Carling Weekend: Reading Festival - Richfield Avenue - 23-25/8/02
1/5
By: Toby L
Location: Richfield Avenue, Reading.
Date: Friday 23rd - 25th August 2002.
Time: Music from 11:00am-11:30pm.
Bands: 130 + Live Acts - 15 + DJs - 25 + Cabaret Acts.
Stages: Six - Main Stage, Radio One Evening Session Stage, Dance/Concrete Jungle Stage, The Carling Stage, The Comedy Tent.
Prices: £90 for 3-day weekend pass with camping and car park access or £39 for limited availability day tickets (excluding camping and car park access)
Capacity: 50,000 people - SOLD OUT.
The Festival
The Reading Festival site is remarkably different to that of Glastonbury's. Well, in the sense that it's much smaller anyway. Just to give those of you that haven't attended this legendary festival a perspective of how large the main arena is, think the shape and size of the Glasto Pyramid Stage field and you're about right. And that's for all of the food and market stalls, every stage, plus the entire audience. However, when you're there, walking from stage to stage (or, most likely, bar, to stage, to bar, to stage, to toilet), it really does take it out of you. Before you know it, you're either watching hippies in tents use the largest bongs imaginable or getting shacked up with a mysterious, Swedish partner in your tent because you're just too knackered to continue walking around the main arena and surrounding campsite fields.
The Reading Festival, or now, the Reading/Leeds festival has, in recent years began shaking up its line up. Traditionally known as a rock festival since the Mean Fiddler took it over in the late eighties, 1998 saw the (hopefully) temporary demise of the Mean Fiddler's other festival, the Phoenix, based in Stratford Upon Avon (yeah, near Shakespeare's gaff). Despite boasting a line-up to feature exclusive performances from Ocean Colour Scene and the Prodigy, not to mention New Order's return to the live arena after too long away, tickets failed to sell. This led to organiser Vince Power cancelling the festival, which was famous for being the UK's only 4-day camping music outing. However, rather than letting those few thousand down that had purchased tickets who wanted to see their headliners, Power moved a couple of the main ones over to Reading in August, which had already promised headline appearances from Page and Plant, Beastie Boys and Garbage. This resulted in the 1998 Reading Festival being one of its most successful yet due to the exclusive booking procedure where bands playing the festival promised to avoid playing other English outdoor events during the summer. Keeping the formula for the following year, Blur, Chemical Brothers, Charlatans and Red Hot Chili Peppers were all reserved for special headline slots and the event was a roaring success, the line-up arguably eclipsing any of the other UK's summer events.
With 2000, however, things stepped up even more. The headliners included artists that just weren't booked for any other UK shows in the whole year, such as Pulp and Stereophonics, plus an appearance from Oasis, a band that vowed they 'needed two million reasons' for why they should play a festival at this stage in their career. In addition to that, shows from Rage Against The Machine, Limp Bizkit, Foo Fighters, Blink 182, Slipknot, Placebo and The Deftones would ensure that Reading's rock roots would remain firmly in place. 2000's event sold out in record time with the press reckoning that its line-up was the strongest in festival history - and rockfeedback agreed.
Last year saw a repeat in the formula adopted by the festival in the last couple of years. Once again, the headliners booked for Reading/Leeds 2001 wouldn't be seen anywhere else that summer - and sets promised from Travis, Eminem, Green Day, Marilyn Manson and Manic Street Preachers meant that the Carling Weekend had once again hit another line-up extravaganza. Plus, appearances from The Strokes, Ash, Fun Lovin' Criminals, Mercury Rev, Frank Black, Supergrass, Feeder, PJ Harvey, Oxide & Neutrino, D12, Eels, Run DMC and dozens more ensured the show to be the most powerful and diverse to that point.
... Well, indeed, until 2002. With The Strokes promising their last UK shows of the year, and Pulp, the recently-reformed Jane's Addiction, the revitalised Prodigy, and Muse, Foo Fighters and The Offspring all on offer, naturally, things were progressing as typically incredible as in prior events. Most notable of this year, however, was the quality of the new bands appearing; featuring every essential act for the year ahead, artists such as The Vines, The Libertines, The Kills, The Datsuns, The Polyphonic Spree and The Music battled out their musical-force against each other on stages to prove their worth for the future. Testament to the quality of recent musical-times, the Reading/Leeds 2002 bill was extraordinary.
Really, it seems that the Carling Weekend festivals have now gained a status so huge that Glastonbury's days may be numbered as the supreme UK festival experience...
Day One - Reviews
Perhaps the most bewildering way to begin a festival is with NYC duo, The Moldy Peaches. Clad in only the trendiest of children's entertainer-esque attire, with an opening on the wholeheartedly irreverent 'Downloading Porn With Davo', it's by the time that they hit a spirited 'Who's Got The Crack' that many audience-members at the front are lost within a lo-fi delirium of humour-tinted, college-defining mess-rock. And, with enough genuine tunes interlocked with effective, combating bursts of laugh-out-loud humour, this group are the US' poetic antidote to our Streets - and they look arguably grand whilst doin' it (sort of).
Even more amusing to gawp at, however, are Sweden's Soundtrack Of Our Lives, yet where this group's amusement lies is within the jaw-droppingly charismatic, if bouncy, frontman Ebbot, whose onstage franticness and sharp delivery with every head-smacking melody is as compelling as each of their tunes, with 'Behind The Music's singles such as '21st Century Rip-Off' and 'Sister Surround' providing more than an ample soundtrack to some of the day's soon-to-come heavyweight talent.
But if there are to be some acts that everyone should have checked out at some instance throughout the weekend, then it'd be plenty of those parading their talent on the Carling Stage. With a bill so full of extensively gifted new acts that you're bound to be blown away at least five times in a day, it was with the arrival of The Kills that things first really kicked off. Clad in the kind of vintage Camden gear that only your coolest mates are daring enough to purchase, Jamie and VV strut their way through a half-hour set of so much calm and collected fuzziness and charisma that it's little wonder they're being touted as one of 2002's latest must-see sensations. Yet look behind the gleaming exterior (and the bulging tent of keen and noticeably interested watchers) and you'll discover a host of guitar/drum-driven gems: the gruelling excitement of 'F**k the People', or their sleek and sassy, soon-to-be classic, 'Cat Claw'. Avoid these two at your peril.
Keeping the 'soul-rock' flag flying sky-high, meanwhile, are The BellRays on the Evening Session Stage, their leader Lisa Kekaula mightily and wildly flaunting her vocal-massiveness in front of her army of men whilst, accumulatively, they battle through the best part of forty minutes by chucking in the uplifting likes of 'Too Many Houses In Here' and the terrific 'Testify'. Rock 'n' roll seldom gets so vital. But, when it does my people, consume, consume...
