I Lost It A Little Bit...

Unlike Chiara I spent the entire summer holiday gig starved. So it was a great relief when finally last week I got to break my shameful abstinence and got myself down to Brighton for some live music. Even better, I was taking my wonderful girlfriend to her first gig. Even better, it was Reuben.

So first things first, support bands. According to everyone else there were sound problems with Enjoy Destroy that made their vocalist sound weird. However I was wearing earplugs and had no such problems. It's one of the reasons I always wear them at gigs - not only do earplugs protect your hearing (tinitus pisses me off no end) but it actually clarifies the sound by removing most of the sound that bounces around off the walls. In short everything sounds much better and you can hear the next day. Anyway, Enjoy Destroy prved themselves definately ones to listen out for. Sounding like an English Jimmy Eat World and although they're young and a little inexperienced on the stage there's some good potential there

Kill Kenada are a little disappointing. It's good streaight up rock, really well performed but they kinda failed to set me tingling. Not sure why

So onto the main event. I've seen Reuben live twice before and they are without a doubt one of my favourite bands but tonight they are on form. From start to finish for 16 songs over the space of a single hour they are utterly midblowing, delivering material from their new album 'In Nothing We Trust' as well as some older fan favourites. That soiunds like the sort of thing you hear in a lazy NME review so i'll try to put it into more detail.

Two minutes into opener Suffocation of the Soul there is an outcry. Almost every person in the crowd is singing along at what can can only be described as a climactic moment. Not just singing it, but engaging in it. Surrendering to it. All this to a short section of a seven minute song that 2 months ago nobody there had heard before.

To say this sets the tone for the evening is an understatement.

The new songs sound fantastic. ' We're All Going Home In An Ambulence', 'Agony/Agatha' and all whip the crowd into a frenzy. Despite being a small band whose new album is only a couple of months old these songs not only sound great but get a rapturous reception, even inamongst older songs ranging from live favourites 'Lights Out' and 'Everytime A Teenager Listens To Drum And Bass A Rockstar Dies', to some of the less poppy first album tracks such as 'Fall Of The Bastille'. There's even a bit of a nod to older fans with an airing of an early Reuben classic in the shape of 'Crimson'.

Yet the visceral, distorted passionate and complex rock songs Reuben have made their trademark are tempered at times beautifully by ssome starkly emotional slower numbers. 'Nobody Loves You' and In Nothing We Trust highlight 'Good Luck' with people standing enraptured, singing along to every word as if they have connected them and the feelings behind them as if they are burned into their very souls.

By the time set closer 'A Short History Of Nearly Everything' rings out I was left with the impression that this was what a gig was truly about. Not just sharing a performance or the songs, but the feelings behind them with a packed room full of people going through exactly the same things every day.

I'm biased i'll admit - I love this band with a passion as all those who know me will testify but this is the thing with Reuben. They inspire such passion in their fans that such feelings and atmosphere are possible. And this is what makes them, and this particular show so goddamned special.

Want to know more? I was lucky enough to meet the band beforehand and grab an interview with them. We also managed to tape it so watch this space for CUR1350'd very first video interview very very soon. You even get to see my face in it you lucky people!

My Tasteless Venture? My Troubled Vision?

I am glad I am currently being spared the torture Sandy is being exposed to (his last blog entry is clearly a cry for help) but I am getting my very own brand of mainstream fun over here in Milan. Because yes folks, yesterday was MTV Day here in Italy - and not just any MTV Day, but MTV Italia's 10th birthday. Let us have a minute of silence here (switch brain dial to mourning or awe at own discretion). In honour of the occasion (as every year, really, but this year was advertised as being extra-special) a free day of concerts was held both in Rome and in Milan, the line-up this year consisting exclusively of Italian acts (other years artists such as the Black Eyed Peas performed, apparently).

These events are always both special and irritating in their inescapable nature because they are held on the 'piazza' (square) in front of the famous Duomo. This place is the absolute central hub of the city - wherever you are going and whatever you are doing, you are likely to pass through it or at least near it. A bit like Cambridge market place, just a few times bigger. So, MTV monopolized this for three days - day one occupied with building up the stage, day two with soundchecks, and day three with the event itself. This means they really went all out - usually, stages are set up the night before or even on the day itself, and dismantled immediately afterwards. Having a stage up for three days is, I think, a never-been-seen-before thing, unless I'm just completely oblivious.

Because they are obviously marketing geniuses (otherwise, we would no longer have MTV) the people in charge refused to divulge any more details on the line-up except which artists would be there: the order of appearance was not announced, and much less the time of each performance. Considering I was just interested in one act out of the 6 or 7 that would be playing between 16.30 and 23:00 or later, this was more than a little annoying.

I headed into town for just after five and found myself smack bang right in the middle of every 15 year old scenester the city and all surrounding cities could offer up. Having assured myself that the singer I wanted to see wouldn't be on for another while, I decided to make my escape from amongst the kids attempting to hand me 30 Seconds To Mars flyers or plastering me with Tokio Hotel stickers. One coffee and a walk later, I found myself close to Piazza Duomo again where I found this: so much better than what was going on just around the corner. This is what music is about: our human minds automatically drawn in and fascinated and compelled to dance. Dear MTV, by all rights the world should not need you and your overblown flashyness. So it goes. At the same time, there is a certain compelling nature to this twisted union between the epitome of pop culture and history, and it's worth attending these events just for the feel of being there. I mean, do you get open-air gigs in the middle of the city in London (parks don't count)?

