T in the Park 2008
Balado, Kinross (11th,12th,13th July)
After completely deriding the full concept of this festival in my review last year, it may seem a little hypocritical to trundle through the hospitality section once more to partake in the festivities. After all, how much can an event of this magnitude re-invent itself, when it has adapted an ‘ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ attitude towards its design and implementation?
But when so many people descend on Balado, year after year, it has to be worth another assessment of how of T’s phenomenal success has grown exponentially since its inception in 1994.
It’s a poignant moment to allow for reminiscing, too. After all, Rage against the Machine headlined that first main stage bill, and this weekend they return, albeit under slightly different surroundings. This T in the park actually threatened, on paper at least, to provide some bands with kudos for your well-earned cash.
Friday night sees a marked increase in the number of participants when compared to the relatively sparse opening night of last year, and it could be argued that the cream of the weekend talent had been herded into the one evening. Chemical Brothers, The Verve, The Stereophonics, and The Futureheads were amongst the impressive array on show, and it is one surreal place. The space is the same, but attendance significantly less as not everyone has the weekend plus camping ticket required for Friday admission. As a result, freedom of movement from stage to stage is incredibly easy, and T becomes a much happier place to be. In fact, it harks back to the days when ticketholders were valued rather than squeezed in like sardines. For one night only it – shock – becomes a proper fans festival again.
The Music kicked off my evening in style, in the King Tut’s tent. They are fantastic live no matter where they play, but tonight they are on exceptional form, omitting fillers to offers a scintillating set of their brand of classic indie-dance. Masterpiece ‘Getaway’ is one of the most warmly received, but treats from their recent third album, particularly ‘Spike’, blend in supremely to leave the audience in raptures, a crowd flowing with adrenaline as the festival begins to flex its musical muscle. It’s also a promising start for the acoustics, although the Tut’s tent has long been the best for sound orientation and depth. A good, solid start to proceedings then.
After the Music, I set myself the target of catching bands I had never previously observed live, and this began with the Chemical Brothers. Older than the festival itself, the Brothers have lost none of their relevance, and they are unique in their ability to transcend both dance and rock cultures to gather equal numbers of admirers from followers of either genre.
Often I’ve wondered if DJs can support a live set out with the confines of the Slam Tent, which has its sound system configured with heavy beats in mind. The NME stage isn’t configured for a one man band, never mind a fat bass-line, so I was worried about much of the layers of the music literally being blown out of the air.
I needn’t have worried. These guys are the masters of their craft, and by the end everyone in attendance knew. Hits such as ‘Galvanise’, ‘Believe’ and ‘Do It again’ were blended seamlessly with their heavier, techno-influenced work to devastating effect. What made this performance all the more incredible was their simply awe-inspiring light show, which complemented the music perfectly. Cockroaches, robots, even exploding paintballs, all designed to inflame the senses, and this added an extra dimension to proceedings. It truly was a display that redefined how a live show should look and sound. With The Verve finishing set abruptly, it meant the crowd amassed to hear ‘Hey Boy Hey Girl’ as the set reached its conclusion, to round an entertaining and encouraging first night of T ’08.
The Saturday is by far the weakest of the three days, not only due to a dearth in quality, but also due to some awkward positioning on the bill. The tinned sardines element returns, too – 80,000 will cram in here today alone. It seems to merely be a procession to the American juggernaut that headlines this evening.
However while we wait, there are other bands here, of course, such as Reverend and the Makers back over at Tut’s.
Front man Jon McClure is a man on a mission tonight to either incite a riot, or get himself arrested. He MCs his way through the Makers amusing, if slightly repetitive, set. He writhes around stage, demanding peace symbols from the crowd and generally bouncing around in a rowdy manner. His piece de resistance arrives at the zenith of the chaos, where he grabs an acoustic guitar to perform an impromptu set at the side of the tent, dragging the majority of the audience along with him. The pied piper led the Hamlin-ites a merry dance for two songs before security dragged him away like some homicidal folk singer. For a bizarre highlight of the weekend, this will be hard to beat.
Next, The Raconteurs, who are an undeniably gifted bunch, but their set simply failed to ignite the strangely sparse crowd. They started with a flurry of album tracks that weren’t what was required to keep the crowd interested. They were up against a formidably followed Fratellis, who had kidnapped a sizable section of the audience, and it was evident that some who were swayed between the two had drifted to the latter as the set began slowly. As a result, I followed and caught the end of the Scots’ main stage set.
