They don't half go on about Leeds at Leeds. You can't even sit in a long drop without someone shouting across the lagoon of human discharge how glad they are they're not at Reading. It's the only festival in the world plagued by sibling rivalry.
In fact, Leeds is almost exactly the same as Reading, just with better weather, worse clothes and more chips. Besides, it's not location that's setting the tone for today but the return of two bands who have a permanent place at the top of a generation's CD pile. For the Libertines, this could be the defibrillator that brings them back from the dead. For Arcade Fire, a headline slot provides the opportunity for them to take the next step to becoming a world-beating concern.
There's a whole day of delicious indie to be getting on with before that, with plenty of O2 Academy-type bands having their first crack at the big boy's stage. Mystery Jets do well in the lunchtime slot with hoedown set-closer Behind The Bunhouse achieving the difficult but hilarious feat of getting everyone dancing with a pint in one hand and a polystyrene burger box in the other. The Maccabees outshine them, though, their pained romance making girls throw their hands awkwardly around their neck and look longingly up at the stage like they've just felt love for the first time.
But best of the bunch were the Cribs, back with dad Johnny Marr after a few shows on their own. They play a brilliantly aggressive set on hometurf where we're reminded that Mirror Kisses and You Were Always The One are among the best songs of the 21st century. If only they'd smoked more crack, had dalliances with supermodels and spent a few months in prison, they'd be fully deserving of a slot higher up the bill.
For those who need a break from boys in shirts with the top button done up, UK rapper Giggs provides a powerful rest break. With a crowd who had quite possibly spent the earlier part of the day hot-boxing their sleeping bags, this was Leeds' Shaun Of The Dead moment as these zombie-like children from the suburbs were brought to life by the Peckham rapper's succinct, no-nonsense flows.
The Libertines are not initially as comfortable with the Leeds beast. In his ill-fitting suit and noticeably grubby face, Pete Doherty waddles on like he only found out about this gig 20 minutes earlier but was fortunately camping in a nearby forest. The first few songs clatter and crunch while the band remind themselves what it's like to be on a stage bigger than their combined homes. The pivot comes with the trilogy of Don't Look Back Into The Sun, The Good Old Days and Time For Heroes – the last of which sends people genuinely beserk, crying and screaming like they were trapped in a fire. Sure, if you'd come without hearing the music or knowing the back story, you might wonder if this dated-sounding guitar band who fudge every solo and talk nonsense inbetween songs had in fact lost their way to the BBC Introducing Stage. But then you were never going to get it. Those of us who've ever invested even a sliver of emotion in this band, however, were paid-back 10 fold, the willing of the crowd emotionally auto-tuning out the musical mistakes.
And after that, sacrilege as this sounds, we couldn't be bothered with Arcade Fire (Dave Simpson will be providing the low down on that in Monday's Guardian). In our post-Libertines glow the thought of sustained organ pedals and instrument swapping just didn't appeal. We've heard it was biblical, that they proved beyond doubt that they were deserving of the slot and that an actual shooting star fired across the sky during Power Out. But we went to watch Ash instead on the tiny Festival Republic stage. Joined by new guitarist Russell Lissack (him with the silly hair from Bloc Party), they're still about as much fun you can have with your jumper tied round you waist. Sometimes you just can't beat a bottle of warm Kirov, close proximity to the toilets and Girl From Mars. God this Leeds festival is so much better than that Reading nonsense.
No comments:
Post a Comment