The Big Bang: Explosions In The Sky curate All Tomorrow’s Parties 16/05/08-18/05/08

ATP festivals and life as a Cambridge student are two things that generally don’t go hand in hand: after all, deciding to hold your festivals in the middle of May doesn’t tend to fit too well into anyone’s exam schedule. Fortunately, having dealt once and for all with exams (apologies, I don’t wish to rub it in), I was in the fortunate position of being able to attend the Explosions In The Sky-curated ATP festival (apologies again). With just 6,000 attendees, chalet accommodation next to a seaside resort, and three indoor stages, this is far from your ordinary festival, as one look at the lineup would also confirm. Here’s a roundup of the best of the three days:

FRIDAY

Papiere Tigre: Whilst their music has its limitations, French art-punk three-piece Papiere Tigre delivered a ferocious and highly convincing set of dischord and punishing (in a good way) percussion.
Sunset Rubdown: In spite of multiple broken guitar string moments (why didn’t you bring spare guitars guys?), Spencer Krug’s wonky indie-prog parade triumphed with an energetic set capturing all the best moments from last year’s superb Random Spirit Lover.
Explosions In The Sky: The hosts were no disappointment, bringing their tense mix of pretty guitar shimmers and earth-shattering freak-outs to a rapturous audience. Whilst consistently falling just short of greatness on album, live they a different (and very loud) proposition.
The Octopus Project (left): The most fun set of the festival came from the instrumental/noise/pop/electronic collective The Octopus Project and their strange ghost/cat things. Plus a load of illuminated balloons. And a theremin.

SATURDAY

World’s End Girlfriend: An unexpected highlight of the festival, Japanese act World’s End Girlfriend is just one guy (Katsuhiko Maeda) and his thunderous touring drummer. Somehow encapsulating serene oriental beauty, crushing guitar noise, jazz and electronica into the space of one 45 minute set, World’s End Girlfriend proved a revelation
A Hawk And A Hacksaw (right): Ex-Neutral Milk Hotel drummer Jeremy Barnes fronts the Balkan-infused trio AHAAH with some lavish accordion skills, and equally accomplished violin and mandolin accompaniment. Limited in scope, perhaps, but highly enjoyable over 45 minutes nonetheless.
Okkervil River: Contrary to my prior worries over Will Sheff’s supposed vocal fragilities, OR delivered a superb set of their brand of literate folk indie-rock, with Sheff himself in particularly good form.
The National: As with Okkervil River, I had heard somewhat discouraging accounts of The National as a live act. Thankfully, these proved completely unfounded, with the National injecting a lot of extra oomph factor to expand the songs from last year’s stately Boxer. The highlight came with the set-closing Abel.

SUNDAY

Animal Collective: After a slow start to the day (admittedly I’d missed Jens Lekman earlier, which might have changed matters), AC laid down a bewildering hour of electronics, flashing lights, screams and tribal percussion which the acoustics of the centre stage could barely cope with. With just two songs taken from last year’s Strawberry Jam, the set suggested yet another new musical direction for this ever-evolving band.
Broken Social Scene (left): Headlining the Pavilion stage on the final night, BSS fittingly provided the highlight of the festival. As if their own numbers weren’t enough, the band were joined by Explosions In The Sky, The Constantines and J Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. At the same time. Bolstered by lots of trumpets and the irrepressible charisma of Kevin Drew, this was a performance of true greatness.
Lichens: Robert Lowe a.k.a. Lichens used just a guitar, some strange vocal effects and a handful of electronic sounds to build up his 30-minute set from scratch. With just enough variation to keep it fresh, this was a strangely compelling performance.
Battles: In spite of playing two sets across the weekend, the queue into Battles was enormous, and subsequently we missed the first half of the set. What we did catch though, was a band of ever increasing powers in fine form, turning the hitherto difficult genre of math rock into something altogether cooler. Worth the hype
Envy: The final set we saw of the festival was also the loudest, with the Japanese post-rock-metallers throwing everything into their ferocious set in front an impressively packed out Reds stage. A most satisfying end to a most satisfying festival.

Sure, with festivals like this, you’ll always have the odd pretentious and horribly self-indulgent performance (Atlas Sound, much to my horror, definitely fell into this category), but the array of genre-pushing sounds and the general sense of community between both festival goers and the bands/artists are not to be missed. Unless you have exams. But hey, there’s always the Nightmare Before Christmas ATP in December: beach shorts are not a recommendation.

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'

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.