Miscellaneous - Reading Festival, 23/8/2002...25/8/2002

  by Mark Rowland

published: 25 / 9 / 2002

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Article

When setting out to any festival, you have to be prepared. But you know that, however, many times you check what you've packed, and what you need to pack, you'll leave something very important behind, and when you realise you've left it, it's way too late to sort it out. For me, this year was no different. I meticulously checked everything I had to pack, I took extra of some things just in case, then checked everything again just to make sure. What came to my attention much later on was that, despite packing shampoo, shower gel, a face wash, toothpaste, and other important washing stuff, I forgot two very crucial things: a towel, and a toothbrush. For my teeth I had to use that gum that's supposed to clean your teeth as you chew it, and for a towel I used a T-shirt, which wasn't actually that good at getting me dry. Good thing I didn't actually use the showers then. Sort of... Anyway, reset the scene to a Thursday afternoon, and I'm trying in vain to get my tent up before Sunday evening. At this point I'd drunk most of the bottle of Southern Comfort I'd bought on the journey up to Reading, and for some reason the mallet I borrowed (that's another thing I forgot) seems unable to hit the pegs. Eventually, after a team effort from a couple of my friends (who had their tents up ages ago, the bastards) and I, and about twenty pegs being bent into unrecognisable shapes, my tent is up, thank God. A quick tour of the site and a long search for our other mates leads to some conclusions. One, everything that can be bought on site costs about 200% it's actual worth, and two, it's impossible to find anyone unless they're standing right next to you. Oh well, it's, like the porta-loos, all part of the festival experience. The rest of Thursday is pretty uneventful, except for the hour or so spent on the phone to a couple of friends, one of them being Pennyblackmusic writer Ben Howarth, who had just arrived at the site> We found out that we were pretty near each other. Everyone was concerned about waiting for Friday, the first proper day of Reading, and this stopped us from going completely mad, so the night is reasonably quiet. Friday arrives and after a trip into town to stock up on supplies (beer and food) and a trip to my mate's van to get a few things (beer), we're just about ready to watch some bands. After finally getting through the entrance to the main arena, we manage to catch the end of Pretty Girls Make Graves' set. This is the first time I've seen them, and to me they seem pretty good, with a basic emo kind of sound made more original through their heavyish use of keyboards and their female vocalist, which is something you unfortunately don't see enough of in emo or post-hardcore bands. We then move on to the Evening Session Stage to watch the Von Bondies, who put on a good, energetic rock n roll show, but don't quite play a set that really blows you away. To be honest, there's not that many bands on that I'm that keen to watch today, so I spend a lot of time waiting around. We watch Mercury Rev from quite far back, who are very good, though I've not really got that into them, so I only know a few songs that they play. The Dandy Warhols come on next, and after one song I move on. Yes, they were that bad. After taking a bit of a break from watching bands, I head back up to the Main Stage to seethe White Stripes, who play, in my opinion, the first truly great set of the weekend. There may only be two of them, but the White Stripes stage presence is huge. There are a few sound problems during opener 'Dead Leaves and theDirty Ground', but that is soon sorted and from then on the White Stripes can't put a foot wrong. Most of the songs they play, unsurprisingly, are off their recent album 'White Blood Cells', but a few older songs and some covers are thrown in as well, including a fantastic rendition of Dolly Parton's 'Jolene'. Jack and Meg also do very little to dispel the rumours of their pastrelationship, seeming a little too close for a brother and sister. Apart from that though, an absolutely classic performance. Next it's back up to the Evening Session stage to check out the Vines. The hype machine hasn't been that accurate in its prediction of a massive audience for this band, but the crowd is still pretty big, and The Vines cause the first crowd surge of the festival with opener and current single 'Outtathaway'. The rest ofthe set is a bit of a mixed bag. Often, the band sound flawless, and Craig Nichols onstage thrashing entertaining. Every now then, however, they let their energy drop a little, which stops them from reaching the quality of the White Stripes set. The cover of Outcast's hit 'Ms. Jackson' is surprisingly good though. Moving on to the Boutique stage, and UNKLE man James Lavelle has just started his DJ set. It's something of a disappointment, especially when you think about the quality of UNKLE's'Psyence