Carling Weekend: Reading Festival - Richfield Avenue, Reading - 27-29/8/04
1/5
By: Toby L
Location: Richfield Avenue, Reading.
Date: Friday 27th - 29th August 2004.
Time: Music from 11:30am-11:30pm.
Bands: 130 + Live Acts - 15 + DJs - 25 + Cabaret Acts.
Stages: Six - Main Stage, Radio One Stage, Dance/Concrete Jungle Stage, The Carling Stage, The Comedy Tent.
Prices: £105:00 for 3-day weekend pass with camping and car park access or £45:00 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 stage to stage (or, most likely, bar, to stage, to bar, to stage, to toilet, to ambulance), it really does take it out of you. Before you know it, you're either watching hippies in tents making creative use of 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 (a win-win).
The noughties have been the fateful era in which festivals returned as King, and Reading continues to excel. In 2000, the headliners included artists that weren't booked for any other UK shows in the whole year - 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 such a 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 - we agreed.
2001 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 incredibly 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.
2003: ah, more of the same - albeit, with more rock, specifically via headliners Metallica, Blink 182, Linkin Park, System Of A Down, etc. - though the indie-counterparts were well-represented by a stellar new-bands bill (Har Mar Superstar, Longview, Hope Of The States, British Sea Power, Kinesis, The Raveonettes, The Thrills, Biffy Clyro, etc.), and many premier-league additions: Doves, Beck, BRMC (in place of a sadly cancelled White Stripes), Primal Scream, The Streets and The Darkness. Unarguably ace.
And what of '04? Though not widely publicised, this year marked the 30th anniversary of Reading. Fittingly, it kept up the stamina - Green Day, The White Stripes (postponed from last year), Morrissey, The Offspring, The Darkness and 50 Cent confirmed as headliners, with Supergrass, Graham Coxon, Funeral For A Friend, The Streets, Placebo, The Libertines, Franz Ferdinand, Razorlight, Ash, The Hives and even a reformed New York Dolls filling up the lower reaches... Ready..?
Day One - Reviews
The year of The-? Nah, the was so last year. Wasn't it?
3:30pm. Nonsense - and here's proof: The Subways and The Departure are a back-to-back blessing over in the Carling Stage arena at barely mid-afternoon.
Now, rockfeedback isn't allowed to properly mention The Subways in a scrutinising/analytical/fawning, reviewer-type onslaught. Because we're indirectly releasing their debut single somewhere down the line. Bias, people, it's torturous. (But we can probably mention that their half-hour of rapt, anthemic guitar-pop compelled a packed tent with its fervent, foamy exuberance and not-half dashing of teenage-sex - have you seen bassist Mary-Charlotte Cooper yet? Yowzers. And with tunes like the Smiths-barking 'I Want To Hear What You Have Got To Say', drilling 'Rock 'N' Roll Queen' and set-ending '1am', they're going to line our walls in picture as much as their scratched vinyls shall coat our decks... We can get away with that, can't we?)
Now, a band we're really allowed to publicly adore (without concern of compromising journalistic integrity). The Departure may reign from ordinary Blighty, but their venture is far more intoxicating - a sleek, sly, cocky cauldron-churning of fiercely tight agit-pop hymns - 'Be My Enemy', 'Dirty Words' and their top-30 debut 'All Mapped Out' are fidgeting, modern odes that will seduce Interpol fans to the Bright-ish Side and conversely turn housewives and kids that don't know any better weak at the knees. Yearning and morbid; specified and celebratory - they're a wonderful contradiction; a crossover this fatal an attachment hasn't dawned upon us for some months.
1:15pm. Flaaaash-back. Could there be a better way to begin a festival than with the Primal Scream-meets-The Fall-fronted by Lou Reed zombie punk collision of Ikara Colt? Possibly, but they're good value at this early point of the day; their audience looks both terrified and delighted in equal measure.
2:10pm. Sequinned, polka-dotted, super-camp glam-poppers fronted by a terrifying Jimmy Saville lookalike is the sight that greets us over at the Carling tent when we check out Pink Grease (who follow the equally suspect soul-punk fusions of Do Me Bad Things). A get-up that makes the Scissor Sisters look thoroughly conservative by comparison, their kitsch-synth shtick is far less interesting, but no-one seems to care. (On-site rumour: the 'Grease spent all their recording-advance on a double-decker pink tourbus - one featuring their band-moniker strewn across its side).