After what was by all accounts a classic headline performance on a packed, dark other stage last year, a few in the crowd wondered just how Mercury Rev would pull off their gorgeous, moody style on a main stage, mid-afternoon slot. Reassuringly, nobody need have worried - for the 'Rev are brilliant today. From the ever-grand entrance, Jonathan Donahue's compelling voice starts off as loveably fragile, but by the time a storming 'Little Rhymes' and 'Goddess On A Highway' have worked their magic, he seems to have become one of the most moving vocalists of his time. Apart from the odd 'thank you', there's little on-stage banter to speak of, but evident delight that the show has gone so well once the final song has finished. Yes, some of the crowd (who numbered quite a few giving the timing of the gig) may have been apprehensive, but Mercury Rev cast away any doubt of their ability, providing the day's first truly exquisite, elegant performance.
While Mercury Rev soar to the pleasant surprise of most, it's The Dandy Warhols however who people actually expect to produce a class set. Thanks to that damn phone advert, they have seen their popularity soar in recent months, reflected in their high placing on the unfeasibly strong main-stage bill today. Inciting the first real mosh, they do of course play 'Bohemian Like You', but it's perhaps the only moment where people seem truly interested. Other 'should have been great' songs like 'Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth' plod along when they should be full of menace, and omitting classics such as 'Get Off' and 'Everyday Should Be A Holiday' from the set certainly didn't work to anyone's advantage... And all this from a band known for outrageous behaviour (keyboardist Zia occasionally performs topless); they even spend most of the gig relatively still, never daring to speak to the crowd, let alone jump around... Sure, the 'Warhols have the songs and they have the fan-base - but, today, it just didn't seem they had the effort.
Providing a complete contrast to a slightly flat preceding performance are the fabulous White Stripes. The main-stage on first thought isn't perhaps the best place to witness their exhilarating hybrid of post-blues punk, but Jack White and his sister / ex-wife (both? who cares?) Meg play with more energy than seems humanly possible, making sure the two of them more than adequately fill the huge barn of a stage.
Jack himself is in fine form, often ranting mid-song about anything and everything, most notably wailing to the crowd that, 'Buddy Holly is dead, and there ain't nothing you or I can do about it,' which he mysteriously repeats twice, perhaps hoping for a sympathetic 'aah' from a crowd who really couldn't care less; who needs Holly anyway when you're witnessing the most rock and roll experience of your life? The hundreds packed on the side of the stage seem to agree wholeheartedly too, everyone watching the duo turn Dolly Parton's 'Jolene' into a scathing monster of a tune, whilst 'Hotel Yorba' and 'I Think I Smell A Rat' send the now huge crowd into a frenzy. It's such an invigorating performance that nobody notices that 'Fell In Love With A Girl' is nowhere to be seen. Tales of love for others aren't needed, as everyone watching at that moment was head over heels in adoration with Detroit's finest.
Before all this, however, a certain surprise was to be held by all those fortunate enough to possess access to the site's guest-area. Performing exclusively for Radio One in one end of the backstage-bar are The Datsuns, frontman Dolf snarling and sleazing his way through 'Super Gyration' and a couple of other heavy-metal/indie gems; as it ends, the few people brave enough to mosh in such a confined space find themselves jumped upon by hyped-up guitarist, Christian. Awesome. And it's only bettered by their appearance later in the Carling arena, featuring a bountiful barrage of high-pulse, up-tempo, rock anthems - inclusive of the window-cracking 'Harmonic Generator', mesmerising feel-great sexiness of 'Lady' and the band's ode to 'gratuitous swearing', 'Motherf**ker From Hell'. In short, they're more than worth all their current wave of attention.
Weezer are greeted by nothing less than euphoria. For a good half hour before they arrive on stage (which, when they do, is ten minutes late), the mammoth gathering have been chanting the band's title at the tops of their paining lungs, the result occasionally - and, perplexingly - sounding like hysterical cries instead for the likes of 'Jesus!', the latter leading some to believe they were about to experience the second coming (though, actually, what they do get isn't too far short).
Where others have left off the classics, Weezer know what a festival is essentially about and ensure everyone is treated to back-to-back geek-rock anthems, starting with a gleaming 'Undone - The Sweater Song', nobody quite remembering where the 'whoa-oh-oh-oh' bit comes in, though the nerdy brilliance of 'Surf Wax America', gorgeous 'Good Life' and more recent favourites 'Keep Fishin' (which sees the emergence of many Kermit puppets being waved in the air) and 'Dope Nose' proving that whatever charm got Weezer here in the first place is certainly not leaving them any time soon. In fact, frontman Rivers leads the chanting of his group's name to unhidden delight, remembering being told that they, 'Would only make it big in America' - something he's evidently elated to have proved wrong; yeah, the days of introversion and near-nervous breakdowns certainly seem a long time ago. Their finishing on performances of 'Hash Pipe' and 'Buddy Holly' - the song that introduced Weezer to the world - serve as highlights of the entire weekend, received rapturously. Heck, they came to make people jump, sing and smile until their faces hurt - and succeeded brilliantly; let's hear it for the little guys.
The Vines prove that they deserve all the plaudits they've received thus far during their performance this year. With a full hour in which to exercise virtually the entire album that you should officially have glued to your CD-player for at least the next month or two, and beyond - 'Highly Evolved' - when the turbo-charged 'Get Free' segues into a wistful and endearing 'Miss Jackson', they're unfaultable... And even that new song of theirs - 'F**k The World' - if that's any form of testament to what they've still got in the cannon for our aural delight, then their musical-disposal is our wholehearted gain.
Keeping things a bit more conservative, elegant and almost fully style-based are Ladytron, a group that would clearly have rather died than get their ultra-slick, suited and booted costumes wet or muddy during the ensuing bout of rain that's to be experienced later on. Whilst generally peering out at the crowd with an intense stare which signifies an assured coolness, beeps and bleeps and a healthy dashing of keyboard-infused electronica eases out the speakers and serves as almost too refined to get down 'n' dirty to. Oh well. Still, to quote the New York art-flops Fischerspooner - sounds good, looks good, feels good, too...
Rocking what The Pattern would tomorrow call the 'Something To Prove Stage' are an emerging group with just that task in mind. A well-received, Mercury Prize-nominated album was followed by mixed concert-reviews for The Electric Soft Parade, some not quite knowing what to make of the duo's strangely experimental live-outings. Today in the Evening Session Tent, however, it works a treat.
