Friday

Girls’ front man Christopher Owens appears on the NME/Radio One stage sporting his band’s tee shirt… and we thought only Iron Maiden could pull a stunt like that. The California boy sings into a floral arrangement and the set blossoms with both familiar and unknown songs.

Steve Lamacq introduces our next act as “brilliantly fresh, intuitive pop music”. He can only mean one band and that’s Reading first timers Two Door Cinema Club, a band whose reception suggests they could be playing higher on the bill. Front man Alex Trimble labels the show as one of the best experiences of his life. Watch out Bombay Bicycle Club.

Later on the Festival Republic stage are Avi Buffalo, a Los Angeles trio playing some rather twisted indie pop. Unfortunately, Avi’s Fender Stratocaster is drowned by his rhythm section and vocals on ‘Can’t I Know?’ bear little resemblance to the album track. We’re left wondering if that was some sort of in-joke.

Phoenix rise from the darkness of the NME/Radio One Stage for what is the most aesthetically pleasing performance of the day. Band members are lit as focal points for instrumentation, neon stripes cover the stage like an electric blanket and strobe lighting momentarily blinds the audience. What a light show. What a band.

Saturday

Reading Festival puts its hands in the air as Mystery Jets welcome dance twosome The Count & Sinden are to the Main Stage. The surprise performance of ‘After Dark’ is followed by ‘Two Doors Down’, and stick-spinning drummer Kapil Trivedi is left to steal the show.

Sunday

The heavens have just opened but Fools Gold brighten the mood with tropical afrobeats. It’s their last show of a two-month run and they go out in style. The audience takes on a conga line for hip shaker ‘Surprise Hotel’ and a musical entourage invades the stage for ‘The World Is All There Is’, their chant fading to a whisper as everyone takes a seat on the now flooded Festival Republic stage.

We return for a Kit Kat courtesy of Aussie foursome Tame Impala. ‘Solitude Is Bliss’ and a cover of Blue Boy’s ‘Remember Me’ are the highlights here. It’s a tight show with dreamlike qualities that beg the question “how did I get to this point in the set?”

Words by Jake Young

Reading Festival 2010 – Friday

The August bank holiday has become quite the right of passage for many an emancipated teen over the years. They arrive fresh-faced and full of zeal having qualified from state education, emulating their favoured musical luminaries and genres in the latest Topshop/Topman trend to match; the extent to which they unknowingly parody the event and each other will often raise a wry smile upon the faces of those who have run the three-day gauntlet before them – we’ve all arrived children of the revolution at some point, but we all return edified by our experiences there. Well, all except the Guns N’ Rose fans that scatter the site, returning eight years on in the hope that Axl Rose finally rears his receding-hairline on the main stage. And if he doesn’t? Well, shit is bound to kick off in a milieu of denim, sewn on patches and unconditioned straw-like hair.

Arizona’s Harlem kick-start what is to be a lively festival on the Festival Republic stage. Combing the romantic sentiment of Pulp, and the rambunctious garage rock antics of the Pixies, there is a laddish fight about their performance. From the opening dirges of ‘I’m on Drugs’, to their indie-disco illumination La Roux’s ‘In for the Kill’, they are eager and easy to please.

Summer Camp sound every bit as crisp and dreamy as they do on record. Elizabeth Sankey, clad in a sequined onesy, coruscates on stage; but it’s Jeremy Warmsley who really steals all the praise, twisting their starry-eyed sound into a tapestry of soothing tones.

Robbie Furze of The Big Pink has stopped taking himself so seriously to the point of actually cracking a smile as they cover Otis Redding’s ‘These Arms of Mine’. Maybe it was just all one big joke, like the hyperbolic furore that pushed their career to this point in time and a midday set on the NME Radio 1 stage, but we’re the only ones laughing now.

Youthful upstarts Avi Buffalo provide a set that is never short of a dull moment. ‘What’s in it for?’ sounds like Brendan Benson wigging out with the Yardbirds, as the rest of their show renders their countrified pop elegance with psychedelic interludes.

With all the brooding and building elements of the Cure kicking around within their musical attire, Warpaint provide the best set of the day. Tight, constructive and harmonic in their dynamic, they beguile a modest crowd with tracks from their Exquisite Corpse EP and forthcoming album The Fool.

With Dean Fertita back from duties with The Dead Weather, Queens of the Stone Age pave a wall of sound around the main stage with a best of set. ‘Little Sister’, ‘3s & 7s’, ‘Go with the Flow’ and ‘No One Knows’ add a lysergic sheen to the already crepuscular sky that sets around them.

In 2002, Guns N’ Roses failed to turn up for their headline set at Reading. As a result, shit hit the fan: campsites were set alight, gas canisters were thrown into the flames, and some poor soul lost genitals. And after waiting 58-minutes for the Axl Rose et al. to arrive this year, if anyone was going to lose a testicle or two, the aging rocker was bound to be top of the list and hung from the rafters.

And he was: arriving on stage to little applause, mass boos and the resonating chant of ‘What a twat’, they opened with ‘Chinese Democracy’ and no form apology to the waiting crowd. In fact, there were no surprises in the set, just bemusement: costume changes, pyrotechnics being launched at any epic point during the set, piano-led solos by Axl himself (covering David Bowie’s ‘Changes’ and Pink Floyd’s ‘Another Brick in the Wall’), even a Slash look-alike on lead guitar. In truth, Guns N’ Roses have just become a parody of their former selves.

‘Live and Let Die’, ‘Welcome to the Jungle’, ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ and ‘November Rain’ strike a chord, albeit a din one, with faithful fans; however, casual onlookers were left pondering the though of whether Axl had been locked away in a penthouse suite in LA since the release of Appetite for Destruction, cracking off in front of a mirror at his own deluded self-importance whilst wailing.