2:30pm. More seemly apparel over on the main stage, where the ever-underrated
Hundred Reasons sound as if they have a real point to prove. They bear a
stage backdrop featuring a giant classified ad reading: 'Hundred Reasons: One Careless Owner', a not-so-subtle dig at ex-label Sony, who unceremoniously dropped the band earlier this year. Poor sound doesn't help matters, but singer Colin Doran is on belligerent form, leading the band through an aggressive run of top-notch emo-pop singles: 'What You Get' (complete with 'impromptu' guitar-trashings), 'I'll Find You', Silver' et al, whilst newie 'I'm Pretending' has an appropriately forthright, up-and-at-'em sensibility. Major labels beware, HR mean business.
5:30pm. A slight surprise - namely that LCD Soundsystem could simply rock/groove so utterly, splendidly wonderfully. At half-five in the evening. Yet they do - singer and general honcho of NYC's hap'nin' The DFA, James Murphy, taking on a new guise as the epic frontman. 'Losing My Edge' takes on a new, fuller form live, percussive and tribal-like, and we'd hasten a trusty guess that 'Yeah' is a potential hit in the next annum. Only !!! keep the momentum later on in as exorbitant and euphoric a blaze, despite a delayed onstage entrance (blame their backline being lost in a long-haul flight, won't you?), and they give us some typical festival musing-matter:
'How long 'til the pills kick in?'
Of course, most of the Dance Stage erupts, so as to signify our NYC combo is already out of date with such line of questioning, yet - at that specific moment - rockfeedback gets kindly offered an array of uppers from a passing dealer. We decline. Despite such distractions, we'd stay here all day if we hadn't already seen the genius hip-hop messiah Roots Manuva perform an AOL Sessions outing in a smaller tent some hours previous - ending in a semi-acoustic rendition of 'Witness (One Hope)'; stellar, but our man weren't pleased. 'I don't think we'll be doing that again for a while,' he remarked, grinning uncertainly of the band's unchosen, stripped-back line-up. We lapped it up, though. (Additional hip-hop delight of the day - Jurassic 5, whose warming Main Stage set is the most unifying and uplifting abound... enough to heat the mud beneath our feet).
6:40pm. There's a mini run of modern greats in the mammoth Radio One big-top across the site - Peaches with her fake blood, tranny dancers and clutch of dirt-pop; 'Operate', 'Shake Yer Dix', 'F**k The Pain Away'. And Soulwax brandishing Belgian iciness and a whole host of moderately rollicking new tunes from latest LP 'Any Minute Now' - but, of course, the true cheers are reserved for their latter-evening 2 Many DJs appearance in the neighbouring Dance Stage (bootlegging gorgeousness it was), as well as older material - particularly a third-in-the-set 'Much Against Everyone's Advice'.
7pm. What more can anyone possibly say about consummate festival performers |Ash? It's just their typical festie set par excellence, with the added 'bonus' of Har Mar Superstar arriving onstage to gyrate against guitarist Charlotte and remove his trousers (Tim Wheeler: 'Who wants to see Har Mar naked?' Crowd: 'URRGHH!'). Tracks from recent album 'Meltdown', such as 'Orpheus', 'Starcrossed' and 'Evil Eye' feel just as classic as all the old favourites like 'Burn Baby Burn' and one of the greatest pop songs of our time, 'Girl From Mars'. The frontman Wheeler announces that his band would like a plaque to commemorate their tenth appearance at Reading - 2004 marks the sixth occasion they've played here.
(And, at some point in between such heads-down, Irish thrashing, we blag our way into a backstage press-conference for tonight's spandex-clad headliners The Darkness. Press sit and down free champagne, while the ridiculous foursome fends off clichι-ridden teasers with frustrating irony. We seize our chance:
rockfeedback: 'After over a year of media speculation and assumption, what is the greatest misconception about The Darkness, about what you do?
