Reading Festival Review 2007

Reading Festival Review 2007

Radio One/NME Tent

Top Twelve:

12. The View (Saturday, 10:30)
The four-piece arrive in a climate of mounting delirium; "The View, The View, The View are on fire," fills the tent and lungs. They knock out a tumultuous rendition of 'Coming Down', awash with blazing riffs and raspy vocals. Then it all goes wrong: Kyle says hello. At least, I think he does, couldn't be sure. Bar the odd squeal, he's incoherent. The tent is surprisingly subdued, except for the tight-knit gang of flag-waving disciples centre-stage.

Perhaps The View don't lend themselves to festivals. Fans familiar with lyrics lose themselves in the nursery rhyme simplicity of 'The Don' and 'Skag Trendy's shabby charm; interested passers-by are perturbed by the slack playing and slurred singing. However, these Scottish scamps have catchy singles in abundance. Just when they appear ready to crumble beneath their own incompetence, Kyle blurts out the arrestingly relevant phrase: "I've had the same jeans on for four days now." The ragtag allure of 'Superstar Tradesman' is equally snappy and suddenly, somehow, the set is salvaged.

11. The Subways (Friday, 20:25)
After a lengthy break, The Subways look hungry. Billy is positively rabid as he storms across stage, climbing amps, drums and scaffolding. New songs such as 'California' don't quite reach such dizzying heights as their writer, but such is the tenacity of the performance it is immaterial. It's as intense as indie can get, if not as inspirational. Their one-dimensional nature is displayed when stating: "I feel like I should say something poignant, but I've got nothing to say so I'll just rock out!"

Nevertheless, they do "rock out" impressively. Demure bassist Charlotte still sings backing vocals like a drowning cat, but plays solidly and adds passionate enthusiasm. The pace is relentless, the drums loud and the mood charged. The tempo builds until climaxing with 'Rock and Roll Queen.' It reduces the crowd to a heaving body of salivating followers in one swoop of unrelenting power, confirming this band is back.

10. Good Shoes (Saturday, 14:15)
This is the biggest crowd Good Shoes have ever played for, and it shows in a tentative start. But after 'Ice Age' thaws those suspecting the band's brand of music is all style over substance, they're caught up in the catchiness. Visually and musically they look worryingly manufactured, from their identikit art-rock look, via their glossy backdrop, to their choppy rhythms. Thankfully, singer Rhys Jones looks like a builder and sings with an earthy, awed expression that stops them becoming annoyingly fashionable.

This allows the tunes to dominate without pretence. The beguiling 'We Are Not The Same' actually unites the crowd, to the extent that when asked if anybody is from the band's hometown, it seems most of those present claims to be. Their aforementioned London dwelling is given an affectingly damning portrait in 'Morden' as Good Shoes combine insight with ridiculously memorable choruses. Ending with 'All In My Head", a jerky, prickly ride finishes with hooks stuck in heads and feet, however well attired, tapping away.

9. Get.Cape.Wear.Cape.Fly (Friday, 18:05)
Sam Duckworth provides the tent with a sense of universal enthusiasm as Get.Cape.Wear.Cape.Fly manage to be emotive without being irritating. He looks like an unusually trendy lecturer, and rushes about the stage like he's late for a class. Trumpets blend with laptop melodies to fashion a rich sound that compliments Duckworth's colourful and wholesome voice.

There is an epic quality to 'War of the Worlds' that defies its fussiness, a notion picked up upon by those watching eager for anthems rather than musings. However, it isn't just huge sing-alongs; Duckworth finds time to be subtle – sometimes bordering on whiny – but his everyman feel and charisma carries him through. It's back to crowd-pleasers for finale 'Chronicles of a Bohemian Teenager'. As its chorus echoes into the evening mist, Get.Cape.Wear.Cape.Fly leave Reading a much bigger act than when they arrived.

8. The Sunshine Underground (Sunday, 15:10)
After starting off sounding exactly like the other 723 dance-orientated indie band on show this weekend, The Sunshine Underground gloriously catapult themselves above such regularity. 'Put You In Your Place' is a feast of cowbells and war-cry lyricism, edging the band away from humdrum mediocrity. They grasp a feeling of woozy enjoyment, uniting the dynamism of The Rapture with The Cribs' boozy sense of fun.