Fiction' album, that what we hear aren't UNKLE's own songs, but thebreakbeat records that are mostly played are pretty dancealble, so it's easy to get lost in the music and really enjoy yourself. After a short break from music, it's back to the Boutique stage to watch it's headliner Aphex Twin. This is the show I've been anticipating all day. The Twin (a.k.a. Richard D.James) appears on the stage several times during his equipment set up,teasing the crowd a little before he actually comes on to perform. In the end, he starts late, opening with a track off latest album 'Druqs', and taking us through a weird mash up of sounds that comprise of known tunes like 'Windowlicker', improvised braindance, and bits of other people's songs (the Eurythmics 'Sweet Dreams' makes it in there at one point). On the stage, a bloke in a white robe and a mask sits on a chair while another bloke in a mullet wig and silver face paint prowls around the stage. On the video screens, a mixture of old DeNiro films, weird footage of towns and porno cartoons flashes and flickers disturbingly. You wouldn't expect anything less. By the end of what is the second flawless set of the weekend,the bloke in the robe is standing on the chair pointing at different points in the audience, while the mulletted bloke seems to be having some sort of fit. It doesn't get much better than this. With Friday over, it takes me about an hour to find the area that my tent is in, and a bit longer to actually find my tent. I try and conserve as much energy as possible for Saturday, which will probably be my best day. Saturday does indeed prove to be my best day, but also, in other ways, it isn't. The first band we properly watch are the Libertines on the Evening Session stage, who for ages have problems with one of their guitars, which is slightly irritating. Once they get it sorted, though, their mixture of British old school punk and Strokes melody sounds great live. Midtown are up next on the same stage, and although I'm unfamiliar with their material, their mature-ish emo-punk sound is pretty enjoyable. I happen to know, however, that Goldfinger's pop/ska-punk isn't, so we leave the Evening session area, and give band watching a rest for a bit, before returning to the Evening Session stage for the Icarus Line, who blow everything else that has been and that will be away with their energetic, flawless, anarchic set. Short, spiky favourites off their debut album 'Mono', like 'Love is Happiness', and fantastic signature tune 'Feed a Cat to your Cobra' go down particularly well with the crowd, but the band air plenty of new songs, all of which have a bit of a Spacemen 3 influence, and show that the band is perfectly capable of reinventing themselves and expanding their sound. At one point, however, Joe Cardamone has to use two microphones, as the sound people are having problems projecting the vocals. This problem gets even worse during Alec Empire's performance, where his vocals are practically inaudible to the crowd for about two or three songs. After this is sorted, it takes a while for him to get into his stride, but when he does, on tracks like 'The Path of Destruction', it's as powerful as ever. At the end of the set, Alec dives into the crowd and gets almost to the back of the tent before turning back towards the stage, the crowd following him pied piper style. Rival Schools are quite a bit less rowdy than the previous two acts, but make up for that in sheer song quality and Walter Schriefel's all round nice guyness. 'Undercovers On' is soulful and gets the crowd singing along, and closing tune 'Used for Glue', with it's huge monotonous riff, really hits the spot. Another break from music, and we return once more to the Evening Session stage, where The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion teach us a few lessons in rock n roll. They play unsurprisingly, a lot of songs off their latest album, but also songs from classic albums like 'Orange' and 'Acme' force their way in there. The showmanship is quality. The piece de resistance this evening however is the Foo Fighters, who are headlining the Main Stage. Like the Icarus Line, the Foos have several new songs to air, from the forthcoming new album 'One by One', including fantastic new single 'All My Life'. For the new album, the Foos sound has been beefed up considerably, the songs aired being generally heavier and slightly bleaker than previous tunes. Older material still dominates this set, though, with the crowd singing along to classics like 'This is A Call' from their debut album ; 'Monkey Wrench' off 'The Colour and the Shape', and 'Learn to Fly' from their third album 'There is Nothing Left to Lose'. Nothing gets the crowd more excited, however, than Grohl's praise of the festival. "Reading was the first festival I played,back in '92. I've played Reading 4 times now. First in '92, then in '95, then in 2000, then in 2002, and it's always been really great. Thanks for sticking by us." says Grohl, which instantly makes the crowd go all gooey eyed. It's