Back in 2007 it seemed just like another festival …
… but it wasn’t. And here we were in 2026 marking the 19th Maverick. N-n-n-n-nineteenth.
Plunger again found themselves ‘in country’ in all senses at Easton Farm Park in Suffolk, The sticky, humid air already thick with the crack of snare and the rumble of bass, the smell of smoke from the food concessions and the chatter of exotic accents as we bundled out of Sally’s transport rattling with weight of our kit (70mm, pen, notepad, spare notepad, back up pens, 100 Marlboro) and scuttled for the cover of the ticket hall. [Thank you Michael Herr, that’s quite enough ‘Nam references, Ed.]
Welcoming us back like an old friend was the recently ubiquitous Chris Murphy playing a boisterous, loop-assisted fiddlemungous opening set at the Peacock, from the witty crowd-participation-drawing joshery of I Never Learned To Drive, to the misty atmospheric opening of the ceilidhtastic reel of Connemara Ponies. A particular highlight was the hypnotic Clean Break, from his brand new Seth Lakeman-produced album Songs From The Trees: an almost Tangerine Dream-like looped wall of sound backing Nik Turneresque fiddle lead topped with Chris’ Mephistophelean vocal (also deployed in his exhortation of “God save the souls of those who don’t buy my new CD!”). Chris would pop up across the weekend to add a splash of fiddle magic to a wide variety of acts.
Very much new to us was Stacy Antonel [pictured above], a fiery redhead who followed Chris at the Peacock. Possessed of a stunning voice that has the right mix of power, twang and vinegar & honey for proper shit-kicking roadhouse country music like the rattling 6 Weeks In Nashville, and the rollicking Swinging Doors. The bouncy backwoods lilt of Always The Outsider showed a gentler, more wistful side as did Planetary Heartache, a classic tears-on-my-EVA-suit doomed alien/earthwoman relationship ballad that was pure Crystal Gayle Radio2 easy-listening gold, but with jaw-dropping vocal aerobatics. Playful covers (but delivered with conviction) included a surf-rock canter through Stand By Your Man and an impressive coloratura Misty. There was scat, there was humour, there were closing “A-ha”s, what more could you want? Definitely the top discovery of the festival for Plunger.
Probably the most confusing band of the weekend, Electric Blue Yonder [pictured below] made the first of three appearances, at the Barn early Friday evening. Arriving solo from the Peacock after they’d started I was taken with their blend of Marshall Tucker Bandish southern Americana and hazy Haight-Ashburiana, with loose limbed Dead-style shambling beats, Garcia-like discursive guitar and out of left field male/female dual-lead/harmony vocals. Chris Murphy joined to add noodling fiddle to the autobiographic Space Folk Explorer, while the brisk psychedelia of Rising Tides featured building moody bass and drums à la The Doors and harmonised guitar lines. It was just as I was telling Plunger#2 (returning from getting something to eat) how good they were that the set took a sudden turn into almost rockabilly tub-thumping territory and stayed there. So we left.
But we returned for Carter Sampson and her band (who turned out to be most of the yet-to-appear Steady Habits!) The Oklahoman songstress had bags of frontier oomph and sass, in the stately imposing Queen Of Oklahoma, a ballsy, defiant Gold and the breezier Wilder Side; and not a little menace as in a corking verging-on-Skynyrd rocker Ten Penny Nail. We only caught the briefest snatch of Campbell and Johnston [pictured below], but what snatch: the male/female acoustic duo did a fine rendition of the Allman Brother’s classic Whipping Post, impressing both on the vocal front and the dextrous solos each turned out.
Steady Habits [pictured below] appeared in their entirety for their own set, drawn mostly from their debut album Deviate. It struck Plunger as ironic that despite their frontman Sean C Duggan being a native New Englander, the bands brand of Americana has a gently English filter, as though it’s come via the hands of Squeeze or similar: still fine work, in the wistful urgency of Archer Street, the Youngian heft and fragile harmonies of Garden State and the driving snare-led jangle of Mess Of It All. Sean’s voice is high, clear and direct, with a hint of Don Mclean to it, and he provided some Dylany bursts of harp ornamentation too. Sadly this was Joe Coombs last show with the band, big shoes for someone to fill!