When they return for their ‘encore’, imagine our glee as it becomes apparent that the sound has been cut. Guitars and mic stands exit the stage at the same speed as the fans from the arena, but those of us who were resilient and, let’s face it, up for a laugh, hung around. Even Axl, who had been embowered by abuse from the start, returned with a loud speaker and an acoustic guitar to play ‘Paradise City’, which went down as well as fart in an enclosed space.

Words by Thomas A Ward

The French crime thriller has undergone something of a resurgence of late largely due to the Mesrine films and the wildly successful A Prophet. Entering into this bloody fray of Gallic gangsterism steps Richard Berry’s 22 Bullets.

Loosely based on the life and ‘hard to kill’ near death of a Marseille crime lord who survived being shot with, yep - count ‘em - twenty-two bullets, Jean Reno’s Charly Mattei is a man of extreme violence cast in a sympathetic light. He’s caught up in the old clichéd dilemma of wanting to go straight - or at least, straightish - but they just keep sucking him back in. When his former partners in crime use his best mate’s head as a football, he embarks upon a good old revenge mission, knocking them off one by one in entertaining fashion.

And that’s about it. The action is stylish and engaging but we never fully understand Mattei’s thought processes and motivations apart from some old school criminal code ideals and a loyalty to friends and family. Reno plays him with charm and vigour and remains likeable even when gunning a victim down in cold blood. Decent underworld fun but in need of a bit more of the epic.

7/10

Words by Rob Monk

It’s August bank holiday.

What better way could there possibly be to rejoice amongst the dying embers of summer by shaking your limbs to throbbing pulse of electronic music, played by some of the most revered artists in the world?!

The birth of the London Electronic Dance festival saw an eclectic group of thrill-seekers descend on Victoria Park on Saturday 28th August. Some guests were there purely for the canyon-sized headliners, whilst other revelers looking for a way to kiss goodbye to the London summer; admittedly, some punters had probably turned up on hearing that as the festival hadn’t sold out, tickets were being sold on a two-for-one deal….oh well, you can’t win them all.

Whatever your reason for going, if you were lucky enough to attend Saturday’s L.E.D., there is little doubt that you had a good time; from Annie Mac banging out a set of crowd pleasing classics to Friendly Fires’ Mick Jagger-shaming dance moves, to Aphex Twin’s blisteringly innovative hour and a half long closer, nobody was going home feeling short-changed.

However, what was truly amazing is how far away from London the festival felt, despite being situated practically within the heart of the capital city. Victoria Park had been transformed into a veritable fairground of sorts, with the Waltzers spinning wide-eyed ravers to the strains of electronic music emanating from the nearby Main Stage, whilst the rest of the crowd spilled out amongst the various face-painting stalls and ice-cream vans, clutching cans of cider against their newly acquired Day-Glo stripes.

There were points at which the organization of the festival left a little to be desired, with certain clashes between artists that meant that it was impossible to watch a whole set on one of the stages without missing the beginning of another artist on the alternative stage; however, this being their first year, the organizers deserve to be cut a little slack; (anyone who can feature Shy FX, Goldfrapp and a merry-go-round on the same bill and still maintain credibility deserves a hearty pat on the back.) The main acts were interspersed by VIPs and guest entertainment, with our very own Clash DJs providing fun and frivolity for a crowd that was only too keen to scream along to their favourite tunes.

As the night progressed, the more experienced acts whipped their crowds into a frenzy with a gloriously intricate light show offering a delicate interplay with Aphex Twin’s unrelenting wall of sound, the infamous ‘acid face’ projecting out over the crowd as two bunny-suited MCs bounced around on stage. Not to be outdone, 90’s electronica giants had their own visually spectacular stage show to end the festival, with a silver-clad spaceman cutting otherworldly shapes as the crowd surged and swelled to the stomach-churning bass lines.

As it was its first attempt, the festival was clearly out to make a big impression and this is exactly what it achieved, with a carefully selected line up ranging from mainstream bands to the more hardcore of electronic artists; to produce a successful follow up next year, the organizers will have to pull something special out of the bag, however, judging from this year’s event, it seems that they are more than capable of doing this.

Whether L.E.D. becomes an annual institution remains to be seen, but one thing is for sure; on a Saturday in late August 2010, several thousand Londoners were transported out of our big city, into a world of hedonistic release, rose-tinted melodic memories and Proustian rushes of musical times gone by…oh yeah, and merry-go-rounds.

Words by David Harfield

After a tentative first day of this new festival, LED had a way to go to gain a some credibility if it wants to become an established London festival.

LED are either trying to aim for an electic crowd who loves ‘Windowlicker’ as much as ‘Jump in the pool’ or maybe they’re peppering a bare line-up with a couple of token indie bands to paper over the cracks. That probably explains why Friendly Fires have been dumped on the main stage before an equally misplaced Goldfrapp.

Friendly Fires’ brand of funky post punk pop works well in a sweaty and dark tent, not in a sparsely populated main stage area. ‘Paris’, ‘Jump in the pool’, ‘Photo booth’ are prime time ‘other stage’ indie pop anthems that can’t fail to miss the spot but at on a main stage sound system that is so quiet, a hundred conversations drown out these tunes, draining their set of any excitement. The same goes for Goldfrapp, Allison Goldfrapp is an immense performer and although their latest album ‘Head First’ does indicate that they may finally be running out of the ideas that made an album such as 2005’s ‘Supernature’ on of the best albums of that decade, they do still have plenty to offer.
Dressed in an outfit that could only have been made by the tape from a hundred discarded VHS videotapes, Goldfrapp fail to ignite the crowd for two reasons; their sleaze drenched electro pop is not suitable for Bank Holiday sunshine and Aphex Twin is playing a rare set at the other stage and that’s where everyone is.

