Reading Festival is quite rightly renowned for its rich rock heritage and rough and ready reputation. But located just a bottle's throw from the main stage lies the NME/Radio One tent, not just an area of corporate endorsement overkill, but a haven for all things supposedly indie, trendy and so-right-now that both your auntie has heard of and your cool older brother hasn't disowned yet. This spacious canopy becomes home for three days of inspired shows, wired cameos, sound frustration, sleep deprivation, and every now and then, pure elation.
The fashionable tag is belittled slightly by Be Your Own Pet almost instantly. A buzz band a few years back, their ravenous, scuzzy punk sound and frontwoman Jemina Pearl's crazed onstage antics still draw a crowd, but they're aware it's over. Barely out of their teens, the moment has passed, Adventure seems flat and Damn Damn Leash dated. "I'm drunk. I'm so drunk," slurs the bassist. "I'm bored," moans a girl nearby. A cruel mistress, this tent.
Far better to come out on the attack, wearing a gold sequin dress and singing songs that appear to have been dragged by the hair through the already-appearing mud and held onstage just long enough for the band to thrash them into existence. This is the Duke Spirit approach, all guts and drive, not a lot of variety but full of unquenchable enthusiasm. Cuts Across The Land is particularly biting and Liela Moss consistently beguiling.
As MGMT spiritedly launch into the meaningful pop ecstasy of Electric Bloom, it is apparent this is another buzz band anomaly - having accidentally tapped into the mindset of a musical fellowship they don't really belong in, they're stuck in a halfway house between more catchy jingles and a natural leaning towards experimentation. Time To Pretend and Kids are lapped up eagerly as the crowds revel in the thrilling escapism of it all. But in the lulls between singles, the band comes alive while the audience waits patiently for another pop tart. The phrases "musical differences" and "pursuing other interests" spring to mind.
Vampire Weekend are far more comfortable pop fodder. In fact, they exclusively write this fare, but dress it up in the calypso rhythms of opener Mansard Roof and the jerky irony of Oxford Comma, so it's hard to recognise. In a perfect afternoon slot, they excel, before vacating for less reliable fun in the shape of Babyshambles.
When morbid curiosity is the main motivation for attending a gig, uncertainty is an accepted part of the attraction, which may explain the enduring appeal of Pete Doherty despite countless letdowns. So, thousands pack into the tent to witness Babyshambles headline set and are soon pleasantly surprised at Pete's chipper demeanour and the band's eager reaction to their leader's fine fettle. The Foundations' Build Me Up Buttercup is sung on a whim, before Delivery and Pipedown provide pogoing aplenty. It's the tenderness of What Katie Did and Albion that are memorable though, sung with earnestness and wit, underpinning the ensuing chaos of Fuck Forever with a poignant point and providing hope that this won't prove a high for Pete, but another starting point.
For many of those making it to the day after last night, the throwaway indie of Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong begins Saturday, but Santogold's crossover showmanship is more beguiling, if less accessible, drawing the likes of Bloc Party to witness her perform a dynamic set packed with tracks from her eponymous debut album. L.E.S Artistes pulls a big reaction, while she patrols the stage with menace and control.
Mystery Jets are a considerably more laid back delight, making it to Reading after a series of cancellations due to singer Blaine's ongoing illness. They stick to new record Twenty One's love-soaked melodies, Two Doors Down garnering a raucous response and the melodious craft of Flakes noticeable amongst a set oozing with ease and tenderness. We Are Scientists' singer Keith Murray joins them on backing vocals as their jocular angle is highlighted, but Behind The Bunhouse brings meaty material to compliment the general warmth of the gig.
Seasick Steve effortlessly continues this as he drafts his son in on percussion to play songs from his upcoming album as well as ramshackle oldies such as Doghouse Blues and Cut My Wings. The amiable bluesman even grabs a girl onstage to serenade as the mood in the tent shifts from light-hearted to hungry in anticipation for the twin assault of Foals and Justice.
It's rejuvenated bill-toppers the Manic Street Preachers that steal the limelight though, frontman James Dean Bradfield's vocals as cutting for this, their fifth Reading appearance, as they were for the first. Recent album Send Away The Tigers features prominently, while classics Motorcycle Emptiness and A Design For Life satisfy the overwhelmingly male hordes with their convoluted yet anthemic nature. They're no longer challenging, Nicky Wire's histrionics more a detraction from noise than an addition, but they still play with venom, provoking dedication and adulation.
