TITP
10th,11th,12th July, Field, Grass, Balado
T in the park has metamorphosed from indie flick to summer blockbuster in the past decade, and the merits of this shift remain questionable to all concerned, with the exception of those writing the cheques. In previous years, Geoff Ellis et al may have gotten away with it by securing some unexpected headliners that justify the price increase year upon year.
However, Kings of Leon (again), the Killers (once more), and Snow Patrol (should never have been) hardly conjured anticipation amongst the majority of the revellers. Blur, a band who have made sporadic appearances in the past seven years and who have found themselves drawn into the reformation culture that plagues the current music scene, completed the bill-toppers.
Underwhelming, but the bands big enough to have their own fancy font on the poster become pivotal to understanding what keeps the masses returning to T year after year. Thus this reviewer found it necessary to catch as many of the established artists as possible, probably against his better judgement.
Rumours of a Kings of Leon bust-up plagued a Friday evening which was boosted by pleasant weather and fractionally less revellers than the rest of the weekend. Backstage brawling and guitar smashing may prove to be the American rockers attempt to portray themselves as more than well-dressed, clean shaven pop stars, and on occasion their back catalogue allows them to drift ever-so-slightly closer to the bearded brilliance of A-ha Shake Heartbreak.
But the gruff imagery that symbolised their inception into the music scene has long been displaced by sexual intercourse in fireplaces. It becomes difficult to know how to acknowledge their omnipresence on every radio station on the planet, and indeed but there was a certain element of weariness underlying their set. They have been on the road for close to a year, having little time off from touring last album ‘Because of the Times’ and most recent offering ‘Only by the Night’, and if the backstage rumours are to be believed, being everywhere and anywhere has taken its toll on a once closely-knit foursome.
The aforementioned ‘Sex on Fire’ was still greeted rapturously, though, considerably more so than the superior ‘Molly’s Chambers’ or even ‘Fans’. However, there was precious little on display that wasn’t presented exactly a year ago, and it begs the question, why bring them back for almost an identical performance?
Anyhoo, as with most other outdoor events, the weather is instrumental to a successful weekend, and despite rumours of rain sweeping in, Saturday began with the sun shining and hope springing eternal of an exciting days’ music.
James made their perennial main stage appearance, playing all the hits you tired of hearing long ago, but this reviewer caught them in passing, opting to avoid the pop-tastic NME double header of Katy Perry and the Ting Tings and drift over to the King Tut’s tent to set up camp.
Foals arrived to a cacophony of noise, and the math-rockers burst through album Antidotes in rapid fashion as their uber-trendy followers nonchalantly enjoyed their display. The Oxford-based band sound sweeter in an intimate environment such as Tut’s, and warmed up the gathering masses before the rival of of-the-moment singer-songwriter Jason Mraz.
Arguably positioned too loftily on the bill, the American has however gathered commercial success on both sides of the Atlantic in the past twelve months, and his melancholic, soothing sound magnetically drew in those craving a chill-out performance before the business end of the bill. He has a Jack Johnson vibe, but the reviewer leaves it up to you to decide whether that’s a pleasurable thing or a horrible, nauseating experience.
Mercifully his followers cleared out as the roadies wheeled the huge backing-lights into position, heralding the impending arrival of Glasvegas on stage. It could be argued that after their hugely successful year that they should have filled a triumphant main stage slot, but thank Ellis that they were allowed the proximity of the King Tut’s tent to connect with their audience.
The leather, the slang, the quiff, the acerbic lyrics, they illuminate some, exasperate others, and perhaps even the band themselves realise that their iconic status has a shorter shelf-life than most. But as the bulbs burst into life, beaming behind James Allan, it felt like a defining moment of the weekend. ‘Geraldine’ was a perfect introduction, ‘Daddy’s Gone’ a definitive bookend to a hugely enjoyable display.
Then a problem arose. Waiting for the Glasgow band to finish meant a last minute dash to assess the fuss gathering over at the Slam Tent, and 2 Many DJ’s. However, it is no exaggeration to suggest that the Belgian-born duo’s brand of mash-up dance could have packed Slam twice over, such was the masses of unfortunate punters denied entry to their senses-inflaming show.
A Manic dash back to the Street Preachers was halted, too – tent full. This meant that a pint and a burger later The Killers were somehow taking precedence over my Saturday evening.
Brandon Flowers and his cronies didn’t do much particularly wrong, besides the diminutive front-man straining to hit the notes his studio-refined vocal captures with engineered ease, most notably on ‘Read My Mind’ and ‘Human’.
Are they truly worthy of the adulation they are bestowed? Probably not – tracks such as ‘Mr. Brightside’ and ‘Somebody Told Me’ were indie dance floor hits when album Hot Fuzz exploded onto shelves, but these songs are still the standout offerings, nudging fresher efforts into relative obscurity in comparison. Their sound is big, which could be mooted as a reason why their recently-established attempt at an alternative Americana is heralded, but when Glastonbury rolls out Springsteen, then they appear a shoddy second in comparison.
Sunday arrived with the intention of saving the day, but the rain arrived first, and threatened to wash away the weekend in a torrent of plastic cups and Dominos Pizza boxes. But the Good Day Sunshine re-appeared, just in time for Elbow to pop up on the main stage with impeccable timing. As the rays drilled down from above, the Manchester band showcased just have far they have come in developing their sound.
Tight, smooth, melodic, and encapsulating, Guy Garvey and his forever merry men staked a claim for gig of the weekend by transfixing the main stage masses with a triumphant performance. ‘Forget Myself’ remains a wonderful record, but ‘One Day Like This’ could well be the festival record of the summer.
Yes, they are slightly being shepherded into the role of U2’s predecessors, but they appear to be the grounded, appreciative band they always were. Snow Patrol were given the arduous ‘follow that!’ slot directly after, and although they battled admirably, frankly, they couldn’t hold a pint of Tennents to Garvey and company.
‘Open Your Eyes’, ‘Chasing Cars’, ‘Run’….their back catalogue merged into one gloopy whole, and as is their fashion they dragged the whole evening down to walking pace. Only news of Blur’s apparent delay kept the interest focused on the huge screens, as festival goers pondered the possibility of the Britpop veterans being the victims of a controversial last-minute cancellation.
Minutes ticked past and the restlessness intensified, before, at 10.10pm, Damon Albarn and company made their fashionably late entrance. Citing food poisoning felling guitarist Graham Coxon as the grounds for their tardiness, Blur appeared jaded and at times their performance was a touch ramshackle. But they packed their remaining time with as many classics as possible to appease the audience. Parklife and Country House still maintain their satirical edge, while Coffee & TV and the monumental Tender remain instant crowd pleasers – indeed the latter was given a reprise, such was the resplendent response from the darkened gathering.
The Universal ended their set fittingly, because to paraphrase their crowning achievement, there was a moment on Sunday when it appeared that it really, really, really couldn’t happen, and to witness what could potentially be their swansong seemed to take on added precedence in the context of the circumstances.
However, the success of T as a whole has bred lethargy in 2009. Where in previous years tickets were gold dust, ’09 wasn’t even a sell out; Geoff Ellis has branded the entire site with the slogan ‘The first name we want for T in the Park 2010 is you’, an advertising campaign that comes across more as a recruitment drive than anything else. The feeling is T may have hit its plateau. Unless the bookers pull an enormous rabbit from the hat next year (and I don’t mean Echo and the Bunnymen) then that plateau could become a downturn. Success may have bred complacency up Balado way.
