Lykke Li, Leeds Cockpit, 15th April 2011
Let’s be honest, the Cockpit isn’t famed for its aesthetic qualities. A mobile signal blackspot with an air raid shelter roof and a floor that would need an atom bomb of bleach before it could even be described as “a bit sticky”, most acts arrive, accept what it is capable of and leave.
Lykke Li isn’t most acts. Tonight the Cockpit was transformed in to a smoky, gorgeously lit cavern with draped curtains and a wind machine. There, in the centre of it all was Li...Fitter, huskier, more seductive.
A sold out crowd baked in the tinned heat as her band took to the stage and opened with Jerome. The tribal percussion of second album Wounded Rhymes was perfectly represented. Of the 6 musicians, the standard split was two on drums, two on keyboards and one backing singer. Rarely was a guitar or bass picked up. Wounded Rhymes is a record that positively throbs with desire, the 10 tracks a massive leap forward from debut Youth Novels.
As expected, it was the newer songs that were the focus of the evening. A flurry of cries for Little Bit were silenced with the retort “is that all you want to hear?? I’m trying to teach you about all kinds of music”, going on to pause b-side Paris Blue halfway through to ask the crowd if it was fine to continue, with more than a little irritation in her voice. As if we’d say no. Little Bit just happened to come next, the fragility of the recorded version eclipsed by a powerful bass line.
Love Out Of Lust sounded painfully beautiful live (“so dance while you can…dance ‘cause you must”) as did Sadness Is A Blessing (“sadness you’re my boyfriend, oh sadness I’m your girl”). Li certainly knows how to put every bit of her heart on display. Tune Of 2011 so far goes to I Follow Rivers, showing there is determination amongst the despair, alongside the catchiest of melodies.
There were a few surprises in the mix too. A cover of a song by The Big Pink was a bizarre inclusion. But far more successful was a rendition of the intro Silent Shout by The Knife, merging into Until We Bleed, her Kleerup collaboration. We were also treated to Possibilities, Li’s contribution to the New Moon soundtrack.
Little Bit aside, the only other track from Youth Novels to be performed was a powerful I’m Good, I’m Gone, with Li pulling all kinds of shapes with some drum sticks, smashing away at nearby cymbals whenever she saw right.
Get Some closed the main set, causing much dancing on stage and off, before an encore of Youth Knows No Pain and Unrequited Love, ending on a sombre note. Perhaps the lesson is that not all stories have happy endings. Happy or not, all gigs I see this year will be measured against this ridiculously high bench mark. Sensational.
Sunday, 17 April 2011
Edit
During my lazy period of not writing anything, I went to some shows...
LCD Soundsystem & Hot Chip, Rotherham Magna Centre, 13th November 2010
Everything ends. It’s a depressing fact, and James Murphy calling time on LCD Soundsystem just feels plain cruel. But at least we got one last hurrah in a co-headline tour with bezzie mates Hot Chip.
The night wasn’t without controversies though, with LCD taking to the stage first and only playing All My Friends off Sound Of Silver. If I’m honest, I was still in awe of their Academy gig, nothing was ever going to top that. What we got instead was show more focused on This Is Happening, the set opening and closing with that records’ first and last tracks. In between there was the usual faultless musicianship and trademark Murphy self deprivation. If this really is the end then they left on a high.
Less praise can be given to the bar facilities at the venue. OK, so working museums don’t tend to be well versed in the ways efficient alcohol distribution, but this was taking the piss. Woefully understocked and using a bar surface that was just that little bit too long to be heard over, we lost whole hours in that plastic bottled hell, and the first few songs of Hot Chip as well.
Whereas LCD have always performed as a bunch of session musicians (beyond talented but lacking camaraderie), Hot Chip played like the Boys From School, working off each other and generally having the times of their lives. Latest album One Life Stand did the usual Hot Chip record thing of containing some brilliant moments before drifting off a bit towards the end. Although to be fair to them that is an accusation you could level at pretty much any album these days. Unlike most bands, when Hot Chip release a Best Of it’ll contain some of the finest dance pop this country has produced.
Still sore from not hearing Someone Great or All I Want earlier, it was pleasing to hear Hot Chip play every song I wanted them to play, just not in the way I was expecting to hear them. One or two unnecessary guitar solos were thrown in, but Over & Over, Ready For The Floor and Shake A Fist were all present, correct and dance magic.
I remain hopeful that this isn’t really the end for LCD. James Murphy Will Return.
