Carling Weekend: Reading Festival - Richfield Avenue, Reading - 25-27/8/06
1/5
By: Thomas Hannan
Friday 25th August 2006
Is there an age at which you can be too old for Reading? Does there come a time when instead of watching Green Day and going back to burn your tent amidst cries of (insert traditional festival campsite catchphrase here), you just want to get a bit of kip so you can go see Broken Social Scene without feeling like death? Maybe. But sod it, The Fall are playing.
Initial fears are added to when one as sprightly as Charlie of Fightstar (**) is the first face you see on the Main Stage as you walk in. Sorry, Charlie from Busted. He so desperately wants Fightstar to be judged on their own merit, but the Busted connection should not be brushed aside because, simply, Fightstar aren't actually good enough to warrant a slot like this on their own merit. They're here because it's him from Busted, and should stop trying to avoid it. As such, this clouds my judgement - and so it should. Though they make a nice transition from record on to a big stage and are a solid live proposition, you have to wonder how far it can go on such a flimsy premise. What will happen when all the kids realise that Funeral for a Friend have so many more tunes? And why's he swearing so much?
Next, The Long Blondes (***), over on the Radio 1 NME Stage (as last year, we still call it the Evening Session Tent) seem to be the very definition of an 'OK' band. They have things that let them down, basically that there's nothing particularly engaging about their craft, and also a few things in their favour, like an occasionally winning way with a melody and a really charming stage presence. Keep waving those arms, girl - quite often I'm getting more pleasure out of watching you than listening to you.
I shouldn't devote yourself to them. I have a feeling they'd let you down. But do, please, enjoy it for what it is - a rather entertaining, visually stimulating rock and roll workout. Little more, but nothing less.
It'll rain, later. Really. But lo, look at the sky at the moment! Clouds only on the periphery, a glance directly above your head will reveal only the most intense, beautiful shade of blue. Marvellous. If only it lasted.
Back in the Radio 1 NME Tent, Guillemots (**) are standing right in front of us, but it sounds like they're playing in another room. Why, for a band so twinkly, is the bass so prominent? Why, because the sound is really very poor, basically - as it is so often in this tent. However, maybe it's sounding really rather great on stage, as they're really going for it. They're quite a special band, this we know. It's just a shame we don't get to hear how special they are.
The Comedy Tent hosts Simon Amstel (****) next, and is rammed - only after a chant to get people to stand up from those waiting outside, unable to hear, does he get the large audience he deserves. It becomes a strangely raucous setting for a comedy show, but Amstel really feeds off it. He tells us he's "never bought cocaine, because it's not fair trade", and we all go 'ha ha har'.
The poor sound quality doesn't seem to matter so much for Gogol Bordello (****) in the Radio 1 NME Tent because they're so much fun to watch, constantly lifting their feet up to shoulder height and stamping around, forcing girls to scream as part of some massive punk cabaret act. I'm both amazed and delighted that people take this band seriously, even when they probably know they shouldn't. Though they'll never be everything, live it's certain that few others will be anything like Gogol Bordello. Only fools would muster an attempt.
The queue for Alan Carr (***) in the Comedy Tent is silly, and selfish people under the cover of the tent, and therefore in earshot, stay sat down so many can't get in. Once a path forward has been found, to the annoyance of those around us (sorry guys, it's all in the name of journalism), we discover that Carr's basically no Amstel. He's best when he's making jokes that rely nothing on his sexuality or other kinds of innuendo (in your endo!), but basically, he plays it safe, and doesn't do this nearly enough. To be fair, that's exactly what most of the crowd wanted to hear.
Peaches (****) is the day's surprise hit so far. Sound quality is now even less of a concern than it was for the Gogols, but that's not because it's got any better in this same tent, it's because the songs are largely awful anyway, and a Peaches show is always more about spectacle. It's about the giant inflatable cock and balls that she's got coming from behind the double drumkit much, much more than the music.