Anyway, I eventually settle down on a corner and witness Italian super-pop-star Tiziano Ferro's rather shameful appearance - whether it be due to the technical difficulties they were having earlier or simply because of his/MTV's stupidity, he played all of three songs (Ti Scattero Una Foto, Stop! Dimentica, and one whose name I don't know). Whoever came over just to see him (and I am sure there were many) must feel endlessly cheated now. He also goes into a lengthy glorifying thank you to MTV for modernizing Italy's attitude to music - to be fair, I do not doubt that they had a fair bit to do with the international success he has had, and in the end who can blame him? It's always difficult for non-English-speaking acts to break out of their home country in terms of fame.

The problem with MTV and particularly MTV Italia is that everyone loves to hear themselves talk far too much. The presenters on MTV Italia are celebrities in their own right, and there is a massive cult of personality around them. The breaks inbetween acts are filled with boring interviews that are mostly opportunities for the presenters to flirt with the artists and of course a bit of 'making the audience feel special' isn't missing as someone prowls down the front of the crowd with a microphone asking people the standard 'so where did you travel from today' MTV-popularity-asserting questions.

Following Tiziano are Italian hip hop (often merged with rock) act Articolo 31 (who don't appear to have an official myspace page) who are fun to watch simply because they seem to be having such a good time on stage. I don't really have anything else to say about them, except that from the limited amount I've heard their songs do actually contain a fair amount of lyrical value.

Inbetween acts, the lights on stage spell out predictably clichee slogans from 'action' to 'dreams' to 'beats' to 'pop', 'rock', 'metal', 'hiphop', 'dieci' (ten), 'ten yrs', 'disco' , 'mtv' and of course 'milano'.

Finally (at around 21:45. Figures.), the woman I've been waiting for takes the stage: Carmen Consoli (who doesn't appear to have an official myspace page, either). The woman plays pop-rock often with distinct roots in traditional Italian music and has the voice of a fallen angel. It's what I tend to appreciate about famous Italian female singers: their voices are unique and character-filled, so that you'd never mistake one for another. She steps out on stage in a flowing purple dress with a red little glowing heart in her hair, looking absolutely adorable. The performance falls a little flat in parts, and I am predisposed to blame the setting and MTV get-up for it (call me a pretentious scene kid when I say the atmosphere just wasn't quite right). But overall, she doesn't fail to enchant in consideration of the circumstances and her voice is if anything more compelling live. Essentially, this has been a little free taste and next time she has a concert in Milan I'll (hopefully) be getting a ticket....

I decide to skip the remaining interview idiocies as well as last act because I've more than had my fill of MTV for the day: when even live music manages to look and sound a bit too plastic and manufactured is when I start to worry.

An Open Letter To Sean Kingston

Dear Sean Kingston

Please shut up and go away you whiney self-depricating git. Since doing work experience at a station that plays your current number 1 single 5 times a day I find it popping into my head regularly during the past week and a half. I wouldn't mind so much if it was not such Usher-lite R'n'B by numbers lamenting why beautiful girls leave you. If you are anything like your hits I can see why - Smooth production, and an 'I'm so emotional' exterior entice them in but ultimatley they see that there is very little behind it, which let's be frank doesn't make for a stable long-term relationship built on a foundation of meaningful conversation, shared experiences and the mutual attraction derived from this.

Did you ever consider that the reason that all of these relationships fail is not the fault of the women you date but because of the deficits in your character and errors on your judgement. After all you do seem to be the only common factor in the demise of this succession of relationships. To put it bluntly you need to grow a pair and deal with the reasons why your experiences with women, however pretty, fail instead of perpetuating an unfair psudo-stereotype about ladies with looks in an attempt to absolve yourself of the blame for your romantic inadequacies

It might also make you sound more like a man too.

All the best

Sandy

soundtrack: bloody Sean Kingston running around my head again goddamn it

**** You Lady That's What Stairs Are For!

Idroscalorock 2007

Idroscalorock, September 1 & 2, 2007

Half an hour's bus ride outside Milan there is a massive recreational complex with greenery and an artificial lake. For the past few years at the start of every September, a two-day music event has been held there. Last year was a massive line-up that included the likes of Iggy & the Stooges, the Damned, the Buzzcocks, the (I) Noise Conspiracy, Pennywise, Rise Against, Gogol Bordello, and so on and so forth (I think you get the picture). All that for no more than 40 quid. Yeah: it was fantastic. This year, the organizers changed, things were a little more low-key and more than a little smaller. Still, I wasn't going to miss this, even though it was the weekend after Reading Festival and my stay in London, making me, in theory, far too exhausted.