Aphex, backed with brain sizzling graphics continues Annie Mac‘ (the DJ on prior to him) dub-step heavy tip showing that he’s been keeping an eye on what’s been happening on the electronic music scene and he can do it way more fucked up than a Stagga EP track.
Just before it, as most dub step, becomes more tedious than cool, he then plunges into his endless back catalogue of classics either found on Warp vinyl or on cassettes under his bed, every genre is Aphex’d, he’ll go down an old school acid route, deep Detroit techno, dumb late 80s rave, all amazing and all typical of such a contrary man. The aggressive visuals add to to the music, at times beautiful, other times, ugly as sin akin to following a a loving hug followed by a punch in the face.

Being joined by South African rap duo Die Antwoord is a big mistake, Aphex’ music is so layered that anything else added to it makes the whole thing sound like a mess so to have two rappers dressed in bunny outfits who can’t rap screaming down microphones in a way that exceeds Ant and Dec in the annoying stakes threatens to ruin the show, thankfully their stage time is kept to a minimum. It doesn’t matter whether the tracks are old or not, they’re just Aphex Twin, slipping in his greatest track; ‘On’ was the absolute highlight of the festival.

Leftfield can also reduce adults to misty eyed revivalism with good reason, their albums 1995’s Leftism and 1999’s ‘Rhythm & Stealth are albums which are held close to many people’s hearts for several very nineties reasons; soundtracking the Trainspotting film, several tracks were also used on the classic Playstation game Wipeout, they made John Lydon relevant for the VERY last time with ‘Open up’, ‘Phat Planet’ soundtracked that classic Guiness advert; both albums excelled in merging of house, hip hop, dub, trance, chill out and drum and bass and signal a time where dance acts such as Underworld, Chemical Brothers, Prodigy and Fat Boy Slim held their own alongside rock bands.

Leftfield have not reformed, Paul Daley, one half of the duo has decided ressurect the name. Leftfield were a duo, saying Leftfield have reformed is like saying Wham! have if Andrew Ridgely had reformed with Pepsi & Shirley…feel free to add a more contemporary duo there, readers. Live, they’ve retained the powerhouse sound of yore, think My Bloody Valetine if they replaced feedback with bass and even though the soundsystem in Victoria Park is as effective as a pair of ipod speakers, they still manage to create an humungous sound which literally shakes the ground we're dancing on.

'Release the pressure’, ‘Phat Planet’ and ‘Afro Left’ all whip the crowd up into a joyful frenzy while slower tracks like ‘Original’ spark off a mass groove-athon. LED totally misfired on day one with David Guetta headlining but tonight with Aphex Twin and Leftfield they just managed to redeem themselves. Who cares if we’re dancing to songs over a decade old? Tonight we partied like it’s 1995 and it was great, when are 60ft Dolls getting back together, then?

Words by Chris Todd

For a whole generation The Libertines were the band who kick started a life of music listening. Up The Bracket marked a new world of riotous guitar scraps after squeaky clean pop.

But over the years, with the fights, the jail sentences and the drugs, the message of the Libertines has been left tarnished and murky. On the main stage the band attract a bigger audience than any of the headliners but it’s hard to find the fans among The Sun readers.

In truth Pete and Carl are no headliners and as they face their crowd the pair look anxiously shy. Hardly a word is spoken as songs from Up The Bracket are rushed through and come to a rather abrupt end.

Carl leads each track, nodding to Pete for back up, yet there’s nothing truly inspiring to see. Slowly the pair unravel as ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’ wins over the crowd. But as Pete and Carl are left affectionately hugging but there’s no collective sense of joy from the thousands watching. Instead we’re left singing ‘Time For Heroes’ and still wishing to revisit 2002.

Words by Ruth Offord

See more of Clash's coverage from the Reading/Leeds festival 2010 HERE.

While we can all pretend we’re looking forward to the headliners at this year’s festival, realistically there’s one band we’re truly giddy about. Weezer may have failed to produce a good album in five years but their performance makes up for all the nastiness in Weezer world.

From the moment Rivers Cuomo appears we know we’re in for a treat. Rushing around like a duck on ecstasy he grabs at audience members, dances manically from billboards and even brings a trampoline on the stage. Dream setlists of ‘The Sweater Song’, ‘Say It Aint So’ and ‘Buddy Holly’ become a reality along with Lady Gaga, MGMT and Wheatus covers as we’re left reeling at the band’s psychotic show.

Sure, they may have changed since 1995, and we are left tolerating new material but as Cuomo climbs up another billboard and jumps off, causing a crowd stampede we’re left thinking there simply isn’t enough Weezer in the world.

Words by Ruth Offord

See more of Clash's coverage from the Reading/Leeds festival 2010 HERE.

There’s no doubt that Arcade Fire do not belong in a line up consisting of Blink 182 and Guns N’Roses.

The band have a chart topping album but judging by their behaviour you’d never know it. Arcade Fire don’t demand unreasonable terms and at Leeds Festival they certainly didn’t attract the biggest crowd of the weekend.

Yet The Suburbs is why we’re left anticipating the band’s set more than any other. Each member’s sheer enthusiasm as they ruthlessly bash instruments leaves an overwhelming sound, while Win growls each lyric back to the crowd. ‘Rococo’ and ‘We Used To Wait’ stirs an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of our stomachs as the angst ridden vocals over power the performance. Yet it’s the band’s numerous members and instruments which makes Arcade Fire a band to really admire. ‘Laika’ is full of tussling and fights while ‘Crown of Love’ brings a climax like no other.

Arcade Fire may not be rock Gods yet, but give it a few years and many of the Leeds crowd will be wondering where they were that night - and regretting it.

Words by Ruth Offord

See more of Clash's coverage from the Reading/Leeds festival 2010 HERE.

What do a druid procession, an organic olive stall and Billy Bragg have in common? Arguably a fair amount, especially when they are thrown together in the shadow of the mystically-named Sugarloaf Mountain as part of Green Man Festival. For there, in three components is the general gist of the whole affair. A field of falafely, lefty, hippy, poi-enthusiasts holding hands and swaying to a load of revolutionary music.

