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.
Entering the stage to the sound of air-raid sirens, Public Enemy quickly got the packed Junction crowd moving with the invincible duo of Bring The Noise and Don’t Believe The Hype, the opening tracks of the seminal It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back. The unique dynamic of Chuck D’s hard-hitting rhymes and Flav’s comic additions were every bit as exhilarating live as they are on album, and age has done nothing to tarnish their intensity or rapping abilities (Chuck D’s referral to Flav as “the world’s oldest teenager” was right on the money). 
performance, and a good deal of improv was evident. The bruising metal underpinnings of She Watch Channel Zero?! was arguably the highlight of the set, and even as the album’s finale Party For Your Right To Fight came to a close, PE were far from finished, launching into a range of hits both new and old. Finally bringing the set to a close with a brilliant rendition of Fight The Power, Flavour Flav clearly felt that Public Enemy’s political agenda wasn’t clear enough, with an impassioned rant to the crowd ensuing, and some rather unflattering comments on certain political figures made. Few bands are capable of pulling off such preaching with dignity, but Public Enemy are certainly one of them. Rant over, and the time 11:30pm: a full 30 minutes after curfew time. Perhaps the powers that be were looking at the hands on the stationary clock around Flav’s neck. But then who would want to bring a night like this to a close?