Five-piece Rose’s Pawn Shop reminded Plunger a little of Greensky Bluegrass, visually, and indeed in some of their slower waltzes, with fine playing and great harmonies, but there was a little too much of the tub-thumping, good-time, rockabilly beat present in a great many of their tune for our tastes, but they certainly got the crowd moving. The Barn headliner on Friday was Jerry Joseph: not solo as the last time we saw him, but in the form of a three-piece under the moniker Jerry Joseph & the Jackmormons, but as with his previous visit there was plenty of aggression (and a great deal of volume!) in a thrashy, garage punk set. Now, Plunger are quite partial to a Neil Young & Crazy Horse-Weld-style lengthy feedback-drenched aural assault if done with a bit of swagger and groove, but this really was the punk version of ‘angry man shouts at cloud’: no restraint, tense-and-release, ebb-and-flow, or any of that kind of malarkey. The Youngian on-the-ragged-edge solos lacked the space and variety of Neil’s until they just became, well, ragged. And LOUD, so loud we reckon an amp blew. And so, dear reader, did we.
Jerry Hannan kicked off Saturday at the Barn with an acoustic set filled with lyrical wit and observation: tackling addiction, man’s rape of the planet, and the need to free your children from your own expectations. Plunger particularly liked the stark The Luxury Of Murder, a savage indictment of our, often hypocritical, addiction to cheap, readily available fuel. No lyric delivered that weekend hit quite as hard as “99 families in a shelter in Iraq… someone’s making barbecue baby back…all murdered” delivered in a relaxed, sunny, if sardonic, way. Less shocking (but striking a very personal chord) was the great line that “You can’t smoke' in Heaven… and you can’t drink outside”.
Saturday is The Green Stage day, which in past years has seen some killer acts delivering proper outdoor festival anthems in scorching sun (or indeed torrential rain, who can forget Massy Ferguson’s 2019 set?) but this year’s offerings (for Plunger’s tastes) were a bit of a curate’s egg. Autumn Saints opened proceedings with a very loud, punchy, post-punk influenced set: with the bass very much to the fore (no surprise, the bassist is the bandleader) belligerent vocals and (mostly) basic arrangements they brought to mind English late 70s acts like The Stranglers (the cheesy Farfisa-y organ tones helped) or The Clash, particularly the I Fought The Law-vibe of Josephine and I Am The Gadfly’s moody Rock The Casbah-meets-Miss You groove. Pick of the bunch was a (we think) new song called (we think) Ghost On The Wire, a little less urgent with some fine pedal-steel and a relaxed chorus.
Less time on The Green means more time at other stages, so we hit the Barn in time for some of AD Scruffs' nice mix of Laurel Canyon and Old Timey set. The trio, using the old bluegrass style of upright bass, acoustic and banjo (occasionally mandolin) gathered round the one mic, with tight sweet harmonies put Plunger in mind of Goat Roper Rodeo Band minus the helium-induced high notes.
Roswell Road [pictured above] were the main reason we’d moved up to the Barn. We heard the very last song of their set last year which piqued our interest, and were very impressed with their debut album Rebel Joy so we looked forward to a full set. The duo’s renditions of the album tracks were naturally stripped back, with only a stomp box to augment acoustic guitar and fiddle, but just as memorable: the poppy pulse of Holy Mountain, the stomp-led punch of Weirdo At The Party and the major-earworm shanty Bolder highlighted the quirky folky melodies and exquisite harmonies, while Postcards (“probably the most ‘country’ song we do!”) featured lyrical fiddle playing. A cover of The Cranberries’ Dreams preceded a very Crosbyish End Of The Line, and (the track we heard last year) the closing Can’t Take My Soul, a stirring anti-commercialism anthem with crowd participation chant and more than a hint of Fleetwood Mac's The Chain!
An unscheduled line-up change saw Hillfolk Noir [pictured above] on next at the Barn: long-time favourites of Plunger ever since we saw them back in 2012. Lacking their occasional third member on bass (or percussion) Travis and Alison Ward delivered an enthralling echt set, reeking of dirt floors, rickety back porches, floursack dresses and grinding poverty overcome by the power of music. Their brand of Americana, self-christened ‘junkerdash’, shares a lot with hill country music: spare, hypnotic, and strangely spellbinding, but with the added bonus of homespun harmony vocals that gives it the edge over its near-relative. Stand-outs for Plunger were opener Train Comes Along with their trademark ‘slack’ guitar and washboard beat; the mesmeric combination of Hey Old Man (for Travis’ upcoming 55th the following day) segueing into a rattling Billy Got Popped; the lighter cakewalk bounce of Northbound; and the unaccountably cheerful Drug Bust!
The unexpected appearance of Hillfolk Noir screwed our moderately carefully-laid itinerary royally, so that we almost missed all of Simon Stanley Ward & The Shadows Of Doubt [pictured below] down at the Green. Simon is the unchallenged master of the “You never thought you’d hear a song about this” school of lyric writing par excellence, as evidenced by those songs we did manage to catch at the tail-end of his set: a rollicking 50s rock’n’roll romp Big Foot Baby (about Sasquatch obvs), and How Does It Feel - a song written by a human as though from AI’s perspective (since there’s so much of the opposite around now!) Simon and the super-tight band with him rendered these in dead earnest, musically, with considerable polish and aplomb and no nod-and-a-wink tongue-in-cheek drollery. Which was matched perfectly in the closing Monster Song, which despite referencing Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was a truly heartfelt, slow country excoriating examination of one’s own failings.