That said, what with her new full, all girl band (featuring JD Samson from Le Tigre on keyboards), she actually sounds better than ever. The band taking care of the tunes leaves her even more room to behave like a sexually deranged idiot. I shook my dick, because she commanded me to.
'Fuck The Pain Away' ends it brilliantly. "What else is in the teaches of Peaches?" she asks, quoting her own lyrics. "Absolutely f**king nothing, it's just a good time." Well summarised, girl.
Everybody loves these Mystery Jets (****). Once again, I cannot stress how much that if this is prog music (interesting to note that someone at the front is waving a flag with the 'Jets logo on one side and the cover of 'The Dark Side of the Moon' painted on t'other), then prog has become anthemic, for thousands. Funny that they play their best two songs first ('The Boy Who Ran Away' and 'You Can't Fool Me Dennis' are impeccable), but it works in that from then on everyone is completely hooked, and stays with them all the way through album tracks, new songs, all sorts - they even chant for 'space age sea shanty' 'Zoo Time' (yeah, I've called it that before, but I just really like it), each track as much of a communal activity as the last. Part of me really feels like I'm in the Mystery Jets. I bet they'd like that.
Back over to the Main Stage we go in time to hear Belle & Sebastian (****) play a lorra lorra new stuff, but for me, that's fine - I had no prior emotional attachment to them before 'The Life Pursuit', and I really love that record. Put today's rendition of 'Sukie In The Graveyard' on 'The Boy With The Arab Strap' and every one of their devotees would be lapping this shit up, although not everything on the new album comes without questions - what exactly is a "throw-ught', anyway? 'Funny Little Frog's a great tune in these conditions, though.
Stuart gets one of the aforementioned devotees to do his make up whilst he sings to her, and she looks utterly in love. He then gets a girl, called Katie, on stage to dance about with him to 'Johnathan David'. She's utterly in love too. It's cute. But by now, even a very tolerant soul like myself would like to hear a little 'Electronic Rennaisance' or something. I get 'The Boy With The Arab Strap' to close, and I'm sated. Delighted, in fact.
Whether she's dressed as a Transformer, or a dragon, or a weird hybrid of both, Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (****) looks utterly possessed. Though totally aware of the crowd and very much playing up to their presence, she's completely lost in the music because the audience are very much a part of it. Saying that, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she got this manic at practices.
The largely acoustic, 'Show Your Bones' material only really works live, as here you're about to see the sheer glee and fits of giggles they throw Karen into. A wholly stripped back 'Maps' gets dedicated to the partners of each band member (though, oddly, not Angus Andrew of Liars, Karen's beau - s'ok, we love you, Angus), and finds itself in the sunset slot. As anyone who's ever been to Reading before knows, nobody can sound bad in the sunset slot, and great bands sound superb in it. Remember Beck?
The only problem with The Vines (**) is that they never moved on. They're a great band to watch live, and it's heart warming to see Craig Nicholls well again, it really is. But otherwise, this could be any time in the past six years. I, we, have moved on. They haven't. But, shit, 'Get Free' still sounds proper tough though, and their slow stuff still comparatively blows, apart from 'Ms Jackson', which isn't even theirs. They end on 'F**k the World'. You see how little has changed.
Then, the British indie double bill to end them all, first The Kaiser Chiefs (***) and then the brothers Ferdinand. The Kaisers are a pony with one trick currently, and that trick is to go 'WHOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAH!' in every song, but in front of thousands of people, there may not be a better trick to display. Many a hit on just the one record, each of them rolled out, and the delivery of a great festival set is what we get, even if it is only really enjoyable on a superficial level.
There's something far more intriguing about Franz Ferdinand (****), and whilst they're the least arty of all the art school bands we'll see all weekend, they are a great, quirky, impeccably stylish pop outfit, something even the falling raindrops cannot disguise. I've got a poncho, you see.
More ponchos, please. There should be more people going nuts to a note perfect, vibrant 'Take Me Out' than there are, but because of the precipitation, a lot of the sods are watching bloody Primal Scream in the comfort of a tent. Let's get this straight. Ponchos - good. Primal Scream - evil. Ponchos will triumph.
