is about the strongest adjective you could use to describe the town. Castellon appears quintessential ‘Middle Spain’ — largely unoffensive and uninteresting. The wide pedestrianised streets are of a kind of which any town in England or Australia or any other Western country would be proud yet they are filled with exactly the same shop fronts found in any of those places — be they multinationals or the Spanish version of high street stores. Perhaps this is best summed up by the elegant guide to the city we found in our hotel room (adventurously titled ‘Vive Enjoy Castellón’) which, at the conclusion of its chapter on the incredible gastronomy the city has to offer, informs us that

“For fans of American food the range of restaurants in the city includes the possibility of enjoying a hamburger in any of of the large chain restaurants… (including) two McDonald’s.”

And yet, peeling away the onion another few layers beyond that described in the Lonely Planet, at least for a couple days in November one finds what must be one of the most remarkable music festivals I have come across anywhere in the world.

The opening night is a sumptuous appertiser of what is to come. Apparently advertised with little more than a poster at the entry to the ‘Centro Municipal de Cultural’ and with entry for free, it nonetheless presents two world class artists. The first who I know nothing of beforehand is Half Asleep. Walking in ten minutes into her set, by the time I find my seat I am already blown away. Her voice is immediately reminiscent of Nico’s with the same deep haunting tone (indeed she later covers one of Nico’s tracks) and her intricate and delicate piano playing provides the perfect accompaniment. However it is her final track which provides the highlight. Swapping her piano for an electric guitar, she plays a song not dissimilar in its beauty and fragility from those which have proceeded it until, reaching its end, she lays down a pretty loop of harmonics on her guitar. Over this sparse background she then sings a wordless tune. By the wonders of moddern technology she is then joined by singer after singer (all her), filling out the glorious choir of which she is the sole member.

The quality of the music is undoubtably enhanced by the wonderful surrounds in which it is played. Holding no more than 100 people, the room is an expansive auditorium clearly more used to staging classical performances. Outside is a simple courtyard in which people sit, chat and smoke between sets. At no point is there any sign of anyone in charge — no bouncer, ticket collector, bar staff, organiser, manager or sound guy. There are no introductions and no annoucements that the next act is about to begin. It seems that the audience’s presence is incidental to the whole event.

It is an impression not diminished when Third Eye Foundation hits the stage. In the course of his set, not once will he look up at the audience or pause to allow them to applaude. Indeed the fact that he is onstage at all comes as something of a surprise.

Many years ago I must have come across the name TEF in enough music reviews to make me decide to check him out. I found one of his albums (I’d actually always assumed it was a group rather than an individual) — You Guys Kill me, which blew me away. It was unlike anything I had heard before with its industrial electronic intensity contrasted with an almost classical feel in its overarching melody and repetative structure. But as of 2001, TEF stopped releasing new material and there I assumed went another great band I would never see live.

The unexpected reacquaintance was everything for which I could have hoped. He too played perfectly in the environs but whereas Half Asleep’s fragility complemented the building’s age, TEF’s industrial tones jarred with it just as his music always had in my head when listening to it at home. His unique mix of drum and bass, folk, classical, hip-hop and genres wide and varied of which I don’t know the name was at once danceable, cinematic and slightly uncomfortable. His final piece was a crackling looped piano sample. As it faded away, he skulled of stage to raptuous applause, doing his best to ensure eye contact was never made. As the lights came up, night one of the Tanned Tin music festival came to a close. I could only dream that the 39 acts to follow in the coming four days, hidden away here in drab, industrial Castellón could come anywhere matching the splendour of opening night.

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This entry was posted by the illustrious Andrew Coulthurst on Friday, November 2nd, 2007. It concerns such pressing issues as spain, travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.