Jonsi, Leeds Academy, 8th September 2010
Perhaps it’s their country’s resemblance to an Alien world, but Icelandic singers have a habit of acting and sounding like they’re from another planet. The proper debut solo album from Sigur Ros singer Jonsi saw him mostly using English lyrics, not that you could tell. His haunting falsetto has been bewitching crowds for years, but to witness it live is a sensational experience.
The crowd was always going to be a step sideways from the usual student knobheads you get at the Academy, and it was all Guardian readers and their children. With this type of crowd and this type of gig there was always the danger of the experience being ruined by Talkers, but the hush the spread around the building as Jonsi took to the stage with just an acoustic guitar was equal parts reverence and excitement. Unfortunately this didn’t last, and we had a group of chatting types near us, but a curt “shut the fuck up” soon silenced them.
Dressed in rainbow coloured robes fit for Joseph, albeit a Joseph raised by Wolves on Summerisle, Jonsi brought with him a band decked out in similar woodland attire, rarely staying on the same instrument for more than one song. Among the appliances brought to life were a shell in a jar, an eight man Glockenspiel and some kind of collapsed Cello.
Go was played in its entirety, with a few additional solo tracks thrown in for good measure. The visuals were among some of the most breathtaking I’d ever seen. They started in an almost pantomime fashion, with scenes of a burning book leading to smoke being pumped onto the stage. But then an epic battle between a Deer and a Wolf unfolded in front of us like some kind of IMAX Grimm fairytale nightmare. Go Do was accompanied by thousands of ants, seemingly spilling out of the screen and scurrying amongst us.
The sonic range was all over the place. Heatbreaking acoustics would be followed by ukulele disco. I had always been fascinated by Jonsi’s voice and wondered what studio trickery was required to produce such sounds. Now I know, it’s all him. At one point he held a note for what must have been minutes, never faltering. Bollocks to autotune.
For the encore he bounced back on stage with some ridiculous headgear which even Jay Kay would deem too daft. But Jonsi pulled it off with literal gay abandon. Grow Till Tall was the final song, and I had been warned of the levels it would reach, so earplugs at the ready I faced wave after wave of noise as everyone on stage looped and layered and abused their instruments until an almost unbearable wall of sound was formed. Jonsi was screaming into his microphone but was almost unheard under the chaos around him.
As the fuzz subsided, everyone returned to the stage for one last bow. Jonsi is a man like no other, and this show was one of the most unique performances I’ve had the pleasure of attending.
Thursday 9 September 2010
Sunday 15 August 2010
Dreamy Days
The Big Chill, Eastnor Castle, 6-8th August 2010
Let’s be honest, going to festivals can be an effort. It’s all drink this, take that, don’t sleep, hardly eat, repeat for a week.
At the Big Chill this year I suffered some of the worst Morning Afters I’ve ever had. So it’s probably a credit to this festival (and the folk I went with) that I so easily got over them and had some of the best field-based antics of my life.
The site was hilly and picturesque. Getting up and down the massive slope on the way to the arena was a chore but the views at the top (and the potential to run into the giant inflatable balls while drunk) made up for it. There was a lot more teenagers in the crowd than I expected. In fact we were all pounced on by kids at the gate who didn’t realise they needed an adult to actually get them in to the festival. “You look like me, you could be my Dad!” Little shit. That was balanced out by the amount of literal children there with families. The main stage in the afternoon was full of kids chasing bubbles, running in circles and generally having a boogie to the music. During Thom Yorke one guy in front of me had his child on his shoulders for the whole set, and the kid was loving it. Fair play.
After spending all of Thursday drinking (honestly don’t remember what else we did) our festival started properly on Friday afternoon with Ty. It was the perfect choice. A smooth mix of soul and hip hop, with some sensational backing singers who treated us to an enviously skilled dance-off. It got us in a right good mood for the rest of the day. Plus we got to laugh about Tim Westwood.
The predicted weather for the weekend wasn’t much to smile about, however in the end it was nowhere near the drenching that was forecast. Whatever showers we had were brief and mostly happened when we were back in Tent Town. However sometimes it did impose a bit too much on our enjoyment of the music. Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions arrived onstage late, to a doom-ridden sky and a moderate gale. They had the good manners to open with my favourite song, Around My Smile, and Hope Sandoval’s voice has lost none of its honey-dipped husky seductiveness. However this was music for scorching afternoons or watching the sun rise on a beach. A windy field in Herefordshire wasn’t cutting it, so we made our excuses and left. A shame, as she rarely tours, but the weather wasn’t doing it justice.
Due our collective faffing we missed most of Explosions In The Sky, catching only the last couple of songs, when really a whole set needs to be taken in to appreciate it properly. What we did see sounded suitably noisy and chaotic.
With a new Radiohead album apparently imminent, a solo show from Thom Yorke is Christmas, Birthdays and new Doctor Who wrapped into one. Alas he didn’t have his superband that he toured the States with, choosing instead to play about a dozen instruments all by himself. Coming on stage looking like a ginger Worzel Gummidge, he opened with the obvious Eraser, with a few more tracks from his solo album following that. It was Radiohead songs that dominated the set, including Planet Telex, Everything In Its Right Place, I Might Be Wrong, The Gloaming, Reckoner and an acoustic Airbag at the end. There was apparently a brand new song too, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it sounded like. He was clearly loving every second, knowing a creepy glace to the crowd from his sideways-facing piano would provoke a massive reaction from the assembled crowd. I’ve been treated to a few Radiohead performances over the last few years, and it’s always difficult to be objective with a band you love so much. Yes, it’s gloomy, but there’s beauty in the gloom. Everyone arm in arm singing along to Airbag at the end was a moment.
Massive Attack headlined that night and I really wasn’t paying attention. Their new record is what is commonly referred to as “a return to form”, but their set wasn’t exactly party music. And this is coming from a Radiohead fan. I was made to leave early, apparently missing out on Unfinished Sympathy, which could have made all the difference. We’ll never know.
Hospitality Records, them what have hosted many a fine evening before, had a whole tent to themselves until the small hours, so we went there. And that’s when the night began to fall apart for me. Danny Byrd was doing his usual Let’s Play 40 Seconds Of That Song Then Stop The Beat And Reeeeewind business which to be honest gets on my tits. I just want to dance. Don’t get in my way. Our group got split up and that was agitating me. I was looking out for them, but as I’m usually the beacon they were hard to spot. Then I began to slow down. Maybe it was the drinking since midday, maybe it was the attempt to wear a waterproof over an RAF jacket, but something was telling me to go to bed. So I did.
