CONCERT REVIEW: V98 Festival, Leeds, England
- Tim Kennedy
The V98 Festival - run by Richard Branson's Virgin Corporation - covered a good spread of talent old and new - mostly from the UK. The organisation was pretty good and the Leeds site was not too remote to cause access problems yet was rural enough to provide sufficient space for the vast crowds attending and in many cases camping at the festival. Security was efficient yet not heavyhanded, as certain other English festivals have been in recent years, and likewise policing was light - I didn't see a single uniform inside the site all weekend and no-one was arrested anywhere near me. The crowd were very relaxed too, and in great humour. Day 1: Sunny
Stereophonics reproduced their excellent debut album onstage to perfection. However it is much more satisfying to hear a band who can make their back catalogue work for them by reinterpreting their old songs. There is no doubt the Welshmen are one of the premier rock acts in the UK, but they should check out their countrymen Manic Street Preachers to see a band generate something unique whenever they play. In the meantime, theirs was definitely one of the better performances of the weekend. It will be interesting to see what they will sing about on the next album, having now transcended their previous small town subject matter.
Theaudience singer Sophie plays Barbie Doll in a black dress to the hilt, and went down quite well with the crowd at the NME Stage. The band do a reasonable line in Blondie-style power pop to help advance her claims to the vacant throne of La Harry. Sadly they still have some way to go in terms of strong material. They are OK but not great, however persistence could pay off in the long term although some may find her presentation a tad to clinical for their taste.
Republica are an act some may find very irritating. A large degree of their show is generated by backing tapes, leaving the drummer, underemployed guitarist and a very busy synth/tape operator to fill in, whilst the admittedly vivacious and pretty Saffron exuded much energy and bounced around like an 'indie' Janet Jackson. Her lyrics are cliched in the extreme, It is beyond belief that a supposedly serious rock act in the late 1990s can without a shred of irony use phrases like "Ready To Go" or "Drop Dead Gorgeous" in a song. Despite the rapturous reception by the Leeds crowd one couldn't help feeling that much of what they performed had been prepared months ago in the safety of the studio and that we'd been cheated.
If one is pleasantly stoned and relaxing in convivial company, the reggae music made by Morcheeba is probably quite the kind of thing to listen to. Their female singer, whilst having a bewildering sense of style, is quite sweet and friendly. However their material is a bit too much of the same thing. Whilst being reasonable, they end up making you realise that there is actually some great reggae music about - but this isn't it.
Polly Jean Harvey has had her ups and downs, but her set was a stunning return to form. She played fierce psych blues filled with the devil, sex and madness, a truly manic lady preacher. She truly challenged her audience's preconceptions of what rock music should be about with a fiery yet happy glint in her eye and grim themes that we hear precious little of these days. The material was mostly new, with only "To Bring You My Love" recognisable to this writer. For someone who supposedly hates performing live, she looked absolutely terrific by the end.
Ian Brown walked a fine line between 'dying' onstage and providing a fascinating performance. His voice was out of sorts as it has been since the final stages of the Stone Roses, and he looked as before like a dosser in his zipped up anorak and hat, marching on the spot in a disturbing fashion. Then he opened with Hendrix's "Little Wing", his slick sidemen demonstrating superb skills, and left many a jaw slack with amazement as to why the choice. The rest of the material came from the solo album and he sounded more vengeful than ever, though fading out on occasion. His adoring legion of fans cheered him to the echo and roared along to the lyrics, a somewhat bizarre sight when faced with such a diffident and almost autistic figurehead. His songs are quite strong - especially when performed by such good musicians - and at times show a soulful touch, but the negativity of the lyrics lead one to wonder what he will write about when he gets over being abandoned by John Squire - which, incidentally, was more than two years ago.
The Charlatans' set was the climax of the first night and showed how in their element this band are in a stadium. Their polished performance wowed the thousands massed before the main stage. The only downside was that perhaps the anarchy that is part of true psych music has gone out of the Charlatans forever, now that they are one of the top-grossing acts in Europe. One wonders where the band can go from here. Day 2: Raining
Swedish band Whale had the unenviable task of vibing up a wet Leeds Sunday early afternoon, but by golly they set about the task with enthusiasm. Their small, long dark haired female singer has presence and charm, and the lads backing her delivered a competent rock barrage. They got a good rapport going with the medium-sized crowd at the front of the main stage and the very tall guitarist launched himself from a considerable height into the crowd below which drew warm applause too.
Smiler delivered a set of fairly anonymous garage fare.
Superstar's connections to the Teenage Fan Club go further than just that they are Scottish and are friends - their set was similar the TFC of a couple of albums ago. They were reasonably melodic in a Neil Young kind of way, and liked to solo in the time-honoured Crazy Horse manner. Sadly their lead singer (Joe McAlinden) is short, fat and ugly; and he and his high pitched voice seem bizarrely paired. Without any charisma, they will remain well adrift of the goal that their name implies.
