Johnny Foreigner - Waited Up 'til It Was Light
My personal top 10 albums of the year – this list does leave out a number of great albums that I did listen to, and many more that I didn’t get round to checking out. Nevertheless, in reverse order:Â … Continue Reading
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The first thing about ‘Me & Mary’ that might surprise those familiar with Asobi Seksu‘s brand of Japanese-tinged shoegaze-pop is its immediacy. Unlike previous singles ‘Thursday’ and ‘Strawberries’, there’s no majestic, swirling build-up here – indeed, Yuki Chikudate‘s vocal arrives in the very first second of the song. It almost seems like a conscious attempt by the band to write a single, rather than picking tracks from an album to serve that purpose.
That’s not to say that the track is utterly graceless – far from it. Yuki is still beguilingly incomprehensible at times in that obligatory shoegaze vocalist way – and that’s before she start’s singing in Japanese. The way that passages of English and Japanese vocals blend seamlessly into one ethereal siren-song is Asobi Seksu’s most unique aspect, and it truly makes them stand out. Combine this dreamy vocal with shimmering blend of guitars, noise and understatedly intense drumming, and you’ve got a the perfect breathless soundtrack for staring into space, at your shoes, or at whatever inanimate object takes your fancy.
October 2, 2008
From the very first seconds of support act Jape‘s set, one thing is abundantly clear – their drum machine is way, way too loud, and this oversight would go on to mar most of their set. Admittedly, Jape seem to specialise in electro music that should sound at least vaguely unsettling, but with every synthetic bass drum hit sending a shudder through my body their set quickly turns into a nauseating test of endurance. It’s a shame, as when the problem is belatedly fixed towards the end of the set, I can begin to appreciate the ideas that the band are coming up with. A chaotic instrumental freakout at the end of ‘Floating’ provides some respite from the sicking bass thuds, and set-closer ‘I Was A Man’ finally succeeds in giving off the right vibes with its dark and twisted take on coming of age. It’s enough for me not to write the band off, but it’s unfortunate that most of their set was trampled over by the oppressive drums.
Friendly Fires suffer from no such problems, however, and proceed directly into the infectious jerk-pop of ‘Photobooth’, with the band displaying on no uncertain terms that they’re here to start an energetic party. The crowd only just seem to be getting warmed up though, so after their obligatory take on Frankie Knuckles‘ ‘Your Love’ and a heartfelt runthrough of ‘Skeleton Boy’, lead singer Ed Macfarlene decides to take matters into his own hands. He leaps into the crowd during the breakdown section of ‘White Diamonds’, and within seconds the front rows transform into a pogoing mass of bodies – and to his credit, Macfarlene still manages to keep singing even at the centre of the maelstrom.
Having got the crowd fired up, the band tease them a little with the slighty lower-tempo funk of ‘In The Hospital’, before laying into a slew of their most recognisable songs. First comes the swirling euphoria of recent single ‘Jump In The Pool’, which is followed up by ‘On Board’s infectious, pulsating Hot-Chip-meets-The-Rapture electro-punk. ‘Strobe’ mixes things up a little with a shoegazy feel, before the one-two punch of ‘Paris’ and ‘Ex-Lover’ rounds out the set – the former with skyscraper-sized, yearning chorus, and the latter with a massive instrumental breakdown which sees the band expend every last bit of energy they’ve got. And so, soaked in sweat, the band leave the stage to a rapturous applause.
Not only have they made one of the year’s most effortlessly listenable albums, they imbue those songs with a whole new energy when they play live. It may have been a fairly short set, but you certainly can’t say that Friendly Fires have given anything less than 100% tonight.
Sometimes, it’s the bands you don’t even intend to watch that give you an unexpected new name to take away from the festival. New Zealand’s Collapsing Cities do just that. I like what I hear from a distance and it only gets better close up. They may have a drummer who looks oddly like Vic Reeves, but they make music that sounds like Bloc Party covering My Bloody Valentine songs, and thus stake a solid claim for further investigation. Equally worthy of attention are Leeds locals I Concur, whose vocalist somehow reminds me of Maxïmo Park’s Paul Smith, while the band create wonderfully atmospheric swathes of noise to envelope his dulcet tones.
Over on the main stage are the first of a series of indie big-hitters (or also-rans, for the cynical), The Automatic. Shorn of hyperactive shouty synth player Pennie since their last appearance here, they’ve found a more than adequate replacement in former Yourcodenameis:milo frontman Paul Mullen. The shouty bits are largely replaced with *gasp* proper harmonies, the new songs sound muscular and polished, and they even cast off their ‘one-hit wonder’ millstone with ease. “Here’s an obscure old song,” smirks frontman Rob Hawkins, before the band launch into the instantly familiar opening riff of ‘Monster’.