'That it matters,' Justin Hawkins sighs and half-comically, half-sternly retorts after a minor, contemplative pause.
The tent erupts with laughter, but we secretly squirm at the sentiment. Will that big show of theirs this evening end in despair or elated joy? It's 50-50 at this point.)
8:30pm. ... Aaaaaaand, speaking of consistently brilliant singles bands, who better to follow the Ash team than the ever-shimmering Super Furry Animals? Very much a set of two halves here: the first consisting of Gruff (still singing opener 'Slow Life' from underneath a giant Power Rangers helmet) and co. rattling off their collection of quick-fire pop singles; '(Drawing) Rings Around The World', 'Golden Retriever', 'Do Or Die'. The second, a drawn-out affair consisting largely of just two tracks: the lolling yet extravagant 'Run Christian Run' and traditional, anarchic set closer 'The Man Don't Give a F**k', with the band disappearing and returning clad in Yeti costumes. A rave then, literally, ensues. No-one can replace them.
9:30pm. The Darkness are headlining the main stage. It's the moment Justin
Hawkins appears to have been waiting for his whole life. Like that marvellous finale to 'Revenge of The Nerds', this is a universal victory for the downtrodden, the unfashionable, anyone who's ever been told nobody would ever give a shit. Justin's Alan Partridge-esque stage demeanour is sure to infuriate the fashionistas, but wasn't that always The Darkness' appeal?
Given that they've only released one ten-track album, the set doesn't throw up too many surprises: and the highlights; a profanity-ridden 'Get Your Hands Off My Woman' (every expletive helpfully flashed on massive LED screens at the back of the stage) and 2004's own anthem 'I Believe In A Thing Called Love' (complete with pyrotechnics) are fairly predictable. Although they chuck in a couple of new songs which will form the basis of what JH promises to be a 'f**king brilliant' second album (even though he went on to pan this very debuted material shortly after), they do seem a bit stretched attempting to fill an hour and a half. Still, with a set that includes possibly the weekend's best cover version - a take on Radiohead's 'Street Spirit' - and very definitely the weekend's best light/fireworks display and a fireworks display as ostentatious and OTT as the band themselves, it's with a joyous heart that rockfeedback retires for the evening.
10:30pm. Well, not quite a retiring yet for the non-'70s adoring contingent of rockfeedback, who only return back to base, slain and shattered, after having viewed Kasabian, The Shins and Mclusky (a true 'triple bill' in every sense of the lazy terminology) amongst the realms of the Carling Stage.
The middle lot master the art of providing a 'packed-out tent', while assembling a musical backdrop not so distinctly cluttered - through singer James Mercer's melodious yelp, the likes of 'Fighting In A Sack', 'Kissing The Lipless' and 'Saint Simon' are understated pop world-beaters, whilst a closing 'So Says I' is still one of 2004's best musical stomps bar-any.
The latter Welsh/Newcastle trio kick the crap out of us in a proverbial sense, through mind-shattering, punk-noise-grappling that's actually quite funny at the same time; takes that serial murderer edge off, y'see. Tracks like 'She Will Only Bring You Happiness' and 'Alan Is A Cowboy Killer' are evocative of a calculated intelligence that's all too oft overlooked in the 'Lusky camp - get past their belligerent guitar hammering and you'll find a whimsical world of fantasy, satire and unrivalled eloquence. And a general sense that the world could end any second soon.
The Leicester, white-shirted revolution-apers - the 'Sabian - meanwhile garner the prize for most sensationally over-subscribed gig in a marquee this weekend; crowds would spill out of the sides exasperatingly if security hadn't closed and cordoned the whole bloody area off as if it were a riot scene (possibly the band's request?). Fortunately, a couple of our minions sneak in and grab a look - 'Reason Is Treason', 'Processed Beats' and 'Club Foot' simply take off, and it's almost as if baggy is back. Smutty, slutty joy, it'll leave you with a headache in the morning.