Meaty bass lines maintain order, allowing sparse guitars to reach giddy heights when unleashed. The vocals glide over the overall sound, adding texture without being central to matters. Refined enough musically to remain tight, there is still a shaky quality to 'The Way It Is' that is enjoyably shambolic. 'Borders' contains a mellower groove that hints at a developing subtlety, but it is the gleaming pop slice of 'Commercial Breakdown' that elevates these promising Leeds funksters from chancers to contenders.

7. Brakes (Saturday, 12:45)
Brakes are all about urgency. "Smash, smash, 500 megatonnes of smash!" The music is driving, all-action and purposeful. It struggles to contain itself, with many songs over in 30-second explosions. From the thrust of their opening command to face the stage they're here to grip, not provide background music for an indifferent afternoon gathering. Their success is signalled by the amount of people leaving their seated solace to stand up and move.

The set roams from angry rock to tumbling folk, suggesting a wide range of input but leaving a nagging lack of direction. Still, with lumberjack shirts and receding hairlines they look likeable amidst a bill of image-conscious posers. Brakes are a teasing pleasure in their visual normality as well as their audible talent. The show is summarised by the raging growl of 'I Can't Stand To Stand Beside You' following a 20-second soundtrack demanding to "Pick up the phone!" Quirky, but not pretentious, Brakes give a forceful show of live music.

6. Cold War Kids (Sunday, 17:00)
Their set of stonewashed, bulky blues is greeted largely with apathy. Sandwiched into a Sunday line-up more nu rave than a song called 'Made-Up Genre' sung by a six-foot glowstick, they appear out of place. This doesn't stop them being doggedly thrilling. The headstrong stomp of 'Tell Me In The Morning' begins to make inroads into the docile crowd. 'We Used To Vacation', a tale of alcoholism sung with a strangely rousing aura of despair, continues this.

As the band battle on with their hulking, desolate sagas it slowly dawns that they are blessed with a singer with a voice of such clarity and authoritative power that ignorance is no longer possible. Drifting passers-by are now involved, the resolutely apathetic tapping their feet, when 'Hang Me Up To Dry' gallops in on its pounding bass line. Everybody hoarsely shouts along, shocked that they know the words, before wandering off with the vague recollection that Cold War Kids were actually dreadfully good.

5. We Are Scientists (Saturday, 21:15)
"Welcome to Reading Festival. It started two songs ago and ends in 35-minutes." After plodding out a couple of average tracks, such audacious self-confidence could seem inappropriate. Then you remember We Are Scientists are less a band and more a comedy act that punctuates their jokes with hammering riffs and sticky hooks.

They keep playing new songs that contain lots of "wooah-oh" chants, sounding decent at best, like Kaiser Chiefs covers at worst. But nobody seems to mind.
'Cash Cow' raises standards with its repetition of splintering build-ups and crashing responses; now the tent is in dancing mood. 'It's A Hit' obliges this temper in a flurry of whirring guitar, whereas 'The Great Escape' buzzes by with hyper vitality. The brilliance of the set is noticeable in the speed it whizzes past, aided by inspired onstage bickering and generous helpings of killer choruses.

4. Jamie T (Sunday, 19:10)
It is quite possible to love Jamie T's records and hate his live show; such is the canyon of difference between the two. The addition of The Pacemakers, his splendidly roguish band, creates an altered sonic prospect. Instead of 'Calm Down Dearest' sounding harmonious and fanciful, it is revamped into a chaotic, but equally engaging mess of melody and drive. Introspective lyrics take a backseat to charged rock and roll, with many songs recognisable only fleetingly.

This may frustrate some, but is original and exciting in its recklessness. 'So Lonely Was The Ballad' is brutally speeded up double time as Jamie's drawling delivery rings sharply. There's an edge, a sensation of occasion that marks the slot as exceptional. Tradition is kept in 'Salvador's shadowy menace, as well as the bedlam of 'Sheila.' Every track stings with potency; as he sings on 'Operation', it's "all thriller, no filler."

3. The Pigeon Detectives (Saturday, 16:50)
In weather so swelteringly hot that even the most self-conscious fashionistas are forced to wear geeky shorts and Factor 15, Pigeon Detectives singer Matt swaggers into view wearing a full-length black coat and dark shades. Indoors. No image managing from this lot then. They seem to have turned into a less grating version of The Fratellis: huge hooks, huger hair and songs that appeal to the white-van-man in us all.

