T in the Park’s popularity, reputation and indeed branding, has grown at an extraordinary rate in the last few years, rivaling if not exceeding long established festivals such as Glastonbury and Reading & Leeds, 
but recently its name has been increasingly sullied, referred to as a “Ned fest”, exemplifying Scotland’s binge culture and related pitfalls as well as booking NME backed, ephemeral and pedestrian acts to appease the masses.
Such denigrating comments may have elements of truth in them, but they also detract from the fact that if you extricate yourself from the main stages, there a multitude of marquees showcasing bands and artist incorporating a huge gambit of styles and backgrounds that your free to explore.
Although often pigeonholed a pretentious music snob, I like to think I have an eclectic taste in music that transcends music elitism and tribalism that invariably goes hand in hand with particular genres, I fully intended to see as diverse a range of artist as possible over the two days ahead of me.
Saturday
Only catching fleeting glimpses and snippets from a distance, Eddie Grant seemed to be warming the crowd up nicely with his accessible brand of reggae and infectious effervescent demeanour, reciprocated in the warm reaction from the crowd.
Would have been good to participate in the good vibrations emanating from that direction, but I made a beeline to the bar for the first of many alcoholic beverages (when in Rome…) and off to the T-Break Tent to catch promising Glaswegian band Be A Familiar, the seven piece fill the small stage and tent with fantastic folk tinged male, female vocal harmonies sounding like a cross between Idlewild and The Delgados with the incorporation of a multitude of instruments giving their sound a rich texture and the integration of the trumpet stirs the crowd, leaving everyone in a jubilant mood.
From fledglings to punk veterans next, over to King Tuts to see the latest incarnation of The Stranglers, wasting now time, the band fire through a set of absolute classics, thrilling the ecstatically packed tent with hits such as ‘Golden Brown’, ‘Peaches’ and ‘No More Heroes’, on a personal note, one young irritable chap took exception to my pogoing and decided to punch me on the back of the neck, tried the same trick on my companion, then poetic justice caught up with said chap, in the form of a right hook (not condoning violence, but you reap what you sow).
After the frenetic happening in King Tuts it was off to the Pet Sounds Arena for a bit of Lightspeed Champion – hadn’t been fully convinced he was worth all the hype, but I soon took to the amiable chap, with his idiosyncratic appearance and pop compositions he makes a refreshing change from the homogeneous skinny jean-clad indie upstarts normally championed by the music press.
I was sad to leave his set before the end, but one my favourite Scottish bands awaited me back at Kings Tuts (minus another deviation to the bar), Sons and Daughters with three albums of material now to draw on, recent album ‘This Gift’ ups the ante with highly energetic and thrilling tunes such as ‘Gilt Complex’ and ‘Darling’, they also play a host classic tunes and include a cover of Adamski’s ‘Killer’, although the rest of the band remain pretty much static, Scott and Adele play of each other, both in a musical sense with their vocal interplay and stage presence, at one point Scott, gradually knelling before her as if engaging in some sort of subservient sex act, it all gives their performance and noir-ish back-catalogue more of an edge(as if they needed one) and cements them as one of Scotland’s most exciting live acts.
It was then time to squeeze myself back into the packed out Pet Sounds Arena to see much talked/blogged/hyped New York Hipsters MGMT, after being slightly let down after seeing them support CSS earlier this year, I thought I’d give them a second chance, once again though I found them a let down, there retro psych. prog. sound just not coming across well through the PA and they don’t exactly exude charisma, maybe for an audience to young or unaware of the bands influences, it all seems new and exciting, but I left early, rather disillusioned and disappointed, stepping out of the shadow of T’s numerous marquees into some uncharacteristically bright summery weather, temporarily circumventing the musical stages for a food and beverage break.
I was drawn like a magnet back to Pet Sounds, to catch another act with retro leanings that I had been turned on to through their performance on Jools Holland… Band of Horses with their redneck trucker appearance, they seem to tread ground between Lynyrd Skynyrd orientated southern rock with some 80’s darker New Wave overtones ‘The Funereal’ being a prime example of this and definitely proving the highlight of their set.
I then made my first foray into the Dance tent to see Thom Yorke-endorsed I.D.M exponents Modeselektor. Unfortunately for me the Slam tent’s bill was running late (although what transpired was Modeselektor playing approx. three hour set in place of Jeff Mills who missed his plane) so I caught some of remix king Erol Alkan’s interesting electro set instead before heading with some trepidation to enter “The Pit” for the much revered and anticipated Rage Against the Machine, 15 years since they played the inaugural T.