While Yeasayer suffer technical difficulties as they open Sunday, most people are suffering similar problems with their consciousness. Nevertheless, the New Yorkers manage four songs full of magnetism and guile, including the absorbing 2080, before Adam Green's cabaret tomfoolery provides a wake-up call. The Big Apple's clown prince sings about sex with legless girls and drug epidemics, cavorting around in an army helmet, "British, 1950, honestly," and proclaiming a Reading Chinese takeaway as "the best restaurant in the UK". Utterly irreverent and equally irrelevant, it’s different nonetheless.
Lightpeed Champion no longer possesses this commodity, having travelled this summer's circuit so extensively rumours that festivals don't make a sound unless Dev Hynes is present are circulating. His charming alt-folk, including an extended Midnight Surprise that begins with the Star Wars theme and ends with the singer's guitar smashing an amp, is a complimenting precursor to the arrival of Conor Oberst.
Joined by the Mystic River Band instead of his usual incarnation Bright Eyes, Oberst is unfettered by the shackles of expectation his unshakeable tag of songwriting's great white hope bring, leaving him free to mess around a little, even throw in a Dylan-inspired version of Corrina, Corrina. Drinking throughout, he looks relaxed, but still shines in balladry rather than the upbeat shenanigans of I Don't Want To Die.
Alex Turner seems to triumph in anything he chances his arm on. The Last Shadow Puppets, backed by an orchestra, storm the tent regardless of more sound struggles. Opener Calm Like You has to be restarted, while later the duo's lack of practice – it's only their fourth gig ever – result in more mistakes. However, this just provides content and texture to the overall engaging soundscape they conjure. With loftier ambitions than day job bands The Rascals and even Arctic Monkeys, Miles Kane and Turner revel in the audacity of crooning The Meeting Place and making an unlikely sing-along of The Age of Understatement's disjoined rhyming patterns.
If the scope of the support was impressive, the directness of The Cribs' festival-closing show is all-consuming. Joined by illustrious new permanent member Johnny Marr, dryly introduced as "this is Jonathon, our new guitarist," they blast through tracks from all three albums. Hey!Scenesters is manic, while Marr adds depth to Moving Pictures' catchiness. Sonic Youth's Lee Ranaldo makes a big screen appearance for Be Safe, while there's crowd surfing aplenty from the Jarman Brothers. As I'm A Realist ends Reading in rollicking, frenzied fashion, it feels like a proper gig, in the manner this still manages to feel like a proper festival.
The fashionable tag is belittled slightly by Be Your Own Pet almost instantly. A buzz band a few years back, their ravenous, scuzzy punk sound and frontwoman Jemina Pearl's crazed onstage antics still draw a crowd, but they're aware it's over. Barely out of their teens, the moment has passed, Adventure seems flat and Damn Damn Leash dated. "I'm drunk. I'm so drunk," slurs the bassist. "I'm bored," moans a girl nearby. A cruel mistress, this tent.
Far better to come out on the attack, wearing a gold sequin dress and singing songs that appear to have been dragged by the hair through the already-appearing mud and held onstage just long enough for the band to thrash them into existence. This is the Duke Spirit approach, all guts and drive, not a lot of variety but full of unquenchable enthusiasm. Cuts Across The Land is particularly biting and Liela Moss consistently beguiling.
As MGMT spiritedly launch into the meaningful pop ecstasy of Electric Bloom, it is apparent this is another buzz band anomaly - having accidentally tapped into the mindset of a musical fellowship they don't really belong in, they're stuck in a halfway house between more catchy jingles and a natural leaning towards experimentation. Time To Pretend and Kids are lapped up eagerly as the crowds revel in the thrilling escapism of it all. But in the lulls between singles, the band comes alive while the audience waits patiently for another pop tart. The phrases "musical differences" and "pursuing other interests" spring to mind.
Vampire Weekend are far more comfortable pop fodder. In fact, they exclusively write this fare, but dress it up in the calypso rhythms of opener Mansard Roof and the jerky irony of Oxford Comma, so it's hard to recognise. In a perfect afternoon slot, they excel, before vacating for less reliable fun in the shape of Babyshambles.