A bit of an average end to the day, then. But what followed on Saturday was possibly the greatest, most consistently entertaining and all round fun line-up of music that I’ve ever seen. Metronomy kicked us off with their shrill voices and nerdy keyboards. After near-missing them three times now, this was my first proper sight of them, and my how they’ve grown from bedroom bleeps to full on live band dance-pop mayhem. There was a charming attempt at failed banter about cars and the weather, but what they lack in main stage experience they make up for with Heartbreaker, Radio Ladio, My Heart Rate Rapid and A Thing For Me. Synth-nerd-tastic.
Patrick Wolf. Sighs. He did it again. I wasn’t sure how his particular brand of pop would go down with the gang, but thanks to my directors commentary filling them in on just exactly what each song was written about, what the lyrics were and how many times it’s made me cry, they seemed to get the message. It was a perfect Greatest Hits set, with interestingly no inclusions from forthcoming Album #5 The Conqueror. He finished with Magic Position. We had a little dance.
Then the Gods Of Festivals were truly smiling on us. There was some confusion as to what order Kelis and Plan B were playing in. Official literature said Kelis headlining and clashing with MIA, internet rumour said otherwise. Turns out the internet was right, and I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t randomly turned my phone on to get a call saying Kelis is on now, get the fuck over here. It was my favourite set of the festival. Resplendent in attire fit for Cleopatra, Kelis was on top of the world. New album Fleshtone is bothering LCD’s This Is Happening for my record of the year, it’s a cracking example of how an American artist can take the European electro sound and not make something fucking terrible. It is testament to how proud and happy Kelis is with herself at the moment that she played pretty much the whole album. The old songs were there too, with Millionaire thrown into Trick Me to much cheering. I was right at the back but the love in the tent was unmistakeable, especially when ending on Acapella, possibly my tune of the festival as it hasn’t left my head since then. Kelis’ show was like nothing else I’ve seen, and I so easily could have missed it.
So with the schedule for the day now all over the shop, we got to catch the end of Roots Manuva, including the wonderful Dreamy Days, but sadly too late for Witness. He seemed on good form and I wish I could have seen more.
With a rare UK show from M.I.A, you can never quite tell what mood she’s going to be in. Thankfully, tonight she seemed to be in a playful one. Opening with a teasing medley of what to come, Galang was settled on and the dancing began. I was a bit merry by then. The rainbow laser and epic video wall was an unbelievable site. Boyz, XR2 and Bucky Done Gun were all thrown out there, but then things started to nod off into the weaker moments of the new record. /\/\ /\ Y /\ (yes, it really is called that) is a typical M.I.A album in that it contains equal part amazing pop music and unlistenable nonsense. And, a fair amount of dubstep. You know my feelings on dubstep. Opening the encore with Teqkilla, she started to encourage people on to the stage, just like she did back at Reading 2005 when she co-headlined the lowly Dance Tent with Mylo. A few turned into dozens, and as the intro to Paper Planes started up dozens turned into hundreds. We got one verse and one chorus before the plug was pulled. I found it hilarious at the time, but I feel a little short changed now. It was a mostly brilliant set, which would have felt more complete if we got to hear the song we all came to make gun signs at. Plus she didn’t get to play XXXO, one of the best singles of the year. I heard a rumour she’s facing a paycut for the stage invasion antics. So there you go.
Saturday’s delights were extra special as I woke up feeling ridiculously terrible, a situation usually reserved for Sunday. So I was apprehensive as to what horrors Sunday morning would bring. Not many, in the end, but it still took a while to get going. I was pretty comatose for Norman Jay’s DJ set. It was a good collection of tunes, and it was great to see toddlers getting down to some DnB.
The lineup for the last day really didn’t have a great deal going for it, so we lazed around and drank the remainder of our alcohol. One less thing to carry home. One thing we did make a point of catching was the massive bonfire and firework display. A Wicker Man-esque construction had been looming over a corner of the site all weekend, and it was finally set alight. We could feel the heat from across the lake. It was quite a sight when it eventually toppled.
For reasons of boredom we saw the beginning of Lilly Allen’s set. Now these words come from someone who actually owns a physical copy of her first record. I remember when she first emerged, Allen appeared to be a refreshing change from the cardboard cut out female singers with zero personality that had come before. When I first downloaded LDN I played it on a loop for days. So what happened? Over exposure perhaps, or maybe my continued inability to separate personality from musician. He second album claimed It’s Not Me, It’s You. Well, I’m happy for it to be me. She seemed to pull the biggest crowd of the weekend, so well done there. But it did nothing for me.
We were in danger of ending the weekend on a low point, so we needed a good dance to see us through. The words “Zero 7 DJ Set” don’t initially bring mind the atmosphere we were after, but how wrong we were. We dipped in and out of his three hour set which was a suitable mix of various upbeat genres, finishing on the Pilooski re-edit of Franki Valli’s Beggin’. We also took in one last wonder around the site, before a couple of us called it a night around 3am. Possibly the first time that the latest I’ve stayed up was on the last night, and I was in a bloody good mood to boot. Even after I suffered bouncer hassle and spilt an overpriced drink in the space of a few minutes.
The journey home is always tough. There’s no need to make it worse. The morning was going suspiciously well. All packed up and at the bus stop on time. More leg room than on the way down. Something had to give. The bus driver was just, if you’ll forgive the words, an utter cunt. I’ve already complained to National Express about him, and have yet to hear back, but it’s put me off setting foot on a coach ever again.
So, that’s summer over with then. Parklife seems like a lifetime ago, when it’s only been two months. And Glasto’s recovery was made all the more bearable knowing I had this treat to look forward to. But what now? Leeds in its traditional form is off the menu this year, which as I’ve been going to it and its southern cousin for half a decade now does feel a bit strange. But after last year’s lethargy, and this year’s delight of the new, it seems like a wise choice.
Now I have the fun task of remembering I have to work for a living. But the autumn seems to be bringing with it some potentially amazing gigs, so all is not lost.
Let’s be honest, going to festivals can be an effort. It’s all drink this, take that, don’t sleep, hardly eat, repeat for a week.
At the Big Chill this year I suffered some of the worst Morning Afters I’ve ever had. So it’s probably a credit to this festival (and the folk I went with) that I so easily got over them and had some of the best field-based antics of my life.
