Isle of Wight Festival - Seaclose Park - 8-10/6/07
4/5
A crowd of sixty thousand brightly coloured t-shirt wearing, fashion following, mainstream music loving folk joined me at what was a somewhat more high class campsite than last time we landed on the island for what was to be the biggest Isle of Wight festival since its grandiose re-launch in 2002.
ith a line up that Smash Hits magazine would (and one that Clash magazine certainly wouldn't) have been proud of, and with Download Festival pulling the majority of the skinny jeans and eyeliner wearing lads away to Donnington, the festival was a far cry from how it found itself two years ago, when surrounded by girls with ridiculous fringes and boys with nail vanish I watched the likes of The Subways, Nine Black Alps and Babyshambles with utmost glee. That said, this cleaner, slightly older crowd maintained an extremely excitable buzz in camp, and were on full form - jumping, singing, drinking and drinking through performances as diverse as Paolo Nutini and The Rolling Stones.
The crowd still inebriated from Thursday evening's mass consumption of alcohol, I was rather thwarted by Echo and the Bunnymen's somewhat lame attempt at recreating what once was first thing on Friday. They simply lacked stage presence as a haggard looking Ian McCulloch sung unenthusiastically to crowds that settled on the grass with Pimms in the adorning sunshine asking questions like "wasn't this song on Donnie Darko?" and, perhaps more worryingly, "who are these guys...?"
The Feeling however enjoyed an enthusiastic reception as they sung their sweet, catchy and unavoidably diluted pop songs and an interesting cover of The Buggles' 'Video Killed the Radio Star', which proved to be an extremely sanguine choice. An unshakably happy, characteristically child friendly if slightly weak performance served as a cute enough entrée before Groove Armada convinced the now optimistic crowd to move more than just their heads to the throbbing sound.
In a sudden change of tempo, a now ecstatic throng was seduced into submission by Snow Patrol's poignant and surprisingly touching recital of an ambitious and impressive set. With an intensifying lightshow and the expressively distinguished vocal talents of Gary Lightbody in full effect, the 'Patrol were the definite highlight of an eclectic if strangely ordered Friday night.
Saturday, the first full day of the festival, was riddled with pretty girls in floral dresses who probably secreted Pimms out of every available orifice. Sitting on the grass watching one of many local acts sing introduction-less, soft and generic indie pop on the new band stage, I was literally blown away (back to the main stage) by a distinct lack of talent towards a performance by The Red Arrows, who were dancing in the skies to the sound of Donovan, whose folksy psychedelic jazz was surprisingly enjoyable despite a dated resonance.
Amy Winehouse - and I hate to put myself into the increasing number of journalists who comment on an artists weight, but sheesh - was notably thinner than on previous outings but hey, at least she showed up, despite those extensive rumours around site of a no show. However, her once inconceivably prosperous voice appeared scarcely above average compared to previous shows, her range now only just astonishing rather than of another world.
Huge hair, ripped leather and concise energetic rock presented itself in the form of Wolfmother later to a now-wilting audience and re-energised them with a heroic and stimulating show of snappy punchy songs, both well loved and unknown.
Afterwards, Ash got an undeservingly mixed response as they showcased superlative hits from the past as well as introducing new material. With a more open minded audience, ready to accept the fresher ditties, the performance would have been better received. Maybe everyone just thought Tim Wheeler was too old for it, though as he keeps telling us, he's still younger than your average Kaiser Chief. That said, as if warming themselves up for Muse, everyone sang along to 'Girl From Mars' and 'Shining Light' happily enough.
The odd sense of oppression that hung in the sky graciously fell in to pieces for a set that felt far more intense, thrilling and emotional than last night's headliners provided. Out of electrifying red lights there stood Matt Bellamy, haughtily, like a proud holy figure in some kind of luminous desert, in a fitted glowing white tailcoat and trousers. Muse exceeded even my massive expectations and were strident, severely tight and almost psychedelic in experimental, stretched out solos. As Matt's massive pitch-bent guitar tones echoed out as his some might say whiney, full-on, desperate words accompanied him, people stood there both mesmerised and awe struck. With a former propensity to be seen as music for musicians only, Muse fantastically combined the familiar crowd pleasers ('Supermassive Black Hole' 'Feeling Good' and 'Starlight' garnering particularly tender reactions) with epic, self assured and gritty rock intermissions. Nobody else could have done the Saturday headline slot quite so well.
A chilled Sunday brought the usual third day at a festival hangover, a fittingly casual line up and the cute touch of a Sunday paper stall. Only on the Isle of Wight...
Acts came and left the stage, Mel C enjoying a tepid reception for a dull, cringe-worthy show of once-catchy pop and tedious new material, meaning it was James Morrison's cheerful, MOR rock that was the first sound to really woo the crowd into a relaxed sing-along during a casual, polished but by no means stupefying performance that was fitting for a Sunday afternoon.
It sat as an appropriate orderve to Paolo Nutini, who was, actually, greatly superior to the Isle of Wight Festival 2007's forerunners. With an eloquent, modest if strangely unpolished and giggly presentation, he came across in fact as charming, raw and endearing. Despite recent controversy regarding the Scotsman's drinking habits (cheers, Paolo), Nutini was vocally on top form, and seduced the crowd in spite of a significant lack of banter.
I have to admit that after a funky version of Disney's The Jungle Book's 'I Wanna Be Like You', The Fratellis had a readily captivated audience and sung a crowd-pleasing set with all the usual favourites. Yet many were left decidedly unsatisfied by their lack of a sense of occasion, leading us, during Keane's dreary set, on to a debate as to whether this generation has anything like a Motley Crue or Guns 'N Roses, and if not when, oh when, they were to arrive...
Here's an opinion for you (and it is just an opinion), but the so called 'super' bands of today, although competent and in many ways technically superior to their predecessors, really just don't put on a show in the same sense as those who came before them. We've no outstanding Mick Jagger figure, no Steven Tyler-esque frontmen, though perhaps to expect such of Keane is missing the point. Singer Tom's on stage monologue however was inarguably weak, self-indulgent and actually for th benefit of himself alone. In between songs which effortlessly droned into each other lazily and then dissipated like a sentence with no punctuation, the frontman had the audacity to refer to the media hyped surrounding his drug addiction affair as something that 'this difficult year we have managed to come back from' - as though some how his problems weren't his fault at all...
After Keane's disillusioning input (OK, rant over), it was not a surprise that The Rolling Stones teased the crowd for 50 minutes before swaggering, impressively slender and surprisingly sexily for their age (true, I'm a proper perv, but not alone in this counter-paedophilia) on to a specially customised stage. Finally, the proper performers we had longed for had arrived, with a set that was characteristically overblown and possessed and energy that belied their age. Playing old and new songs with helpful cameos from both Amy Winehouse (who sang much better than in her own set and in extremely cute little white pumps, trotted like an over excited pony around Mick Jagger) and Paolo Nutini, it was an outstanding performance, magnified by a crowd so receptive that they managed to create a poignant and emotional ambience that wasn't rivalled all weekend.
The Isle of Wight Festival is a magical occasion with its heart in the right place and charming level of class and sophistication. And me, I love it.
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