The Go! Team, Leeds Cockpit, 18th February 2011
Another band that have announced that this could be our last album / tour / series. What’s going on?? Still, since Take That have made reforming into a billion dollar business, no one seems to stay split up for long.
New record Rolling Blackouts takes the familiar themes of old skool horn samples, cheerleader freestyling and all the drums in the universe and thrown in some good old fashioned songwriting that gives the whole experience a more satisfying feel.
Ninja is still the star, kicking out against everything and anything, dancing like she knows you’re watching. She gets the biggest cheers, so it’s ironic that my favourite tunes from the new album actually feature the vocal talents of the other members. Secretary Song fizzes and delights, and Ready To Go Steady is a gorgeous Mowtown girl group-esque ode to settling down with that right guy.
Playing the songs in the same order every gig must get depressing, but is was a tad odd to chuck out Ladyflash so early on, and to end the encore with second album track Keys To The City. But hey, there was party on the stage and everyone was invited. Add to that some charming crowd interaction: “we’re gonna play our new single now which is called...anybody?” cue a muffled reaction from the audience. “See, that’s why we’re never gonna be famous!” Their career path may never reach the X Factor Results Show, but by the looks on their faces The Go! Team are bloody happy doing their own thing their own way, and making us all dance at the same time.
LCD Soundsystem & Hot Chip, Rotherham Magna Centre, 13th November 2010
Everything ends. It’s a depressing fact, and James Murphy calling time on LCD Soundsystem just feels plain cruel. But at least we got one last hurrah in a co-headline tour with bezzie mates Hot Chip.
The night wasn’t without controversies though, with LCD taking to the stage first and only playing All My Friends off Sound Of Silver. If I’m honest, I was still in awe of their Academy gig, nothing was ever going to top that. What we got instead was show more focused on This Is Happening, the set opening and closing with that records’ first and last tracks. In between there was the usual faultless musicianship and trademark Murphy self deprivation. If this really is the end then they left on a high.
Less praise can be given to the bar facilities at the venue. OK, so working museums don’t tend to be well versed in the ways efficient alcohol distribution, but this was taking the piss. Woefully understocked and using a bar surface that was just that little bit too long to be heard over, we lost whole hours in that plastic bottled hell, and the first few songs of Hot Chip as well.
Whereas LCD have always performed as a bunch of session musicians (beyond talented but lacking camaraderie), Hot Chip played like the Boys From School, working off each other and generally having the times of their lives. Latest album One Life Stand did the usual Hot Chip record thing of containing some brilliant moments before drifting off a bit towards the end. Although to be fair to them that is an accusation you could level at pretty much any album these days. Unlike most bands, when Hot Chip release a Best Of it’ll contain some of the finest dance pop this country has produced.
Still sore from not hearing Someone Great or All I Want earlier, it was pleasing to hear Hot Chip play every song I wanted them to play, just not in the way I was expecting to hear them. One or two unnecessary guitar solos were thrown in, but Over & Over, Ready For The Floor and Shake A Fist were all present, correct and dance magic.
I remain hopeful that this isn’t really the end for LCD. James Murphy Will Return.
The Go! Team, Leeds Cockpit, 18th February 2011
Another band that have announced that this could be our last album / tour / series. What’s going on?? Still, since Take That have made reforming into a billion dollar business, no one seems to stay split up for long.
New record Rolling Blackouts takes the familiar themes of old skool horn samples, cheerleader freestyling and all the drums in the universe and thrown in some good old fashioned songwriting that gives the whole experience a more satisfying feel.
Ninja is still the star, kicking out against everything and anything, dancing like she knows you’re watching. She gets the biggest cheers, so it’s ironic that my favourite tunes from the new album actually feature the vocal talents of the other members. Secretary Song fizzes and delights, and Ready To Go Steady is a gorgeous Mowtown girl group-esque ode to settling down with that right guy.
Playing the songs in the same order every gig must get depressing, but is was a tad odd to chuck out Ladyflash so early on, and to end the encore with second album track Keys To The City. But hey, there was party on the stage and everyone was invited. Add to that some charming crowd interaction: “we’re gonna play our new single now which is called...anybody?” cue a muffled reaction from the audience. “See, that’s why we’re never gonna be famous!” Their career path may never reach the X Factor Results Show, but by the looks on their faces The Go! Team are bloody happy doing their own thing their own way, and making us all dance at the same time.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Grow Until Tall
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.
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.
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.
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