The site was hilly and picturesque. Getting up and down the massive slope on the way to the arena was a chore but the views at the top (and the potential to run into the giant inflatable balls while drunk) made up for it. There was a lot more teenagers in the crowd than I expected. In fact we were all pounced on by kids at the gate who didn’t realise they needed an adult to actually get them in to the festival. “You look like me, you could be my Dad!” Little shit. That was balanced out by the amount of literal children there with families. The main stage in the afternoon was full of kids chasing bubbles, running in circles and generally having a boogie to the music. During Thom Yorke one guy in front of me had his child on his shoulders for the whole set, and the kid was loving it. Fair play.
After spending all of Thursday drinking (honestly don’t remember what else we did) our festival started properly on Friday afternoon with Ty. It was the perfect choice. A smooth mix of soul and hip hop, with some sensational backing singers who treated us to an enviously skilled dance-off. It got us in a right good mood for the rest of the day. Plus we got to laugh about Tim Westwood.
The predicted weather for the weekend wasn’t much to smile about, however in the end it was nowhere near the drenching that was forecast. Whatever showers we had were brief and mostly happened when we were back in Tent Town. However sometimes it did impose a bit too much on our enjoyment of the music. Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions arrived onstage late, to a doom-ridden sky and a moderate gale. They had the good manners to open with my favourite song, Around My Smile, and Hope Sandoval’s voice has lost none of its honey-dipped husky seductiveness. However this was music for scorching afternoons or watching the sun rise on a beach. A windy field in Herefordshire wasn’t cutting it, so we made our excuses and left. A shame, as she rarely tours, but the weather wasn’t doing it justice.
Due our collective faffing we missed most of Explosions In The Sky, catching only the last couple of songs, when really a whole set needs to be taken in to appreciate it properly. What we did see sounded suitably noisy and chaotic.
With a new Radiohead album apparently imminent, a solo show from Thom Yorke is Christmas, Birthdays and new Doctor Who wrapped into one. Alas he didn’t have his superband that he toured the States with, choosing instead to play about a dozen instruments all by himself. Coming on stage looking like a ginger Worzel Gummidge, he opened with the obvious Eraser, with a few more tracks from his solo album following that. It was Radiohead songs that dominated the set, including Planet Telex, Everything In Its Right Place, I Might Be Wrong, The Gloaming, Reckoner and an acoustic Airbag at the end. There was apparently a brand new song too, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it sounded like. He was clearly loving every second, knowing a creepy glace to the crowd from his sideways-facing piano would provoke a massive reaction from the assembled crowd. I’ve been treated to a few Radiohead performances over the last few years, and it’s always difficult to be objective with a band you love so much. Yes, it’s gloomy, but there’s beauty in the gloom. Everyone arm in arm singing along to Airbag at the end was a moment.
Massive Attack headlined that night and I really wasn’t paying attention. Their new record is what is commonly referred to as “a return to form”, but their set wasn’t exactly party music. And this is coming from a Radiohead fan. I was made to leave early, apparently missing out on Unfinished Sympathy, which could have made all the difference. We’ll never know.
Hospitality Records, them what have hosted many a fine evening before, had a whole tent to themselves until the small hours, so we went there. And that’s when the night began to fall apart for me. Danny Byrd was doing his usual Let’s Play 40 Seconds Of That Song Then Stop The Beat And Reeeeewind business which to be honest gets on my tits. I just want to dance. Don’t get in my way. Our group got split up and that was agitating me. I was looking out for them, but as I’m usually the beacon they were hard to spot. Then I began to slow down. Maybe it was the drinking since midday, maybe it was the attempt to wear a waterproof over an RAF jacket, but something was telling me to go to bed. So I did.
A bit of an average end to the day, then. But what followed on Saturday was possibly the greatest, most consistently entertaining and all round fun line-up of music that I’ve ever seen. Metronomy kicked us off with their shrill voices and nerdy keyboards. After near-missing them three times now, this was my first proper sight of them, and my how they’ve grown from bedroom bleeps to full on live band dance-pop mayhem. There was a charming attempt at failed banter about cars and the weather, but what they lack in main stage experience they make up for with Heartbreaker, Radio Ladio, My Heart Rate Rapid and A Thing For Me. Synth-nerd-tastic.
Patrick Wolf. Sighs. He did it again. I wasn’t sure how his particular brand of pop would go down with the gang, but thanks to my directors commentary filling them in on just exactly what each song was written about, what the lyrics were and how many times it’s made me cry, they seemed to get the message. It was a perfect Greatest Hits set, with interestingly no inclusions from forthcoming Album #5 The Conqueror. He finished with Magic Position. We had a little dance.
Then the Gods Of Festivals were truly smiling on us. There was some confusion as to what order Kelis and Plan B were playing in. Official literature said Kelis headlining and clashing with MIA, internet rumour said otherwise. Turns out the internet was right, and I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t randomly turned my phone on to get a call saying Kelis is on now, get the fuck over here. It was my favourite set of the festival. Resplendent in attire fit for Cleopatra, Kelis was on top of the world. New album Fleshtone is bothering LCD’s This Is Happening for my record of the year, it’s a cracking example of how an American artist can take the European electro sound and not make something fucking terrible. It is testament to how proud and happy Kelis is with herself at the moment that she played pretty much the whole album. The old songs were there too, with Millionaire thrown into Trick Me to much cheering. I was right at the back but the love in the tent was unmistakeable, especially when ending on Acapella, possibly my tune of the festival as it hasn’t left my head since then. Kelis’ show was like nothing else I’ve seen, and I so easily could have missed it.
So with the schedule for the day now all over the shop, we got to catch the end of Roots Manuva, including the wonderful Dreamy Days, but sadly too late for Witness. He seemed on good form and I wish I could have seen more.
With a rare UK show from M.I.A, you can never quite tell what mood she’s going to be in. Thankfully, tonight she seemed to be in a playful one. Opening with a teasing medley of what to come, Galang was settled on and the dancing began. I was a bit merry by then. The rainbow laser and epic video wall was an unbelievable site. Boyz, XR2 and Bucky Done Gun were all thrown out there, but then things started to nod off into the weaker moments of the new record. /\/\ /\ Y /\ (yes, it really is called that) is a typical M.I.A album in that it contains equal part amazing pop music and unlistenable nonsense. And, a fair amount of dubstep. You know my feelings on dubstep. Opening the encore with Teqkilla, she started to encourage people on to the stage, just like she did back at Reading 2005 when she co-headlined the lowly Dance Tent with Mylo. A few turned into dozens, and as the intro to Paper Planes started up dozens turned into hundreds. We got one verse and one chorus before the plug was pulled. I found it hilarious at the time, but I feel a little short changed now. It was a mostly brilliant set, which would have felt more complete if we got to hear the song we all came to make gun signs at. Plus she didn’t get to play XXXO, one of the best singles of the year. I heard a rumour she’s facing a paycut for the stage invasion antics. So there you go.