They returned in blistering fashion entering the stage with to the whaling of a klaxon, opening with ‘Testify’ and continuing with such acerbic anthems as ‘Bulls on Parade’ and ‘Bullet in the Head’, the so called “Golden Circle” or “Mass Circle Pit” as it should have been renamed tonight, was absolute bedlam, not many of the acts who have graced the Main Stage over the years can claim to provoke a near riotous response from a crowd that hang on your every word. Having seen Audioslave perform a few Rage hits in 2005 I assumed this would be the closest I would come to experiencing RATM provocative performance, so this unlikely reunion may go someway to explain the sheer fervour of the crowd, and indeed the band, who show no sign of dampening their aggressions or outspoken political leanings, reinforcing this with a polemical diatribe interjected in the middle of ‘Wake Up’, railing against “Fox News” misquoting them as calling for the assassination of President Bush, Whereas as according to Zack de la Rocha, they called for him to be tried as a War Criminal, the vehemently anti corporate American speech catching the zeitgeist of the time and the crowd, although their mantra hasn’t changed since their conception. Of all the aforementioned incendiary anthems, the band left the stage with the conspicuous absence of their most famous, the crowd tried to jog the bands memory with a chant of the infamous chorus, and sure enough the band re-emerged playing ‘Freedom’ then much to the crowd’s rapturous delight ‘Killing in the Name of’: there’s nothing quite like have 60,000+ people screaming “Fuck You, We Won’t Do What You Tell Me” with such zeal, no matter what your political persuasion or angst ridden motivation, there certainly was a feeling of unison during the infamous refrain. Bruised, battered but extremely elated, I sought that age-old anaesthesia that the whole event is sponsored by; too delay the pain that was no doubt in the post.
Sunday
After a stealthy and impromptu stay in campsite, after losing my traveling companion and therefore my means of transport, I ended up being one of the first punters on sight on the Sunday (still suitable anaesthetised) ready for a fresh foray into the Slam Tent, to see Radio 1 DJ Rob da Bank spinning a few records to get the many weary, hangover masses back in the spirit of things. Although greeted with a fairly sparse crowd (considering the hour, this was to be expected), mixing many different genres including a bit of old skool jungle, and airing the likes of the Prodigy for good measure, I think he met his objectives. For only the second time of the weekend I ventured to the to the Main Stage, being a child of the 90’s I can count the equally celebrated and maligned ‘Brit Pop’ as the soundtrack to a substantial part of my life, so it would be rude not to acknowledge it by going to see stalwarts of the era Shed Seven, they turned out to be the perfect method of chasing those hangovers blues away, as the brilliant sunshine beats down, forgotten anthem after anthem poured out, coercing the jaded crowd into a sing-along of hits like ‘Going For Gold’, ‘Disco Down’ and of course ‘Chasing Rainbows’, I think there will be a few of theses punters investing in their singles collection, judging by the strength of this performance and positive crowd response.
Another long hyped and discussed band lay ahead at King Tuts – The Ting Tings, and this time I’m pleased to say they went someway to backing it up, a rammed King Tuts in buoyant mood seemed to know the words to most of their songs and that’s before they played you-know-what. They may not be treading any new ground but that’s not to detract from the power of a good pop song and they have two particularly good ones in the form of ‘Great DJ’ and ‘That’s Not My Name’, which as you would expect went down a storm as the pair struck a good rapport with the audience.
“And now for something completely different”, idiosyncratic, jazzy, avant-garde, electronic math rock (delete were applicable) Battles, all this crisscrossing off the site was taking its toll, I only got to catch a couple of songs, but was in time to catch the weirdly wonderful ‘Atlas’ it’s just a shame that more people weren’t subjected to their crazy noodling.
The Future Stage hosted something altogether different again, in the shape of hotly tipped and extremely talented Beth Rowley, the Amy Winehouse are perhaps understandable, if lazy comparison, she melds laidback jazz and soul with many different genres and her smooth dulcet tones prove perfect respite from the madness in surrounding arena.
I had been looking forward to seeing the somewhat crazed, excitable Scandinavian, Ida Maria, but unfortunately she had to cancel her appearance on doctor’s orders so it was over to more leftfield experimental noodlers, Yeasayer, I’m all for embracing the weird, so this was right up my alley, their bassist had some sort of midi controller on his bass using it skilfully as a lead instrument with some extremely intricate play, with odd time signatures samples and strange vocals, slightly reminiscent of PiL but not so austere.