It seems a cliché to utter, yet highlights from the awe-inspiring 'Holes In The Wall' work even better in a live-setting, 'Empty At The End' showing that the brothers do have a tendency to rock surprisingly hard, a large number of an amply-sized crowd feeling the need to show their appreciation with a polite, argey-bargey moshing-sesh. Brothers Tom and Alex White take turns alternating between front-man, guitarist and drummer throughout, showcasing a talent and appreciation of a diverse set of music that reaches beyond their tender years, even covering a band that played in a similar slot this time last year - 'It's not My Vitriol, by the way,' they inform us to most people's relief - prompting a dusted-down, meaty rendition of a Folk Implosion number. But, expectedly, they save the real gem 'til last - a mammoth, hugely spectacular, 15-minute long run-through of breakthrough single 'Silent To The Dark'... If there was an, 'It shouldn't be so great - but thankfully it really is' award for this year's festival, The ESP would run away with it.
... If, however, there was a 'My God, I thought you were still in rehab!' award, then even Jane's Addiction would have a hard time beating The Breeders. After break-ups, alcoholism and heroin (never a group to do things in half-measures), it's finally time for Kim and Kelly Deal's glorious mess of a band to prove they still mean as much as they did when 'Last Splash' soundtracked so many people's summers way back in 1993.
What a disappointingly small crowd are treated to is vintage Breeders, and, more to the point (let's be honest, here), vintage Kim Deal. She may resemble a hedge on occasion, but never has a drunk, shouting woman seemed more strangely alluring. Deal also proves the most down-to-earth musician on any stage today - notably arriving in view prior to the band's performance in order to sound-check her own instruments.
Thanks to the suspect sound, most of what she says between songs is inaudible, her figure preferring to laugh at the crowd, her band, and, basically, everything in close proximity. Identical twin sister and ex-junkie Kelly (sporting an ever so slightly ironic 'Crack Whore' T-Shirt) dutifully joins in. Musically, however, it's nothing short of beautiful: recent single 'Off You' is a gorgeous five-minute shambles; 'Hellbound' bringing back happy memories of where it all started; and it's no surprise that 'Cannonball' still sounds just as wonderful today as it did nine years ago. Strangely, it's one of the few tunes, bar a great 'No Aloha', that the crowd latch onto, the main reason that many attendees within the tent could have been present during the set due to the fact that it is royally tipping it down outside - but The Breeders make their chaotic charm seem like the best pastime for any weather-condition. Life-affirming stuff.
Yes - life-affirming much in the same way as Jane's Addiction and one of their first appearances in the UK for, oh, around ten years. Frolicking and galloping around the stage like a transsexual possessed, timeless frontman Perry Farrell seems completely unflinching in the face of the towering grey skies above spewing forth follicles of the most drenching of rain. After all, with thousands of loyal, die-hards near the front singing along to every word and absorbing every one of original guitarist Dave Navarro's epic, instrumentally-cataclysmic bends, hooks and squeals - with the classics, including an incendiary 'Stop' coming across completely indispensable - it's a rewarding, successful show of enough kick and innovation to suggest the old beasts have got a few years left in 'em still. And that's our blessing.
The rain stops, and fittingly the numbers in front of the main stage grow. It's a safe bet for most you see, as Pulp have done this whole 'festival' thing many times before. Jarvis even tells bad jokes about his disappointment at the lack of books on show. 'This is, after all,' he drawly notes, 'the reading festival' (Geddit?), but, otherwise, it's a strangely serious affair.
'This Is Hardcore' is particularly disturbing, Jarvis' skinny frame gyrating and moaning, 'That goes in there, and that goes in there - and then it's over,' putting most people off any romantic liaisons later in the evening for at least a good half-hour. But, just like the other essential acts such as Blur and Radiohead who came out of Britpop stronger, instead of becoming stuck in a rut, Pulp's genius lies within reinventing themselves. Moving away from the darkness of the 'This Is Hardcore' LP, tracks showcased from the recent 'We Love Life' album are just as effective in a completely different, unique way. As Cocker repeats, almost mantra-like, the main theme of the whole album - 'I love my life, I love my life,' it's impeccable: the complete antidote to self-hate that fuels so much of today's insincere, passionless music.
As well as reinventing themselves for new material, Pulp successfully manage to breathe new life into old classics, starting 'Common People' with its now customary trance beginning before melting back down into a more familiar sound for a rousing rendition of the last few shout-a-long verses. Such events, along with the fact that no-one anticipated the Sheffield sextet to be quite this great, makes the performance dazzlingly special; even those that checked them out with the motivation for a bit of a sit-down before The Strokes found themselves incapable of not singing along... What they contributed to the festival was exactly what they've constantly offered throughout their lengthy career: substance that's nothing short of immense - and that little element of surprise which brightens expectations.
Competing against the other stages' main headliners are Aphex Twin (whose terror-ridden drums, samples and mixes prove so occasionally thrilling/scary that it's impossible to even stand straight, let alone show signs of a dancing movement... And just imagine the response when 'Windowlicker' reared its entrancingly awesome, perverse face) and Feeder, who offer an expectedly emotional return to the live-arena following the tragic passing of their drummer, Jon Lee. Kicking off with the aptly-titled, move-on excitement of 'We Can't Rewind', their following hour belts through 'Insomnia', new single 'Come Back Around', an early airing of 'Buck Rogers' and a batch of newer stuff that really suggests the band's abilities are only stretching in time. With things virtually wrapped up with a searing 'Just A Day', it's a return that's as graceful as it is heavy.
And, around this time, the moment of the day occurred... Ah, hell, of the entire weekend. The Strokes headlining. After a whirlwind year that has seen them predictably define the next five years of rock 'n' roll, they're understandably in unstoppable mode (despite drummer Fab's apparent nerves at the start of the day). Julian's still got his leg busted, which means a seated-performance, but his frontman-dynamic loses none of its original sparkle and zeal, his foaming snarls and bulging eyes perhaps aided by a helpful table to his right-hand-side which features a couple of whiskey-chasers and bottled-beers.
Set-wise, it's completely epic. With the entire 'Is This It' aired at some point throughout, with highlights aloof and floating from the likes of the melodic-ridden verses of 'Someday', sing-a-long impressiveness of 'Hard To Explain' and manic 'Barely Legal', there's even superior new material: the irrepressible 'I never needed anybody' chorus of 'Za Newie' (that one still untitled, then) and the elevating, engaging chimes of 'Meet Me At The Bathroom', let alone a couple more.