Saturday’s delights were extra special as I woke up feeling ridiculously terrible, a situation usually reserved for Sunday. So I was apprehensive as to what horrors Sunday morning would bring. Not many, in the end, but it still took a while to get going. I was pretty comatose for Norman Jay’s DJ set. It was a good collection of tunes, and it was great to see toddlers getting down to some DnB.
The lineup for the last day really didn’t have a great deal going for it, so we lazed around and drank the remainder of our alcohol. One less thing to carry home. One thing we did make a point of catching was the massive bonfire and firework display. A Wicker Man-esque construction had been looming over a corner of the site all weekend, and it was finally set alight. We could feel the heat from across the lake. It was quite a sight when it eventually toppled.
For reasons of boredom we saw the beginning of Lilly Allen’s set. Now these words come from someone who actually owns a physical copy of her first record. I remember when she first emerged, Allen appeared to be a refreshing change from the cardboard cut out female singers with zero personality that had come before. When I first downloaded LDN I played it on a loop for days. So what happened? Over exposure perhaps, or maybe my continued inability to separate personality from musician. He second album claimed It’s Not Me, It’s You. Well, I’m happy for it to be me. She seemed to pull the biggest crowd of the weekend, so well done there. But it did nothing for me.
We were in danger of ending the weekend on a low point, so we needed a good dance to see us through. The words “Zero 7 DJ Set” don’t initially bring mind the atmosphere we were after, but how wrong we were. We dipped in and out of his three hour set which was a suitable mix of various upbeat genres, finishing on the Pilooski re-edit of Franki Valli’s Beggin’. We also took in one last wonder around the site, before a couple of us called it a night around 3am. Possibly the first time that the latest I’ve stayed up was on the last night, and I was in a bloody good mood to boot. Even after I suffered bouncer hassle and spilt an overpriced drink in the space of a few minutes.
The journey home is always tough. There’s no need to make it worse. The morning was going suspiciously well. All packed up and at the bus stop on time. More leg room than on the way down. Something had to give. The bus driver was just, if you’ll forgive the words, an utter cunt. I’ve already complained to National Express about him, and have yet to hear back, but it’s put me off setting foot on a coach ever again.
So, that’s summer over with then. Parklife seems like a lifetime ago, when it’s only been two months. And Glasto’s recovery was made all the more bearable knowing I had this treat to look forward to. But what now? Leeds in its traditional form is off the menu this year, which as I’ve been going to it and its southern cousin for half a decade now does feel a bit strange. But after last year’s lethargy, and this year’s delight of the new, it seems like a wise choice.
Now I have the fun task of remembering I have to work for a living. But the autumn seems to be bringing with it some potentially amazing gigs, so all is not lost.
Monday 5 July 2010
Sunshine In A Bag
Glastonbury Festival, Worthy Farm, 23-27 June 2010
The world needs another pretentious review of Glastonbury like the centre of Leeds needs another Greggs...so grab yourself a steak bake and make yourself comfortable, this is going to be a ramble.
Regular viewer(s) might remember my last trip to Pilton was a damp affair and one spent mostly on my own. And my loyal fanbase might also recall that my last trip to a big festival ended with me wishing for a pox to fall on everyone under the age of 23.
This was going to be different though. The weather omens were spectacular, a different gang was assembled, U2 were forced to pull out – all amazing things.
A few words for the weather. Bloody hell. A bottle and a half of suncream kept me from turning completely into burnt toast. It felt wrong to complain, and it was only occasionally unbearable, especially when it turned my tent into a canvas oven and made me one grumpy customer. Still it was nice to be able to sit down whenever we wanted, a luxury that wasn’t granted back in 07.
First of all, a few non musical highlights… when someone says “it’s hard to put _____ into words” they’re either being lazy or honestly can’t find adjectives to describe underscores. But in all seriousness, it’s hard to put Shangri La into words. But here are a few: broken down dinosaur cars. Corridors of faulty alarm clocks leading to a club in a wardrobe. Random karaoke resulting in one of my companions singing my favourite song. The word “Beleavis”. Neon TARDIS. Some of these might have been imagined. Can’t really tell.
Big thanks to whoever recommended walking up to the top of the hill past the Tipi Village and not looking back until you get there. My God. One of the best views I’ve ever witnessed. The scale of this place…has to be seen.
Also, special mention to the guy in the maternity gown shouting into a banana. You rock.
On to the music then. Corinne Bailey Rae was the first act seen on Friday, and was well suited to soaking up the sun. I’ve always had a soft spot for Like A Star. And her soulfunk rendition of Que Sara Sara was spot on. Willy Nelson got through 27 songs in an hour, either most of them were about shooting his dog in the face or I was quite drunk by then.
Snoop Dogg arrived to all the fanfare you’d expect. He was entertaining enough, but if we’re going to be technical all he did was shout over other people’s records. Bit of a pointless Olé Olé Olé chant too. Darn us Brits and our Soccerball. But he’s a charmer and you forgive him. Sheeeit.
Dizzie Rascal has evidentially spent the last couple of years slowly climbing up the mainstage bill and learning a trick or two on the way. He knows how to make things escalate. A full live band now back him up, and thank fuck he didn’t bring out J*mes C*rd*n. This boy is a star now. Accuse him of selling out if you want, but he’s been facing those claims since his first album. Now he can throw the riff of Reptillia into Jus A Rascal or spit out Stand Up Tall over Smells Like Teen Spirit like it ain’t no thang. I had to miss Florence for this, but she showed up at the end for Dirtee Love. And naturally Bonkers was all kinds of mental. The hill went nuts. Good show young man.