British Sea Power are next, and do a reasonable job of demonstrating why their third record Do You Like Rock Music? is up for the Mercury Music prize, with ‘No Lucifer’ a stirring highlight. And while the trials and tribulations of The Subways have been well documented, today sees the band more determined than ever to fire the crowd up. Billy Lunn has obviously been taking notes from Dave Grohl, encouraging the crowd to go “fucking crazy” despite the fact it’s only two in the afternoon. Of course, the fans don’t really need telling when they drop the big ones, with ‘Oh Yeah’ and ‘Rock And Roll Queen’ going down a storm.
Moved down the bill so they can play both Leeds and their support slot with REM in Manchester later in the day, Editors put on a solid but unspectacular performance. Musically they’re top notch and as tight as you’d expect them to be, but the band seem oddly restrained: There’s precious little of Tom Smith’s usual theatrics, and stage banter is kept to a cursory minimum. However, those who found Editors’ performance a little lacking in emotion need look no further than Los Campesinos!: Playing to a fervent crowd on the Festival Republic stage, their emotionally-charged tweecore gets a suitably jubilant response. In particular, the closing duo of ‘You! Me! Dancing!’ and ‘Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks’ have the band shouting out the words and the crowd howling them back. Overall, it’s the kind of performance that would surely stir even the most heartless cynic.
 Louis XIV, on the other hand, are only notable for their complete lack of either style or substance, so I quickly leave their nothing-rock for greener pastures. Pastures occupied by Seasick Steve, who as I arrive is serenading a girl from the audience: I can’t quite decide if she’s awestruck or absolutely terrified. And the rest of his set proves to be an unexpected treat, with his dry wit and three-string guitar combining to produce a performance that’s hilarious, heart-warming AND funky.
Foals’ performance provides mixed emotions for me. On the one hand, the band are superb, but on the other it seems that everyone and their best mate wants to see them, which inevitably results in a cavalcade of idiots barging people around and generally making things rather uncomfortable. The band aren’t catering to anyone but themselves though. Casually playing big-hitters ‘Cassius’ and ‘Balloons’ back to back mid-set, they go on to close with ‘Electric Bloom’. Unfortunately (as has happened to a number of bands this weekend), the plug gets pulled halfway through, and frontman Yannis Philippakis takes out his frustration by trashing the stage, while drummer Jack Bevan defiantly plays on until motioned to leave by security.
I don’t know if I’m just in a bad mood after encountering one too many garden-variety festival nobheads, but what I see of Justice bores me to frustration. There’s no real show to speak of. Shrouded in smoke and too far away to see properly, it could be any two chumps spinning bland, sub-Daft Punk beats behind the duo’s famous glowing cross.
By comparison, Bloc Party are an absolute revelation – bravely beginning with brilliantly deranged new single ‘Mercury’, they then wisely keep the cuts from freshly released album Intimacy to a minimum, with only the skittering beats and jagged guitars of ‘One Month Off’ getting an airing. Instead, they give the people what they want and bang out hit after hit: ‘Banquet’, ‘The Prayer’, ‘Two More Years’, ‘Flux’, ‘Helicopter’, they’re all there. But it’s the tender moments that remind me why Bloc Party are such a consistently brilliant live band, with ‘This Modern Love’ surely seeing couples and complete strangers alike getting personal. Bloc Party prove once again that they’re among the best British guitar bands out there right now. Future headliners? It’s certainly not out of the question.
Eschewing all the evening’s big name headliners (The Killers, the Manics, Gallows, and, um, Elliot Minor), I instead make my way to the Alternative stage to catch the Transgressive Records showcase. Hot Club de Paris reward my decision by being on fine form, both musically and in terms of wit. They’re the kind of band you can’t help but smile and sing along to, especially when it comes to the utterly self-explanatory ‘Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother’. Finally, Young Knives close my festival by playing a lengthy set of tracks from their back catalogue, complete with sometimes-bizarre video accompaniment. And while the irony of ‘Weekends And Bleak Days (Hot Summer)’ isn’t lost on anyone, at least it managed not to piss it down all festival. Combined with a wealth of good music, it’s difficult to ask for anything more.
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Future Of The Left help me shake off my sleepiness with a blistering post-hardcore set, which they sweeten up (literally) by throwing lollies into the crowd.
 Meanwhile, over on the main stage, a somewhat wary Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly seems surprised that he hasn’t met an avalanche of bottles from ardent Rage Against The Machine fans, but even the most die-hard rockers seem to appreciate that his chilled-out folktronica is the perfect soundtrack to a lazy, sunny afternoon.