Saturday 26th August 2006
Remember talking yesterday about The Vines and moving on? The Maccabees (***), in the Carling Tent, might just be that next stage we all move on to. They jangle and indulge in melody like the Futureheads did on their second, yet maintain the energy many had felt the Sunderland posse had lost since their first. The sound's great, and the reception even better. Special? Very possibly. That 'X Ray Vision' one and 'Bicycle', well, they're there already, aren't they? That much I'm sure of even at this early stage.
The sound that Giant Drag (***) make would be a dirge, especially in the Radio 1 NME Tent, if it weren't for that fact that a voice such as hers can only make lovely melodies rather than adding to the din. It's all variations on a theme, but its quite as mesmerising theme. She tells us she saw her boyfriend's band play here on this very stage four years ago, and here she now is, living out that dream of playing songs, largely about him, whilst he does nothing. Songs like 'Kevin Is Gay'. We're then all told to 'jack off on his face'. Hell, they're no longer as cute as they were when we first walked in. But better for it.
We wander, and can hear Flogging Molly's faux Irish punk nonsense from every bloody blade of grass in Reading. Shut up, Flogging Molly.
For some reason, Stewart Lee (*****) is nowhere near as popular as Alan Carr or Simon Amstel the day before him, and all who want to see him actually get a seat. People who don't see him are people I don't have very much interest in talking to.
For those familiar with him, I'll tell you that today's set features a lot of material from his superb 'Stand Up Comedian' set, but it doesn't matter with Stewart Lee if the punch lines are familiar because the unique delivery is always so clever. Go on 'You Tube' and type in 'Stewart Lee Ang Lee' and laugh for a few minutes. Curse Wolfmother for nearly drowning him out. Curse the schedule for today meaning that we have to choose between him and Wolfmother. Still, we made a good choice.
Main Stage time, and The Cribs and their stupid haircuts are there, playing boisterous, brattish indie, and doing nothing else. When it has a tune, it works great - 'Mirror Kisses', for example, is lovely - but when it doesn't... this is the sad thing. I notice that it doesn't have a tune a lot of the time, especially today. When the new stuff sounds over familiar and falls flat, you have to wonder how much further this can go before new chaps like The Maccabees or Good Shoes catch them up.
I've loved them when I've been drunk. I'm very disappointed to find out that when sober, they only have three tunes. And they all go 'Woah-AH-oh-oh, Woah-AH-OH-oh!', a lot. Sigh.
Come on, let's have a massive 'boo!' for the sound in the Radio 1 NME Tent once again, shall we? I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but even sounding like that is better than sounding like what comes over the PA in this tent! Granted, 'Adventure' is the only one of Be Your Own Pet's (****) songs that has a particularly strong melody (and it slays), but come on - Thurston Moore wouldn't have signed a band who only wrote uninspired, dull bass thuds, would he? Good job they move around so frantically and look brilliant, isn't it?
Back under the Carling Tent and GoodBooks (****) thank us all for 'bopping about' quite so feverishly to songs we don't know. It's polite, but blind. Look around and you'd have noticed that a fair few here know every word to the likes of upcoming single 'Paschendale' and even one time B-Side 'Start Stop' amongst others. Shiny jackets and woolly hats in summer might not be their best look but this is the kind of place that their sound, if not their fashion, worked marvellously. Onwards. And? Upwards.
Once again, although a Main Stage Futureheads (***) refuse to really milk their superior new album (why though, lads? 'Fallout' sounded amazing!), they provide a solid, fun set. 'He Knows' and its 'Oh oh oh's are still the thing that most people will take away from a Futureheads live experience, and 'Hounds of Love' is entirely necessary for big occasions likes, but perhaps they might think about playing it less frequently, so as to sever the association. Still, it's a much better Kate Bush cover than Placebo manage with 'Running Up That Hill'.
The Carling Tent crowd for The Noisettes (****) is full of faces - people you'd recognise but couldn't attribute a name to. Fair game - they all want to associate themselves with the Noisettes at this early stage, before they go massive.