Saturday, September 1 : After a little trouble with getting off at the right bus stop that has me traipsing around fast lanes not really intended for pedestrians, I finally make it to the idroscalo shortly after 16.00 where Wet Dog have just started their set. They're a trio full to the brim with girl power, but while they look absolutely kicka*s on stage they have so many sound problems I'm still not sure what exactly they sound like live. They, along with the next few bands, also deserve the utmost respect for courageously playing sets to no more than a few dozen people out in the daylight, most of which are relaxing on the ground some distance away from the stage (yes: the first day did not draw many people this time around). Following them are Chin Up Chin Up [ photo ] from Chicago who deliver a soft rock/hard pop sound with a somewhat folksy inflection perfect for relaxing in the summer sun. After them Italians Hot Gossip [ photo ] take over with their own brand of punk pop rock (with surprisingly fluent and correct English lyrics - that's a rarity). There's nothing overly new or original here, but the three of them are simply fun to watch on stage: three distinct individuals with character and charisma to spare, delivering funky dance moves along with their energetic beats. After a short breather, Irish rockers Humanzi [ photo | 2 | 3 ] take over. You want to check these guys out. Now. Nownownow. After their first song, frontman Shaun takes a good look around before admonishing "This is a fu*king rock show, so get up off the ground!" That's better. Humanzi play rock n' roll that has the rock attitude but doesn't sound like it's been taken off the dusty shelves from rock's golden days - instead, they manage to bring something fresh into their sound that hits you like a punch in the face. Yes! Here's where I have to throw in that their label Sound Foundation Recordings also plays host to one of my personal favourites Channel One (which I only found out after seeing them, so don't take that as influencing my views but rather a definite reinforcement of first impressions of awesomeness). Basically, the music scene needs kids like these, and it doesn't hurt that they're also sexy to boot. Following them is Italian band Il Teatro Degli Orrori (translated: the Theatre of Horrors) and they are... horrific. Somewhat tragically they are also the first to draw a larger crowd ready to really get into it - somehow not entirely surprising as their tracks are politically motivated screaming (in Italian, of course, and we all know how passionate the Italians get about their politics) layered over disjointed stuff I don't really want to call music. So it goes. I walk off to protect my ears, but obviously return to catch London kids Blondelle [ photo | 2 | 3 ] : I had pretty high expectations for these kids when I found out that their stuff is being released on Rude Records, the same label that handles the Italian distribution of SideOneDummy (label of Flogging Molly, Gogol Bordello, The Casualties, Bedouin Soundclash... am I making myself understood?). And they don't disappoint. Stepping out on stage looking like a bunch of 11-15 year olds - in truth, they are apparently 19/20, though I still find that extremely difficult to believe (if they ever happen to read this, sorry kids... I bet you get ID-ed all the time) - they are electrifying and immediately win everyone's hearts. Ginger frontman Will is so scrawny that skinny jeans are loose on him, but his eccentric red jacket makes everything okay as do his stage antics: the kid is all over the damn place! This is the sort of music you can't stand still to. A beam of sunshine to the heart. Whazzam! Seriously: infectious melodies, witty lyrics, and a wacky energetic performance... what more could you want? High expectations met. One does have to wonder how much inspiration Will draws from Eugene Hutz as far as stage antics go - I do love his later mini-cameo in Gossip's set when he skips across stage during Standing in the Way of Control decked out in a Gogol Bordello shirt. Next up is The Lost Patrol Band [ photo ] . I remember Dennis Lyxzen's other band, The (I) Noise Conspiracy, being great fun to watch last year, but this... simply bored me out of my mind. With almost every song being in the same time signature and stupidly cheerful and happy, the performance simply became a drag. "Did you see those kids Blondelle? They're half my age and twice as good," he jokes and is very tragically right. Taking over the stage from them are Gossip [ photo ] who I was admittedly very curious to see. You know when you wonder what a singers' voice sounds like when they're talking? I can now tell you that Beth Ditto's voice is the epitome of girly, and she is simply...well, *cute* with her attempts at Italian and complaints about the mosquitoes - "Zanzaye?" (actually, zanzare, but she's getting there). Performance wise the woman is definitely a power-pack on stage though music wise some of the songwriting could use a little work - if all you have to work with are beats, low guitars that do little more than add more rhythm and a (admittedly fantastic) voice, you need to kick up the variety in melody a little or else run the danger that all your songs sound more or less the same. The crowd is fantastic: from flipped out kids all the way to the middle-aged homosexual couple next to me, it is a pleasure to see them all jumping and dancing like mad. Criticism: if you're campaigning for sexual freedom, you might do well not to alienate the straight kids by announcing half of your songs as "gay" or "gay love song" or "for gay people". We all love in the same ways, don't we honey? An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, and at some point things just get plain silly. I assume it's just her not keeping her head in the stage talk, and if so, it's time she learned. After quite possibly the longest soundcheck in the history of music, Editors [ photo | 2 ] take the stage to finish off the night. It's bliss in the form of smooth sounds and flashing lights while Tom Smith pours all the passion he possesses into his voice...and his crazy hands/fingers. Whether it's a subconscious performance tic or done purposely, it ends up being just a little disconcerting. It's a good set with standout tracks still being the old classics, which perhaps does not bode too well for the new album (that might just be personal opinion, however). Happy and exhausted, I get on the bus back to Milan. Never trust bus drivers in Milan: at the airport where I need to change and am for a minute afraid I've missed the last bus, I am told that no no, it's okay, just take the next one that arrives over there. I do, and end up at the end of the line somewhere in the periphery way outside the city limits, stranded along with a lesbian couple who were given the same faulty indications (it turns out that they had travelled to Milan especially to see the Gossip, as this was their only Italian date). Taking mercy on our poor souls (his is the last bus to pass that way), the bus driver (somewhat illegally) takes us back to the city and drops us off back in 'civilization' where at around 1 am exhausted little me stumbles into a pub to meet up with some friends (the party never stops).