Held in the stunning Brecon Beacons, Green Man only began 2003 - with an attendee count of 300 - but it feels as old as the rolling hills in which it’s set. One of the only truly independent festivals left, it is free of corporate sponsorship and strikes a perfect balance somewhere between Latitude and a 20-person bongo weekender in the New Forest.

Green Man has gradually attracted bigger name acts. We’re not talking stadium rock, however. We’re talking eclectic, of-the-moment, intelligent and diverse indie and folk, meaning the festival attracts as many musos as it does trustafarians. This year the capacity increased by 2,000 to 12,000 to let them all in.

However, it’s still relatively tiny, and one of the organisers, Ben Coleman, promised us he has no plans to make it any bigger. “It would spoil the essence of the festival,” he told us, shortly before the traditional wicker Green Man was burned upon the final hour. He added that his highlight was Beirut and that the huge sell-out success of 2010 was down to a full year of hard graft by a small team of dedicated workers.

Friday began in typical Green Man style with three ethereal ladies singing acapella prairie song in the form of Mountain Man. A twee Bella Union signing, they delicately performed their raw, dreamy harmonics without any backing. They were followed by solo folk act Sam Amidon who brought to life American slavery soul songs from the 1930s, odd since he was a rather geeky white kid. He finished his set with an ‘ironic’ cover of R Kelly, a cheap but effective shot.

Innovative duo Fuck Buttons closed the second stage, their visceral, bass-heavy, reverberating brand of electro being a million miles away from Green Man’s original mandate of being a folk forum. They produced a breathtakingly euphoric sound, which was succeeded by indie stalwarts Doves on the main stage, who were rather a damp squib in comparison. They sandwiched Beirut, whose orchestral combination of wind instruments and strings was grandiose folk at its very best.

On Saturday, Egyptian Hip Hop played an afternoon slot on the second stage, where the audience gradually dwindled to leave a quarter-full tent of grumpy teenagers. A shame as despite being shaky, they showed promise. Just when their electro-tinged guitar riffs began to border upon tedious, they’d throw in a nice surprise like sampling a car alarm, or a squealing organ.

Next was the twee and choral Summer Camp, who were somewhat forgettable. Shortly afterwards, rent-a-rock-poet John Cooper Clarke muttered some expletives in the Literature Tent. He was followed by the dark and brooding These New Puritans whose new album has seen them go from hipster flavour of the month to highly credible musicians, successfully utilising heavy beats, clever, obscure electronics and biblical vocals.

Then came the wonderful Wild Beasts, always magical, faraway and very, very British. Typically humble front man Hayden told us that he was hugely looking forward to heading back home for a short break after the gig, no doubt a relief as their touring schedule is nothing short of relentless. Then after some folk punk for the oldies in the shape of Billy Bragg, Flaming Lips careered onto the main stage in a giant bubble ball, eccentric front man Wayne Coyne bouncing over the crowd in a kind of middle-aged genteel version of crowd surfing. They then departed in a blaze of crashing cymbals, flashing lights and instrumental oddity.

Meanwhile, over at the second stage, Factory Floor played to a threadbare audience, those absent clearly still transfixed by Coyne’s rubbery ball. Drummer Gabriel remained chirpy, and rather sportingly told us that they didn’t mind and that “we always just play to the crowd, whatever the size.” Their set was full of pulsing synths, androgynous echoing vocals and frantic drumming. Metronomy closed the stage, with a disco sound that was more glitchy and less maudlin.

Sunday began with Sunderland art rockers Field Music. It’d be awfully obvious to compare them to forefathers The Futureheads, but we have no choice. They sound the same. This was followed by Laura Marling, darling of every radio DJ, simpering Dad and now the Mercury Award panel. She is a young, raw, promising talent, and produces the kind of strumming rural folk Green Man is built on. But to call her insipid is something of an understatement.

On the second stage, the marvellous Tallest Man of Earth played a roaring set of punchy, Americana folk of the very highest order, showing up the likes of Marling and the equally as drab Mumford and Sons, who played on the main stage just afterwards. A one man acoustic powerhouse, he was an energetic and charismatic contemporary Dylan.

West Coast surf poppers Girls followed, but their jangling guitar songs were indifferent and samey. The sparkling Efterklang headlined afterwards. Sounding like the bastard child of Sigur Ros and a synthesiser, their Scandinavian electronic ambience was truly mesmerising. Equally as slack-jawed were the audience at Joanna Newsom. With her new material being more accessible than her earlier squeaky, ‘kooky’ blueprint, her incredible talent shone through as she gracefully played a tear-jerking set of rich, storytelling maladies.

Then in a move that was one Celtic chant away from parody, the festival’s contingent of neo-Druids led a procession from main stage to the wicker Green Man. The sight of the sacrificial flames lapping the drizzly Welsh sky was a heart-warming treat befitting of a meticulously planned, perfectly executed weekend. Green Man is guaranteed only to get more polished with bigger acts each year. It is the one new UK festival to try out, even if the thought of an organic druid does make you wince…

Words by Natalie Hardwick

To say that there was an excitable atmosphere of apprehension this evening would be a merely a verbal descriptive mild dressing; a warm vingerette perhaps. Rather than a particularly zesty Reggae Reggae sauce - this is what we’re talking about here. You see Carl Barat played the official Libertines reunion show last night at the Forum, which was of course, sold out. then tomorrow they are, for many, the 'Unofficial' headliners for the Reading Festival.

So, here we are, in the tiny setting of the Levi Store on Regent Street for the final in this series of gigs for the Craft of Music shows. Barely a 100 people are here and as Barat is delayed due to "nature calling" the compare banters the audience will a tender dose of aggression.