the perfect end to an almost perfect day. Back at the site, a campfire sing-along (minus the campfire) is organised, and we murder classics such as the Red Hot Chilli Peppers 'Under The Bridge'. We close our impromptu set with a bloody massacre of Britney Spear's 'Baby One More Time'. It's still better than Travis' version though. What's most strange is that some of the people in the surrounding tents actually enjoy our show, withone group enjoying it so much they wake my guitar playing friend Paul up at 5'o clock in the morning with a Brian May impersonator. Unfortunately, after this Paul doesn't play guitar for the rest of the weekend. On Sunday, I get up bright and early and get down to the main arena as soon as possible. The reason for this can be summed up in three words: Dillinger. Escape. Plan. Their musical style isn't quite everyone's cup of tea: a flaming molotov cocktail made with a mixture of hardcore, metal, Jazz, and ambient electronica. I however, have grown to love it. Watching them live, you realise just how good a band they are, in their technical abilities, their originality, and, though they take a bit of time to reveal themselves, their tunes. Drummer Chris Pennie is an especially good drummer, who, on Dillinger's cover of Aphex Twin's 'Come To Daddy', manages to get an almost impossible drum part beat-perfect (On the original version, the drums are electronic, and follow a very disjointed rhythm). To top off their memorable set, making it the most memorable and talked about of the weekend, singer Greg Puciato takes a shit into a towel onstage, wipes his arse, puts the toilet paper into the towel, wraps the whole thing up and puts it into a plastic bag. "This" he tells the crowd, "Is a bag of shit, and soon it will be out there amongst you, so remember what it looks like. It could turn up anywhere around this arena. It may even disguise itself as bands. Bands that may or may not be playing this stage later on today. You may not realise it to start with, but eventually you'll see them for what they are. That's why I'm showing this to you." Of course, the shit is thrown into the crowd, and it's amazing just how quickly it leaves the crowd again. At the end of the set, Puciato takes the towel out of the bag and smears himself with his own shit. He is almost sick. It's absolutely disgusting, but at the same time completely mind blowing. Capdown are the next band we see, on at the Evening Session stage, and they put on a great show. There's a real underground punk feel to their mixture of ska, punk and hardcore, and the band staunchly refuse to compromise. The little teen-punk segment of the audience they attract though, are deeply irritating. Thankfully, none of them have any interest in Sparta, the new band of the non-afroed members of At the Drive-in. Sparta are slightly more melodic than At the Drive-in, but a great deal of the At the Drive-in sound has followed Jim Ward and co. into Sparta. Which, if you think about it, isn't actually that surprising. 'Cut Your Ribbon', and 'Air' sound especially good. The teen punks are back for NOFX's performance on the Main Stage, but the Californian punk veteran's comedy stylings makes it all bearable. Frontman Fat Mike does not like the current American president, and lets us know through his charming new song 'Idiot Son of an Asshole'. Oh, and guitarist El Hefe does a mean Kermit impression. Incubus are on next, and although I do like their songs, the set they play today is a bit boring. Incubus just seem to treat it like just another show,and don't seem to put that much effort into their performance. They can't put a foot wrong though with a screaming girl contingent of the audience, especially when singer Brandon Boyd takes his shirt off. I'd like to tell you about the bands on after this, but unfortunately, after standing in a field for three days straight, my legs decide to give out on me, and when I sit down back at our site, I find that I can't actually stand up again. The rest of the evening is spent drinking as many of the leftover beers as possible, trashing a friend's tent while he's off watching the Prodigy, and shouting a lot. Halfway through the day on a Monday, the day after the festival, and I'm sitting on a tube train in London, trying to get to Victoria Station. I've lost my friend's ages ago in the shambles that was Reading train station, and I've already got on the wrong train three times in London, but for some reason, I'm feeling strangely euphoric. During my time on my own on the train, I realise that when going to festivals, something always ends up going wrong, from missing things you pack, to trying in vain to get your tent up, to the stinking toilets you're forced to use. But this is a good thing. It's a good thing because it gives you a load of funny stories to tell when you get back. When I finally do get back from Reading at about four in the afternoon, this is all forgotten, at least, for a while, as I'm too knackered by far to think.

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