Mr. Bean IIThe V Festival
April 14th 2008 11:34
Getting pumped for a music festival often involves preparing yourself for the disgusting experience you'll have to put up with in order to see your favourite bands. Being surrounded by filth and thousands of off-chops weirdos isn't all bad though - you just have to get into the spirit of things. But for the V Festival this turned out to be unnecessary. Compared to the scummy Big Day Out, it was a surprisingly pleasant experience. Smaller crowds meant that you could actually see the bands, there was actually space to move, and even space to chill out on your own. The 18 plus age restriction meant that there were no annoying kids frolicking about, and you could drink wherever you wanted to. At the Big Day Out, you had to pay a minimum of thirty freaking dollars to get drink tokens, and then the waiting, more waiting, purchasing and drinking all had to be done in the confines of the bar area, a hideous hellhole where screaming hoons threw cans, climbed the marquee, stripped, and stampeded.
One of my main prerogatives at the V Festival was to catch the Tough Alliance, one of the coolest bands in the world today. But alas! Somehow they vanished from the timetable. With my favourite new kids on the block out of the picture, most of the other acts I saw were old farts reuniting to appease their nostalgic fans. Maybe this wasn't a rock festival at all, but a museum where everyone had come not to party, but to ponder ancient relics and breath their historic aura. Without a tour guide to inform me, I completely forgot that the guitarist in Modest Mouse was actually Johnny Marr of the Smiths, so unfortunately I never took a moment to contemplate him and stroke my beard.
Watching the static, symmetrical Jesus & Mary Chain, I had the feeling of staring up at someone on a pedestal. Afterwards, a thirtysomething friend of mine described his chilling first encounter with J&MC's evil feedback and scary image in 1985. Today there wasn't much feedback and the image was the same old thing, leaving only their classic songs and legendary presence to thrill us.
This assessment may be a bit unfair - after all Air were as super-smooth as you'd expect and looked like they'll never grow old - but it's hard to deny that the sad sight of fat old bastards Duran Duran squeezed into their pop star suits and trying to look hungry like the wolf was pretty pathetic.
Soon it was my turn to feel like an old fart: I could not wait for the Smashing Pumpkins to start so that my fellow pumpkinheads and I could relive our adolescences, screaming along with the lyrics like old Irish drunks. I was prepared for the possibility that we might be denied this experience, since I'd heard a rumour that they were - shudder! - only going to play new stuff. We readied our projectiles and practised our booing in anticipation.
But the crowd breathed a massive collective sigh of relief, followed by an ecstatic cheer, when the first song began: "Today is the greatest..." A perfect opener, because despite my reservations, it really had been a great day, and the very best bit was just starting. The Pumpkins weren't a period piece - they really were fantastic, not merely reproducing their hits, but actually bringing them to life, doing them full justice. Billy Corgan clearly had a great time giving us what we wanted, and even teased us by pretending he wasn't going to do 'Zero'.
With only two original members, the band was clearly re-invigorated by the injection of new blood. The new songs, which on record sound lacking in dynamics, made much more sense in a live context. At one point the band indulged in the kind of noise freakout that was sorely missed in the J&MC's set, and they even pulled off a cover of Britney Spears' 'Piece of Me'. A silly gesture, for sure, but it had me convinced that these old farts know how to keep up with the kids, and how to laugh at themselves for doing it.
One of my main prerogatives at the V Festival was to catch the Tough Alliance, one of the coolest bands in the world today. But alas! Somehow they vanished from the timetable. With my favourite new kids on the block out of the picture, most of the other acts I saw were old farts reuniting to appease their nostalgic fans. Maybe this wasn't a rock festival at all, but a museum where everyone had come not to party, but to ponder ancient relics and breath their historic aura. Without a tour guide to inform me, I completely forgot that the guitarist in Modest Mouse was actually Johnny Marr of the Smiths, so unfortunately I never took a moment to contemplate him and stroke my beard.
Watching the static, symmetrical Jesus & Mary Chain, I had the feeling of staring up at someone on a pedestal. Afterwards, a thirtysomething friend of mine described his chilling first encounter with J&MC's evil feedback and scary image in 1985. Today there wasn't much feedback and the image was the same old thing, leaving only their classic songs and legendary presence to thrill us.
This assessment may be a bit unfair - after all Air were as super-smooth as you'd expect and looked like they'll never grow old - but it's hard to deny that the sad sight of fat old bastards Duran Duran squeezed into their pop star suits and trying to look hungry like the wolf was pretty pathetic.
Soon it was my turn to feel like an old fart: I could not wait for the Smashing Pumpkins to start so that my fellow pumpkinheads and I could relive our adolescences, screaming along with the lyrics like old Irish drunks. I was prepared for the possibility that we might be denied this experience, since I'd heard a rumour that they were - shudder! - only going to play new stuff. We readied our projectiles and practised our booing in anticipation.
But the crowd breathed a massive collective sigh of relief, followed by an ecstatic cheer, when the first song began: "Today is the greatest..." A perfect opener, because despite my reservations, it really had been a great day, and the very best bit was just starting. The Pumpkins weren't a period piece - they really were fantastic, not merely reproducing their hits, but actually bringing them to life, doing them full justice. Billy Corgan clearly had a great time giving us what we wanted, and even teased us by pretending he wasn't going to do 'Zero'.
With only two original members, the band was clearly re-invigorated by the injection of new blood. The new songs, which on record sound lacking in dynamics, made much more sense in a live context. At one point the band indulged in the kind of noise freakout that was sorely missed in the J&MC's set, and they even pulled off a cover of Britney Spears' 'Piece of Me'. A silly gesture, for sure, but it had me convinced that these old farts know how to keep up with the kids, and how to laugh at themselves for doing it.
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