Thanks to a lift from my cousin, I managed to catch the last night of the Rivergaro Annual Communist Party Party. Of course it’s not called that any more. When I was growing up it was called the Festival of Unity and involved lots of red flags, posters of Lenin and an accordion band playing polkas, waltzes and mazurkas. But these days the Party has rebranded itself the Democratic Party (isn't every party called that these days?) and renamed the festival Rivergaro Rocks.
Polkas and politics were in hiding, instead we got The Catastrophic Band (this is actually what they’re called, not a sarky name I’ve given them.) They’re bunch of fortysomething rockers with a sexily-leather-clad-but-pregnant lady lead singer, whose belting voice was spoiled only by her not so perfect English (at one point during U2's One I swear she sang Love is a pimple, love’s the higher law)
Then came a bunch of lads who were absolutely brilliant. Better than lots of the other bands I’ve seen this year (that’ll be you, purple tights bloke at Farmfest) and they wrote their own stuff too. I tried to film them but my camera doesn't do night. Or sound. So you'll just have to use your imaginations.
I munched on tortelli and kebabs, chose a drink from the vast selection (beer, water or espresso) and bopped my head like a happy idiot until the end of the evening when the band signed off, and the sound system launched into the Internationale, the one reminder that this evening’s entertainment was brought to you by the Wonders of Socialism. At least that’s a song that never changes.
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