Gorrilaz stepping in for U2 was the perfect idea in theory. Albarn did the emotional headliner last year with Blur. This time round he could feed his arrogant side with his gang of pixels and half of the Clash. Gorillaz’ performance has had some criticism, and I’m going to add to it slightly. For the all the high points – and there were many – we had to put up with too many average album tracks and directionless preaching about plastic bottles. A shame, because as a crowd we were so up for it. Dare, Dirty Harry and Stylo all sounded amazing. And the special guest roster will probably never be beat. I mean really, Shaun Ryder, Mark E Smith and Lou Reed? It’s the world’s most unlikely pub quiz team. Just don’t ask them about the 70s. Or the 80s.
Feel Good Inc and Clint Eastwood came as a massive relief in the encore, but even Snoop Dogg coming out to once again sing his own song over someone else’s couldn’t hide the fact that this could have been a lot better. Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, we needed you.
Saturday saw more exploration of the site, so not many bands were properly viewed. The Lightning Seeds were a pleasantly nostalgic start to the day, having the decency to play the song 97% of the crowd were there to bloke along to.
While the rest of my companions saw The Dead Weather, I took myself to find my favourite baguette (hello Growler you filthy beast) and throw myself at the beauty of The National. Matt Berninger’s baritone pulled the sun into the dust, and Mr November made me cry a little bit. They were followed by The Cribs, always good for a show and something like the 17th time I’ve seen them. Still not playing You’re Gonna Lose Us though. Silly Jarmans.
George Clinton felt like one of those acts you had to see because you wouldn’t catch them anywhere else. Over the course of the hour his band probably only played around six songs, and his granddaughter sure has some filthy hobbies, but you can’t argue with the Funk. Or four pints of 7% cider. With a voice like sexy charcoal, he moved us to our bones.
Saturday night saw much exploration of the after-hours activities, including a silent disco complete with 3D Jimmy Saville explaining the delights of British Rail. Honest. I have witnesses. All this meant that Sunday was a bit of a lost day. The football was a big Fail and the heat was at its most punishing. Nothing a bit of speed drinking wouldn’t see to. It wasn’t until 8pm that I properly watched a band. Faithless aren’t designed for the daytime, so were a bit lost in the twilight hours of the festival. All the tunes were there, but it lacked a proper connection.
Plus, they were just warming up for a legend.
Stevie Wonder. It was the set we all wanted to hear. All the songs you could wish for. We Can Work It Out was my favourite, but it was a highlight among highlights. You truly felt like you were watching a master at work. It was effortless. Even brought out Eavis at the end to remind us why he’s a farmer and not a singer. But who can blame the guy. 40 years of the greatest show in the galaxy.
Glastonbury has spoilt other festivals for a lot of us now. Whether we would all feel this way had it shat it down all week is uncertain, but having already spent a damp week in paradise I can confirm that nothing else compares.
But that’s not going to stop me some trying. Next up: Big Chill.
The world needs another pretentious review of Glastonbury like the centre of Leeds needs another Greggs...so grab yourself a steak bake and make yourself comfortable, this is going to be a ramble.
Regular viewer(s) might remember my last trip to Pilton was a damp affair and one spent mostly on my own. And my loyal fanbase might also recall that my last trip to a big festival ended with me wishing for a pox to fall on everyone under the age of 23.
This was going to be different though. The weather omens were spectacular, a different gang was assembled, U2 were forced to pull out – all amazing things.
A few words for the weather. Bloody hell. A bottle and a half of suncream kept me from turning completely into burnt toast. It felt wrong to complain, and it was only occasionally unbearable, especially when it turned my tent into a canvas oven and made me one grumpy customer. Still it was nice to be able to sit down whenever we wanted, a luxury that wasn’t granted back in 07.
First of all, a few non musical highlights… when someone says “it’s hard to put _____ into words” they’re either being lazy or honestly can’t find adjectives to describe underscores. But in all seriousness, it’s hard to put Shangri La into words. But here are a few: broken down dinosaur cars. Corridors of faulty alarm clocks leading to a club in a wardrobe. Random karaoke resulting in one of my companions singing my favourite song. The word “Beleavis”. Neon TARDIS. Some of these might have been imagined. Can’t really tell.
Big thanks to whoever recommended walking up to the top of the hill past the Tipi Village and not looking back until you get there. My God. One of the best views I’ve ever witnessed. The scale of this place…has to be seen.
Also, special mention to the guy in the maternity gown shouting into a banana. You rock.
On to the music then. Corinne Bailey Rae was the first act seen on Friday, and was well suited to soaking up the sun. I’ve always had a soft spot for Like A Star. And her soulfunk rendition of Que Sara Sara was spot on. Willy Nelson got through 27 songs in an hour, either most of them were about shooting his dog in the face or I was quite drunk by then.
Snoop Dogg arrived to all the fanfare you’d expect. He was entertaining enough, but if we’re going to be technical all he did was shout over other people’s records. Bit of a pointless Olé Olé Olé chant too. Darn us Brits and our Soccerball. But he’s a charmer and you forgive him. Sheeeit.
Dizzie Rascal has evidentially spent the last couple of years slowly climbing up the mainstage bill and learning a trick or two on the way. He knows how to make things escalate. A full live band now back him up, and thank fuck he didn’t bring out J*mes C*rd*n. This boy is a star now. Accuse him of selling out if you want, but he’s been facing those claims since his first album. Now he can throw the riff of Reptillia into Jus A Rascal or spit out Stand Up Tall over Smells Like Teen Spirit like it ain’t no thang. I had to miss Florence for this, but she showed up at the end for Dirtee Love. And naturally Bonkers was all kinds of mental. The hill went nuts. Good show young man.
Gorrilaz stepping in for U2 was the perfect idea in theory. Albarn did the emotional headliner last year with Blur. This time round he could feed his arrogant side with his gang of pixels and half of the Clash. Gorillaz’ performance has had some criticism, and I’m going to add to it slightly. For the all the high points – and there were many – we had to put up with too many average album tracks and directionless preaching about plastic bottles. A shame, because as a crowd we were so up for it. Dare, Dirty Harry and Stylo all sounded amazing. And the special guest roster will probably never be beat. I mean really, Shaun Ryder, Mark E Smith and Lou Reed? It’s the world’s most unlikely pub quiz team. Just don’t ask them about the 70s. Or the 80s.
Feel Good Inc and Clint Eastwood came as a massive relief in the encore, but even Snoop Dogg coming out to once again sing his own song over someone else’s couldn’t hide the fact that this could have been a lot better. Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, we needed you.
Saturday saw more exploration of the site, so not many bands were properly viewed. The Lightning Seeds were a pleasantly nostalgic start to the day, having the decency to play the song 97% of the crowd were there to bloke along to.