How in the hell are The Fratellis a significant enough band to perform before the might of Rage? And what a bizarre time to put them on – the crowd emptied immediately after they finished, leading to pandemonium as rockers attempted to pick their mosh-spot for the impending mayhem. It is a strange dichotomy, to say the least; culturally significant American rock giants versus three Glasgow everymen who got lucky – let’s not kid ourselves that the Fratellis are anything more. New single ‘Mistress Mabel’ lacks any change of direction or indeed any new invention whatsoever. Couple that with the likes of ‘Chelsea Dagger’, a song so gut-wrenching that it pains you to be Scottish when everyone sings along, and you see a band that have crash-landed way above their station. To be fair to them though, at times it appears as if they know it all too well.
It is irrelevant, as the wait for the main event is almost over.
No cameras. No video footage. Their own marquee, filled with flowers and champagne. Swaggering onstage twenty minutes late, when even a minute past your running time results in a £1000 fine. I’m not quite sure if any previous headliners have bestowed so many demands on their hosts, but this isn’t your average band. Rage against the Machine are a phenomenon – and it is a major coup for this festival to have such a prestigious leading name after the damp squib of Snow bleedin’ Patrol last year. Singer Zach De La Rocha et al may have been on an extended hiatus, but their political vitriol has not been dispelled nor has their audiences thirst for their hip-hop-heavy-rock. ‘Sleep now in the fire’ and ‘Bullet in the head’ are frenetically embraced during their feverish 90 minute set, which exploded near the end with some less than choice words for George Bush. In a unique moment, the crowd kneeled, with fists aloft, as De La Rocha spat his worldly musings to his humble legion, before telling them to ‘Wake Up!!!’ in the only way Rage know how.
Returning for ‘Killing In The Name Of’ perfectly rounded off a flawless display. Never has a main stage act sounded so good, and proved that Rage are indeed one of the greatest acts of their generation.
They will hard to beat.
Sunday, and with brains still buzzing from the evening before I drift to the dance tent to hear Justice,
who will either cause my head to implode, or wake me from my stupor with their infectious euro-dance. Described as the natural heirs to Daft Punks crown, the tent is absolutely packed as they race through hits such as ‘D.V.N.O’ and the supreme ‘We Are Your Friends’. They illuminate a giant cross from the centre of their decks like a form of self-proclamation and for an hour they ignite the tent with some mesmeric rhythms. Fortunately, my skull remained intact and I found a second wind – to the Pet Sounds tent……
….Where Hot Chip are on queue to keep the Sunday going with their dance-enthused minimalism. They hold a substantial crossover charm that ensures a sizable crowd, and they don’t disappoint, with ‘Over And Over’ being a particular standout from their swift 45 minute set. They even slipped in a jazzed up version of Sinead O’Connor’s ‘Nothing compares to you’.
There was only one place to visit to wind things up. Sorry, Mr Stipe, but REM had their chance in 2003, when they were deeply, deeply boring. It would take a band with a bit more venom to provide an incendiary finale fitting of this year’s high standard of performance. The Prodigy are such a band.
The madness of Keith Flint, who sported a red-and-white-striped suit jacket bearing the message “My dogs will kill you” in scrawled black marker, has always complemented the vision of Liam Howlett, who conducts the orchestra from behind a set of ludicrously enormous decks. Tonight they are at their most inspirational with Maxim goading the crowd into raising the decibels at every opportunity. ‘Breathe’ is utterly epic, a magnum opus of techno/drum and bass that that is given a tempestuous response by a raucous, pumped-up mob. ‘Firestarter’ and the sublime ‘Spitfire’ are welcome additions too, and new material such as ‘World on fire’ proves Prodigy are stronger than ever before.
As the weekend drew to a close, I suddenly realised I had landed particularly lucky with all the performances I had witnessed so far. But then it’s never the bands themselves that cause offence, rather the ridiculous expenditure involved in seeing them (T is the most costly festival in Europe this year to visit, officially), and the farcical levels of overcrowding that can make Balado in July a thoroughly unpleasant place to be at times. Queues inevitably become the order of the day and manoeuvring through the wall of people is damned near impossible. If you miss a band’s set time, you can rest assured you’ll be pressed up against the back of a tent, so far away from the stage you may as well have the CD on in the campsite. Plus, the ignorance of the masses cannot be quelled – the chant “Here we, Here we, Here we fucking go” is neither big not clever, and it gives the impression that the Scottish people are as thick as the shit that surrounds their feet.
But I digress. The stakes were undoubtedly raised this year, and the quality of bands showed a marked improvement on 2007’s drudgery. To be honest, my T was much sweeter this time round.
Donny