Female fronted rock bands are commonplace this year at Reading, but this is how the English do it - far more interestingly, basically. Not only do they write real songs instead of rampant, tuneless thrashing about ('The Count of Monte Christo' and 'Scratch Your Name' both heavy on striking melody) and have an amazing frontwoman, but even they are just yelping and hammering away at one huge riff ('Don't Give Up'), they still sound the polar opposite of boring. Actually take your eyes off the lady up front for a moment and you'll notice both the guitarist and drummer excel also. They're the kind of band who you couldn't actually imagine being asleep.
Here's how it works - Dirty Pretty Things (***) are better than Babyshambles (they actually turn up and play coherent songs) who themselves are nowhere near as good as them Libertines, and neither are Dirty Pretty Things. Everyone - band members included - knows this to be the case. Today, what DPT gain in tightness they lose in thrilling abandon. Sparks are there, and occasionally they are capable of being somewhat special. The rest of the time, sadly, I can't help but feeling like I'm watching half a band. Albeit the better half.
The Fall are mesmerising, although I have no problem believing that most people here in the Radio 1 Tent think they're utterly shit. Mumble mumble mumble. A new line up - only Mark E Smith's wife maintaining her tenuous hold on her job - and yet they still sound exactly the same as they ever did or ever will.
Face it though - if you've not been in The Fall, chances are you've probably been in The Cure. Grunt, something about the post office, grunt. You don't come in to this band for job security.
Though they play many songs, 'Sparta FC' is the only one where any of the words are remotely coherent (and she sings the ones that are). Murr murr something about Galatasary MURR. The Fall's tunes are all long, drawn out, hypnotic grooves, and each time they repeat a three note riff, it's more spellbinding than the last.
Taking to the stage after them, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (***) are nice enough, but not the epiphany that many suggested they might be. They seem very, very polite as a band and a sound, and so when I do clap my hands, I do it reservedly. Because there's no real pay off.
Really, are there people still interested in Feeder (*)? And is there anything here different to the last billion times they've played anywhere? Is there any sense of occasion to this at all? Is there but one shred of credibility or shame remaining in these people? The answer to all of these question is NO.
Back in the comfort of the Carling Tent (after that, we might never venture outside again), and the only thing the excellent TV On The Radio do wrong is play 'Staring At The Sun' too fast - it's all release and no tension whereas that song works best when that's reversed. Other than that, none of their ten feet are put wrong at any point. You can concentrate all you like on the intricacies of their floating guitar sound or timbres of their voices or just dance like a loon to 'Wolf Like Me', and both reactions are entirely appropriate. Here's one thing we can say for TV On The Radio that we can't say for a lot of bands on this bill - no other band is making this sound. Here's another - set of the weekend.
We certainly couldn't make that first claim of Main Stage nearly headliners Arctic Monkeys (****), whose rise from midway up the Carling tent cast last year to near overlords this time has seen many a copycat outfit arise. I still agree with a statement Morrissey took back - it seems to have happened a little too fast, but many thousands of people who bellow every word along with them all totally disagree with me, and I'm not about to take them on. Why? Because I genuinely love a few Arctic Monkeys tracks, and recently, the whole idea of the lads has reinvigorated British guitar music in a way not seen since Britpop. I am nothing compared to the true believers. There they are totally engrossed in songs with words like 'bum' and 'scumbag' in them, and here I am not having as good a time as them (but still, enjoying it). And loving the Arctic Monkeys looks brilliant fun. So they win.
Me oh my, I want to see Muse (*****) over and over again. I might not want to run out and buy the record straight away, but lord, live, this is special. Of course, Muse are silly, but maybe it's because in a setting as large as this they can really indulge in just that part of their trade that makes it such a fantastic spectacle. Well done them for not being afraid to pilfer the back catalogue as well - Muse have a past, and they don't deny it. And though 'Supermassive Black Hole' sounds utterly superb in a live setting, you notice when they play the likes of 'Showbiz' and 'New Born' that there's actually been a coherent running theme of huge ambition and pomp running through it all along.