11:00pm. Best of all is the boy Coxon. Graham is on one tonight - replenished and suited, his backing three-piece are as similarly incensed; he grinds out a chugging 'Escape Song' and ekes out an exhausting 'Spectacular', and we're knackered. More left, though, and it's slower - the lower-fi rambling of 'Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery', sexually retarded 'Bottom Bunk', stridently gleaming, brittle 'All Over Me'. He then kicks our collective 5,000-person arse with a seven-song closing shout that wouldn't seem out of place in an indie/death-metal asylum (of the highlights of such assaults? The teenage-like call-to-arms 'Life, It Sucks', his staple Mission Of Burma cover 'That's When I Reach For My Revolver', the fantastically anthemic 'Freakin' Out', and an extended, even more profanity-ridden 'Who The F**k?').
Yet, all the while, and despite the surprise triumph, he barely smiles once. That's OK, lad. We were exerting all the rabid grins of delirium for you.
Reviews: Matt Tomiak / Photo-Credit: Samantha Hall / Toby L
Day Two - Reviews
2:15pm. AAARRRGH!! That'll be the extreme noise terrorism of The Bronx, then. If a hurricane hit the Radio One tent right now, our bet is that The Bronx would still carry on playing. The LA marauders' ear-drum obliterating racket seems finely out of keeping so early on (much alike the similarly Cal-residing Icarus Line, who aurally headbutt us next-on, or a raging Thursday cavorting the Main Stage at present), but it's a life-affirming experience, seemingly especially for those wilfully crushed at the front.
2:35pm. As the mid-afternoon sun makes a welcome appearance, thousands loom over the hills, guided by the vision of Razorlight (and Borrell's distracting haircut). Yes, 'Vice' is a great tune. As is 'Golden Touch' (especially with that new sped-up ending). And 'Stumble & Fall'. No, they haven't got too many more of them - '... Dalston' remains as lyrically hackneyed as ever, while the remaining salvation is to be found in a recently formed composition, which semi-exults the virtue of 80s ska clattering.
3:40pm. The advancing New York Dolls get it right (as pictured backstage, following completion of chatter for a forthcoming, in-depth article on rockfeedback). They cover Janis Joplin ('Piece Of My Heart') and inadvertently form the basis of today's first mass-singalong, and plough out '70s punk classics as if they're going out of fashion (which, thankfully, could never happen), namely a euphoric 'Trash'. Like the Pixies', this is a beautifully warranted return to the fore.
1:30pm. Earlier on... The Carling Stage is sieged by the blissfully puerile ravaging of Agent Blue, youthful noise-mongers that don't - tremendously - appreciate 'introspection'. The reward? A barrage of underground radio favourites and contemporary rivals, 'Something Else' and 'Sex, Drugs And Rocks Through Your Window'. The Glitterati are as similarly riled, yet still to convince us with their glam-hinted exponents, despite being fleeting fun. The Duke Spirit's is a more tricky charade - pouting vox, tinny guitars and an overall euphoria likeable to Spiritualized, yet begging a PA that can actually interpret their numerous intricacies to a perhaps more soothing, less barbed stature ('Dark Is Light Enough' is dazzling, though).
3:45pm. Bloody love The Ordinary Boys, me. And so do lots of other members of 'the ordinary army', packed into the Radio One tent. A throng of wide-eyed adolescent girls beside rockfeedback seem particularly enamoured. And as well they might: it's a typically animated show - The OB's must be the most consistently
lively bands we've seen all year - and their bounding through debut LP 'Over The Counter Culture' is uproarious, with 'Week In Week Out' and boisterous shoutalong 'Talk Talk Talk' the predictable climaxes.
Har Mar Superstar, beforehand, is greedy joy, almost naked and frolicsome because of it - 'DUI' and 'Transit' from the new record claiming unwelcome followers, while the chunky bass dirge of 'Power Lunch' from yesteryear remains a shoulda-been-hit in the making. Beyond novelty.
5:30pm. It makes you all tingly inside. TV On The Radio are one of 2004's vital word-of-mouth discoveries, and judging by turn-out alone, that seems to reign true on this humble Carling Stage slot. Tracks such as a dance-ified 'Staring At The Sun' and other such jazz-hop concoctions go down like classic receptions at Glasto, and quite how the Radio tread the line between experimental and welcoming is akin to only that other most beauteous of acts boasting a similar object as its Head (lame, but true).