Though it wouldn't be complete without the memorable highpoint. It's Mr Casablancas' birthday, and Fabby brings it upon himself to pass over some cake to the group's frontman and joining the band in prompting 40,000 people to sing, 'Happy birthday'. It's surprisingly moving. And then the cake gets chucked in the crowd. Hmm. Ending perfectly in 'New York City Cops' - complete with Jack White storming in, knocking ole Jules from his perch, and stealing the solo from the song - it's a vital chapter of The Strokes' story being closed, fresh pages being created for their potential, new future. Let's hope it's as bright as their recent past.
After all this, there still seemed to be noise surging from the Evening Session Stage arena. Wait... Weren't The Hives on tomorrow? WHAT - Destiny's Child?! And, that simply can't be Nirvana; modern-science ain't that great.
Incidentally, it was all that, and then some. The racket residing from the second main-area was the boldly entertaining 2 Many DJs project - AKA, the Dewaele brothers from Soulwax, a duo mainly focused on forming tracks that just shouldn't mix together, but somehow work shockingly well (as proven on their excellent mix album).
Honestly, anyone who regards DJing as purely taking your records to work and playing them really needed to witness David and Stephen in the flesh; after all, who'd have thought Fischerspooner's 'Emerge' and the Queens Of The Stone Age's 'Feel Good Hit Of The Summer' would gel together so sublimely? And, surely, Soulwax must be the only people who could send a Reading Festival crowd home thinking that Nirvana should reform with Beyonce Knowles on vocals..? God bless 'em.
Reviews: Tom Hannan / Photo-Credit: Virtual Festivals
Day Two - Reviews
Those pouring through the gate on Saturday morning were certainly greeted by one hell of a wake-up call - courtesy of The Cognition on the Carling Stage; admittedly, first-on always seems a vertical climb, yet the East-End clan seemed possessive of enough boundless spunkiness to energise a nuclear power plant - the group cranking their musical-produce up to an ear-blaring 11. The set, featuring numbers from their forthcoming 'Gettin Messy' EP, clearly evokes their influences, which hark back to the atmospherics employed by such notables as Faith No More, Nirvana, and early Primal Scream; package-wise, it's all topped off fittingly by one Jim Sadler, who provides a compelling vocal dynamic, soaring on the likes of 'No Compromise', and then diving to a down-and-dirty metal growl on 'Buffalo'... Now, just see what you missed whilst you were still in your tent trying to recover from the night before...
Also working the morning-shift is perhaps the least well-known act on any main stage bill all weekend - Sweden's Sahara Hotnights. Their small status is reflected in the size of the crowd - which is possibly the most minuscule gathering at the arena all weekend.
To their credit, the all-girl combo (easy, lads) beat any potential opening-act nerves to death. Sounding very similar to a more powerful Elastica or a less cringeworthy Republica, the characters provide many should-be classics from both of their albums, highlights specifcally arising from the debut 'Come On Let's Pretend'. And, despite being all involved being female, Sahara Hotnights possess more balls than a drunken UK rugby-squad... Although rock may well be enjoying a highly fruitful period, it is still a predominantly male-orientated arena, yet - on today's evidence - the 'Hotnights would scramble all current, rowdy upstarts in a fight - and still come out looking rather fabulous.
Managing to look quite cool, too are The Libertines - yet not when their sound cuts out after rowdy, haphazard opener 'Horror Show'. Amp-troubles persist long afterwards, the group forced to cut material and a rumoured, onstage guest-appearance from someone in the deepest of secrecy... But, when the sound salvages itself, and the Evening Session Stage's onlookers peer on in rejuvenated interest, the sweeping, spectacular Brit-rock likes of 'What A Waster', 'Boys In The Band' and a closing 'I Get Along' - complete with internal band-fighting - are given a cocky showing, a full, most positive redemption established for the London four-piece. Phew, and for a minute there, things weren't lookin' too hot.
The Concrete Jungle Tent is about to burst. Lightyear, Derby's most infamous sons, are about to come on-stage to their absolute bewilderment at the sheer swelling of the crowd. The high numbers match the quality of the live show, however, and, even though they have had to omit the odd bit of nudity and stripping pensioners witnessed at other shows, all are still treated to mid-song Morris Dancing, general arsing around on a wooden boat, and an absolutely stunning break-down during 'A Pack Of Dogs' - strangely involving the thousands of punks present all jumping into the air to the sound of 'Boom-Shak-A-Lak'. Marvellous.
Well, the Concrete Jungle Stage may provide a firm hold on punk this year, but occasionally it lets go, allowing the staggeringly popular Less Than Jake to find their way midway up the bill on the main stage. They charge on, leap into 'All My Best Friends Are Metal Heads', and the place goes spare.
'See that girl on the person's shoulders? That's the middle of the circle pit,' reveals main vocalist Chris, sending the onlookers charging around a sphere so huge it bared more resemblance to a crop circle than it did your average mosh-frenzy; it spawned many children that weekend, but nothing came close to its sheer size. Musically, not much comes close to the immediate arrival, though a really rather immense pair of outings for 'Nervous In The Alley' and 'My Very Own Flag' thrashed out by the Gainesville 5-piece prove popular wit' da' kidz; and it's all good, clean fun.
Over in the small but perfectly formed Carling Stage, a substantial gathering has formed to see one of the most exciting prospects rock has to offer. Last seen touring with Hundred Reasons and Stapleton, Cave-In produce a very fine, intelligent form of emotional noise; a joy to watch also - despite little crowd interaction (nothing of the sort, in fact) - the way the ensemble tackle the tired rock formula breathes new life into an old act: each one of their riffs instantly memorable, albeit, complete with enough twists and turns to reward full-on, in-depth attention... Please - don't let the 'emo' tag conjure doubts, for these are seasoned professionals pulling themselves into focus, and hardly the kind of guys that account for young pop-punk upstarts. It may be a shame we haven't had our eye on them before, but taking it off now would be a foolish idea.
Likewise, the same could be uttered for the double-bill missile-attack of Serafin and The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, the former at least considering the concept of loud-quiet bits, whilst the ebullient, mental-riot of the latter leaves no room for aloof, enchanting melody, instead trading in sonnets and balladry for such disgustingly awesome slabs of guitar-drenched anger as 'Morning Is Broken'... It's a complete change when Ben Kweller in the same confines later on, whose collection of unpretentious, US-styled pop-rock is the most heartening sound all weekend, the golden pop-nuggets from his debut-LP 'Sha Sha' provided with a new lease of life, and a breath of fresh, teenage-friendly air.
