As anyone who was my Facebook friend when Rebecca Ferguson was on X Factor will remember, this admission will seem a bit bizarre, as I didn’t exactly come across as her biggest fan at the time. Indeed, I once tweeted about the fact that I found her ever so slightly boring and was gently trolled within seconds. “You’re just jealous!” her fans fumed, halfheartedly. Oh, the lolz.
There are a couple of reasons why I ended up watching the lovely Becky today. Firstly, I reckon Mother Goose genuinely feared that her firstborn was going to be glued to Netflix for the rest of her days. Secondly, I wanted to see if the Liverpool International Music festival in Sefton Park was any good.
Inexplicably, as soon as we arrived, Mad Tam charged practically to the very front of the sizeable crowd. Mother Goose, our Paul and myself were flummoxed by this move, not least because not one of us had shown the slightest interest in watching her. Thus Mad Tam had outed himself as a closet Rebecca Ferguson fan.
The crowd was made up of middle-aged Smooth FM listeners in double denim, the type of women who would refer to themselves as yummy mummies along with their catalogue kids and fellas, and a smattering of absolutely brilliant Creamfields casualties, who were completely wired and completely confused by their surroundings.
Rebecca may have been the answer to finally sending the Creamfields crew off to sleep, though. She took to the stage with a “Youse having a good day?!” and then proceeded to bore me into a slight daze. Her on-stage banter centred around the fact that she was a bit warm, due to the weather. I am sure she is a very lovely person, and indeed she is very smiley, and inoffensive, and her dress was a nice colour. But her voice is weak – she sounds like she is running out of breath halfway through every line of a song – and I was way more impressed by her backing vocalists, who managed to hold my attention far more successfully than Rebecca did. My problem is that I am not interested in her, at all. I don’t love her or hate her. I am just not bothered. And this is not good. Pop stars should be exciting. They should not make music to be indifferent towards.
Still, the crowd seemed to love it, so what do I know?
With regards to the actual festival itself, it was around a thousand times classier than the Mathew Street festival ever was (which admittedly would not be hard.) I’m sure the good weather helped, but there was a pleasant atmosphere and far fewer complete messes on display. I’m a bit sad I missed the action on the previous three days. However, there’s always next year. Next year, I won’t have Breaking Bad taking over my life. Next year, I’ll attend every single day.
Next year, knowing my luck, it’ll probably rain.