5:50pm. Holy Eyeliner, it's Franz Ferdinand! Not so much putting those gay insinuations to bed as full-blown letting them out in a great, big gay pink-coloured way, Alex Kapranos' shaded vision-outlines are only bettered by drummer Paul, whose golden jacket tackiness reminds us of Shane Ritchie, pre-'Eastenders' career-salvaging. They go on to command the vastest weekend crowd we'll see for any other act, proving just how influential their rattle has been these past twelve months (to think, last year, rockfeedback was reviewing and snapping the band to a half-full Carling Stage tent...). So, it's celebratory. The mastery of 'Jacqueline' proves what makes Franz so key: lyrically enlightened and close-to-home, wit-strewn, and possessive of some seriously nihilistic kneejerk/electric-shock pop. We want to f**k them.
7pm. We'd stomach some Dillinger Escape Plan if it didn't mean we might be letting ourselves in for a bag of poo to the face (refer to their performance at the Carling Weekend 2002 for the story), so we compromise on the UK's most important band of the last 10 years instead, The Libertines. And, no, Pete didn't make it.
Neigh bother - though Carl Barat, John Hassall and Gary Powell (plus add-on guitarist Anthony) remain tight-lipped the entirety of their fifty-minute, third-from-the-top Main Stage slot, the response from the attendees more than compensates - 'The Ha Ha Wall', 'Can't Stand Me Now', 'The Saga' and 'Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads?' are already legendary anthems in the making, despite the intriguing fact their parent album 'The Libertines' isn't even in shops yet. You can guess how 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun' and 'Up The Bracket' are received therefore. Just a shame their co-conspirator couldn't be there, relishing the triumph and accomplishment; Doherty, you're missed.
5:45-11:30pm. What a racket. When will The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster shut up? Hopefully never - 'Rise Of The Eagles', 'I Could Be An Angle' and 'Psychosis Safari' are epic, but still no match for the secluded French themes of Stereolab, with one of their first UK appearances for aeons, following tragic passing. It's an expectedly, and shamefully, quaint attendance, but an appreciative one, inclusive of those that actually know material from their brand-new 'Margerine Eclipse' LP, and older fare, 'Come And Play In The Milky Night'.
Similar luck for MC5, who still fail to bore, and now counting Evan Dando in their ranks, it's possibly the most surreal super-group of all time. For many present who don't get some sultry tent sex, it's their weekend orgasm, and come the time 'Kick Out The Jams' is reared in all its glory, we're stone-cold amazed. Dizzee Rascal matches the intensity, and attracts more numbers, though we do get a bit annoyed when they cut out minute chunks of the otherwise perfect likes of 'Fix Up Look Sharp' for unnecessary, very middle-class crowd participation. The Radio One Stage culminates in Funeral For A Friend, who refuse to sound anything other than massive tonight. With matching haircuts and an arsenal of quiet-hating anthems for the untanned, awkward teenage misfits who've been drinking cider all weekend long, FFAF's appeal is in full force.
8:20pm. '... Myra Hindley. Adolf Hitler... Stock, Aitkin and Waterman... Racist... Bully... 'The Sun' newspaper...'
It makes sense that a performer as idiosyncratic, as interesting and as bloomin' legendary as Morrissey would have something a little different as a pre-show introduction. A list of Mozza's many bete noires are detailed before the great man himself swaggers on stage, his name in bright red lights behind him and... and... HE'S DOING 'HOW SOON IS NOW'!!!
'You are a sight for sore eyes,' he teases. 'And these are very sore eyes.'
Little, of course, could affect what now follows, so we're content to bask in the presence of a merry, hour-plus long set of mostly new stuff from latest album 'You Are The Quarry' (and two more Smiths tracks - 'Shoplifters Of The World Unite' and 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out'). He even orchestrates a massive boo for Radio One for refusing to play his recent singles; Morrissey's ire is understandable, as they're his best in recent memory. In this mire of our much-discussed cultural debasement, can such material be ignored? To think that 'Irish Blood, English Heart' can present such a provocative study of cultural identity and even contain a reference to Oliver Cromwell (in a POP SONG! In 2004!). It's gruesome that no-one should care. How could we possibly do without him?