Keeping the scene alive for the three-day event's notion of rock, however, are LA's The Icarus Line, who display as much keenness to play mid-paced, MOR radio-pop as Enrique Iglesias desires to move in a heavy-metal direction, instead and preferably launching into seismic blasts of head-bashing white noise and Joe Cardomone's primal wails... And to think they were introduced as a group that have just arrived in the country following a support-tour of 'Kool & The Gang in South America'... (No, really).
Lacking as much bite and punch as The IL was the laughable Andrew WK earlier on; yet, despite his brand of white-clothed, high-tempo 70's-rock, WK brings with his live-show an impeccable amount of self-deprecation and admirable showmanship, the crowd divided as to those launching plastic-bottles in his direction and the others adoring his handy guitar-work within the intro of 'She Is Beautiful' and the pleasures to be found within dancing to his one hit, 'Party Hard'. Fun or hell, you decide.
Where Cave-In earlier produced the intelligent, noisy side of 'emo', Dashboard Confessional simply provide the part about feeling a bit bad and having a good old cry. Admittedly, not a terrible crime, but nowhere near as impacting as its partner in crime. Such a view ain't an opinion most seem to share though, as the audience here number twice as many as those watching the former at the same moment in time.
... And they're all having a (very emotional) whale of a time, too: there's communal singing, clapping along, teenage girls near to tears... Enough to make a member of Fugazi scream, yes, but Dashboard Confessional (essentially, squeaky clean singer Chris' solo project enlisting the help of friends on other instruments) certainly have the knack of charming consistently. It's not simply the most well known songs, for example 'Screaming Infidelities' that garner a reaction, each and every tune provoking a seemingly unstoppable similar response... Peculiar, really, as the music is pleasant, but hardly pioneering a new scene or doing anything vaguely fresh. Still, thousands of people leave visibly upset that Dashboard's set has ended... Maybe it's a cult or something.
'There are a lot of people here,' screeches The Hives' Howlin' Pelle Almqvist. 'But some people who bought our record did not come. I hope they are having a nice time at home.' You can't help but feel sorry for those in question.
Yes, The Hives in all their black and white, suited glory are back in Europe after a stint 'conquering other continents' to provide us more of that 'punk rock avec kaboom' they always promised. Today, however, they far exceed themselves - and, instead of a mere kaboom, it's repeated deafening bang after deafening bang of sing-along-a-punk-rock, the huge crowd duly obliging.
Even though their success may have been only a recent thing here, nerves are not something that The Hives understand. They race through 'Supply & Demand' and a brilliant 'Hate To Say I Told You So' with a baffling degree of pace and sheer arrogance that sees them become the band possibly with the highest level of stage-presence all weekend. Sorrowfully, what seems to happen with most bands possessing this much energy (The Clash, The Pixies, for example) is a finite lifespan, burning out all too soon after a fit of activity. Uncertainties like that make you wonder if they're worth the rumoured £7.5million offered, but it should make people realise that The Hives are something for now, and should definitely be seen to be believed before it all burns out. So - longevity? Possibly not. Kaboom? Mission accomplished. 'Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your Hiiiives...'
Where other artists have been riding the old 'hype' horse to great effect recently, there are some who still use the ye olde 'word-of-mouth - slowly, slowly approach' to great effect - and none better than New York's Rival Schools.
Receiving by no means bad coverage from the press, Walter Schreifels' new act instead has built their fan-base on past reputation (involvement in many cult acts such as Gorilla Biscuits & Quicksand), moving live shows and simply a fine collection of tunes... In fact, they showcase many of these here today within the Evening Session tent, the highlights coming with the now traditional communal sing-along during 'Undercovers On' and the storming closer of 'Used For Glue'. Where hype often leads to disappointment, Rival Schools have got this rock game in the bag. Where they go next will be fascinating to see.
Somewhere else, it's just business as usual for Canada's Sum 41. Working their loyal followers into a high-school frenzy and prompting much arm-in-the-air/rock hand-signals action, the effect is only heightened with rousing renditions of all their singles and a completely life-affirming set of guitar-solos from Dave 'Brown Sound', plus the typically involving massiveness of early number, 'Makes No Difference'. A confident, assured effort by all accounts.
The Cooper Temple Clause should have no worries either, the Reading boys essentially playing a home-crowd - as the rapturous reception they receive before even playing a note shows. Here in their native land, they can do no wrong. But for those from elsewhere, caution may be advised.
Their fine debut 'See This Through & Leave' was a confusing animal of a record, that on the first few plays seemed to have very little that resembled tune or melody. But it was only as it burrowed its way into your skull that you begun to understand. The Clause give us essentially prog-rock without contrived posturing or pricey light shows. The tunes are there, too - hidden underneath what appears to be a shambles, but is in fact a calculated thunder of noise.
Suitably, singer Ben is delighted at the turn-out: 'We've always thought this is the best festival,' he gushes. 'It's an honour,' Highlights come in the shape of a captivating 'Who Needs Enemies?' and a 'Murder Song' that's strung out for so long it sounds akin to a performance-piece suffering an oddly entertaining form of torture. With efforts such as this, it's tested proof that they have live shows to live up to the grandiose records - which suggests there will be time for them to engulf everybody in their career... Just wait for the light-show and 20 foot drumkit stand.
'Blues Explosion! Blues Explosion!' They're the only audible words that Jon Spencer has uttered so far. And he's been playing for about half an hour. But, he does seem to like his band's name rather a lot, so we'll let him continue...
There are many brilliant things about tonight's Jon Spencer Blues Explosion show. One - there's hardly anyone here. Two - the people who are here are a strange mix of kids who want to jump around and adults with pint firmly in hand. Three - Jon Spencer plays for an hour, non-stop. It's not that he leaves small gaps between songs, either - there simply are no gaps between songs - and, for someone possessive of no knowledge of the group's impressive back catalogue whatsoever, it may well sound like one huge, blues-punk mother of a ballbreaker. Looking like Jeff Buckley's evil twin and singing like the blackest white man this side of Eminem, Jon Spencer even cannot keep still. It's enthralling stuff, and where The Blues Explosion starts off with just so much as a curious audience, they end up with nothing less than devout followers.
And then time for the 'will they/won't they appear' occasion of the weekend. With ideas aloft that Ash had in fact pulled their Reading appearance at the eleventh hour due to drummer Rick McMurray having broken his ribs during a recent tour-bus crash, and that Supergrass were going to be gracing the stage in their absence, what could be more shocking a sight than the Irish quartet's singer/guitarist Tim arriving on-stage and, with the assistance of his recently shaken-up group, charging through a fifty-five set of immensely entertaining proportions?