The Montrose Avenue are a competent bunch who in all respects take their cue from the late 60s West Coast guitar bands, with nods to worthies such as the Byrds, the Association and Love. The problem is that this path has been well trodden by R.E.M. and latterly Tim Finn and his old group Crowded House. It takes an extremely good set of tunes to compete with that lot and TMA aren't there yet. They do make for a pleasant hour's listening however and they've certainly got the clothes and hair right. Well, you've got to start somewhere.
Gomez are much touted in some quarters as this season's contenders. However it will take more than what sound like outtakes from Boo Radleys 1993 Giant Steps album to convince the cynics. They started brightly enough with a puff of coloured smoke and a whiff of psych guitar but sadly degenerated into directionless guitar meanderings set to an amateurish reggae beat. Vocals are performed in turn by most members, one of whom sounds like a drunk (i.e. more than usual) Jim Morrison circa Morrison Hotel .
Chumbawamba proved that they really only have one song worth bothering with, and that has worn out its welcome after a year or so.
A timely reminder was then forthcoming from the father of punk rock Iggy Pop (he started it all back in the 60s, you know) to the young and foolish on how to do the deed. He danced like a demon, sang his heart out, his band rocked like a rocking thing on a very rocky day, and he even insulted the crowd heartily, much to everyone's pleasure and amusement. All favourites were present and most disorderly, plus a few more this writer (admittedly not a big fan up till now) didn't recognise.
Green Day gave the most amusing set of the weekend. They took the main stage by storm, with their very derivative material but highly entertaining style. Anyone who has seen GD in operation will recall the following : indecency, drum bonfires, smashed equipment, much running around and crowd invasions (by the band). They livened up a rather soggy crowd, and were most spectacular if a little pantomimesque. Cynics may remain unconvinced by the music, especially those who saw rather too many such also-ran punk outfits during the tail end of the 70s.
St Etienne are really an elaborate joke played on gullible pop-pickers. Singer Sarah Cracknell's style takes precociousness to lengths not seen outside of junior school musical productions. Her sidekicks are music paper journalists who obviously kill themselves laughing in private. Their ditties are recycled 70s naffness personified. You keep expecting her to burst into "I've Got A Brand New Pair Of Rollerskates" a la Melanie. Her carefully groomed appearance - long blonde hair and white suit, is one strange sight in a crowded muddy field outside Leeds. But they've been at it so long now (8 years if you include their first single which didn't feature Cracknell) with their clever-clever titles and fey semi-tunes that they're now accepted as old timers on the music scene. A bit of a waste of everyone's time, their critics would say. They would never catch on in the U.S. (Ed. Note: Sub Pop sure hopes they do!), where such inconsequential fare would be seen for what it is. Rearrange the words 'clothes', 'emperors' and 'new' to form an appropriate phrase.
Seahorses were the highlight of the weekend. The band took the stage to exultation from the thousands at the main stage and did not disappoint. Former Stone Rose John Squire demonstrated what it is to be the only cult guitar hero in an 'indie' band. He paraded in psychedelic finery (the same stuff he's always worn, as is his floppy fringe). He soloed a la Page. He strutted up and down the stage with consummate arrogance. Chris Helms voice was in superb form and he also looked cool and confident with cropped hair and smart casual attire. He had his solo spot with an acoustic guitar and passed with flying colours. The new material sounded great and the stuff off the last album sounded so much better live. They strike a superb balance between the pure pop of Squire's early days in the Roses and the rock guitar machismo that he developed latterly. The band look set to be the best band in Britain, especially in the light of subsequent events on this night...
Tonight's headliner was to be the glorious highlight of Verve's astonishing year and a half in which they have outstripped their friends Oasis to become the top UK rock act. But instead, the departure of guitarist Nick McCabe looks to have wrecked everything. Ashcroft took the stage looking even more mournful than usual - but now he really has something to look upset about. The quality of his singing was not in question, but the absence of lead guitar and the predominance of the slide guitar in its place left the Verve's set sounding bedraggled. They began with the more spaced out and ambient tracks from Urban Hymns , emphasising the lowkey performance further. The crowd had clearly looked forward to seeing them, stood ardently by their campfires in the gloom and mud, and would not be robbed their moment, so their reaction was still adulatory, but it was clear to anyone but a blind fanatic that the Seahorses had blown them off stage. Sure enough the following day Ashcroft announced that Verve were to split (again).
All in all then a good festival, with some ups and downs but some clear pointers as to who to watch in the next few months. It wasn't possible to see everyone - James Brown made an appearance as did Catatonia and the Jesus & Mary Chain plus many more, but sadly I couldn't catch up with them.