While the rest of my companions saw The Dead Weather, I took myself to find my favourite baguette (hello Growler you filthy beast) and throw myself at the beauty of The National. Matt Berninger’s baritone pulled the sun into the dust, and Mr November made me cry a little bit. They were followed by The Cribs, always good for a show and something like the 17th time I’ve seen them. Still not playing You’re Gonna Lose Us though. Silly Jarmans.
George Clinton felt like one of those acts you had to see because you wouldn’t catch them anywhere else. Over the course of the hour his band probably only played around six songs, and his granddaughter sure has some filthy hobbies, but you can’t argue with the Funk. Or four pints of 7% cider. With a voice like sexy charcoal, he moved us to our bones.
Saturday night saw much exploration of the after-hours activities, including a silent disco complete with 3D Jimmy Saville explaining the delights of British Rail. Honest. I have witnesses. All this meant that Sunday was a bit of a lost day. The football was a big Fail and the heat was at its most punishing. Nothing a bit of speed drinking wouldn’t see to. It wasn’t until 8pm that I properly watched a band. Faithless aren’t designed for the daytime, so were a bit lost in the twilight hours of the festival. All the tunes were there, but it lacked a proper connection.
Plus, they were just warming up for a legend.
Stevie Wonder. It was the set we all wanted to hear. All the songs you could wish for. We Can Work It Out was my favourite, but it was a highlight among highlights. You truly felt like you were watching a master at work. It was effortless. Even brought out Eavis at the end to remind us why he’s a farmer and not a singer. But who can blame the guy. 40 years of the greatest show in the galaxy.
Glastonbury has spoilt other festivals for a lot of us now. Whether we would all feel this way had it shat it down all week is uncertain, but having already spent a damp week in paradise I can confirm that nothing else compares.
But that’s not going to stop me some trying. Next up: Big Chill.
Tuesday 15 June 2010
If you want tough, I'll give you tough
Parklife, Manchester Platt Fields, 12/06/10
Hello! Long time no write. A shame really cos I’ve been to some cracking gigs over the past few months. I almost wrote about LCD Soundsystem’s phenomenal show at the Academy, but struggled past “Perfection”. This Is Happening will probably be my album of the year, and that gig will take some topping. Foals came a couple days later, and probably would have been enjoyed more if I still wasn’t in a daze from LCD. Still, a fine performance that was the right combination of old and new.
But now Festival Season is here! And that means t-shirt sunburn, overpriced cider and some rambling reviews from your humble scribe.
The omens were good. Any day that starts by drinking cider at 11am that you found left behind on the train is going to be an amazing day.
Parklife is a newcomer to the festival scene. Every summer there seems to be articles questioning “are there too many festivals?” As this question is asked every year, the answer is probably "no". And if they’re as well managed as Parklife, then we could stand to gain a few more.
Set a few miles down Oxford Road (translation: swimming with students), Parklife took place in the vaguely picturesque Platt Fields, big enough to lose people but not too small to feel claustrophobic. Despite the preceding week’s stormy weather, the ground was pretty firm under foot. In fact, all props to the weather, we were served a fucking blinder.
There were around half a dozen stages offering acts that leant more to electro and DnB with a splash of dubstep and other dance genres. Saying that, there was a particularly high Lads’n’Wags presence, but that would have been down to a certain football match being shown in a corner of the field. Didn’t see any of the game myself, I was in too good a mood to want to be let down by a typically average display from Our Boys. Soz England.
Metropolis have always put on amazing nights in Leeds, and it was in their tent that we spent most of the day, starting with the masked antics of SBTRKT. N-Type was bringing the dub over in the neighbouring Ape tent, but it was a bit early in the day for dubstep. Actually, call me out of touch with The Sound Of Now (or 2009 or whatever) but I’m never in the mood for dubstep.
After a frolic in the Silent Disco (literally amazing) it was back to Metropolis for Danny Byrd who was playing 30 seconds of every tune under the sun. A good warm up, but left us wanting something a bit more prolonged. Over to the Big Top for Simian Mobile Disco, and what I thought was a live show turned out to be a DJ set, and a bit of a monotonous one at that. Now I love a bit of SMD, and perhaps it picked up after we bailed, but after 20 minutes of what felt like the same song, it wasn’t exactly uplifting. Too prolonged. Be careful what you wish for.
So it was over to the Main Stage for Calvin Harris and a DJ set that was beyond uplifting. Now he seems to get a lot of bad press, but personally I think he knows a good tune and he certainly played a lot of them. It also helped that the sun was blazing and I was starting feel the effects of a day on the booze and very little else. Highlight: One More Time. Always goes down well. And I’m Not Alone will always remind me of that day now.
Then came confusion. We sacked off the football to go see High Contrast, but it turned out to be Roni Size. No complaints, it was a fine set. High Contrast was finally on later, and delivered the goods as always, dropping some fierce mixes that heated the tent up in every way possible. It had to be said there was a distinct lack of twats around, an achievement given the result of the match.
Then came what was always going to be my highlight. After years at the front of one of the most important and interesting acts in the country, and pretty much at the top of the I Would list, Kele Okereke is out on his own, and at Parklife he headlined the Now Wave tent with his new live band.
A solo album out any day now and the biggest smile on his face, it was refreshing to see him so relaxed and triumphant. But sad at the same time, as Bloc Party mean so much to me that it’s almost upsetting to hear that he probably was never this happy in that band.
There was a quote from his recent Attitude interview that has stuck in my head. When asked if it was ever discussed how to talk about his sexuality when the band first started out, he replied “the only conversation I can recall, and I remember it well, was...one of the band members told me that he didn’t think I should talk about it right now. Which I found surprising. I never really forgave him for it, to be honest.”
Not helped by his onstage comments about “this band I used to be in”, it’s never nice for the kids when the parents file for divorce, but when Dad’s rocking a new electro sound, we can have a little dance for now. The first few tracks were all from The Boxer, and were minimal and hard. The backing trio alternated between keyboards, electric drums and other devices. Kele was jubilant, his hips moving like never before, gyrating round the mic stand like a massive flirt.
Then we all had a bit of a moment. Blue Light arrived in a greatly altered form, based around a light keyboard refrain, yet still sounding so beautiful. “If that’s the way it is, then that that’s the way it is” will always get to me. But there was little time for sentiment as it morphed into a fuzzy version of The Prayer, which took no time in crashing into One More Chance.