10pm. The year-long wait for The White Stripes' return to the Carling Weekend has proven a favourable one - upped to 'headline' status, record-sales soaring, and affirmation that the Detroit two-piece are breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly more than just a temporary fixture, a la The Vines (just the first saddening passing of more to fall from the stable of 'today's heroes', we predict).
Tonight, they're incredible. Despite Jack White's moustache. With fairy lights as a backdrop, and humbling matter like 'Dead Leaves & The Dirty Ground' and 'Black Math' as an entrance, and even more humbling matter such as 'Fell In Love With A Girl', 'I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself', the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' 'Maps' and 'Seven Nation Army' as a four-song f**k-off, this is no half-effort. In between, we yelp to 'I'm Finding It Harder To Be A Gentleman', screech to 'Hotel Yorba' and generally reside in the warmth that we could be watching the twosome's first and last ever Reading headline (they don't like repeating things, apparently).
10:30pm. The weekend's second headlining act from Lowestoft, Suffolk are appearing on the one-day-only ska/punk/pop 'Concrete Jungle' stage. A are unfashionable, uninhibited and their sugar-coated sunshine pop is as good fun now as when your correspondent was a gangly pubescent with cheek of tan. Undeterred by bassist Dan P Carter's growing resemblance to David Brent, the fivesome is on grin-inducingly buoyant form throughout their 45-minute set, with 'I Love Lake Tahoe' and the superb 'Starbucks' making us feel 14 again. Marvellous.
In obscuro-ville, elsewhere on-site (that'll be the Carling Stage), a two-pronged headline from Nick Oliveri's Mondo Generator and Mark Lanegan proves the hang-out for Queens Of The Stone Age die-hards.
But there's more to it than ogling at two former members of Josh Homme's autocratic rock spaceship. Mondo G are more soulful than Oliveri's prior exploit: consciously less easier to pinpoint, less intent to make ears bleed. Lanegan, meanwhile, is menacing, melancholy and ever the enigma - a mildly more youthful Waits - dispelling myth that he's a mutant rat. His tales of sombre longing are a right wrench ('When Your Number Isn't Up'), but we survive the ordeal if only to tell our Screaming Trees fan-mates at home that we could and did. After a day of outright indulgence, it seems only apt we end our evening with such an achingly swift, deserved, gruelling comedown.
Reviews: Matt Tomiak / Photo-Credit: Samantha Hall
Day Three - Reviews
7am: Bedtime.
Inevitably, there's a somewhat subdued feel to proceedings today, following the prior 48 hours' subtle blend of genre-incest, and general aceness (and hedonism).
Sunday, you see, is rock day, where thrusting devil-horns into the air is still - criminally - not deemed clichι. Later on, and small-mindedly, 50 Cent will be bottled offstage by a mobbing Main Stage crowd just twenty or so minutes into his pimp-friendly set, despite exerting huge hit 'In Da Club' within the first fifteen. The Rasmus, similarly, are stricken and pelted with bottles and cups of shit, lasting just one song earlier in the day (mind you, what did they expect? A bouquet of flowers, a wrap of coke and a note simply declaring, 'Please! Return next year!' Looneys).
4:15pm. Yet the wrestling, crap-encrusted masses at least manage to reserve their spite for one last crossover act of the weekend. Despite proclaiming on record he doesn't 'know the first thing about football', The Streets' Mike Skinner takes to the stage wearing a Birmingham City FC shirt. Hmmm, actually... Fortunately for him and us, there's none of the technical hitches that plagued his set here last year, but - great though he is - The Streets' live sound doesn't translate to big live stages like this. He sounds thin, slight, with much of his lyrical dexterity lost. But with 'Dry Your Eyes' and 'Fit But You Know It' delivered back-to-back, few seem to quibble.