When morbid curiosity is the main motivation for attending a gig, uncertainty is an accepted part of the attraction, which may explain the enduring appeal of Pete Doherty despite countless letdowns. So, thousands pack into the tent to witness Babyshambles headline set and are soon pleasantly surprised at Pete's chipper demeanour and the band's eager reaction to their leader's fine fettle. The Foundations' Build Me Up Buttercup is sung on a whim, before Delivery and Pipedown provide pogoing aplenty. It's the tenderness of What Katie Did and Albion that are memorable though, sung with earnestness and wit, underpinning the ensuing chaos of Fuck Forever with a poignant point and providing hope that this won't prove a high for Pete, but another starting point.
For many of those making it to the day after last night, the throwaway indie of Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong begins Saturday, but Santogold's crossover showmanship is more beguiling, if less accessible, drawing the likes of Bloc Party to witness her perform a dynamic set packed with tracks from her eponymous debut album. L.E.S Artistes pulls a big reaction, while she patrols the stage with menace and control.
Mystery Jets are a considerably more laid back delight, making it to Reading after a series of cancellations due to singer Blaine's ongoing illness. They stick to new record Twenty One's love-soaked melodies, Two Doors Down garnering a raucous response and the melodious craft of Flakes noticeable amongst a set oozing with ease and tenderness. We Are Scientists' singer Keith Murray joins them on backing vocals as their jocular angle is highlighted, but Behind The Bunhouse brings meaty material to compliment the general warmth of the gig.
Seasick Steve effortlessly continues this as he drafts his son in on percussion to play songs from his upcoming album as well as ramshackle oldies such as Doghouse Blues and Cut My Wings. The amiable bluesman even grabs a girl onstage to serenade as the mood in the tent shifts from light-hearted to hungry in anticipation for the twin assault of Foals and Justice.
It's rejuvenated bill-toppers the Manic Street Preachers that steal the limelight though, frontman James Dean Bradfield's vocals as cutting for this, their fifth Reading appearance, as they were for the first. Recent album Send Away The Tigers features prominently, while classics Motorcycle Emptiness and A Design For Life satisfy the overwhelmingly male hordes with their convoluted yet anthemic nature. They're no longer challenging, Nicky Wire's histrionics more a detraction from noise than an addition, but they still play with venom, provoking dedication and adulation.
While Yeasayer suffer technical difficulties as they open Sunday, most people are suffering similar problems with their consciousness. Nevertheless, the New Yorkers manage four songs full of magnetism and guile, including the absorbing 2080, before Adam Green's cabaret tomfoolery provides a wake-up call. The Big Apple's clown prince sings about sex with legless girls and drug epidemics, cavorting around in an army helmet, "British, 1950, honestly," and proclaiming a Reading Chinese takeaway as "the best restaurant in the UK". Utterly irreverent and equally irrelevant, it’s different nonetheless.
Lightpeed Champion no longer possesses this commodity, having travelled this summer's circuit so extensively rumours that festivals don't make a sound unless Dev Hynes is present are circulating. His charming alt-folk, including an extended Midnight Surprise that begins with the Star Wars theme and ends with the singer's guitar smashing an amp, is a complimenting precursor to the arrival of Conor Oberst.
Joined by the Mystic River Band instead of his usual incarnation Bright Eyes, Oberst is unfettered by the shackles of expectation his unshakeable tag of songwriting's great white hope bring, leaving him free to mess around a little, even throw in a Dylan-inspired version of Corrina, Corrina. Drinking throughout, he looks relaxed, but still shines in balladry rather than the upbeat shenanigans of I Don't Want To Die.
Alex Turner seems to triumph in anything he chances his arm on. The Last Shadow Puppets, backed by an orchestra, storm the tent regardless of more sound struggles. Opener Calm Like You has to be restarted, while later the duo's lack of practice – it's only their fourth gig ever – result in more mistakes. However, this just provides content and texture to the overall engaging soundscape they conjure. With loftier ambitions than day job bands The Rascals and even Arctic Monkeys, Miles Kane and Turner revel in the audacity of crooning The Meeting Place and making an unlikely sing-along of The Age of Understatement's disjoined rhyming patterns.
If the scope of the support was impressive, the directness of The Cribs' festival-closing show is all-consuming. Joined by illustrious new permanent member Johnny Marr, dryly introduced as "this is Jonathon, our new guitarist," they blast through tracks from all three albums. Hey!Scenesters is manic, while Marr adds depth to Moving Pictures' catchiness. Sonic Youth's Lee Ranaldo makes a big screen appearance for Be Safe, while there's crowd surfing aplenty from the Jarman Brothers. As I'm A Realist ends Reading in rollicking, frenzied fashion, it feels like a proper gig, in the manner this still manages to feel like a proper festival.
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