Sunday, September 2: I wake up exhausted and with the mother of all hangovers after only stumbling into bed at around 7 am the night before. More music festival? Now? Initially the plan is to drag myself out in time to catch Ignite whose set at Reading Festival was quite impressive (it can never hurt to watch good bands again. And again. And then some more), but it wasn't to be. While I couldn't find anyone interested in coming along for day 1, the same friend who did Reading with me is coming along for day 2 and she's (mercifully) a little lazier than me and decides it's okay if we just get there for an hour later...meaning sometime shortly after 5. My camera is dead, so there are no photos. Sunday, partly due to the very different line-up and partly due to there now being two stages, has drawn out a lot more people (probably way over ten times more) and an entirely different crowd from Saturday: many many many Italian punks, half of which are young and the other half decidedly middle-aged, plus those geeky looking types who don't cultivate Mohawks but listen to NOFX. You know which ones, to stereotypically slap labels on them. We laze around in the grass catching a few songs of Persiana Jones' show on the main stage: this is good, solid, Italian ska-punk-rock. It's hard to capture the exact atmosphere of this place, but it is special - I've never lived anything like it in England. It may have something to do with different cultural attitudes (don't try to argue when I say that Italians are generally far more laid-back than the English). Ska is massive in Italy, and it is a type of music perfectly suited to large stages outside with its full, energetic summer sound. This is happiness, this is the life (this is way better than lounging on the grass in the arena at Reading). Neville Staple tragically cancelled his performance last-minute due to personal issues. Shame, but Sick Of It All make up for it with a performance that packs more power than I could have imagined, plus emo-bashing thrown in for free: "I want to see you jump! You think you're too cool to jump? I'm sorry I don't have tight black jeans and a white belt and one of those [he makes an accompanying hand gesture to cover half his face] fringes." Ah yeah, myspace also gets its share of the criticism, as does the internet - "I like you Italians because you can still appreciate live music. You come out to shows! You don't sit at home in front of your computers watching videos of the live shows and then criticize them without having lived them." Amen to that. I think I also have to say at this point that I'd never put on a Sick Of It All album to listen to in my room, but that live show was incredibly good. Live music is the way, kids. Have a look at what's going on in your town nownownow, and gogogogo! - small, big, doesn't matter. Turbonegro starts off promising, and their instrumental musicianship is doubtlessly good, but the vocals irritate the hell out of me. So, off to get more drinks it is, and more lounging on the grass, paying attention only here and there. In retrospect, they probably deserve way more credit than I'm giving them, but tired on a sunny Sunday afternoon I simply didn't have the nerve to deal with that distinct kind of nasal whine (it's worse live than on studio recordings). I will say that the songwriting itself is impressively good. As a sidenote, the two bands that have played on the smaller stage since our arrival - Strength Approach and Sottopressione - are both easily missable after a song or so, but that might just be because I'm not knee-deep into my hardcore (and definitely not deep enough to like Italian hardcore). This may sound like I'm not having a great time, but I assure you that I am, very very very much so (think back a few sentences and remember what I said about live music: it makes me a happyhappyhappy bunny). Next up is the definite highlight of of my day: The Locust. What a show. The most surreal of surreal experiences: all it takes is three kids dressed up in bodysuits including hoods and masks with their instruments and a few lights. They take you places you didn't know you could go, and with a mastery of their instruments of choice and more importantly a coordination and sense of time and rhythm that leaves you staring wide-eyed, mouth gaping open, jaw on the floor, brain disintegrated. This is not a comfortable show; this is something that pushes boundaries. My friend excuses herself, saying "This is really good, but it's starting to make me feel a bit sick". I urge you: should you ever get a chance, catch these kids and see for yourself, because words are really failing me here. That only leaves NOFX and god they are unbearable. While I could have perhaps sat through their songs (the performance of which also strikes me as weak), it's their inbetween-song banter that really ticks me off. Sure, they're parodying themselves and all of the punk rock that falls into their category (at least I hope it's self-mocking humour, otherwise I think the apocalypse and resulting end of humanity maybe can't come soon enough), but I really don't need to hear about their hairy backs ("Does anyone here have some wax? Cause, look at this!") or the standard alcohol/drugs fare, or.... well, you get the image of the typical teen jackass (which they no longer qualify for). Tongue in cheek or not tongue in cheek, it's just neither funny nor interesting nor anything else. I spend my time getting acquainted with a random Italian punk kid instead ("I have an idea: come home with me tonight." Thanks for the offer honey, but really, no). Day 2 concluded, I find my friend from among the NOFX crowd and we happily head back to Milan (right bus, this time).

It hasn't been as big or as impressive as 2006's edition, but it's been good and I'll definitely be there next year (if they run another installment...). Is it worth travelling to Milan for? Check the line-up first - if it's to your liking, ticket price-wise, definitely yes. As of now, I can't say whether anything will even be happening next year due to this year's massive cut in size and also the weak turnout for day 1, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Any questions etc, email me darlings, and I'll try my best to answer.

For more photos (not taken by me): click here, look among 'Settembre 2007'

Rocking Out in El Capitale

The Scare @ Buffalo Bar, London, August 28, 2007

Reading Festival leaves me a dazed and confused mess wandering the streets of the capital for a while, consolidating experiences and thoughts and memories. Having had three days of almost non-stop live music, leaving the festival is like losing an anchor: a massive come-down, an aching hangover. The cure? Artrocker night at Buffalo Bar close to Highbury & Islington tube in London. Who's playing? Two bands I know nothing about, and The Scare. The venue is underground, underneath a pub called the Famous Cock (ah, good old UK). Descending a set of stairs leaves you in a small room filled with random columns and a red glow bouncing off the walls. I walk in to catch the last few songs of The Taste - a German girl/boy ensemble on guitar & vocals/drums. It's indie rock that tries hard but fails to grab attention for long despite short-haired singer Maria's cute jumps and dance moves (she even makes a short venture onto the bass drum). It's simply not quite interesting enough and her voice isn't quite strong enough to win over anyone but the drunken loons who would by this point dance madly to anything. After them, The Scare are on and ready to take over. What was stationary before is now moving as they electrify those watching into a convulsing, moving mess. Frontman Kiss swaggers and stumbles around, mane of messy black scarecrow hair covering his face as he howls into the mic, like an image straight out of the dictionary from under 'rock n' roll' . Drummer Sam bangs away as if there was no tomorrow and eventually Kiss drops down for his almost obligatory floor-rolling madness amidst the audience members. Sweat, blood, and tears; sex, drugs, and rock n' roll? All too soon it's over, and the Australians make way for New Zealand four-piece So So Modern and their countless synthesizers who step out in gray capes. Theirs is a surreal vision, full of seemingly random electronic beats pieced together into time-switching assemblages and soundscapes that seem a little too technical and a little too constructed to truly win me over. It's cool to watch, but it lacks the sort of passion I love. Either way, I'd recommend them if you're into that sort of thing. Rumour has it Mika made a short appearance, but I can in no way confirm that myself. All in all: music levels in blood: replenished; mind: contented.