3:40pm. The Stills: ah, that's what we need. Oozing into every pore, their simultaneously shady/summery pop songs of loss, love, politik and question make for a refreshing bathe - in 'Lola Stars & Stripes', the ethereal 'Of Montreal' and the drummer-singing 'Yesterday Never Tomorrows', this Canadian quintet have amassed the feelgood antidotes of the whole three days (a necessity, following the earlier brilliant, yet perverse, supporting-cast: the bizarre rock frustration of Eastern Lane; restless/genius yapping of The Futureheads; paranoid schizophrenia of the very random Fiery Furnaces; and Scottish pop jerks of Dogs Die In Hot Cars).
1:15-6:15pm. Quite a series of highlights today on the Carling Stage, otherwise - here's another list: the clanking, clanging, clunking upper-cut, trucker-hatted punk of Yourcodenameis:milo (first single 'All Roads To Fault' is still their best); the Leeds-based, challenging pop-rock hybrid of Kaiser Chiefs, with frivolous crowd-movements to boot (especially during the unveiling of sold-out debut 45 'Oh My God!'); Sunderland wonders The Golden Virgins proffering their typically mesmerising, enchanting 'Light In Her Window' (which just takes off...); Domino's Sons & Daughters modelling their trad-stylised, folk pokings; Secret Machines' dizzy-headed, three-piece psychedelia; and London-dominating, yet northern combo The Cribs' interchangeable, quite pompous, but delectable rock 'n' roll stabs.
5:20pm. The screeching, primordial party blues rock of the 22-20's sounds as
raw as ever. They're like the White Stripes' fearless, impudent younger English cousins, only with Hammond organ and more provocative themes ('Why Don't You Do It For Me?' and 'Shoot Your Gun' revel in their mad psychosis in the flesh).
6:55pm. 'Dance To The Underground'? Tally-ho, young sir - I think I just might! Or not. How come no one's moving for Radio 4 in the Dance Stage? It's sacrilege. Wait a sec - 'Absolute Affirmation' seems to have a foot tapping. Oh, and 'Eyes Wide Open' certainly has an arm waving. It's the slowest 'winning over the crowd' we've ever seen, but possibly the most rewarding. (Buck 65, earlier on, almost suffered such fate, until all present realised just how sonically wonderful he and a full band really are.)
The biggest pleasers, though, must be Rahzel & Mike Patton ('wait, haven't you got that the wrong way 'round?' No - both are equally marvels to behold). It's the sort of career reinvention we'd be balking at if it weren't for the fact that Patton - as proven in his Mr Bungle and Tomahawk guises, and via a pant-fillingly terrifying collaboration with yesterday's appearing Dillinger Escape Plan - can do anything. So when alongside fervent rapping and industrial-heavy beats, we're not in shock; just awe.
6:50pm. We've seen them walking around all day - people with twigs (pictured). But at least we now know why. British Sea Power: attempting to be weird, or naturally so? One look into the eyes of either brother Yan or Hamilton will answer that. Today, they're majestic, and as wildlife-obsessed as ever (a squint of the eyes... yep, the prosthetic animals are still perched onstage). And though we've heard this set 1,000 times over the past three years, it still fails to disillusion; instead, it's the opposite - with 'Lately' (amusingly restarted when audience-members' clapping in time, well, stops being 'in time' any longer) sweeping, lengthy and epic without being trite, and 'Fear Of Drowning' lurking out broodingly as the lost Joy Division single.
So, yes, a following Auf Der Maur has her work cut out. But she ain't going down not fighting - in 'Real A Lie', the crowd pogos politely, and 'Followed The Waves' is stoner-alicious. Even the French-sung 'Taste You' rouses a stir (largely from the male contingent of the audience, but what jolt is that?), and, testimonial to the display, we struggle to recall that it's still relatively early days for the bass vixen acting as solo songstress in her own right/zeal.
7:15pm. We made the considered decision to avoid Lostprophets for fear of nausea, and the resultant reward is Placebo, featuring a caked-in-make-up, newly haircutted Brian Molko and 'Taste In Men' as the charging bass intro. Now, it's easy to insult the unfashionable, skinny lords of mainstream goth-pop, but anyone watching today's exhibition would herald a harder job at it - the likes of 'The Bitter End' and 'Pure Morning' metamorphosise into sky-high Hymns For The F**ked. And it's a pleasure to bellow along.