This trilogy of delights dealt with, new single Tenderoni properly took off. “You’ll know it by the end of the summer” he confidently claimed. A cross between Wiley’s Wearing My Rolex and Jack Beat’s Get Down, it’s a bloody tune, and such a statement of intent for a solo career. Lyically similar to Bloc Party, but exploring sound that is now his own.
We got an insight into his way of recording as he built up other songs through looped guitar lines until they built into a heaving sonic mass. One highlight contained the repeated line “I know that you’re stronger than this”, which was either reassurance to a friend or a reminder to himself.
Then came Flux. At last. After being robbed of it at the Engine Shed last year, there it was in all its glory. The last disco at the end of time. I realised just how much I stank. Didn’t care. “We need to talk”. We certainly danced.
There was something very sweet about how the four of them took a bow at the end, arm in arm. Bloc Party may very well be over, and that would be a shame beyond shames. But Kele has arrived. And it really feels like he’s going to get his own way from now on.
So, a perfect set. But could it get any better? How about emerging from the tent to hear the unmistakable sound of Friendly Fires finishing their set with Paris? Talk about perfect timing. We legged it across the field and had one last boogie. Well, the rest of the gang then braved the final moments of the Metropolis tent, which was now pouring out tonnes heat, sweat and smoke, but I was spent.
We were now faced with the journey back, which initially seemed impossible, but after a short walk further up the road and an uncomfortable bus journey full of sweaty young people, we made it back to Piccadilly. Even got a seat on the rammed last train. Fell into bed at 3am. A broken man, but an utterly content one too.
So, Parklife was a perfect start to Festival Season. Next up: Glastonbury.
Hello! Long time no write. A shame really cos I’ve been to some cracking gigs over the past few months. I almost wrote about LCD Soundsystem’s phenomenal show at the Academy, but struggled past “Perfection”. This Is Happening will probably be my album of the year, and that gig will take some topping. Foals came a couple days later, and probably would have been enjoyed more if I still wasn’t in a daze from LCD. Still, a fine performance that was the right combination of old and new.
But now Festival Season is here! And that means t-shirt sunburn, overpriced cider and some rambling reviews from your humble scribe.
The omens were good. Any day that starts by drinking cider at 11am that you found left behind on the train is going to be an amazing day.
Parklife is a newcomer to the festival scene. Every summer there seems to be articles questioning “are there too many festivals?” As this question is asked every year, the answer is probably "no". And if they’re as well managed as Parklife, then we could stand to gain a few more.
Set a few miles down Oxford Road (translation: swimming with students), Parklife took place in the vaguely picturesque Platt Fields, big enough to lose people but not too small to feel claustrophobic. Despite the preceding week’s stormy weather, the ground was pretty firm under foot. In fact, all props to the weather, we were served a fucking blinder.
There were around half a dozen stages offering acts that leant more to electro and DnB with a splash of dubstep and other dance genres. Saying that, there was a particularly high Lads’n’Wags presence, but that would have been down to a certain football match being shown in a corner of the field. Didn’t see any of the game myself, I was in too good a mood to want to be let down by a typically average display from Our Boys. Soz England.
Metropolis have always put on amazing nights in Leeds, and it was in their tent that we spent most of the day, starting with the masked antics of SBTRKT. N-Type was bringing the dub over in the neighbouring Ape tent, but it was a bit early in the day for dubstep. Actually, call me out of touch with The Sound Of Now (or 2009 or whatever) but I’m never in the mood for dubstep.
After a frolic in the Silent Disco (literally amazing) it was back to Metropolis for Danny Byrd who was playing 30 seconds of every tune under the sun. A good warm up, but left us wanting something a bit more prolonged. Over to the Big Top for Simian Mobile Disco, and what I thought was a live show turned out to be a DJ set, and a bit of a monotonous one at that. Now I love a bit of SMD, and perhaps it picked up after we bailed, but after 20 minutes of what felt like the same song, it wasn’t exactly uplifting. Too prolonged. Be careful what you wish for.
So it was over to the Main Stage for Calvin Harris and a DJ set that was beyond uplifting. Now he seems to get a lot of bad press, but personally I think he knows a good tune and he certainly played a lot of them. It also helped that the sun was blazing and I was starting feel the effects of a day on the booze and very little else. Highlight: One More Time. Always goes down well. And I’m Not Alone will always remind me of that day now.
Then came confusion. We sacked off the football to go see High Contrast, but it turned out to be Roni Size. No complaints, it was a fine set. High Contrast was finally on later, and delivered the goods as always, dropping some fierce mixes that heated the tent up in every way possible. It had to be said there was a distinct lack of twats around, an achievement given the result of the match.
Then came what was always going to be my highlight. After years at the front of one of the most important and interesting acts in the country, and pretty much at the top of the I Would list, Kele Okereke is out on his own, and at Parklife he headlined the Now Wave tent with his new live band.
A solo album out any day now and the biggest smile on his face, it was refreshing to see him so relaxed and triumphant. But sad at the same time, as Bloc Party mean so much to me that it’s almost upsetting to hear that he probably was never this happy in that band.
There was a quote from his recent Attitude interview that has stuck in my head. When asked if it was ever discussed how to talk about his sexuality when the band first started out, he replied “the only conversation I can recall, and I remember it well, was...one of the band members told me that he didn’t think I should talk about it right now. Which I found surprising. I never really forgave him for it, to be honest.”
Not helped by his onstage comments about “this band I used to be in”, it’s never nice for the kids when the parents file for divorce, but when Dad’s rocking a new electro sound, we can have a little dance for now. The first few tracks were all from The Boxer, and were minimal and hard. The backing trio alternated between keyboards, electric drums and other devices. Kele was jubilant, his hips moving like never before, gyrating round the mic stand like a massive flirt.
Then we all had a bit of a moment. Blue Light arrived in a greatly altered form, based around a light keyboard refrain, yet still sounding so beautiful. “If that’s the way it is, then that that’s the way it is” will always get to me. But there was little time for sentiment as it morphed into a fuzzy version of The Prayer, which took no time in crashing into One More Chance.
This trilogy of delights dealt with, new single Tenderoni properly took off. “You’ll know it by the end of the summer” he confidently claimed. A cross between Wiley’s Wearing My Rolex and Jack Beat’s Get Down, it’s a bloody tune, and such a statement of intent for a solo career. Lyically similar to Bloc Party, but exploring sound that is now his own.
