Go out into your garden, stand on a chair and look over the
fence (alternatively, lean out of the window, that'll do). There's probably a
festival there, isn't there, or the aftermath of one, a man walking round in circles
with a carrier bag stuck to his left ear, bleating, that kind of thing. You've
seen Glastonbury on the telly, you've got the latest free 'Fun Fun Festivals'
or whatever CD from Q magazine, you've been to a car boot sale, you know all about
organisation – you can run a festival. Can't you? So it would seem. The
UK circuit has, over the past two years or so, swelled like the Ebola virus in
The Levellers' travelling sauna. In these conditions, sponsorship has predictably
amassed, massively, building uber-virus assault fortresses, lodging commercial
shrapnel in anyone who's dared perch themselves on the decking in a towel. So
has the Carling Weekend ended up looking like a big naked beardy human-pyramid
amongst the brush at the back of Woodstock in comparison? Well, kind of. What
next? Radiohead headlining V Festival? That calamity aside, O2 Wireless
is in fact the logical next step along from V. It's a festival of utter convenience,
a festival of musical Dulux colour strips, and above all a wipe-clean festival
of commerce. It's not much of a festival, really. It's bands under a banner in
a London park pretending to be a festival while Alex Zane of Channel 4 chumps
around on a crane above the headliners. But to give it its dues, it is what it
is. It's people out after work enjoying a drink, absorbing music, en masse. It's
a fucking giant beer garden essentially, and thus has no overriding core atmosphere,
but rather smaller pockets of contained enthusiasm. Knowing one's market
isn't necessarily conducive to throwing a party for it though. And while the other
4 days of the event may have had complimentary bills, we suspect raising a spirit
there was like a Most Haunted séance. But in our infinite wisdom we picked
the one day with a dead cert, the one band that could throw a children's party
in an operational morgue and have the NSPCC turn up to sell ice creams. But there
was other stuff to wade through first. Gnarls Barkley were a coordinated
funk troupe sent from the future, and though everyone was clearly waiting for
the single they pretty much impressed throughout, like a kingsize James Brown
conducted by Basement Jaxx. Just Jack had forsaken all his early twisted
promise and seemingly become a jumble sale Jamiroquai. Rubbish. Sway had
firm technique and presence, but his set felt tired and predictable and we're
quickly bored. Akala was much better, more focused, on message, and while
his set may lack spontaneity and star power it hits the spot time after time.
Pharrell drowns in star quality and grade-A sleaze and frankly we felt
a bit slutty and cheap afterwards, but unable to shake the feeling that it was
good for us. He plays 'Another One Bites The Dust' like he wrote the thing himself
with pole dancing in mind. The fact that a Flaming Lips show
is an entire surrealistic realm unto itself should be news to nobody by now. But
even so, watching enormous inflatable spacemen wander onto stage in the early
evening sun, followed by a pack of Father Christmases with searchlights as Captain
America helps Wayne Coyne climb into a giant blow-up man-sized hamster ball to
scurry with celebratory relish over the gleeful crowd's heads as purple-suited
aliens congregate, well, it's not ordinary, is it. 'Race For The Prize' opens
up like a first ray of sunlight amid a welter of streamers, massive green balloons
and bounding elastic contortions from the onstage cast. It sounds fairly magnificent
and it looks like we've been sat out in the sun for too long with a kaleidoscope
taped to both eyes. Like a festival (so there are similarities after all) the
sound quality is of questionable consistency throughout. But would you really
complain about the colour of the wallpaper at the best damn party you'd ever been
to? Whilst indulgence, progressive tangent surfing and excess can be par
for the course with Coyne's mob, there's no overhang today. Though of course there
is excess. This is lean, mean partying and by far the most bang-on we've ever
seen them. It's choice cuts from the last 3 albums, including the best 2 from
the newie – 'The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song' is an epic of overflowing crowd
participation and seems like is was designed as such, while 'New Radicals' sounds
like it's having its beats beamed in from space with an international time delay,
Wayne's falsetto faltering slightly with it. But that doesn't matter, because
look – more streamers! A singing nun glove puppet! A proposal from one of
the aliens to another! Confetti! Ticker tape! Loads of bloody ticker tape! Different
coloured balloons! And – with an unexpected theme for the day revealing
itself – a mind-boggling cover of 'Bohemian Rhapsody', through the looking
glass. In fact, are we dead? Is this heaven? Little happens in 50 minutes to convince
us otherwise. We had thought that Massive Attack's headline performance
would have either been a little like lying in a coffin or stood watching one,
waiting for something to happen, given that the zeitgeist has moved on, along
with key members and potentially the combination to the chamber of their best
work. But what they deliver tonight is a surprisingly slick, powerful set of tense
classics, gifted contributors and a still-fighting spirit that only occasionally
seems clumsy in this setting (Robert Del Naja's anti war comments may lack some
eloquence, but they still fall on surprisingly deaf ears that are probably just
waiting to see if they play 'Unfinished Sympathy' – yes, incidentally, they
do). Horace Andy's plate-shifting vocals on 'Angel' against a striking red backdrop
are incredibly affecting and Elizabeth Fraser's browbeaten purity on a breath-taking
'Teardrop', as the night begins to take hold and the lights claw a presence, are
the stuff of true lasting memories. Their status as headliners slowly begins to
make sense. Although victory had, of course, already been marked by a 21
ticker-tape canon salute. But under those circumstances, second place seems fine.
Relevant
Sites
http://www.wirelessfestival.co.uk
James Berry for Crud Magazine 2006©
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| 01/06 Morning After Girls Interview
01/06 The Roger Sisters Interview
01/06 The Spinto Band Interview
01/06 The Longcut Interview
01/06 Union of Knives Interview
01/06 7/7 July Bombings London
01/06 Adem / Tunng - Live - West Yorkshire Playhouse, Leeds
01/06 Beach Boys - Pet Sounds - 40th Anniversary Deluxe CD / DVD
01/06 Broken Social Scene - London Astoria
01/06 Camden Crawl 2006
01/06 Editors - LIve - Brixton Academy
01/06 Elliott Kennedy - Song Meanings
01/06 Four Day Hombre Interview
01/06 Gram Parsons - Fallen Angel DVD
01/06 Hot Chip Live - LIve - Caberte Volatire - Edinburgh
01/06 Jackson Analogue, Digital, Newcastle
01/06 Latitude Festival, Henham Park, Beccles, Suffolk
01/06 Liam Frost - Live - Cockpit, Leeds
01/06 Little Man Tate, Cockpit, Leeds
01/06 Monty Python Remastered Collection
|  | 01/06 New Pornographers / Spoon - Live - London Koko
01/06 NME Shows 2006
01/06 Orange Lights - Carling Academy, Newcastle
01/06 Protokoll - Live - Cabaret Voltaire, Edinburgh
01/06 Shout Out Louds - Live - Leeds, Cockpit
01/06 Airlines, Flights, Terror Plot July 2006
01/06 The National - Brixton Academy, London
01/06 Wireless Festival 2006
January 2001
July - August 2001
September - October 2001
November - December 2001
January - March 2002
April - July 2002
August - December 2002
January - March 2003
May - August 2003
November 2003
January - March 2004
April - September 2004
October - December 2004
January - March 2005
April - December 2005
January - August 2006
September - December 2006
January - September 2007
October - December 2007
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