Working through next to every single in their repertoire - including the sultry 'Angel Interceptor', genuinely affecting pop of 'Sometimes' and an always-landmark showing of 'Oh Yeah' - things are only heightened by a top-notch effort from McMurray and bassist Mark Hamilton, who dons a neck-brace throughout the performance in order to aid his resulting whiplash from the vehicle-accident, before discarding it in time for a closing 'Burn Baby Burn'. Judging from the response on-site, it was worth them making the extra endeavour to be with us this evening.
But, soon, there's lightning in the sky and rain falling from the heavens. Three lunatics are doing God knows what on stage... One even looks a little bit like a cross between Hellraiser and Gareth Gates... Why has thousands of people braved torrential weather to watch this? Well, because Muse continually perform the most entertaining live shows around, that's why, and tonight is by no means an exception.
Although they may have all but disappeared up a big muso-backside, they still make the most stunning spectacle on the bill all weekend. And how nice it is to see an English act up on the main stage - these boys from Devon are one of only five Brit acts to grace the space all weekend. Fittingly, their talent is abundant, and more than matches anything else all on-show, no matter the original location.
Like this evening's set, to watch their rise has been fascinating. When a drenched Matthew Bellamy introduces 'Muscle Museum' as 'a very old song', you can't help but agree, even though it was only two albums ago. Still, every song played off 'Showbiz' sounds light years ahead of its time, 'Sunburn' also leading to mass hysteria. Tracks from their forthcoming LP are also showcased, one in particular, 'The Small Print', threatening to be a future Muse anthem on a par with 'New Born' or 'Plug In Baby'. It all ends in the vein as everybody hoped - but nobody really thought it would... For a pounding 'Bliss', huge glittery balloons are released onto a steaming crowd, who duly punch them into the air way into the Foo Fighters' headline set. It is, of course, ridiculous, but just like Muse themselves, utterly scintillating.
Headlining the Evening Session Stage tonight whilst most people are off watching the Foo's are the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, who come on looking so similar to any preconceptions about their image that it's almost as if they really were playing in black and white amidst a cloud of smoke.
The atmosphere created by their slow, churning tunes is thicker than the heavy air in the tent, which, by this point, is becoming increasingly difficult to breathe in. The sense of cool given off by the three-piece is a sight to behold. They hardly move or say a word, but every slight chord-change or stretch for the microphone aches with credibility. But whilst BRMC definitely look the part, occasionally the music has a tendency to find peaks and troughs - never proving boring, but, like their debut LP, stepping just a few millimetres over the line between brooding and sheer self-indulgence. When it does work out though, it's unbeatable, as penultimate track and forthcoming single 'Whatever Happened To My Rock And Roll?' and a show-stopping 'Salvation' demonstrates.
The expectation riding on the shoulders of the Foo Fighters must be near crippling. After main-man Dave Grohl's summer stint with the mighty Queens Of The Stone Age leading many to believe the Foo's wouldn't last this long, they certainly have something to prove. And what better way to silence the critics than by dragging out nearly everybody in Reading to see an absolute belter of a greatest-hits set?
For a moment, Grohl does look terrified - until he realises that all these people are here purely for his band, despite the poor weather conditions and the very long day behind them. 'I stopped the rain for the gig, you'll notice,' the singer soon utters, slightly ignoring the fact that it's still spitting a little bit on the contingent, before continuing, 'Nothing was going to spoil this. This is my night, motherf**ker!' Our boy then goes on to reminisce about each of his six Reading performances, stretching way back into the days when he was Nirvana's chief stick-wielder. Sound like a bit too much talking and not enough playing? Hardly, as the audience lap it up.
Indeed, the huge turn-out is so into everything that Mr Grohl does that he doesn't even bother singing the chorus to 'Breakout' - and, wait a second, in fact, none of the band even play anything, instead letting the masses take over on vocal duties. It's not a trick used just the once, either, as the Foo's speed through classic after classic: 'This Is A Call', 'Generator' and a striking 'My Hero' all providing the goods. Another be-obvious encounter arrives during a perfect 'Stacked Actors', Dave jumping off the stage to visit a video camera, kiss it, lick it and wipe his nose on it, all before mouthing the words 'I love you'. All of which is televised on huge screens to the sides of the stage, making his tongue about 30 feet big. It's a disturbing sight, but totally necessary... A strangely human feel to the whole proceeding, top quality numbers that often equal anything Nirvana managed, coupled with a sense of humour from someone who is now one of the best front-men around and, all in all, equating to an absolutely faultless festival set.
Reviews: Tom Hannan / Photo-Credit: Virtual Festivals
Day Three - Reviews
In life, sometimes the parameters seem set on what's right and wrong... Well, most people would hold such an orderly, conformist attitude - except The Dillinger Escape Plan, of course. Aside from producing Sunday's biggest, most obscenely loud and intrusive, technically-stunning racket, they also find time to, err, release their waste on-stage... The resulting mass of which is tossed into the crowd within a plastic-bag... Urghh. And, when the contents are thrown back on-stage, the main-man smears the produce on his plain, white T-shirt... Goodness, whatever happened to the days of cleanliness and high standards of health; rockfeedback bets its festival-tent that their parents wouldn't be pleased with such antics.
The next-on Raging Speedhorn aren't quite so impacting with their British-born 'n' bred knack of accelerating, revved-up riffage, opening a set that means to go on within the same anger and pent-up aggression as encapsulated in their hardly hippy-hugging 'Hate Song'. The unsigned but popular Amen follow, Casey Chaos putting the crowd's lack of reaction down to our 'tiredness', his group's often confused blend of rock-cum-garage-metal serving to merely intrigue and tantalise the previously-converted.
Surprisingly epic, elsewhere, are Tetra Splendour, who - in spite of their presently lacking profile - perform a set of so much zest, forward-thinking dizziness and guitar-piano interlocked vibrancy, that perhaps Porthcawl's finest heralds one of the UK's brightest new and bold, experimental-pop hopes. Whatever, with loyal fans cheering and waving limbs during such moments as 'Mr Bishi' and the brash bashing of 'De-Rail', there's plenty of spark and effervescent, eccentric energy to suggest TS are in line for some special things in the not-too-distant future. If justice be served.
Proof, if proof were needed, that music's previously forgotten genre, ska, has had a huge rise in profile over the past year is the movement up a stage of two of the Concrete Jungle's highlights of last year, Capdown and Reel Big Fish, both forging a completely different route with the genre to equal success.