Love,
-C
-----

Soundtrack -----> The Scare: If I'm Choking, Make A Scene

A Belated Report: Chiara 'Does' Reading '07

Kids, kids, kids... I am home and sitting down for a prolonged period of time for the first time in over a week. It feels damn good. I'm ready to breeze in and give you a few snippets and lap up the scene points Sandy has dropped. I won't even try to pass this off as an objective review for Reading Festival - an impossible task, really, seeing as from the start you pick and choose what bands to see. No, this is pure pure Chiara at Reading and nothing more and nothing less. So, ok hold your breath go.

Intro: on the getting there and setting up.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007: Yes, this is me about to loose my camping-music-festival-full-package virginity. If we were to use arguably inappropriate metaphors, I've tasted alcohol (gigs), marijuana (1-day-festivals) and am about to move on to cocaine. Heroin, I presume, would be the equivalent of something like Sziget. So, on Wednesday I board a plane from Milan to the dear old UK, and here's my Note of Advice #1: it is not recommended to fly from different airports on different airlines to different airports than your friends, as it may result in you spending hours at Paddington station knotting bracelets, watching countless people file past with tents, wellies, and sleeping bags, and being offered copious amounts of free pepsi max samples by some guy who has taken pity on your lost soul. Finally, the partner in crime arrives, and we train over to Reading where said friend's friend is kind enough to host us. Alcohol is drunk, setlists are examined, preliminary plans are made. Note of Advice # 2: if you have some time to spare, compile the set times from the festival site and print: it's not as pretty and not laminated, but saves you the extortionate 8 quid a program costs at the entrance (unless of course you're someone who treasures such souvenirs more than simply relegating them to a dusty corner under your bed, never to be seen again).

Thursday, August 23, 2007: Rise early, be bright and shiny, grab your stuff, and face the daunting trek over to the festival site. A friend of my friend's friend (yes: we were a group made up of numerous degrees of separation. Probably 6, if myth holds true.) has saved us a camping spot in Orange (the car park turned camp site due to the copious amounts of water and mud rendering some of the other areas unusable). Setting up the tent turned out to be relatively painless - and yes, it stayed up for the entire weekend. Note of Advice # 3: cut-out paper stars fastened to your tent are a pretty useful landmark to recognize your camp site in all conditions. Unless of course it rains on your starry parade, but luckily we didn't face that problem. A trek to the outside and more grueling weightlifting ensures us a plentiful supply of alcohol. The surprisingly quick ticket-for-armband exchange queue completed (it looks long but moves fast), we are left shortly after noon with nothing to do but sit around, drink, wait, and watch people slowly streaming in around us. Note of Advice # 4: bubble guns make for endless entertainment, as does knotting bracelets and making clover chains.

And So It Begins... the music, the life, the party.