Walking up to the make shift stage Barat sits down with his guitar and welcomes the audience in his trademark casual demeanour. Time is spent talking about the reasons for the much publicised Libertines reunion. But, before long he, along with a second guitarist start playing songs from his forthcoming debut album. Not far removed from his romanticised balled of the Libertines and Dirty Pretty Things they're both affectionate and catchy with Kinks influences coming through. He was of course never going to play a set of entirely new songs so a welcome rendition of 'Deadwood' sets the tone. Rambunctious, intimate and stirring he never at any point needs to win the audience over as there is a clear atmosphere of adulation present. Libertines tattoos adorn those watching who sing along at every opportunity and ending the initial set with a version of 'Can't Stand Me Now' there's a giddy animation that becomes more than apparent.

Audience questions are put forward with, unsurprisingly most of them being about the reformation of the Libertines. Shrugging he simply says it was the right time to do it and as a heckler gets aggressive shouting out how Carl "raped us" to a bemused looking singer and audience, the drunken renter was soon ejected to the jeering crowd as his rants failed to be followed by any explanations.

Much as been said about the reunion shows and the if's, but's and maybe's of a tour so its with this that they decide to leave the questions and push on with some more music. Once again its time to welcome back his Libertines catalogue and the tender lament of 'France', an ode to a former love with the same breathy wanting as the recorded version it goes down more than a little well. And from here we leave on 'Don’t Look Back Into The Sun'. The room is left in a jubilant mood and its time for Barat to get his socks on for the Reading show this time tomorrow.

In retrospect The Libertines have become a huge band to the nature of the news paper paparazzi and their infatuation with Pete Doherty. But, its shows like this that earned them a cult following in their early days, the intimate and close nature of these personal shows. Happy to be a band of the people, as cheesy and clichéd as it may sound it was something that they always succeeded in doing and this evening was no different.

Charming, charismatic and as a performer, he is developing quite a catalogue of what will surely in years to come put him in the same classic of Classic British songwriters as Davis, Weller and Thompson.

Words by Lee Puddefoot

Catch up with all of Clash coverage including live reviews, galleries and video performances HERE.

Today there’s a feeling many of us are just going through the motions. Girls are walking around the site in pyjamas while the freezing wind makes us rush for the nearest tent at every available opportunity.

While we’re still enthusiastic for the day we head to the main stage for a dance (and a warm up) courtesy of Gogol Bordello. Unfortunately the wind plays havoc with the sound, and instead the band are left bare with vocals and a bass drum.

Sheltered by a tent however, Pulled Apart By Horses prioritise power riffs and stage climbing to a packed Festival Republic stage. With their huge sound carrying twice the distance we make a quick getaway as crowd surfers are pulled away, guitars are smashed and security guards lose control.

Following a lacklustre Egyptian Hip Hop, we move to Yeasayer who bring a touch of class to the day. Disco beats clash over subtle, yet haunting vocals, leaving us throwing shapes for the first time this weekend.

Wandering through the mess of the main stage it’s clear the punters aren’t the only ones tripping out of their minds. Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age declares Leeds’ grey sky “beautiful” but fails to light up the main stage. Each year the band play, yet their performance is always lacking something to make you really pay attention.

Then finally as we wait, and wait, we wonder if Guns n’Roses will play at all tonight. Following Readings’ disastrous set we’re surprised when the band appear onstage a mere 30 minutes late. ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ is joined by huge cheers- yet half an hour later the majority of the audience has disappeared. Axl remains tight lipped as long winded guitar solos and pyrotechnics take over the performance. Then as expected there’s a tirade against the festival organisers, the police and the curfew by the warped lead singer before ‘Paradise City’ brings the set to a predictable close.

And that was Leeds Festival. Full of gossip, rumours, unforgettable performances and bizarre antics. Now all that awaits us is a warm bed and a cup of tea.

Words by Ruth Offord

See more of Clash's coverage from the Reading/Leeds festival 2010 HERE.

LED Festival Day 1, Victoria Park 27th August 2010

The inaugural London Electronic dance festival was always due a bumpy ride. It’s the same weekend as Notting Hill carnival, The Reading Festival and the established daddy of London festivals, SW4 in Clapham. So cancelling five acts including Axwell & Ingrosso of Swedish House Mafia four days prior to the festival was never going to curry favour and as the social networking sites prove, people are not impressed.

This incident failed to prevent the crowd from having a good time, as true Brits; they kept calm and carried on.

With no information forthcoming on set times, it was a case of accidentally bumping into acts. So the main stage had Calvin Harris on hours before the set time stated,djing a mixture of his own tunes and the latest electro tracks, the best thing about his set was that he kept his mouth shut, mixing so many of his own tunes however is flagrant self onanism.

Belgian electro rock Soulwax were the heroes of the day. Resplendently dressed in turquoise suits they bashed out live versions of classics such as ‘E-Talking’ and ‘NY Excuse’ to an ecstatic crowd. They manage to merge Soulwax’s rockisms with 2 Many Djs’ harsh electronics with ease. The majority of these songs however are over five years old and with 2 Many Djs only knocking out a couple of mixes each year, putting these songs to rest and thrilling us with some new material is overdue.

The words ‘Featuring David Guetta’ are unavoidable in 2010; every auto-tuned r n b artist thinks by getting the French cheese master on board gives their music an element of underground cool, it doesn’t. Guetta does indeed have a knack, a knack for taking the very worst elements of trance, pop, r n b and techno, creating something bereft of musical integrity churned out from his hit house of crud.