Again due to the nature of festivals, I had to leave a couple of songs in, there was an old hill-billy awaiting in Pet Sounds going by the name of Seasick Steve, who would of thought an alleged ex hobo, man of advanced years and bedraggled appearance could fill a tent of thousands of young people, relating anecdotes of the hardship of his former life and absolutely rocking the tent (with a 3 and even 1 string guitar respectively) harder than most testosterone filled rock-stars, his strangely charismatic persona captivates the audience, having them in the palm of his hand, even serenading on stage, two young girls that took his fancy(fair play), the Jack Daniels swigging, bluesman and troubadour has truly arrived.
From a man who’s lived a hard life and lived to tell the tale, to a woman who, well it’s touch and go to say the least, Amy Winehouse, she unsurprisingly drew a huge crowd, whether they were genuine fans of the troubled star or just wanted to observe the car crash in motion, that can be her life. She did seem to receive a warm reception, my listening faculties were somewhat impaired by the nearby, incessant carnival rides chants and audio bleed of happy-hardcore that accompanied it, having said that, what I observed was a marked improvement on the patchy Glastonbury performance, she did look a fair bit healthier as well.
The final part of my T in the Park experience was going to be spent embracing all things electronic and once again left of field, The Relentless Tent (once again marketing designed to ingrain the subconscious) a brand new addition to T, the energy drink may have been needed at this point of the journey for many, Metronomy another well renowned remixer, played to a sparse tent, but put no less effort into their performance as a result, their mixture of retro 80’s style (if memory serves right, complete with Keytar) and high-octane electro and rock cross over, but as good as they were they really can’t compare to Toronto’s finest, 
Holy F**k who have admirers in high places – Radiohead, Lou Reed and even main stage headliners R.E.M. With an apparent interchangeable line-up, with changes since the last time I saw them, but with no let up in intensity or their seemingly telepathic ability to seamlessly move between tracks and lock into a groove with intense concentration, barely looking up from their respective roles. Incorporating a 35mm film sequencer, a toy gun and various synth’s backed by the tightest of tight rhythm sections, embodied by drummer Matt Schulz’s relentless, demonically dynamic and creative percussion. They are a band in their element caught up in the music, temporarily oblivious to their surroundings, no matter how boisterous and noisy. They are far from being just a fantastic jamming band, they have some killer tunes ‘Pulse’ doing it just what it says on the tin with it’s metronomic beat, and with a tune as magnificent as ‘Lovely Allen’ up their sleeves, which builds up to a crescendo of euphoria, leaving the crowd replacing the Chant of “Here we F**king Go”, With a simpler “Holy F**K, Holy F**K”…indeed, it’s a shame they haven’t crossed over to larger audience who can’t see pass the name, cause their music has both an accessible nature without loosing any of its integrity.
Now where shall my musical compass take me next with every stage this year boasting an outstanding headliner in their own right – the Scream, Prodigy, Hot Chip, F**ked Up, oh and not forgetting a certain acronym-based band from America whose name escapes my memory, but instead I headed for the deepest darkest depths of the Slam Tent to experience a rare opportunity to see Richard D. James, Aphex Twin to you and me, to see what weird and wonderful sight and sounds he had in store (as his reputation proceeds him, that could have been anything). Changing positions with Ritchie Hawthorn with no fanfare or spectacle, apart from maybe a sampled tirade of repeated expletives, blending in some ambient sounds and minimal techno, it was a good half an hour in before the recognisable breakbeats and drum and bass tone of AFX came to the fore, with a backdrop of what appeared to be old archived material of artists as diverse as Tom Jones and Dusty Springfield to the Butthole Surfers and Dave Lee Roth, mixed with strange 70’s exploitation films and some 80’s Porn for good measure, heightening the disorientating blend of strange incongruent visuals and experimental, ambient/techno/breakbeat, drum & bass, out come some mean, burley looking security guards, only they were not hired by G4S, it soon become apparent with their AFX emblems emblazoned on there shirts and freaky gurning they were AFX hired personnel, with artificially contorted faces there to put they fear of god into an already tripped out audience. And not long after this heightened state of paranoia was increased, did some kind soul decided, in the name of good will, to share a part of himself with his fellow comrades…by lobbing a pint of urine in the air (some things are better not shared!). Still Mr James set was blissfully spaced out, incorporating all the best elements of the inimitable Aphex Twin’s incomparable sound, no matter how many imitators have followed in his wake, it is still something special to see the innovative, illusive and enigmatic figure do his stuff in the flesh, laying waste to the auditory perceptions of a myriad of hardcore veterans and curious dance dilettante’s alike. I headed for the exit, blown away, dumbfounded and exhausted (and in desperate need of clean running water), cramming a hell of a lot of sights, sounds and poisons (once again thanks to our sponsor) in two days, with only a year to recover before I participate in the madness all over again.