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John Cooper Clarke, the brilliant bard of Salford was one of
the first acts on the said Alternative Stage with his trademark beat
Northern drones and abrasive wit. He stands like a heron - a drugged
up, dressed up heron ? his skeletal frame draped in a sharp suit.
With
this youthful costume he delivered his best punk poetry from the '70s,
including Beasley Street, Evidently Chickentown and the simply titled
Twat: "You put the cunt in Scunthorpe" he spews with self-mocking and
disgust, never faltering from his bitter stream of consciousness.
The material remains as relevant as ever: depressive, gritty, but
real, and his timing and monotony carries the weight of years living
on piss stained mattresses. And for all these years of resentment, he
maintains the inescapably Cooper Clarke wit. With his history of
suburban cult enlightenment in a witty and profoundly original style,
you could listen to him mumble and forget forever.
Colin Murray introduced The Subways as "the nicest people
you'll ever meet who put 110% into every performance" and it's true
that Billy, Charlotte and Josh certainly gave their all for their main
stage performance. Stripped to the waist, Billy Lunn ran around the
stage like a thing possessed, marshalling the crowd to clap along and
"go fuckin' crazy" while Charlotte Cooper was a blur of blonde hair.
Yet however much energy they put into their act, and no matter how
good their songs are, the fact remains that The Subways at 2pm on a
sunny Sunday afternoon just doesn't work. They should be watched in a
sweaty club with the perspiration dripping off the walls - maybe for
their sixth consecutive appearance next year, they can be booked in
the NME/Radio 1 tent, where they're bound to come across a lot
better.
Over in the that particular tent, Mystery Jets were about to
plug one of the best albums of this year in Twenty One. However, after
excellent run-throughs of Hideaway and Young Love, they announced,
with no attempt to hide their anger, that they'd been told their time
was almost up. A rocking Two Doors Down followed, with bassist Kai
Fisher scuffling with stagehands while the angry crowd booed and threw
bottles at roadies. It was disappointing, as this had the potential to
be one of the best acts of the weekend.
Let's not beat around the bush. The last time we heard from
Editors it was back in 2007, and we?re still scratching our
heads wondering what was ever so appealing about them in the first
place. The interestingly named Tom Smith ripped off an Interpol Paul
Banks style vocal with such insightful lyrics as "you burn like a
bouncing cigarette", and slapped it on top of epic generic guitar.
They then accepted comparisons to Joy Division. The horror! Do we want
them to still exist as a band? Do they ruin British new music? Can
they just call it a day?
"I'm not going to see the fuckin' Ting Tings" was an
expression that seemed to be overheard an awful lot during Sunday, so
it came as a bit of a surprise to see the NME/Radio 1 Tent absolutely
packed to bursting for their performance. And, as unhip as it may be
to admit it, they were really damned entertaining.
They've perfected the
knack of writing hook-laden pop songs that you can't help but sing
along to, and lead singer Katie White knows how to work an audience.
Yes, there's a sneaking suspicion that they're somewhat of a one-trick
pony, but Shut Up And Let Me Go managed to get an entire tent of
thousands dancing in unison.
A less likely festival star than Seasick Steve you're
unlikely to meet - and yet, the 50something gnarled old bluesman from
Mississippi was, for many, the highlight of the day. Riotously
entertaining, whether it be telling stories of his upbringing, showing
off customised instruments like the "three string trance wonder" or
even getting up a girl young enough to be his granddaughter up on
stage to serenade, he charmed all and sundry. He even received a
respectable amount of screams when taking off his jacket ("you didn't
know old could be sexy, did you?" he snickered). And did we mention he
can play a bit? Superbly so.
'Indie intellectuals' Foals hit the NME/Radio 1 Tent early
Sunday evening to tell us all about Cassius and Balloons. With epic
pop synth, trumpet, and stick hitting angular riffs, Jimmy, Yannis,
Ed, Walt and Jack can't help but be amazingly catchy, and you can't
resist bopping along with all the indie kids. Get your red Ray Bans on
and party Antidotes style.
In what seemed to be a day of emo/pop-punk bands in the Festival
Republic tent, Florida's Black Kids stuck out like a very
welcome sore thumb. With the tent attracting its largest audience
since Glasvegas on Friday, the band bounded on stage and didn't stop
dancing. The highlights from recent album Partie Traumatic were dusted
down, with Hurricane Jane and inevitably I'm Not Gonna Teach Your
Boyfriend How To Dance With You going down particularly well. The hype
may have put some people off, but Black Kids have enough talent to
stay the course.
The billing of Jack White at a festival is always likely to raise
the interest even if, as in this case, he's here without his
sister/ex-wife and not dressed head to toe in red and black. Yet
The Raconteurs are just as serious a proposition as The White
Stripes are, with White and Brendan Benson producing a superb second
album in Consolers Of The Lonely.
Although the crowd seemed a bit
subdued, it was impossible not to admire the duelling guitars of
Broken Boy Soliders, the irresistible bounce of Steady As She Goes or
the fearsome crunch of Salute Your Solution. It was just a shame that
the crowd didn't seem to be particularly up for it.
The penultimate act on the Main Stage this year was Bloc
Party - and the crowd still seemed a bit subdued, much to Kele
Okereke's chagrin. "You must have it in you to go crazy?" he said,
while furiously piling into recent single Mercury. Although new album
Intimacy had been rush-released a couple of days beforehand, the
set-list concentrated on crowd favourites, with Banquet, Two More
Years and The Prayer all rousing the crowd from its torpor.
Yet there
was an odd edge to proceedings, a sense that maybe all was not quite
right in the Bloc Party camp. "Maybe next time you see us here, we'll
be headlining". Possibly Kele, but you'll have to cheer up a bit
first...
Over in the NME/Radio 1 Tent, the Manic Street Preachers
were paying tribute to Leeds United icon John Charles and running
through a set-list heavy on crowd favourites from the Generation
Terrorist era, while the Main Stage saw The Killers take on headlining
duties.
Unfortunately, The Killers are just not headlining material
just yet. It's telling that the most favourable reaction from the
crowd came when material from Hot Fuss was played and the fact that
most people stood around looking slightly bemused when Tranquilize,
Under The Gun and a cover of Joy Division's Shadowplay were played.
It
was also impossible to take the eyes of the sartorial inelegance, with
Brandon Flowers wearing a particularly garish green jacket and
guitarist Dave Keuning showing off a snakeskin jacket which could have
been stolen from Nicolas Cage's character in Wild At Heart.
The encore did rescue the atmosphere somewhat, with Jenny Was A
Friend Of Mine and a superb All These Things That I've Done unifying
the crowd, but the fact that the stage lights were back up at 10.45pm
just added to the slight air of anti-climax.
Still, it was the Leeds Festival, and for all its faults (as we
left the site, there were fights breaking out and the sound of gas
canisters exploding) it still remains one of the premier festivals of
the year. Roll on next year...
Leeds Festival 2008:
Day 1 |
Day 2
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