Oh, and, er, they sound like Radiohead, don't they?
Sunday 27th August 2006
The further away you get from the festival site, the more reasonably priced the basic ingredients of life are - y'know, tikka sandwiches and cider. Take a leisurely walk and you can still be back in time for Tapes 'n Tapes (****) on the Radio 1 NME Stage. Now, I'm really looking forward to putting in the effort with these guys. It does require some persistence, as they're no instantly that gratifying, meaning that the majority of people here, those who don't own and love 'The Loon', are understandably a little perplexed by it all. It's not a record that always admits of love at first sight, but I relish my upcoming glances in its direction. This set is the best hook for that task -naturally flowing, intriguing, organic, tuneful alternative rock. Pavement used to do this, remember? They're great musicians, expert at dynamics, playing the brilliant 'Insistor' at times so quietly it's barely there, but somehow keeping it thoroughly urgent and attention grabbing at all times. The Pixies used to do this, remember?
For the final song, one Tape just ambles about with a tambourine, extravagantly smacking at it, as if thinking to himself 'hey - I've got a cool job'.
Then, I go and buy a really ace tweed jacket for £2. Reading's alright, innit?
The Dresden Dolls (****), who follow Tapes on to the Radio 1 NME Stage, are the thirtieth act I've seen this weekend. Yeah, I've been counting, big whoop, wanna fight about it? Anyway - they're amongst the best. I'm glad there's a real performance element to go along with their fantastic, flamboyant songs, chucking drumsticks in to the air and standing arched over the keyboard, hammering frantically away at their tunes. They go down a storm, and we're subsequently told we're better than Leeds. Which is no f**king surprise, really. Have you ever been to Leeds?
I'd like to find a better term for their songs than 'really listenable', because this really deserves it. 'Really listenable!!!', perhaps.
Have you ever known with clarity and distinctness that a band are really worthwhile and still felt like there's something missing all the while? I got a bit like that with Semifinalists (***) over under the Carling Tent. It's obvious that Semifinalists are doing something both justifiable and laudable, that they're very melodically adept, very intelligent, structurally very intriguing. But live, my excitement levels never really get going above a low ripple. I think it's lovely. I wish however that I wasn't quite so numb to it. Perplexing.
Before watching Good Shoes (****), next on stage, my girl informs me that Peaches' real name is Meryl, and you can understand that I take a while to readjust. I think I expected her real name to be 'cock' or something. Then, the tent fills with many whose clothes stick terrifyingly close to their bodies, and Good Shoes, a band who are anti-baggy in more ways than one, come along. The band themselves however are dressed far more sensibly, and much less annoyingly, than their very vocally devoted fans. Not only that - they're a heck of a lot older, which for some reason makes me like them all the more. It somehow now seems less flippant, I now know at least that someone is taking these pretty ditties seriously, and as such so can I.
Songs? Theirs are all mildly varying takes on an overall aesthetic that makes my toes tap, apart from when I'm sitting down, and even then they occasionally play one so good that I have to stand up just so I can tap my toes. Now and again, I catch a yelped, politically aware lyric, and a little lightbulb comes on in my head. Good.
Seriously, Goldie Lookin' Chain (***) should stop worrying about records and having a deal and just go about the world being funny f**kers. You see, the songs are only as good as the jokes, and bad jokes ('Your Missus' to the tune of 'My Doorbell') make for bad GLC songs. This really might have been better off in the comedy tent. It's not music. But it is pretty funny.
It's great, really great, that The Research (****) are on at the same time as Slayer, because I can't imagine many people other than myself want to see the both of them.
Oh lord, I'm so bloody eclectic.
They themselves are as cutesy as their songs - for example, when Georgia's thumb starts bleeding, everyone in the tent looks in their bags for a plaster. We want to kiss it better. Their voices are really lovely, the sound is great, and because of all this and the smiles on their faces, something as sparse as The Research works great live. In my notebook, I wrote 'love' instead of 'live', then. Intersting.