Blood Red Shoes power through a set of their uncompromising two-piece rock, including a new song familiar, but considering the old songs are pretty damn good that’s certainly not a bad thing. Elsewhere, These New Puritans mesmerise the crowd with a set of quirky, angular electro taken from their album Beat Pyramid. Back on the NME/Radio 1 stage, Be Your Own Pet’s Jemima Pearl gives one of the most lacklustre, phoned-in performances I’ve ever witnessed – recent news that the band are to call it a day after their August gigs in the UK doesn’t seem so surprising on the basis of this display. Leila Moss of The Duke Spirit, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. Effervescent in a sparkling gold dress, her performance is effortlessly arresting throughout, even if the band’s set seems a little too weighted towards their most recent LP, Neptune.
I catch the beginning of Friendly Fires’ set on the Festival Republic stage, with the St Albans band putting in a typically energetic performance of their Rapture-esque disco funk. To be honest, I wish I’d stayed until the end, as there’s more fun in the fifteen minutes I see of their set than there is in the entirety of MGMT’s. The tent is absolutely rammed, but for a large part of their performance there seems to be little to justify the mass interest: Most of it consists of dull, meandering prog nonsense like ‘The Youth’ and ‘Pieces Of What’. Things pick up a little when they play ‘Electric Feel’, but my mind is so addled by this point that I can’t even bring myself to get excited for the closing pair of ‘Time To Pretend’ and ‘Kids’.
Thankfully, the perfect wake-up call presents itself in the form of Late Of The Pier. Wasting no time, they crash straight into the high-energy, pounding synths of ‘Space And The Woods’ before immediately following up with the crazed, spiralling riffs of ‘Heartbeat’. Lesser bands would be foolish to throw away two recent singles so early in the set, but this lot survive easily, both through the mass devotion of the packed-out tent and the sheer number of killer tunes on offer. And so the set goes from the brilliantly ridiculous (the fencepost-thrashing, Mario Bros. molesting madness of ‘The Bears Are Coming’) to the sublime (the throbbing beats and soaring histrionics of set-closer ‘Bathroom Gurgle’): The latter even gets a masterful mid-song remix by the band that rounds off what has undoubtedly been one of the festival’s highlights.
I then leave Does It Offend You, Yeah?’s set of deranged, glitchy electro early so I can catch Rage Against The Machine. Of course, the big name band only go and laugh in my face by being about half an hour late. This delay is, for me, the beginning of a series of factors that lead to the show not quite living up to the hype surrounding it. The chief culprit is the choppy sound; where I’m stood, it veers wildly between treble- and bass-heavy, watering down tracks that should pack a mighty wallop. The crowd obviously feel the same way too, with shouts of “Turn it up!” frequently being heard between songs. A lingering shot of Tom Morello’s Nike trainers seems slightly ironic given the band’s anti-capitalist stance, and there’s something slightly Pythonesque about the crowd’s fervent repetition of Zach de la Rocha’s fiery lyrics (“Yes! We are all individuals!”). While for those down the front it was probably a bruising, life-affirming, garment-shredding experience, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I’d built this up as THE moment I was going to see Rage Against The Machine, then I’d be severely disappointed. As it was, I was merely a little underwhelmed.
My first band of the festival proper isn’t a band at all. Instead, George Pringle provides my early-morning entertainment with her homemade beats and engaging spoken word. Perhaps, in some idealistic happy land where the British record-buying public at large actually have taste, the infectious beats and clever hooks of ‘LCD I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down’ would make for a massive crossover hit. Ah well, I can dream.
I catch a bit of Yeasayer’s complex, gospel-tinged indie-rock before heading over to the BBC Introducing stage. Dinosaur Pile-Up give a demonstration of how to base a song around a singular riff and still keep it interesting throughout – three-chord punk bands (and everyone else, for that matter), take note. Ex-Moldy Peaches man Adam Green also puts on an entertaining performance, pulling off his best Nick Cave mannerisms despite an apparent injury and playing disarmingly funny songs like ‘No Legs’. He even manages to make light of his set being unceremoniously curtailed mid-way through the last song.
Next up are Cajun Dance Party, and despite the hugely positive press, I can’t shake the feeling that they’re essentially a bad Maxïmo Park. Every so often, frontman Daniel Blumburg comes out with a line that would sound much more convincing if only it wasn’t delivered in his brattish wail, while Vicky Freund’s keyboard lines seem uninteresting and slightly superfluous (although at least they’re better than her vocals). Perhaps I’m being overly harsh, but if there’s one thing that the indie climate doesn’t give bands, it’s time. So it’s a good job for them that it’s not just crusty, old cynics like me buying records, isn’t it?