7:30pm. But nothing can prepare us quite for Devendra Banhart. It's on a level tantamount to watching the ghosts of Buckley return, certainly as beautiful. His voice; the words; the truths - 'This is the tent of love,' he declares smilingly, ample facial hair drooping, as the half-empty space before him looks on in utter fascination. 'This Beard Is For Siobhan' conjures the idyllic, ecstatic crowd response, and it's clear why - the stomp to magic up a 'real good time' is exactly what's prompted, but it's as playful as it is somehow sombre. Triggering the thought - like the greatest artists, Banhart provokes the impeccable ability to make us feel and relate to his own ongoings, yet still leave his offerings open enough for us to derive our own source of meaning.
8:30pm. We experience trouble visualising quite why The Others are as revered as they are in these present hours (a euphemism for 'guerilla' gigs, anyone? Instantaneous interest from lazy media-types, and subsequent, unjust hyping, p'haps?), so make a gallop across the field to The Von Bondies and end up seeing one of the last ever live appearances from bassist Carrie Smith (not that we'll find out this is the case 'til a few days later). It's, for the most part, quite pummelling - for, live, The VBs take on a far superior, rugged and fast edge: the thrill of bar-room rock with pinches of invention (the infectious 60s whirl of 'Tell Me What You See') and scary drumming ('It Came From Japan'). Whether it has a lifespan...? Ask Carrie.
10pm. Green Day, back at Reading. Proof that you can't teach an old dog new tricks - they're far too busy replicating the scenes of past performances, namely involving the invitation of willing victims onstage to have a ruddy good piss-about on the band-members' instruments. Maturity: still delayed. The likes of their opening 'American Idiot', however, from the new record of the same titre, seem destined to reside in the sort of high-school geek glory that first greeted the barrage of hits that they dispose flippantly of this evening (blimey, there's more than we remember - 'Longview'; 'Hitchin' A Ride'; 'Basket Case'; 'Minority'; 'When I Come Around'), while two covers prove that the band are well versed in classic British bands ('I Fought The Law', and a closing 'We Are The Champions'). It's a defiant showing.
10:10pm. The tale end of a Soundtrack Of Our Lives show is always a woeful thing, yet you wouldn't know judging by the air of Swedish euphoria in the air. They're as uncomfortable to look at as your parents in a swimming-costume, but could your 'rents write tunes as voluptuous and warming as 'Sister Surround'? No. Unless, like, they're also semi-known indie-types. The following set from The Kills has much to prove - where have you been, VV et Hotel? Probably resting after one of the most extensive tour-schedules of the last two years - about 4 or 5 extensive jaunts of the US they undertook at last count. Tonight, they're letting go, and rivetingly pulsating out some gruff dirt-blues with gravel under its nails and blood seeping out its pores. Even two years on from us having first heard it, 'Cat Claw' continues its status as a lo-fi, 21st Century indie-club classic.
10:30pm. 'It's good after ten years there's still so many people watching us...'
What did you expect, Coombes? 'Lose It'? Yes, I jolly well think we might. After Ash and SFA, here's another long-serving, dependably rousing festival act. Supergrass are about as reliable as they come in this kind of environment: and having recently released a decade-long retrospective hits album, it's classics all the way to round off the weekend.
A mid-set acoustic section featuring 'Late In The Day', 'Seen The Light' and 'Caught By The Fuzz' makes for an attractive diversion, but it's a run of the much-loved anthems 'Pumping On Your Stereo', 'Grace' and 'Moving' that really prove how special this band is. It's a fitting finale, a bow-out opportunity to let rip for the thousands congregated - and it's bloody deafening. Even the snotty-nosed kids on poppers next to us seem to be grinning. And that's a sign if we ever did see one... For another year; goodbye, Berkshire.
Reviews: Matt Tomiak / Photo-Credit: Samantha Hall / Toby L
Scrapbook:
THE PEOPLE'S VERDICT
(based on 50 opinions)
Best Act Of The Weekend?
1. The White Stripes
= Green Day
3. The Offspring
4. Morrissey
5. The Libertines
6. Funeral For A Friend
7. Franz Ferdinand
8. Kasabian
9. The Streets
10. Ash
Photo-Credit: Samantha Hall
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