We got an insight into his way of recording as he built up other songs through looped guitar lines until they built into a heaving sonic mass. One highlight contained the repeated line “I know that you’re stronger than this”, which was either reassurance to a friend or a reminder to himself.
Then came Flux. At last. After being robbed of it at the Engine Shed last year, there it was in all its glory. The last disco at the end of time. I realised just how much I stank. Didn’t care. “We need to talk”. We certainly danced.
There was something very sweet about how the four of them took a bow at the end, arm in arm. Bloc Party may very well be over, and that would be a shame beyond shames. But Kele has arrived. And it really feels like he’s going to get his own way from now on.
So, a perfect set. But could it get any better? How about emerging from the tent to hear the unmistakable sound of Friendly Fires finishing their set with Paris? Talk about perfect timing. We legged it across the field and had one last boogie. Well, the rest of the gang then braved the final moments of the Metropolis tent, which was now pouring out tonnes heat, sweat and smoke, but I was spent.
We were now faced with the journey back, which initially seemed impossible, but after a short walk further up the road and an uncomfortable bus journey full of sweaty young people, we made it back to Piccadilly. Even got a seat on the rammed last train. Fell into bed at 3am. A broken man, but an utterly content one too.
So, Parklife was a perfect start to Festival Season. Next up: Glastonbury.
Wednesday 3 February 2010
As long as St Christopher's here...
Jamie T, Leeds Academy, 25/01/10
I meant to write a few things before 2009 was out. There was a mighty fine Florence gig in December, which along with a I Can’t Believe It’s Not A Shit Opening Act support from Temper Trap was probably the best all out show I’d seen all year.
Florence herself was holding back, it being the beginning of the tour I guess she’d implode if she belted it out every night. Still, we got Lungs in its near entirety (plus b sides!!!!!!!!!), fairy lights in the rafters and the mostly female, older-than-usual audience made a refreshing change from the Topman clad pricks I’m usually surrounded by.
I was also planning to write some review-of-the-year business, but the moment’s passed. Fuck that decade. To the future!
And we begin with a gig that should have taken place back in October. But as that fell two days after Bloc Party and all the antics that surrounded that night, my stamina was glad of the reprieve that came when Jamie T was diagnosed with laryngitis and forced to cancel his tour.
After what felt like an eternity, Kings & Queens was finally given to us in the latter part of last year. I’ll be lying if I said I loved it, but it faced impossible competition. Panic Prevention WAS my final year in Lincoln. The people I met. The days and nights we had. Nothing was going to come close, perhaps mainly because that chapter of my life is (happily, mind) over, and as nice as nostalgia can be, there will be none of this living in the past.
So a gig that leans more towards the album I feel little connection to was always going to be a more sedate experience. Refreshingly, I was in the minority, as the kids in attendance knew all the words that evaded me, and joyfully kicked the shit out of each other why I just stood back and admired it all.
However, it was one of the most controversial sets I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve seen Radiohead gleefully ditch Creep like it ain’t no thang, but tonight Jamie didn’t play Salvador or Shelia, arguably his two biggest tunes. Yeah we got a couple of b sides and that’s always a giggle, but for someone with only around 35 songs released, it seems odd to be shutting that door so wilfully. Chakka Demus and Sticks n Stones seem to be the replacements, and they have the blokey singalong bits and the scumbag lyric bits…but it’s not the show I’ve seen him deliver before. Sometimes that’s a good thing. On this occasion, it wasn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fucking charmer that could cough his lungs up and it would still be entertaining as all sticky-floored hell, but almost three years to the day that I saw him do the most sensational of gigs, I can’t say this was the show I was hoping for.
After resorting to dancing in Revolution (seriously, don’t try going out in Leeds on a Monday night. One time I somehow ended up at this Minimal Techno evening. Terrifyingly vague music. The dry ice didn’t help matters) we went home and put on Panic Prevention. Cos really, nothing else compares.
I meant to write a few things before 2009 was out. There was a mighty fine Florence gig in December, which along with a I Can’t Believe It’s Not A Shit Opening Act support from Temper Trap was probably the best all out show I’d seen all year.
Florence herself was holding back, it being the beginning of the tour I guess she’d implode if she belted it out every night. Still, we got Lungs in its near entirety (plus b sides!!!!!!!!!), fairy lights in the rafters and the mostly female, older-than-usual audience made a refreshing change from the Topman clad pricks I’m usually surrounded by.
I was also planning to write some review-of-the-year business, but the moment’s passed. Fuck that decade. To the future!
And we begin with a gig that should have taken place back in October. But as that fell two days after Bloc Party and all the antics that surrounded that night, my stamina was glad of the reprieve that came when Jamie T was diagnosed with laryngitis and forced to cancel his tour.
After what felt like an eternity, Kings & Queens was finally given to us in the latter part of last year. I’ll be lying if I said I loved it, but it faced impossible competition. Panic Prevention WAS my final year in Lincoln. The people I met. The days and nights we had. Nothing was going to come close, perhaps mainly because that chapter of my life is (happily, mind) over, and as nice as nostalgia can be, there will be none of this living in the past.
So a gig that leans more towards the album I feel little connection to was always going to be a more sedate experience. Refreshingly, I was in the minority, as the kids in attendance knew all the words that evaded me, and joyfully kicked the shit out of each other why I just stood back and admired it all.
However, it was one of the most controversial sets I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve seen Radiohead gleefully ditch Creep like it ain’t no thang, but tonight Jamie didn’t play Salvador or Shelia, arguably his two biggest tunes. Yeah we got a couple of b sides and that’s always a giggle, but for someone with only around 35 songs released, it seems odd to be shutting that door so wilfully. Chakka Demus and Sticks n Stones seem to be the replacements, and they have the blokey singalong bits and the scumbag lyric bits…but it’s not the show I’ve seen him deliver before. Sometimes that’s a good thing. On this occasion, it wasn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fucking charmer that could cough his lungs up and it would still be entertaining as all sticky-floored hell, but almost three years to the day that I saw him do the most sensational of gigs, I can’t say this was the show I was hoping for.
After resorting to dancing in Revolution (seriously, don’t try going out in Leeds on a Monday night. One time I somehow ended up at this Minimal Techno evening. Terrifyingly vague music. The dry ice didn’t help matters) we went home and put on Panic Prevention. Cos really, nothing else compares.
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