Djing above the stage in a set up similar to that of Fatboy Slim, he rules the park with his limp electronic/ r n b hash. He manages to ruin all time club classic ‘Meet her at the love parade’ by mashing it up with his own Akon production ‘Sexy Bitch’, a tune so bad it reeks of 18 to 30 brain cell light lads out on the town. The lasers look cheaper than the ones used in Rooftop Gardens in Wakefield circa ’88 but maybe that retro look is what was intended, if it was it was spot on. The entire show is as cutting edge as an episode of Pete Waterman’s Hitman & Her show down Roxy’s in Milton Keynes, in fact, Guetta is nothing more than a one man Stock, Aitken & Waterman. His name may be synonymous with chart bound hits right now but like S/A/W, he will eventually be revealed as the dance floor charlatan he is.

Day two has a delectable line up of Aphex Twin, Goldfrapp, Friendly Fires and thereturn of Leftfield amongst others...

Chris Todd

Today as Reading is recovering from a major G’n’R faux pas, Leeds stands unaware of the storm brewing in its direction.
The unworldly hums of Wild Beasts on the NME stage brings a relaxing rhythm to the early afternoon but it's not long until the main stage battles its way into oblivion.

Limp Bizkit maybe the novelty/nostalgic act of the day but within seconds Fred Durst has the crowd praising his name. The bands rhythms grab and assault the listener until we're left crawling and begging for more.

Followed by Cypress Hill we're left thinking smoking a joint and getting tattoos is the only way forward. Luckily Weezer are here to bring back 1995.

Of course we find the band have changed a bit since but Rivers tries his best to turn back time. We're treated to ‘My Name Is Jonas’ and ‘The Sweater Song’ but it's Rivers behaviour which grabs all the attention. Footballs, trampolines and climbing on members of the audience are all included in his bizarre onstage antics as he dons a blonde wig and sings Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’. Most of the Paramore fans are left staring in disbelief as the group manages to outshine every band of the day.

As we wander towards Paramore we instead wait for Blink-182 who unfortunately fail to bring back our teenage years. Tom DeLonge's vocals still remain that of a surly teenager but we're tempted towards the riotous noises of British Sea Power, who have even brought their traditional bear out of retirement for the occasion.

The band stick to theatrics, sing-a-longs and keep the seagull noises to a bare minimum- yet there isn't a single breather in their set. The group rush through song after song leaving us positively reeling from the ride.

As everyone leaves after another successful day we can’t help but wonder if this is the calm before the storm. Either way by Sunday night they’ll either be a riot or one of the best Leeds Festivals in recent years.

Words by Ruth Offord

See more of Clash's coverage from the Reading/Leeds festival 2010 HERE.

The inaugural London Electronic dance festival was always due a bumpy ride. It’s the same weekend as Notting Hill carnival, The Reading Festival and the established daddy of London festivals, SW4 in Clapham. So cancelling five acts including Axwell & Ingrosso of Swedish House Mafia four days prior to the festival was never going to curry favour and as the social networking sites prove, people are not impressed. This incident failed to prevent the crowd from having a good time, as true Brits; they kept calm and carried on.

With no information forthcoming on set times, it was a case of accidentally bumping into acts. So the main stage had Calvin Harris on hours before the set time stated, djing a mixture of his own tunes and the latest electro tracks, the best thing about his set was that he kept his mouth shut, mixing so many of his own tunes however is flagrant self onanism.

Belgian electro rock Soulwax were the heroes of the day. Resplendently dressed in turquoise suits they bashed out live versions of classics such as ‘E-Talking’ and ‘NY Excuse’ to an ecstatic crowd. They manage to merge Soulwax’s rockisms with 2 Many Djs’ harsh electronics with ease. The majority of these songs however are over five years old and with 2 Many Djs only knocking out a couple of mixes each year, putting these songs to rest and thrilling us with some new material is overdue.

The words ‘Featuring David Guetta’ are unavoidable in 2010; every auto-tuned r n b artist thinks by getting the French cheese master on board gives their music an element of underground cool, it doesn’t. Guetta does indeed have a knack, a knack for taking the very worst elements of trance, pop, r n b and techno, creating something bereft of musical integrity churned out from his hit house of crud.

DJ-ing above the stage in a set up similar to that of Fatboy Slim, he rules the park with his limp electronic/ r n b hash. He manages to ruin all time club classic ‘Meet her at the love parade’ by mashing it up with his own Akon production ‘Sexy Bitch’, a tune so bad it reeks of 18 to 30 brain cell light lads out on the town. The lasers look cheaper than the ones used in Rooftop Gardens in Wakefield circa ’88 but maybe that retro look is what was intended, if it was it was spot on. The entire show is as cutting edge as an episode of Pete Waterman’s Hitman & Her show down Roxy’s in Milton Keynes, in fact, Guetta is nothing more than a one man Stock, Aitken & Waterman. His name may be synonymous with chart bound hits right now but like S/A/W, he will eventually be revealed as the dance floor charlatan he is.

Day two has a delectable line up of Aphex Twin, Goldfrapp, Friendly Fires and the return of Leftfield amongst others.

Words by Chris Todd

This year Leeds has the best bite of the biscuit. As of Friday there's not a spot of rain in sight- and after being musically snubbed by Radiohead last year, we've finally got the best day first.

So as we try to recover from the rough night before it appears every band on the bill is here to impress. Gallows, cleverly disguised as The Rats manage to give us a smile like nothing else. Teens throw themselves every which way as Frank Carter barks orders at the crowd. We're then left speechless as he orders a stampede around the outside of the tent, making every passer-by gawp in disbelief.

In a bid to find something just as enthralling and terrifying we head to Freelance Whales on the Festival Republic stage, only to find them softer than Vampire Weekend. The Cribs also fail to impress but Darwin Deez manages to grab us in a second. Bursting into a bizarre collection of dance routines they manage to waste most of their set stalling time. That said, it was one of the funniest moments of the day.

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen Dizzee Rascal live, somehow you're still drawn to the main stage like some rap hussy. This time the rapper is with a live band, but there’s something missing about the performance. Dizzee looks uneasy with the backing band, while the band is unsure what to do with him.