Dreaming Spires [pictured below] are another act we’d only encountered recently on record (last year’s Normal Town) but their Green stage set included tracks from their previous two releases as well. They showed equal flair whether playing driving Pettyesque West Coast rockers like 21st Century Light Industrial Park and Dusty In Memphis, or urgent chiming indie anthems as in Strength Of Strings. There were 60s flavours evident in the snare-led poppy vibe of Everything All The Time and the punchy 60s psychedelia of Paisley Overground, and the trippiness extended to the slightly hallucinatory, slow waltz of We Used To Have Parties, while Normalisation called to mind the majestic grandeur of Baba O’Riley! Normal Town exemplified the particularly English slant the band bring to the genre: a Springsteen-y paean/elegy for small town living, the fragile Wyattesque vocal, building tension, and increasingly urgent beat created a palpable sense of growing desperation that Bruce and his ilk probably couldn’t match!
Drifting away from the next offering on the Green brought us to Lawrence Kingston back at the Barn, with one of the bigger bands of the weekend (with both pedal steel AND piano players). From his stetson to his turnups, Laurence looked the epitome of ‘Country’ with a capital C and the mix of rattling Bakersfield swing and slow cry-in-your-Pabst heart-wrenchers was turned out with an authenticity you wouldn’t expect from a bloke from Brighton. Standout tracks were Heartaches Got A Friend In You and Less Honkin’, More Tonkin’. There was a fair bit of rattling saloon-piano / pedal steel jousting which got a touch muddy at times, prompting a description {no names, no pack drill) of ‘Shonky Tonk’©. Fun stuff, all the same! Ella Spencer [pictured below] returned to Maverick this year with a full band (some of the time!) which added a more driving dimension to songs like the bittersweet Howling Wolf, Wishing Well and the darker mood of Warning Signs, although Ella went solo for a gentle but emotional She Goes Missing.
Meandering down to the Moonshine stage by the scenic route we encountered Dead Religion on the Medicine Show ‘busking’ stage tucked amongst the baby goats (yes, really) for a couple of (necessarily, given the nature of the stage) mellow numbers featuring great harmony vocals and some very tasty Knopflerish guitar, leaving us kicking ourselves we’d missed their Green stage set earlier. D’oh…
New schedule arrangements (presumably due to the difficulty for acts there to compete against the louder bands on the Green stage) meant this was our first visit to the Moonshine. We were there to hear Steady Habits' Sean C Duggan solo [pictured above], although he was joined as the set progressed by Chris Murphy and then Steady Habits’ bassist Cathy Ife. Sean’s bold-strummer acoustic, high-register vocal and harmonica à la Mr Zimmerman performance worked very well, giving a highly Greenwich Village coffee-shop troubadour flavour to many of the band’s songs including Deviate, Archer Street and Mess Of It All, as well as Holding Your Breath from their first EP. Sean was followed by James Hodder [pictured below] who kept up the acoustic troubadoury vibe, with solo renditions of his very personal songs such as I Don’t Know How To Quit and Is It Any Wonder.
On our way to the Barn, we couldn’t pass up a passing snatch of Carter Sampson Band [pictured below] at the Peacock, which included Home, with a nice piece of pedal steel mimicry on guitar from Joe Coombs’, followed directly by Tulsa this time with excellent actual pedal steel (delivered by guesting Holly Carter!) and the slow love song waltz of Hello Darlin’. Ben De La Cour was entertaining in a dark, very dark, way at the Barn: looking like a homicidal farmhand or gas jockey from Steinbeck or James M. Cain and with a stage persona to match (“I won’t do all that ‘How y’all doing?’ thing… ‘cos I don’t care”) his set brimmed with cheery subjects like violence, mental illness, murder, death, God and the Devil, some delivered with matching twangsome western menace like the psychopath’s bio God’s Only Son, others, such as the looming domestic violence ballad Christina, in a gentle, wistful. almost romantic way. Oh, and despite his protestations, he did hang around chatting at the end… unless those were plainclothes men questioning him…
We eagerly downed another shot of the Ginger Cowgirl (Stacy Antonel pictured below) who followed with another quirky, emotional, funny and rafter-rattling set: with the “never fall in love with a man who’s leaving for 6 months in Antarctica the next morning” song Four In The Morning; a very echt on-the-road anthem Texas Never Ends; and Absent Captain, a slightly hallucinatory exploration of the nature of the self, lent an added otherworldliness by Stacy’s stunning vibrato-laden delivery.