Friday, August 24, 2007: Note of Advice # 5: if there is a band on at 12 that you want to see, leave sufficiently early to face the morning queues and initial rush into the arena. Already late, we rush over to the NME Stage to watch Australian punkers The Scare [ photo || myspace ] . I knew I had to see these kids. I've been pushing their recent single (Bats! Bats! Bats!) on Breakthrough and I went to see them at the Camden Barfly in May where they ripped the place apart. I was not disappointed as they delivered a solid set bursting with energy, though their show failed to live up to the same standards - lead singer Kiss Reid's manic twisting jumping floor-rolling audience grabbing antics are simply better suited to a small dark room rather than an open tent in the daylight. All the same, definitely keep an eye out for this lot. I am now definitely hyped up and ready to relish the rest of the weekend. We stick around the arena for a while, basking in the sun (yes: no rain. Wellies are completely superfluous) before eventually heading over to the main stage to watch The Long Blondes. [ photo || myspace ] I am pleasantly surprised: jumping around in a gray pencil skirt that most girls would struggle to pull off, bright red shirt and stylish sunglasses, Kate Jackson not only looks cool but also has the voice to back up the act. Hits Once and Never Again and set-finisher Giddy Stratospheres are feel-good infusions and along with the sunlight make for a happy, relaxed atmosphere. I make my way to the very front to see Gogol Bordello [ myspace ], long-time favourites of mine. It is 14:35 and as they kick into their set, the previously stationary crowd plunges into madness. After a few minutes, us girls are decidedly in the minority in this sweat-dripping, bouncing, pushing, kicking, screaming mess of an audience. As ever, frontman Eugene is a charismatic ball of energy, gray-haired violinist Sergey makes the strings on his violin bow rip and fly, showgirls Pamela and Elizabeth are colourful figures that appear to be all over the stage at once, and the entire band is simply a pleasure to watch. When I can catch a glimpse over the madness of the mosh pit, that is. (Sidenote: wellies in the head from crowd surfers don't hurt). These guys deliver one of the best live sets you could ever imagine and never fail to electrify all those watching with their energetic joie de vivre (I mean: how many bands can get a crowd jumping and screaming at Reading this early in the day?). Content, dizzy, and exhausted, I emerge a sweat-drenched mess and make my way back to our campsite for a well-deserved drink (that I hold with shaking hands) and rest. Just before 6 pm, it's back to the arena to watch Maximo Park [ photo || myspace ] on the main stage. I have tried very hard to understand why people like this band, but despite repeated listens of their albums and now seeing them live, their songs still all sound the same to me and boredom ensues. I leave after two and a half songs and head over to the NME stage to catch the end of Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. 's set [ photo || myspace ] . I should have gone straight there, as Sam Duckworth has the crowd's hearts inflamed with a passionate performance as he delivers his emotional anthems and turns us all into misunderstood teenagers. I stick around to say hello to a friend before making my way over to the main stage to see Interpol [ photo || myspace ]. They are... phenomenal. A minimalistic light show compliments their straight-edge suits: this is all about the music, the exquisitely arranged tunes with not a note out of place. A certain twisted humour is not missing once you see past their brooding, dark exterior with songs like 'No I in Threesome'. If the old albums (off which they perform some of the classics such as Evil and Slow Hands) were good, their new album is fantastic and perfect in its live execution. Simply put: aaaaah bliss. Still somewhat hypnotized, I wander off and around for a while, before heading to the Carling stage at 21.30 to see Patrick Wolf [ photo || myspace ] . The tent is packed with everything from genuine fans to curious faces all the way to the disgustingly ignorant. "Oh my god, is he a poof?" is the first thing I hear from behind me as he makes his glorious glittery entrance in a gold sequined top. Oh honey, you make my head hurt. But all is forgotten as Patrick launches into his show, full of flashing lights, ingenious instrumental arrangements, thumping beats, and his incredibly talented voice. From the psychedelic to the dark and broody, Wolf takes us on an up and down journey through the walks of life and the world and a dreamland only he can see. What a wunderkind. I am left dazed and blankly stare at a friend's face who I run into on the way out for at least 10 seconds before he says hello and snaps me out of it 'oh hi, what are you doing here?' . Unwilling to head back to the campsite but even more unwilling to watch Razorlight, I catch half each of Ash and Jimmy Eat World's sets. Ash [ myspace ] has packed the NME tent and surrounding area and deliver a convincingly great set that shows off their talents as well as experience and career but Jimmy Eat World [ myspace ] play to a sparse crowd at the Lockup Stage - maybe because it was their second set of the day? I won't go into what a silly silly idea that was and how desperate it makes them look, but there, now I've said it. So it goes, and so the day ends. At some point during the night I make Peaches Geldof's acquaintance (she's funny in an 'I'm laughing at you, not with you' way) and also manage to get lost on the way back to our campsite. Note of Advice # 6: even if you think you know the way back to your tent, remember that things look very very very different in the dark. A bit like the apocalypse, in fact.

Saturday, August 25, 2007: Betraying the festival camping spirit, we head back to my friend's friend's house early in the morning for a shower and a cooked breakfast. Note of Advice # 7: for luxury and bliss, make friends with someone who lives in Reading. We get back in time to catch a part of the Noisettes' [ photo || myspace ] set on the NME stage. As ever, Shingai's outfit steals the show as she prances around in a massive feathery headdress, her voice deep, strong, and pure sexy. I head over to the main stage to catch the Eagles of Death Metal [ photo || myspace ] - it's early afternoon by now - and as far as entertainment value goes, they probably take the cake out of the bands I've seen so far. Josh Homme stays pretty low key in the background, but lead singer Jesse Hughes has no trouble filling the large main stage and is all over the place from the very left to the very right and everywhere inbetween with energy and charisma literally dripping off him. I start off as the only one clapping and jumping in my vicinity, but by the end everyone around me has been infected by Hughes' rough American charm and it's a pleasure to see, and a pleasure to see him genuinely relish in being on stage and performing. He feeds off our enthusiasm and we feed off his. "This is probably the largest crowd I ever played to, and man, I'm quakin' in my boots." Oh, darlin' ! And they have the rock n' roll skill to pull it off, too. Cherry Cola still plays in my head as I think back to it. By now, it is unbearably hot, and I wander around the stands to buy myself a sleeveless shirt as my t-shirt is just too much to bear. I watch all the pasty English people around me toast to red crisps, not used to sunlight after the rainy summer. After a brief drinking stint back at our tent, I head back to the arena to the Carling stage to watch Shiny Toy Guns [ photo || myspace ] at 18.30. I had to see them as some of their songs (along with caffeine) provide the perfect accompaniment for sleepless nights spent working or simply being an insomniac. While hits Le Disko and You Are The One do live up to the promise of restless electronic beats, much of the rest of the set falls a little flat and is not very memorable. Shame. After they are done, I step outside to catch a song or two of Bloc Party's [ photo || myspace ] show, which leaves me mostly cold. Next up on the Carling stage are the Silversun Pickups [ photo || myspace ] who, on the other hand, are incredibly impressive. Watching them perform is like coming home: a sensation of comfort and general contented happiness; a well-rounded rock sound that finds me unable to leave. That means I miss the start of Arcade Fire [ photo || myspace ] which I don't regret in the least. They turn out to be the biggest disappointment so far: I like their records, and their live shows have been incredibly hyped up to me, but all I see is a lot of people on stage with not much to show for it. No energy, no passion, not much movement, nothing. Despite liking the music, I just can't really get into it. My friend leaves halfway through their set. If anyone feels like they can say anything to redeem them, please do so, because I'm still a little bit in denial about how undeniably shit they were. Following them are the Red Hot Chili Peppers [ myspace ] who start off their set with a jam session before launching into Can't Stop but a verse into the song they stop short. Sound problems? Very possible (maybe that's why Arcade Fire sounded shit? I'm still hopeful...). But, only moments later they restart and everyone is swept up and swept away. No encouragement from Kiedis & co. is needed: all hands are up in the air, all bodies are jumping. Instead the intervals between songs are spent with more jamming and strange little spoken anecdotes and jokes whose entertainment value is questionable ("What do you call a sheep with no legs?" "A cloud..."). They go through everything from the classic Give It Away to legendary Californication to the new She's Only 18. By The Way probably gains the largest audience support and loudest singing, but they leave out songs such as Under The Bridge and Otherside entirely which many moan about in retrospect (not me, I am perfectly happy, but then I have seen them before). Kiedis leaves the stage and the rest of the band end the set on a longish jam session the likes of which very few bands indulge in nowadays, particularly at festivals. The Chilis have nothing to prove, but prove it anyway. I spend the rest of the night wandering around, blowing bubbles (great conversation starter for attracting drunken British guys, apparently) and dancing at the Juice Bar-turned-Rave.