Over on the Dance Stage, Holy Fuck impress with their experimental electro, and then it’s a quick dash over to the Festival Republic tent to catch Johnny Foreigner. After briefly battling with a “shitty Japanese guitar”, the band hit their stride, and we get a high impact runthrough of tracks from their brilliant debut album Waited Up ‘Til It Was Light. The band brilliantly segue the songs together in the appropriate places, with a searing ‘Hennings Favourite’ running seamlessly into the Casiotone beats of ‘Salt, Pepa And Spinderella’. The closing one-two punch of an emotionally charged ‘Yr All Just Jealous’ and a skyscraper-sized ‘Absolute Balance’ is equally electrifying – they’re one of the best new bands in the UK right now, no question about it.
It’s then the turn of the locals (both actual and adopted) to play to a partisan crowd. First up are Hadouken!, whose electro-grime roots were planted at Leeds University. Their performance sees hundreds of foam ‘H!’ symbols being cast out into the crowd, while they blast out their tunes in a way that sees even the most mediocre of tracks from their debut album sound like anthems. Hadouken! are very much a band who come into their element live. Next it’s the return of local heroes The Music. Returning this year after a lengthy hiatus, it’s clear that Robert Harvey has exorcised his demons, with a mixture of tracks old and new seeing the band stamp their mark on Leeds Festival once again. Newies like ‘The Spike’ add a sinister edge to the band’s funky groove, while ‘Take The Long Road And Walk It’ sounds just as anthemic as it did when I first heard it.
Afterwards, Conor Oberst & The Mystic Valley Band play a set exclusively taken from the main man’s most recent, self titled album. Bright Eyes fans hoping to hear a few of the songs from his extensive back catalogue have to wait, but in the meantime we get the likes of the tender ‘Milk Thistle’ and the jaunty ‘I Don’t Wanna Die In The Hospital’ to tide us over..
For many (this writer included), The Last Shadow Puppets were one of the most anticipated bands at this festival… and therefore, they run the biggest risk of being a crushing disappointment. However, any fears that the majestic bombast of the duo’s album couldn’t be recreated live are blown away as the orchestra strikes up and the band effortlessly breeze into a sublime rendition of ‘Calm Like You’. Any remaining doubts then ride off into the sunset as the galloping drums and cinematic strings of ‘The Age Of The Understatement’ kick in. The band now have nothing left to prove, and all that’s left is to stand back and take in the glorious atmosphere. It’s obvious that Alex Turner is the self-assured master to Miles Kane’s wide-eyed apprentice, with The Rascals frontman seemingly in awe of the whole experience.
Tonight’s headliners are an embarrassment of riches, but I plump for The Kills, who impress with an effortless sense of cool. Alison ‘VV’ Mosshart stalks the stage like some sort of caged animal, while Jamie ‘Hotel’ Hince machine-guns riffs out of his guitar. The chemistry between the duo is still alive and well. They even turn their mic stands towards each other for an exhilaratingly tense ‘Kissy Kissy’, which sees Hince almost threatening to stab Mosshart in the face with his guitar.
There’s just enough time after The Kills’ set finishes to catch the very end of The Cribs’ set. ‘The Wrong Way To Be’ gets its usual riotous, crowdsurf-addled run through before the band close their set with ‘I’m A Realist’. Or at least they attempt to, but the sound gets cut halfway through. But The Cribs are the kind of band whose fans are dedicated enough to keep it going regardless, and so as the band batter out the remainder of the song with the PA turned off, the fans do Ryan Jarman’s job of singing it for him. It’s a hilariously spirited end to what’s been a pretty damn good first day.
An arduous trek through a particularly muddy campsite (“it’s Glastonbury,” quips one passer by) is enough to bring out the misanthrope in anyone, but at Leeds Festival it’s only worsened by the tantalising knowledge that there are bands playing while you’re wrestling with tent poles.
I finally make it into the arena in time to catch the last two songs of Broken Records’ set – which is certainly a pleasant surprise, as they sound roughly like Arcade Fire would if they’d been raised in the highlands. They’ve obviously taken to the stage late though, as headliners Grammatics should have been playing by now. Indeed, their set is curtailed after just three songs – including the glorious, six-minute-plus epic ‘Polar Swelling’.
I blame The Pigeon Detectives… shoehorned in at the last minute to play a ‘secret’ show, it later transpires that they ran well over their allotted half-hour, to the detriment of the (far better) bands who were to follow them. Still, every cloud has a silver lining: at least I was still trying to put my tent up while they were playing.
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