With the sun setting something strange happened: Electric Blue Yonder [pictured below] took to the Barn stage, transformed into a full-on interstellar psychedelic spacefunk outfit. Picking track names out of the swirling trippy maelstrom was tricky, but (I think) All Kinds mashed The Byrds, Funkadelic, early Nektar and Pink Floyd into a grooving juggernaut, and the Floyd influence was acknowledged with a cracking cover of Fearless; Into The Void was a Grateful-Dead-do-A-Day-In-The-Life marvel; one I didn’t catch the name of at all was conversely a Beatles-y run at Macarthur Park; and the freaky, monster pulse of (what I think was) a mammoth Watch Out For The Undertow was peppered with spoken advice, sudden stops, haunting fragile harmonies and driving bass and drums. I’m not sure what branch of Americana this qualified as but it was electrifying, and judging by the enthusiastic Woodstock freak-out dancing down the front we weren’t its only fans!
Saturday’s headliners were Vandoliers, who we knew from 2022, and would have been (for our tastes) a rather anticlimactic follow-up to Electric Blue Yonder so we wandered off in search of a final drink and ended up at the Peacock where Arkansas Dave was cranking out some loud, gutsy numbers, largely from his brand new album. A highly Stones-y Trouble got our heads bobbing à la Jagger; Overworked & Underpaid was a classic blue collar country two-step; Maybe I’m The Devil dripped Skynyrdesque menace; while southern anthem Coming Home had a mellower Gregg Allman kind of vibe. On our way to the taxi home, we passed Vandoliers at the Barn doing a pretty echt bit of Bakersfield honky-tonk that made us doubt our hasty evaluation of their likely appeal, then they followed that up with a heavy-handed (but eminently crowd-pleasing and crowd-participating) cover of The Proclaimers I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) that confirmed our original suspicions. So we left.
Knocking off early on Sunday (the last act finishes before 3) always lends a rather more end-of-term feel to Maverick than festivals that end after dark, and in our demob-happy spirit we chose to catch extra helpings of what we’d seen before, although with plenty of new material. Moving swiftly past Sunday morning regulars Motel Vandals rockabillying the Barn, Roswell Road [pictured below] were our first port of call at the Peacock, with a slightly Marshal Tucker Band-ish Arabella featuring some great intertwining harmony/counterpoint vocals; a potentially brave choice (in a long-time Tory constituency and recently won Reform Council area) of Island Citizen championing the cause of the ‘small boats’, with airy Crosby & Nash chords and otherworldly harmonies; a musical box-picked Back Row dedicated to those in the back row of the room (and indeed those outside, for which ‘Thank You!’); and a swooping harmony cover of Fleet Foxes Lorelei, before closing again with the stirring Can’t Take My Soul.
Leroy Stagger (who we HADN’T seen yet) did a fine two-man Dylany troubadour job, with acoustic guitar and banjo/mandolin and (as is almost always the case with Americana) excellent harmony vocals, from a mournful Last One To Know, the breezy light Summer Ends and the raw backwoodsiness of Fiddler’s Daughter. Ella Spencer’s [pictured below] set at the Peacock saw her ring the changes with a coupe of fine covers, both on banjo: Townes van Zandt’s Loretta and a brooding take on Springsteen’s I’m On Fire. She also demonstrated her versatility with a solo piano rendition of her own tremulously passionate I Never Told You About Oregon.
Now they were back in the daylight, Electric Blue Yonder were coming down from acid-fuelled space funk to trippy chilled Deadish San Fran psychedelia, shambling-yet-complex progressions, quirkily ragged harmonies and near-traditional fare done in a weird way. Rising Tides and Perfect (Suite II & III) perfectly distilled the tight-but-loose, Flower People Happening-in-the-sunshine feel, ideal for the time and conditions. With our taxi waiting we still had time to dash to the Moonshine for the briefest of snatches of Chris Murphy’s Roots Ramble, where Chris was at that point joined by AD Scruffs for Don’t Hang Me and a fiddle-rich cover of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon, before we sprinted back to the main gate.
Another stonking time at our favourite festival: it didn’t rain, more importantly it didn’t turn out record breaking heat like it did in the same area just the week before; friendly atmosphere, great food, good beer, (and proper toilets!) Plenty of fantastic music, catering for pretty much anyone’s preferred definition of country/Americana (and beyond in some cases) … What more could you ask for?
Just one last Paul Hardcastletastic factoid in closing: In the seventies the upper age of a festival goer was twenty-six.
Today it’s N-n-n-n-ninety.