First up are Capdown, a politically-charged four-piece on the hugely influential hardcore label, Household Name, who use their ska as an assault on the eardrums via hard thrash punk and ranting, all culminating in an exhilarating live show. Instead of a brass section, there is simply a saxophone, used to brilliant effect by lead singer Jake (who jumps around like a vitriolic, human bouncy ball) on tracks such as the ace 'Ska Wars' and 'Cousin Cleotis', all sending a substantial mosh-pit crazy. Like a few other acts on today's bill, Capdown are trying to make a significant point, their name being an abbreviation of 'Capitalist Downfall'. Yes, it does all sound a bit pretentious, but when they controversially dedicate songs to 'Blair's sad excuse for a socialist government,' before tearing into a hammering 'Civil Disobedience', you get the feeling they know their stuff. And you thought ska was just a bit of harmless fun...
Ex touring-buddies of the 'Down, incidentally, are Hundred Reasons, who are performing to their largest audience yet today - and it's such a shame that they experience the same fate as yesterday's The Libertines, when a lack of power ploughs into their performance-time after a couple of tunes (including a much-fun 'I'll Find You'). The act reacts bravely - but soon admits that they feel 'embarrassed' as five minutes pass with little occurring in the way of musical-frolics. A pyramidal structure in the crowd of willing drunkards provides temporary amusement, until the group themselves encourage us to boo the band for being so unfortunate. Soon, however, the power decides to present itself with another showing - to a loud cheer - and the rest of HR's gruellingly electric and alive database of material is expunged to a rapturous return of excitement, the occasion culminating in their signature-piece, 'If I Could'. Good stuff.
In a weirdly eclectic bill on the Evening Session Stage today, Sparta soon appear, risen from the ashes of the legendary At The Drive-In, who split due to fear of the success of their 'Relationship Of Command' LP. Sparta, though are the more clean-shaven, less afro-d, but no less hard rocking faction (The Mars Volta, who were due to play but had to cancel, being the others). Sadly, the place nearly empties, but those that stay are treated.
Anyone who thought ATD-I's vocal talent lay solely in Cedric and Omar should lay their head in shame as Jim Ward's astoundingly powerful vocals attack the PA system, especially on a great 'Cut Your Ribbon'. No, it doesn't quite match At The Drive-In in the sense that you don't feel you're witnessing something really vital, but it will certainly more than suffice until the long awaited, hopeful day when differences are settled and they can grace our stages once more. Fingers crossed.
Where Capdown provide no-holds-barred, tossed-up ska-punk, Reel Big Fish are its more light-hearted, good-time cousins. Featuring a new line-up, the brass section of the band being seemingly ever-changing, and a stand-in drummer (mainstay Carlos having to leave due to family bereavement), the RBF still manage to produce the most fun set that most people will have witnessed all weekend.
They also play to a now jam-packed tent, and despite the fact that they've had no major success singles or albums-wise, or even anything remotely in the pedigree of a high-profile tour, they know their fan-base is right behind them, often joking on the subject:
'Hey Scott, from Reel Big Fish...'
'Yes, Aaron, from Reel Big Fish?'
'Ask these good people if they have the new Reel Big Fish album, 'Cheer Up', by Reel Big Fish...'
Scott glances at the crowd. 'Well?'
As if he didn't know already from the great reactions the title-track and other newies such as 'Valerie' have been welcomed with, the resulting agreeable screams answer the question quite clearly.
Causing packed-out insanity within the Carling Stage's tent are Hell Is For Heroes, brandishing with them one of the finest and most uplifting guitar-orientated treats of the entire bill, knocking out bouncy, hard-edged singles such as 'You Drove Me To It' and 'I Can Climb Mountains' alongside the fleshy, downbeat ambience of their sole, mid-pace composition, 'Slow Song'. A closer within 'Sick/Happy' and, judging from the response of those present, the 'Heroes are gonna be rising to heady, new peaks at a dazzling speed. Check 'em out now before arenas beckon.
If anyone knows how the 'US punk' game should be done, then it's undoubtedly NOFX. The beyond thirty-year-old foursome (hark!) have been treated well by 'living the good life provided by punk', singer 'Fat' Mike and guitarist/trumpeter Hefe both well on the plump side of chubby and looking, interestingly, just a little bit camp.
Although they have been playing the same songs essentially since they began back in the 80s, it was never something that bothered the Ramones, and it isn't about to start to upset the huge crowd gathered to see folk who are essentially living legends of music's underground. Fat Mike, as it happens, is in a reminiscent mood. He's also a little bit angry. His t-shirt bears an image of President George Bush Jr., a derogatory title emblazoned across its forehead. As shown by this and other tirades of insults launched at their home-land leader, he is clearly not a guy NOFX admire... So, no, it's not particularly clever, but it is highly enjoyable, and if Reading this year has taught us anything, it's that this counts for a lot.
Where their peers have become jokes, Incubus have survived from all that's bad about nu-metal, becoming something infinitely more grown-up, calculated and mellow, man. Notably, Incubus' laid-back attitude to rock, as featured in memorable renditions of 'Drive' and 'Are You In', is one of the most crowd-pleasing performances all weekend, the sunset over Reading providing it with a perfect backdrop. Although pin-up singer Brandon Boyd does look a bit upset at something (maybe it's the guitarist's ridiculous shirt), he puts full effort into everything that leaves his mouth, ensuring a most powerful delivery... It may form a set with little surprises, but it certainly gives most people what they want to see, and when you remember that Reading was ever so close to featuring a performance from Linkin Park this year, you remember just how lucky you are to be seeing this lot instead.
Providing a British alternative to the highly melodic and sincere tenderness of the last bunch are Haven. Quietly honing their craft over the last eighteen months and gaining fans considerably - thanks to a strong, Johnny Marr-produced debut-LP, and a couple of top-30 hit singles - today's performance is testament to their progression in recent times. Taking to the stage and delivering their alt-indie anthems as if every one were a top-five smash, Gary Briggs and co. work at offering the moody charisma bit during 'Out Of Reach' before wooing the ladies amidst a backdrop of plundering, massive pieces of charm during 'Say Something' and the romantic 'Still Tonight'... Given even more time to produce material and these Manc-based lads pose a serious threat to the highly-lucrative Coldplays of our time.
Where the ska-acts provide the feel-good fun and NOFX the childish charm, Slipknot are hilarious for all the wrong reasons. Nevertheless, they are being taken deadly seriously by most, anyone in the crowd daring to snigger being confronted with a barrage of harsh faces ensuring a quick return to silence. But anyone who doesn't think a clown playing the drums with his head on a twenty-foot drum-stand on an enormous spring isn't in the least bit funny really does need to lighten up a little bit.
