Sunday (Click here for Saturday)
Another gloriously overcast day. Not that it matters as I head over to a mate’s tent for a barbecue. Except no one there is getting up, so I’m left to fend for myself. Worry not, dear reader; I was able to find sustenance in the shape of a burger for €5. Just to remind you that you are at a music festival, it was smothered in grease. Nice. Not as nice as going back to my tent and finding someone had collapsed on it, but nice. At least the guy helped me fix the tent after I’d picked him up.
It was after this that I made the discovery that was to be the highlight of the entire festival - a clean portaloo. I almost cried. Especially when I remembered I didn’t have any toilet paper and had to use some paper in my pocket. The barbecue does happen eventually, by the way: with the tent turned away from the pool of urine slowly making its way towards us, brave souls risk third degree burns so I can have a spicy sausage (that sounded a lot less rude in my head.)
I was going to go and watch Acidtone, only so I could make fun of their second-rate Rage Against The Machine rip-off, but decided instead to be spun upside-down at great speed. No, really. At the funfair. But no rides just passing the minimum safety standards could prevent me from catching Future Kings of Spain on the Ticket Stage. I had seen them before, in the more intimate confines of the Spirit Store in Dundalk (note to self: seek "compensation" for shameless plug), and wanted to see more. My expectations were perhaps too high, but they still had the crowd bouncing, which is no mean feat on concrete. They also have an album out. You should buy it too, and consider just how big an influence Dinosaur Jr. was. I wouldn’t know. They’re definitely a band to see live, though.
I forgot that Alphastates were in the Green Room tent, so I miss the first ten minutes, but I still get to see the bulk of their set. I’d heard a few good things about them and went out of curiosity more than anything else. And my overall impression was – they’re all right. I’m actually finding it hard to remember very much of the show, which should give you some indication as to what effect they had on me.
I find myself with plenty of time to kill and no acts I’m really bothered about, so I wander into the New Bands tent and watch Drug Of The Nation perform. Coming mainly from Australia via London, there’s nothing incredibly original about the sound they make, a loud straightforward punk noise that probably owes a debt to the likes of Bad Religion and Green Day. They do sound a bit heavier than those bands, though, and some of their songs are catchy as hell. Plus, I can’t say anything that bad about a group with a song called 'Fuckin’ Up.'
As I step back outside and look towards the Main Stage, I see Pink wrapping her set up, and it occurs to me that I’ve never really given the girl enough credit. Unlike the other members of the pop princess parade, Pink actually sings as opposed to miming while performing bad choreographed moves in her underwear. And let’s face, Britney will never grace an Oxegen stage, or say "fucker." So let’s lay off Pink. Still doesn’t mean we have to buy her records.
Ah, Faithless. As a rule, I can’t stand dance (which explains why I haven’t mention the dance stage yet), but there are a few exceptions, and this is definitely one of them. I’m not really into it, though; I’m just killing time. But there are worse ways to kill time than listening to Mani speak the truth on 'Weapons Of Mass Destruction.' Unfortunately I miss 'We Come One', which was the only song I really wanted to hear. But I have to enter the New Bands Tent again. Though I know it will cost me in the long run, I’ve got to see Dogs Die In Hot Cars. I mean, come one, that is one of the best band names ever. It gets you asking, "I wonder what they play?" I should spend the next thirty minutes getting my ears ripped off by screamo, but instead I am hooked into their bouncy rhythms and Eighties influences, namely Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I’m really quite happy when I hear 'Godhopping' and 'I Love You Cos I Have To' and recognise them. It’s the sort of music that would be classified as pop, if "pop" wasn’t a byword for "big-chested bimbos and pussy boyband pieces o’ shit." Another downpour means they get a few more people than they might have had. Which is a shame, seeing as how they would have been hyped to the moon and back if they were American.
By going to see the lovely Glaswegians, I miss the start of those lovely Irish boys (and English girl) that make up Ash. I’m hoping that the rain has scared off most of those trying to get into the pit. Yeah, right: most of us are impervious to the rain, having spent the last two days up to our eyeballs in it. It takes ten or fifteen minutes, but eventually I get in there. And Ash? Oh yeah, they were taking Oxegen ov- no, I’m sorry, I can’t do such a stupid pun. I don’t remember them even playing that. What I do remember is thinking how good the new songs sound live, the huge smile on my face as 'Kung Fu' kicked into gear, and Thin Lizzy’s Brian Robertson coming out to join the group for a run through 'The Boys Are Back In Town.' Perhaps wisely, Tim Wheeler refrained from using the old Phil Lynott "Who’s got some Irish in them?" joke.
Considering the tragic death of drummer Dom Howard’s father following a triumphant Glastonbury headline set, it’s great just to have Muse here. But if you are familiar with the band in any way, you know that regardless they put on a show and a half. Matt Bellamy’s falsetto soars over jarring guitar riffs as well as the gentle piano. Confetti is blasted out onto the crowd and I curse myself for not getting my camera out in time. I am only let down by one dickhead near me who on at least one occasion flicks off the band. I wouldn’t mind as much, except it was as Howard expressed his joy at being here. I’ve never understood why you would stand there and listen to a band you didn’t like. Unless you were going to make fun of their second-rate Rage Against The Machine rip-off in a review.
The big screens say it all: "The Darkness are coming." Oh yes they are, in all there stadium rock glory. David Bowie has been forced to cancel (get well soon David), but thankfully the Lowestoft quartet is more than capable of taking his place. The fact that they have only one thirty-five minute long album is of little importance, as Justin Hawkins parades across the stage during the jams that fill up the time between the hits. And the hits are all here, your writer doing the worst possible falsetto shriek to 'Growing On Me' and 'Get Your Hands Off My Woman.' New song 'Hazel Eyes' gets an airing, as does their triumphant cover of Radiohead’s 'Street Spirit.' They do drag (and drag) out the encore, but in the end they leave glowing in the admiration of the thousands that came to see them.
On Monday it will take me six hours to get back to Dundalk, and I will watch all of Master and Commander starring Russell Crowe before the bus even gets out of the car park. But that is all to come. For now, I’m just worried about my tent, and the fact that I’ve got to sleep in it.