02 Wireless Festival - Hyde Park, London - 4/7/08
3/5
By: Dan Monsell
We should probably get this quite clear from the off, Wireless is not really a festival. Instead it's more of a corporate sponsored inner-city park fair, with musical entertainment at its centre. The back stage area is mostly over-run by corporate shacks, with LG and numerous phone companies pitching exclusive and imposing tents while us musical journalists can only stare yearningly at their expensive hog roasts and glasses of champagne. Reading and Leeds this is not.
Line-up wise, we choose to cover the day that the organizers probably dubbed "indie-rock" day in their round table boardroom; glancing through a few magazines to see what gets those types of kids going in between bites of caviar. That said, in between your Wombats, Dirty Pretty Things and Courteeners, there are a few gems on today's line-up. We're here for Beck, Morrissey, The National, Black Kids, Liam Finn and the Duke Spirit to name a few. Whether we're going to see them is another thing - it's Friday daytime and we're in the park; it's crazily sunny and we've sourced a sh*t load of bottles of Tuborg (the selling point of which seems to be 'it's green!'). This could get messy.
We arrive in time for a "secret" bandstand gig from one of the day's headliners, The National. The fact that they clash with Morrissey later on is probably the reason for the band making this happen at all. In terms of pleasing fans, we couldn't really ask for more from a fifteen minute set. We get four of the tracks from the fantastic Boxer album, including the two big 'uns: 'Fake Empire' and 'Apartment story'. We even contemplated just going home then, satisfied as we now were. (Dan Monsell)
We've enjoyed both Blood Brothers and Pretty Girls Make Graves in the past, so it seemed a wise choice to check out Jaguar Love, a new band featuring members of both the now defunct groups. The tent is pretty near empty; today's more mainstream crowd aren't really the appropriate audience for a band whose members have spent most of the musical lives trawling the more underground side of live performance spaces. While Johnny Whitney's screaming schoolgirl-like rock star falsetto immediately gives us what we'd expect, the total sum of the waistcoat wearing five-piece is just downright confusing. They play a sort of updated take-on glammed-up 70s style rock, akin to My Chemical Romance, or a pop-punk T-Rex. Not what we really thought we'd see here in context of their previous bands. It's oddly captivating, but mostly we're just left with the feeling that this music is far from natural from a group that are also wildly visually disparate. We leave the tent confused. (Dan Monsell)
After a brief break sat out in the sunshine, we head to the Sandisk tent (yep this is mobile phone heaven) for Jacksonville's finest, Black Kids. Looking out at a massively packed chunk of people in front of us, it's quite mad to think how far this lot have come since they played in our special Club Rockfeedback launch night back in February. They've gone from a fun party-band in a little venue, to a kind of shaky big stage act (judging by some early summer festival appearances), until now, suddenly with some huge added strength. They've now become a fully-fledged disco-pop outfit happy to roll out massive songs for as many as people as possible to sing along. That's definitely the mood in today's tent as a rabble of pissed-up and sorry to say it - rather fleeting music fans - lap up summer tunes with echoes of Prince and Robert's Smith with girl group doo-woops. Some tunes sound huge, others are a bit shaky. Still, this is a triumphant set for a band who've risen high on up. Bravo. (Dan Monsell)
After a few more bottles of Tuborg we're now definitely in the mood for Beck. His new album has received almost non-stop plays in the office in the days previous, and we can't wait to see how it will work out live. However, recent reports of his shows - including a recent RFB review of a troubled set at a festival in Norway - has suggested that Beck has been on questionable form due to reports of illness. Unfortunately this appears to still be the case tonight.
Despite cranking out a definitive party set of classics and sounding more upbeat and full of spirit than ever, a pale and sullen Beck stands motionless throughout the duration of the set, not even uttering any words of acknowledgement from beneath his face-dwarfing sunglasses. In contrast to previous Beck shows full of bouncy stage antics, puppetry, and prop gimmicks, tonight is just worrying. Is Beck just unwell? Tired of playing live? Not enjoying playing a new album that might well be one of the best of his career? We're not sure. But despite surrounding himself by a band that looks like some kind of 90s alt-rock super-group (with a super hot girl bass-player), we're too distracted by Beck being so weirdly subdued to enjoy some of the best songs of the last couple decades. Get well soon chap. (Dan Monsell)
Though we'll always stick up for the Beckster, even if the Scientology stuff (THIS is essential reading) is mildly terrifying, compared to him Morrissey feels like much more of an event. Morrissey is very much in the mood for this one, and why wouldn't he be? The day isn't a festival, it's essentially a Morrissey gig with a huge support bill over a few stages. Nobody is here for anything else. And they get exactly what they expect (note, this is different to want) - Stephen Patrick has a go at the food trucks serving meat, berates Kylie Minogue and, a few songs in, strips himself of his 'Playboy' t shirt (though he clearly, clearly reads Playgirl, doesn't he?). And look at that marvellous torso, devoid of muscle but solid as a f**king rock. Physically, he's in fine shape. But musically?
Hmm... is it just me or does the new stuff sound like the kind of bloated arena rock usually doled out by the likes of the Manic Street Preachers? And not good Manics either, this is far more 'Send Away The Tigers' than 'The Intense Humming Of Evil'. I want to love it, but the sound's awful, he's a billion miles away, and there's a distinct feeling of motions being gone through to it. He wants the adoration, sure, and he's getting it, but he's playing this for the money and no other reason. He's nothing to promote. Nothing really to even say (the Kylie thing's a cheap shot). Maybe there is if you're stood right at the front, extending your arms towards him as if he's some kind of God, but back where we're stood there's no danger to it. And if he thinks he can pull off shows of this size - Hyde Park being humungous - well, this is his problem and not mine. Everybody should be entranced, every last one of us. But more than a few look a little 'yeah, what?'.
It's confirmed. He's going through the motions. But, especially when he plays the Smiths ones which is all anyone's waiting for anyway (really, who's gagging for 'All You Need Is Me'?), these are lovely motions. 'Stretch Out and Wait' is a particularly fine motion. That can't be doubted. Sure, watching Morrissey just being Morrissey will always bring with it its own distinct, utterly unique pleasures. That's the nature of the man. I'm still in love with him, clearly. That's why I can be this honest about his flaws. I truly wish I didn't feel this 'ho hum' about it. Listen, it's not like I want him to stop. Morrissey will never shut up, never stop saying things he shouldn't, never stop singing weird combinations of words. A silent Morrissey is no Morrissey. To shut up for Morrissey is to die. But his sets need a little more life than this if they're to be as vital as he clearly still wants them to be. (Tom Hannan)
ALL PHOTOGRAPHS COPYRIGHT SOL ARCHER
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