Sunday, August 26, 2007: We wake up to more of the same unbearable heat as our tent has become a veritable sauna. The night still makes our breath cloud, but the day burns like mad. Apparently, there are also a lot of mosquitoes as many of my camp-mates complain of infected bites, but I guess my blood isn't sweet enough to be attractive. All in all, the elements are kind to me, which I am very grateful for. Soon after noon, we head over to the arena to the grating happiness of Hellogoodbye [ photo || myspace ]. I don't really remember anything about them. It's sunny and people are chilling and basking (baking?) in the sun. My friend and I avoid the almost disgustingly Indie-ridden NME stage (a little more variety would have been nice) and head to the Lockup Stage instead. We watch Municipal Waste [ myspace ] , a thrash band who are so stereotypically thrash it makes for incredible fun and entertainment. "This is a song about ripping your fucking face off!" (Headbanger Face Rip) and so on and so forth. Thrashing Is My Business, And Business Is Good indeed. After that, we initially thought we'd watch Billy Talent [ photo || myspace ] on the main stage, but after two songs of Benjamin Kowalewicz irritating, irritating, IRRITATING voice (is it like that naturally or does he alter it into an unbearable whine purposely?) we find ourselves literally running away. Can't say we didn't try... Instead, it's back to the Lockup Stage to watch Ignite [ myspace ] - a group of pretty straight-edge not-so-young kids who deliver 'soft' punk. A lot of it is politically and socially do-good motivated, and they dedicate songs to Doctors Without Borders, those who have lost friends and relatives in Iraq, as well as playing a cover of Sunday Bloody Sunday for all those caught on the frontlines of some conflict on this day (and they pulled it off, too). Lead singer Zoli has a surprisingly good voice: powerful and versatile and most importantly, never off-key. There is nothing new here, but they are a pleasure to watch and listen to. (Yeah, you could probably quite easily take this guy home to your parents). Following them are The Casualties [ photo || myspace ], a young punk band going for the old school punk vision led by a guy with a massive orange Mohawk (you probably wouldn't want to take this guy home) and they really set loose. It's fun and energy and jumping, but of course not lacking the obligatory stereotypical anti-government-punk-political-statement in songs like Under Attack . I'm a little sorry my cynical self can't take these things more seriously. Following them are the Cancer Bats [ myspace ] and my musical ADD kicks in around 20 seconds into their first song. Given some time to get into it, I can watch almost anything live and in some way or another enjoy it, but these guys actually give me a headache and I have to flee. Enough said, really. I catch Funeral For A Friend's [ photo || myspace ] set opener Into Oblivion , but it's not really good enough to entice me to stay and watch more so I head back to our campsite instead. A few drinks and hours later, I head back to see Lostprophets [ photo || myspace ] . I used to be really into these guys a few years ago and still think their second album Start Something is a masterpiece in that it holds together from start to finish and if you're going to listen to it, you listen to the entire thing from front to back. They surpass any and all expectations I might have had, partially because their performance is solid musically, but far more importantly because Ian Watkins is a showman who knows how to involve a crowd. "Tonight on the news I want to hear that Lostprophets got everyone jumping at Reading Festival." Really? All right, honey, we can do that. And everyone does jump for (I think it was) Last Train Home , or maybe Last Summer . It doesn't really matter, what matters is that I haven't seen anyone except maybe the Chili Peppers get this many people moving at Reading yet. Encouraged by the audience participation, their next task is to create the biggest circle pit ever. I don't know if it was, but it was big, and there were two: one in front of the stage, and one behind the middle barrier. I feel like I'm 13 again. They leave to tumultuous and well-earned applause and I manage to snag a place right at the middle barrier. This is the key: an absolutely perfect view. My heart races in anticipation as we watch the stage being prepared for Nine Inch Nails [ photo | photo1 || myspace ]. Objectively speaking, I think I'd have to say theirs was the best performance of the weekend (Sandy has already alerted you to which it was for me subjectively speaking...wait for it). They start off their set with new track Beginning of the End amongst a flurry of smoke and lights, Trent stationary at the microphone, bassist Jeordie White standing somewhat off to the side while guitarist Aaron North skips and runs around the stage much like a witch doctor or possessed maniac, all messy hair and spidery legs. NIN are masters at their game, and anyone who says Trent Reznor has lost intensity with age is sorely mistaken as he announces the end of the world with perhaps more power than ever. The only thing that has apparently changed is his sense of fashion as my friend later alerts me to a detail which I missed: it seems dear Trent changed his shirt around two or three times throughout the show. Their masterfully crafted music and his incredible voice are complimented by one of the most impressive lightshows I have ever witnessed, perfectly crafted to underlie the concept of their new album Year Zero : starting off with conventional lights, they move to standing in front of a screen that alternately flashes between apocalyptic images and snowy disturbance (yes, like a TV with bad signal) and their silhouettes appear