If only to confirm this is big, loud, stupid music, before a raucous rendition of 'Romantic Type' they ask: "Have you all got hands?" Honestly. Yes, yes we have, thank you very much. But then the tune is more infectious than anything you can catch from using the toilets here - a bouncing, vibrant ode to lust. Suddenly those hands he was so interested in are involuntarily in the air. Songs of girls and boys, late nights and fights, hurtle past. A mob of bodies is held captive by each pacy tale, 'Take Her Back' provoking especially anarchic scenes. In a flash, it's over – strangely replaced by a strong urge to buy lager and kebabs.

2. The Maccabees (Sunday, 16:05)
The Maccabees encompass the idiosyncrasy that thrives in the small tents at Reading Festival. They combine it with the pomp and chant-friendly refrains that thrill the main stages – often simultaneously. Exactly how "Latchmere's got a wave machine!" has developed into an ear-splitting sing-along lyric is one of life's mysterious pleasures. The band is a rare mishmash; uncomfortable mannerisms quiver in every peculiar reference, quietly confident ambition gushes from every riff.

Orlando's voice fizzes with a perturbed insecurity, complimenting the stop-start beats and unassuming eccentricity of his band. In the whistled mooch through 'Toothpaste Kisses' he plays acoustic amid screams of adulation; he is slowly gaining star status. But it's the collective that shines; a gang mentality ensuring the sense of satisfaction onstage diffuses into the baying fans. Steve Lamacq called them "a bit special" when introducing; 40 minutes later, his praise is justified.

1. Klaxons (Sunday, 22:35)
The largest crowd inside the tent all weekend bulges into one vivid hallucination of colour as Klaxons race through 'Atlantis To Interzone.' Lights flash, glowsticks sail through the air and sirens blare. The crowd doesn't quite dance, doesn't quite mosh - it's more a hectic, elated fumbling. The atmosphere reeks of the deranged joy this band blossoms under. 'Golden Skans' just inflames things further.

But something's different. The usual cacophony Klaxons make – danceable yes, though not exactly musically polished – has been replaced by noises resembling melody. Apocalyptic melody, but melody nonetheless. The reason for this newfound accomplishment is an extra member, due to Jamie breaking a leg. While he is free to stalk the stage threateningly clasping a crutch in tow, the newcomer plays bass in an orderly manner and creates a bit of rhythm to accompany the mayhem.

Being the final act of the festival, the crowd is appropriately unreserved. Klaxons feed off this burgeoning enthusiasm, becoming increasingly unrestrained. During 'Magick' they bask in a prolonged ovation mid-song. Soon though, the chaos continues as Reading Festival 2007 goes out in an inferno of breathless, luminous fun.

Terrible Two:
2. Brand New (Friday, 21:20)
This is fist-clenching, warbled rock for angst-ridden teens and ill-adjusted adults. The music is dull and repetitive. The singer sounds like he is about to cry, but the blandness of the music completely fails to explain the anguish in his voice. This renders the vocals false and lifeless, making the intended uplifting choruses flat and limp.

Listening to Brand New makes you wonder if your ears need examining, not only to repair the damage 45 minutes of miserable, fake-punk has done. Also to check they are working correctly because, incredulously, people are enjoying this! The person to the left is so emotionally involved that their make-up is running. His girlfriend is enjoying it too. To complete this horrible scene, the singer has a tendency to roll on the floor screaming. For future reference, this isn't exciting or innovative – it's plain annoying.

1. Hadouken (Sunday, 13:30)
Hadouken have discovered an echo device for their microphones, and are determined to use it. In fact, they seem convinced the device will grow ineffective unless used regularly. By regularly, I mean every song. The singer recites lyrics like he is reading down a long list, before squawking like a bird protecting its eggs at the end. In their defence, this grinding brand of electronic rock and distorted beats may sound better in a filthy hovel at 1am rather than a sunshine-soaked tent at 1pm.

There is no defending their generic reproduction of the same song throughout their set. 'That Boy, That Girl' is an effects-laden blast of cutting, perceptive party music that sneers at the most unsavoury of indie music's effects. But they play this song in various forms, with differing titles and less catchy hooks, over and over again. Every song sounds so similar that they merge into one long drone. It would be music to fall asleep at the back of the tent to, if that echoing mic wasn't so excruciatingly loud. When they finally do play 'That Boy, That Girl', it's difficult to notice, let alone care.