Slowly as the arena fills up it’s impossible to pretend today is not all about the Libertines. As the man in front of us shouts “in five minutes I’ll have seen the Libertines!” we can’t quite believe all these fans have suddenly come out of hiding. And sure thing, as soon as Pete, Carl and co waltz onstage (right on time we hasten to add) many crowd members look bored, as God forbid, they play a few songs. From that moment the show is very rough as each song just dabbles away. Yet as the hits creep in (‘What Katie Did’, ‘What A Waster’) the band and audience warm to their new surroundings. The Libertines were never headline material and today it shows, but it is a quick glimmer into a spot of nostalgia.

Arcade Fire are another unlikely headliner, but with their latest album at number one it’s hard to prove they don’t have the fans to pull it off. Launching into a tirade of angst gnarly hits, Win Butler treats the crowd like we’ve just punched him in the face. The pounding tracks of The Suburbs blends perfectly with Funeral, as a slick highlight package is prepared for the crowd. Each member of the band throws their lives into the performance and in turn so do we. Leeds this year is definitely the place to be.

Words by Ruth Offord

See more of Clash's coverage from the Reading/Leeds festival 2010 HERE.

There’s something special about hearing a song dedicated to a certain place, a piece of music that’s synonymous with a city.

Jigga’s performance of ‘Empire State of Mind’ at Radio City Music Hall is one of those raised-hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck moments that will stay with those who witnessed it for a long time to come.

Here to announce the opening of the inaugural World Basketball Festival, a three-day city-wide extravaganza hosted by Nike and USA Basketball to celebrate everything about basketball and street culture, Jay-Z’s appearance is far more than a mere fanfare to kick proceedings off.

The social networking sites are abuzz with speculation as the doors to New York’s infamous Radio City open. Rihanna’s in the city! Kanye’s here as well. Will they Run This Town tonight?

The energy in the air is palpable as people from all walks of life come together to celebrate everything they love about the city that never sleeps.

Kids who’ve received free tickets through community groups at Hova’s request have travelled from all boroughs for the event, pouring in through the doors at the back of the imposing art deco theatre.

They rub shoulders with the great and the good from the worlds of basketball, film, music and fashion - Spike Lee and Alexander Wang to name but two – who’ve come down to get a piece of the action.

Following an unconventional support slot in the form of the USA basketball team playing a showcase game onstage, expectations are ramped up a notch as the large screens morph from scoreboards into a ten-minute countdown to show time.

As the time hits zero, the curtains raise to reveal an impressive set bathed in purple light, hosting the tightest band this side of the Pond.

They strike into the opening chords of ‘Hovi Baby’ as the man himself strides purposefully from the wings to take centre stage in the city he has known all his life.

Dressed all in black – natch – with shades hiding his eyes, there’s a faint glimmer of a smile as he launches into his opening rhymes.

The part owner of the New Jersey NETs reaches out to the clamouring front row, acknowledging the adulation emanating from below, before ‘Run This Town’ blasts forth. Sadly no Rihanna appears, but noone seems that bothered by her absence as Swizz Beatz runs on from the wings for ‘Onto the Next One’ and hypes the crowd.

For an artist who usually takes an hour to steadily ramp up the pace of his sets, this is a high-octane spectacle.

Jay-Z pumps through a mind-boggling ten songs in 30 minutes, a career-spanning greatest hits set list that could have lasted at least twice as long and still been all killer, no filler.

Memphis Bleek makes an appearance for the middle section, dressed somewhat bizarrely in a suit that looks like it could have come from the rack of Next.

And so we head for the home run, a couplet that form a paean to his hometown, starting with classic ‘Already Home’: “They want me to stop, they want me to go, I’m already gone, I’m already home,” he smiles as the music switches to Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York New York’, and Ol’ Blue Eyes’ face flashes up on the screens.

Suddenly the opening strains to ‘Empire State of Mind’ drop, with the backdrop flicking to an aerial shot of the New York skyline at night.

The iconic cityscape cruises along as Roc shouts out to Brooklyn, TriBeCa and the other areas that his life has been pinned to. Alicia Keys stand-in Bridgett Kelly skips out to belt out the familiar chorus, while the crowd frantically wave their diamonds in the air.

And so the performance is over as suddenly as it started, leaving a roomful of people wild-eyed, bewildered and blown away. If only he’d stayed for more.

Words by Laura Foster

Get a further insight into the cultural side of the World Basketball Festival HERE.

Four years since the release of their acclaimed debut album, Klaxons return with a fresh offering of space-age noise pop. Dragging you at full force into their deranged fantasy world, the cacophony of ‘ExtraAstronomical’ and racket of the title track sit like the soundtrack to a meteor hurtling into a space-ship.

But this is exactly the chaotic energy and underplayed showmanship that made their debut such a success. Combining this pandemonium with a more polished finish on the cosmic pop of ‘Echoes’ and trademark falsetto chants of ‘Venusia’, it’s safe to say ‘Surfing The Void’ was worth the wait.

8/10

Words by Laura Routledge

The Libertines put two cold fingers up against the doubters last night in a storming show of panache and solidarity at the Forum in Kentish Town ahead of their headline support slot at Reading and Leeds festival this weekend.

The most anticipated reunion of the year kicked off after a long and restless wait that was absent of a support act, and which saw the crowd of rabid fans cheer whenever an engineer ventured onto the stage.

Finally, the crowd were put out of their misery at 9.30 as the flanking screens to the sides of the stage rolled down to the strains of wartime classic ‘We’ll Meet Again’. A montage of shots from the band’s glory days rolled by, a visual document of the love story between Pete Doherty and Carl Barât, as the adored foursome strolled into view.
Striking up with ‘Horrorshow’, Doherty kicks his frustration out on his mic before dashing to his fellow frontman’s stand in a move familiar to The Libertines of yesteryear.  