to become electrical signals themselves until, a song later, they have actually faded into the screen - or rather, moved behind the strings of lightbulbs that make it up and all that remains is faded figures. It is the perfect illusion and the perfect illustration. Genius. Pure fucking genius. They smoothly move through Head Like A Hole, The Hand That Feeds, Closer (which drives everyone into a frenzy), Eraser (with its incredible tension build-up), Survivalism, March of the Pigs (we all scream along "I want to watch it come down!"), Dead Souls (one of the best covers ever recorded - Joy Division, for those not in the know), Me I'm Not and maybe some things I have missed out. At some point Aaron White trips and falls, launching him into an angry mess of guitar throwing and smashing but it still all sounds fantastic. Suddenly everything goes black, and all that remains is the massive NIN logo being flashed out at us from all screens and sides and for a moment we are caught up in Trent's apocalyptic vision of the end being near. The lights go back up and there he is at a piano for set finisher Hurt that has everyone singing along and many (me included) in tears. Then, a wait, another tension build-up for me. By now, the crowd behind us is massive and you can almost taste the anticipation in the air. It seems to take forever to set up, but finally The Smashing Pumpkins [ photo | photo1 || myspace ] take the stage and I'm gone. I don't want to sickeningly gush, but aaaaah (I am also at this point glad Billy Corgan and Trent Reznor haven't killed each other backstage if rumours of their conflicts and mutual bashing hold true to this day). I had been waiting for this moment thinking it would never come. Years. Their white-clad figures start off with an instrumental intro before launching into Doomsday Clock (I could be wrong on this, I'm sorry...hazy memory). The sound is momentous, as are the lights accompanying it - whining guitars and elaborate drumming and electronic sounds and echoes and most of all Corgan's voice. Corgan is back with a vengeance and leads us from the very new straight down a nostalgic venture into Today, which has everyone singing along. It is far from their best song, but it is a symbolic anthem that announces their return to the world loud and clear. Today may really be the greatest day I've ever known. Corgan is incredible as ever on guitar, Jimmy stupidly fantastic on drums, and the new line-up stands up to this test well in my eyes: all clearly talented musicians. I am an incoherent mess and couldn't for the life of me remember the order of the songs they played or even, shamefully, all of them. United States is a mammoth of a song with distorted guitars and sounds and some sweet improvisation, new single Tarantula garners quite a warm response, Tonight, Tonight has everyone singing and overly emotional, Stand Inside Your Love, Zero, 1979, That's The Way (My Love Is) are all solid performances. A choice that is perhaps a little strange is Glass and the Ghost Children and I'm afraid its fuzzed out distortion eventually lost all but the most die-hard fans' attention. In fact the crowd's enthusiasm was generally severely lacking, and as Billy cuts out halfway through Bullet With Butterfly Wings expecting the audience to carry the chorus I am the only one in my vicinity left singing until others eventually catch on. "That ...wasn't too bad, but let's try that again," he goes before repeating the chorus, this time helping us along a little. Sorry, Billy. We once again let him down when he announces a song off the new album, with the resulting applause rare and far inbetween, and even I can't find it in myself to scream. "Off the new album, Zeitgeist. It's called Zeitgeist, you fuckers," he repeats himself twice before giving up and instead starting the soft piano-driven tune of Death From Above (one of the tracks involved in the shameful marketing scheme that puts them only on one of four possible versions of the album... sickening ploy). An angry and twisted rendition of Heavy Metal Machine lifts my heart at Billy's genius - "Are you ready to die for rock n' roll?" he asks, and yes, yes, I might just be - dying right now in this crowd while watching the Pumpkins wouldn't be such a bad way to go, really. He changes the chorus to 'heavy metal resurrection machine' and inserts a piece about 'sometimes you just need some fuckin' cash' - a tongue-in-cheek lash out straight back at those criticizing the Pumpkins' reformation. You get what you ask for. As does the girl in the crowd who thinks it's a great idea to pull up her shirt and flash everyone as the camera is on her - Billy launches into a joking tirade about "We all know how the women are in England. I'm just kidding. The women in America are sluts too." Would it be wrong of me to say I love this man? They end on the much-anticipated Cherub Rock : the epitome of rock anthems and everyone screams out the rest of their shredded lungs while singing along, finally finally the crowd seems alive once more, and it is an incredible conclusion to this weekend. "Who wants honey, as long as there's some money" plays in my head over and over and over again for the next few days. Thank you, Billy, thank you. Luckily my friend is there to drag my almost feverish self back to our campsite (otherwise I might still be standing there). The temperature has dropped more than just a few degrees and our breath clouds as we freeze in a small huddled circle, watching the madness unfold around us as things go up in fire whose exact nature we would rather not think about. Then it's morning and packing up and goodbye, leaving shambles behind but (to end on a very very clichee note - don't tell me you didn't see it coming) carrying happiness in our hearts. Goodbye, Reading Festival 2007.