Actually, let's assess this a bit more fully: perhaps Slipknot are laughing at themselves... At least, you hope they are, though you get the impression that they are taking this as seriously as every one of the huge crowd participating in violent circle-pits nearer the front of the arena. 'We've just played at Leeds and that was good, but this is something else,' recalls Corey (far too nice a name for a musical bulldozer), to the delight of the crowd. Musically, melody only rears its head once, during a thumping 'Wait & Bleed', but quickly pops its head back into whatever hole it appeared from, perhaps frightened by other instrumental goings-on, which, in all honesty, resemble more closely someone suffering a violent vomiting-attack to a beat than it does a tune. Towards the end, it all gets so ludicrous that many believe the band will actually disappear in a cloud of fire, but nothing of the sort happens as they simply plod off. For whatever reason though, be it deadly serious or highly jovial, Slipknot were fantastic.
A somewhat different clutch of material is bandied around by Cornershop; with their famous and now-customary, 'let's-just-stand-here-and-do-bugger-all' disposition firmly in place, a reasonable turn-out means that a startling medley of 'Sleep On The Left Side', 'Norwegian Wood', 'Brimful Of Asha' and 'Lessons Learnt From Rocky I To Rocky III' doesn't fall upon deaf ears, some of the tracks prompting fond queries as to why Tjinder and friends really never have maintained the status in the mainstream that they truly deserve... And the same can be uttered for genius Texans, Trail Of Dead. Pummelling their way through an hour of equally worthy and riotous highs and highs from all three LPs of their career, it's when hearing the shining awesomeness of 'Another Morning Stoner' in the same sitting as a defiant 'Perfect Teenhood' that the throwing away of the drumkit into the audience seems a poignant and correct way to round off proceedings.
It's very rare that anyone reaches such a soaring level of first album success that they are asked to make their live debut headlining the Dance Stage on the final night at the Reading Festival, but that's just what's happened to the roughed-up boy done good, Mike Skinner, AKA The Streets. Although it wouldn't work anywhere else, it is perfectly acceptable in this tent to start with a 20-minute DJ-set before launching into your own material (which the guy hasn't released too much of yet, anyhow).
And when he does reproduce his own compositions in the live-arena, it works surprisingly well, Skinner's voice proving much sturdier than anyone can have expected. Ably accompanied by a guest MC, the crowd - which stretches far beyond the tent's covers - are treated to renditions of 'It's Too Late' (complete with rather odd visuals of a park bench) and a sublime 'Let's Push Things Forward', the highlight of which being Skinner mocking the comparisons made to The Specials by dropping in a hefty segment of their classic 'Ghost Town'; the fact that he can only remember two lines of the tune for such a stunt doesn't really matter, as they're the only two lines anyone else can probably remember as well. Accumulatively, for a debut in the UK, this is hard-to-beat stuff.
The Music are sensational tonight, too. Beginning with the colossal, trance-like psychedelia of 'The Dance', their show betters with every passing number, the blaring lights, adoring fans and enclosure of the Carling Stage's marquee altogether forming a perfect atmosphere of electric excitement, where almost anything feels possible. And, musically, this last statement seems to be proven continually, over and over - with the gargantuan 'Disco' and bak-2-bak placement of hits 'The People' and 'Take The Long Road & Walk It' sending not just the dance-moshing admirers into pandemonium - but also the on-stage purveyors and creators themselves, guitarist Adam Nutter visibly retreating into the group's wall of sound, and singer Rob Harvey disappearing into a plethora of uncomplicated, frantic body-motions... The future is theirs for the taking, should they want it.
Even though there have been drumming clowns, singing bears and defecating lead-singers, one of the strangest sights on display this weekend is just how small the crowd is for Spiritualized headlining the Evening Session Stage. Although The Prodigy are undoubtedly worth seeing on the main stage, if there was ever a time for a 'half and half' moment, surely it's now?
Well, pity on those that don't take up the opportunity. Jason Pierce's clan, including people on most instruments imaginable, fill the entire stage, Pierce himself standing as far to the left as is possible so as to orchestrate the entire proceeding. It makes for typically overpowering viewing. Welcomingly, though the odd Spacemen 3 cover is thrown in for good measure, the real moments of genius presenting themselves towards the end, mainly in the form of a monstrously lengthy 'The Other Side' and a fantastically noisy, spirited version of 'Come Together'. Again, it's all implemented via that rare trick of getting the sound to a near-deafening point before dropping it completely, the comedown creating one of the most gorgeous musical techniques around. And nobody pulls this off, live or on record, to quite the same extent as Spiritualized. It's just a shame so many had to miss it.
But, yes, as mentioned, out there in the largest part of the field are Essex's danger-boys, The Prodigy. The anticipated massive gathering of music-lovers are out in their droves to see just what the threesome and co. have come up with since their last UK festival-outing (some four years ago). Yet, in all reality, not much seems to have changed... The spectacular light-show, Keith Flint's amusingly mock-demented glares into the screens' cameras, Maxim's taunts for Reading to get funky and Liam Howlett's muso-fiddling: it's all there, as before.
And the set doesn't prove dissimilar to that of their last, major live-shows in this country. We get 'Minefields', 'Fuel My Fire', plus the singles from 'Fat Of The Land' - including highlight, 'Firestarter' - plus a limited glance into the band's earlier endeavours, with a yearning for the likes of 'Voodoo People', 'No Good...' or 'Out Of Space' (a teasing clip of which is played in the centre-point of their show) marginally tamed with the arrivals of 'Their Law' and 'Poison'.
Though there's little point whining. Only one group creates such a loud, reverberating, beast of a sound - and, tonight, it was unleashed in all of its wild, uncompromising and snarling darkness... It's definitely the finest way to close the Carling Weekend: Reading Festival, 2002; the finest event of its kind in memory - and three days of sheer, alternative-musical bliss... Just a shame that it takes a week to get over the entire, thrillingly exorbitant experience - and a crime that we have to wait another year 'til it rears its beautiful face yet again.
Reviews: Tom Hannan / Photo-Credit: Virtual Festivals
Scrapbook
THE PEOPLE'S VERDICT
(based on over 75 opinions)
Best Band Of The Weekend?
1. Muse
2. The Strokes
3. Pulp
= The Prodigy
5. Foo Fighters
6. The Hives
7. Jane's Addiction
8. Weezer
= NOFX
10. The Streets
The Polyphonic Spree - Friday
Von Bondies - Friday
Jimmy Eat World - S
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