But still, Slayer (***) do need to be seen, if only to balance things out. First thing's first - there are 24 Marshall stacks on stage. And Slayer play fast. Very fast. Their slow songs? Are really bloody fast. It's not just the ever present shred solos, but the two bass drums, you see - and that Dave Lombardo is really quite something on them.
I admit, I am only here out of curiosity. And so is everyone else. And in the sunshine, with a picture of a disembodied Christ as their backdrop, something about Slayer seems a little bit silly.
Broken Social Scene (****) review themselves. "Something's on fire up here - anyone know what it is? It's the band! The band's on fire, folks!".
Lord, I want to be eclectic, but I'm not, not as much as I think I am, not at all. I am so much more at home here than I am with Slayer. I still think that nobody stood within ten metres of me actually liked them all that much anyway. Comparatively, we all adore Broken Social Scene, because they make ethereal music, brilliantly layered and dreamily delivered, that you can really get carried away on. So, midway through the afternoon on the third day of the Reading Festival, this fits the mood brilliantly. When I'm this knackered, from now on, I only ever want to listen to Broken Social Scene, ok? Or the sound of my own snoring.
But precisely why is it so relaxing when they're playing so fast? Everything seems to be happening in a misty daze, but in that daze it's all happening very quickly. Still, somehow it remains hypnotic and never rushed.
Please, will people stop calling me 'motherf**ker'? I'm eating a sandwich, and from miles away I can hear Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance calling me a motherf**ker. Ask me if I'm OK by all means. Just don't ask me if I'm ok 'motherf**ker?!?!!', please.
Back under the Carling Tent, I do begin to wonder why Libertines fans split their allegiances between Dirty Pretty Things and Babyshambles when they could just pledge allegiance to Larrikin Love (****) instead, who are better at doing the whole great-fun-with-a-vaild-point thing than either of those current bands, and in my opinion, better even than the Libs did. I certainly never got quite this excited about it. Other than one arse moment where they play a mercifully short song that sounds decidedly like Flogging Molly, they excel, - people chanting words of support in between songs, getting a Carol Thatcher look-alike on stage to play spoons (of all the Thatchers, she's the most likely to do something like this isn't she?) and just generally injecting what should by now be a dustbowl of a Sunday night with a bit of melody and excitement - and no conceitedness whatsoever.
Nearly there. And on to my problems with Hot Chip (***), whose album it should be stated I can't get enough of. What's funny is that better than seeing them in concert, and far more representative of what I think one should really get from a Hot Chip live experience, is just hearing 'Over and Over' come on in a club. There, you see, it's loud. It's dark. You can actually hear the bass and the drums. True, you might be able to hear little else. But at least you can hear the bass and the drums. The essential parts.
So why can't I hear them here? Is it to do with the band's way of constructing the sound, or some bizarre, after daylight sound limit being imposed? Another gripe - why are Hot Chip so afraid to use a backing track? OK boys, cool, you want to keep it all totally live, and I respect that. But the sad fact is it just doesn't sound anywhere near as effective as it does on record. It intrigues me, but it doesn't shake any bit of me. You spent so long creating that sound, the one that does make parts of me move, in the studio, so why not use a bit of it, especially if, as it seems, you can't recreate it fully live? To me, as long as there still is some kind of performance element to it, which you did provide, and the songs are still great, which they were, there wouldn't be any shame in it.
Sound gripes started our festival and look set to end it, too. When we venture over to the dance tent to let 2 Many DJs act as the closing act to our weekend we realise that our problems with Hot Chip might not have been entirely their fault. Everywhere's really quiet. Either that or after three days of the stuff, we're totally deafened.
Nope. People are chanting 'turn it up, turn it up!' just like they were during Hot Chip. But they're up for it, and the boys Soulwax do good with the sound they are allowed. Gah, it's beautiful to see a tent full of people jumping around to Blur's 'Girls and Boys' again. And it's good to be right in the middle of it with them, chanting for the volume to be louder, dancing my man-tits off. Young at heart...
Photo Credit: www.joshhallphotography.com @ Leeds
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