The runaway train is off as the band rattle through song after song, clearly not in any mood for small talk in between.
Looking fit and trim in front of a humongous banner taken from ‘Up The Bracket’s artwork, the overall production of The Libertines is impressive, from their all black outfits to the impressive light show that is synced with every nuance of the music.

When ‘What Katie Did’, Doherty’s love letter to former flame Kate Moss is played, he lingers on the side of the stage with guitar in hand while Barât covers his bandmate’s vocals.
Classic ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ sounds surprisingly flat, but perhaps fittingly so, as the vocalised battle between Pete and Carl is far in the distant past.

By the time set closers ‘Don’t Look Back into the Sun’ and ‘Time for Heroes’ are played, everyone is a delirious, sweaty mess. The band walk off to a deafening wall of feedback after just less than an hour onstage.

Noone budges an inch, and The Libertines finally come back on, cigarettes firmly planted in mouths, to play a long encore of eight songs, including ‘What Became of the Likely Lads’, Babyshambles’ ‘Lust of the Libertines’, ‘Up the Bracket’ and ‘What a Waster’.

They close with ‘I Get Along’, before Pete, looking overwhelmed, chucks his guitar at his amp, steps onto the monitor and salutes the venue of adoring fans, then marches to Carl to give him a big hug, to the delight of all and sundry.

Gary and John saunter over to get in on the act, embracing with looks of barely concealed joy plastered on their faces.

One thing’s for sure, those heading to Reading and Leeds this weekend are in for a treat…
 
 
The Setlist in Full…
 
Horrorshow
The Delaney
Vertigo
Last Post on the Bugle
Tell the King
Boys in the Band
I No Longer Hear the Music
What Katie Did
Can’t Stand Me Now Death on the Stairs
The Ha Ha Wall
Don’t Look Back into the Sun
Time for Heroes
 
Encore
 
Campaign of Hate
Begging
What Became of the Likely Lads
Lust of the Libertines
The Good Old Days
Up The Bracket
What a Waster
I Get Along

Words by Laura Foster

At just 20, Dylan LeBlanc already sounds world-weary and thoroughly worn out. Seriously, we’re putting too much pressure on young people these days!

Yet to fret on modern concerns would be to miss the point of ‘Paupers Field’. Defiantly retro, the album’s ‘late evening on the porch’ style country rock does nothing new. However Dylan LeBlanc does excel in songcraft, belying his years to produce something remarkably mature and confident.

Framed by the most minimal of instrumentation songs such as ‘Tuesday Night Rain’ are buoyed by a peculiarly Southern melancholy - a soft downward lilt in LeBlanc’s voice wraps those memories in a beautiful nostalgia. At times recalling the keening tone of Jim James, the singer has the same reverb drenched sense of times lost as his My Morning Jacket counterpart.

On some tracks, the youthful songwriter stretches credibility too far, adding stock references to an Old South he could not possibly have experienced. Yet throughout Dylan LeBlanc is rarely less than charming. A superb stylist, ‘Paupers Field’ is a deeply evocative record, even if the time and place is not his own.

7/10

Dig This? Dig Deeper! My Morning Jacket, Neil Young, Conor Oberst

There’s something very comforting about Bass Clef; the pulsing Womb like electronica conceives ambient beats that have an almost tribal quality to them. A self confessed fan of African music he fuses this sound with dub which has earmarked him as one of the early purveyors of dubstep; but, rather than wallowing in the well trodden pit he instead ushers in an array of influences from jungle to nestling himself in IDM and Dancehall. Bearded and unassuming Ralph Cumbers foregoes audience repartee in exchange of getting his head down and getting on with it.

Over the next 20 minutes he ushers himself from his analogue synth to getting the audience in a fluster whilst he harasses the rave whistle with his over-zealous tooting. Confessing that it’s too early for him to play really so imagine its 2am. Not 8.15pm. In a Levi’s Store. On a Tuesday night. Half way up Regent Street. So, without any encouragement required the crowd get their eyes wired, shoulders swaying and feet moving like rhythmically possessed hipster zombies, clearly loving it. Amongst the charged dance beats he attacks the microphone with a rather vocal cow bell a more aggressive block of wood and the soothing sounds of his live trombone loops. Definitely one of the stand out performances of the live sessions so far. But next up is the enigmatic, perplexing and not a little demiurgic…Beardyman.

A vocal architect if you like, he specialises in beat boxing, but rather than sticking to a standard formula he incorporates more than a dollop of comedy into his set, which makes him a formidable live act. His innovative brand of performing has earned him cult status across the globe, and catering his act for the show at hand he decides to perform Levi’s songs through history. So as he begins to plot the musical timeline of the hosts TV advertisements you brace yourself for the inevitable as it hits you before you get the chance to detour and bam. Babylon Zoo - Spaceman! Belting out noises into the microphone he records each ones and plays them back as he continues creating his own instrumentation as he goes a long and before long you’re whipped in into a rollercoasting beat box adventure as he takes on ‘Mr Bombastic’, Boom Boom Boom’ and ‘Flat Beat’ with deviations into the ‘Um bongo’ theme and a request for ‘Ghostbusters’.

Often interrupting himself to reveal interesting, or not so (depending on your stance) facts such as Shaggy used to be a marine. No punch line. Solo anecdote. Trying to steer the crowd away from Q&A fishing, asking if they’d prefer more music instead, is of course met with a congregation of cheers. But not before he quips about his lack of face clothing (beards really itch – that is in fact, a fact), having spatula legs and the fact that Jesus invented Hip Hop. “He was there in the beginning man” bellows one audience member. Beardyman – a one man cabaret act / mental genius.

Words by Lee Puddefoot

View an accompanying gallery from Beardyman/Bass Clef's session HERE.

Catch up with all of Clash coverage including live reviews, galleries and video performances HERE.

Get FREE tickets to attend one of the sessions on Levi's Facebook page HERE.