By Ben Fitzgerald
A lot of people might prefer Glastonbury, the eldest golden child who is universally adored by young and old alike.
“He’s so sensitive, considerate and insightful. Sure, he knows how to have a good time, but he’s also into groovy environmental issues such as the plight of the Minke Whale.” you hear them say.
But Reading refuses to be distracted by all that yoghurt-making, daisy-weaving cobblers - Reading likes music and… well, just music really.
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Perfect performance… but who wants that?[/caption]
You know exactly what you are going to get - Reading is the most single minded of festivals. You will not find Jamie Oliver here wearing a head-mic and explaining how to make a pistachio semi-freddo - there is no frigging bunting and you will never encounter a naked unicyclist mime troupe.
I first became aware of Reading Festival when it was the Reading Rock Festival back in the 80s - when it was the venue for the Legendary Twisted Sister’s first UK gig, during which they were pelted with glass bottles and eye-shadow sporting lead singer Dee Snider offered to fight everyone in the audience backstage.
It has mellowed over time but still retains the identity forged by the fires of the anti-hippy ‘New Wave of British Heavy Metal’ backlash.
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Getting lost is the best way to find gold[/caption]
Fast forward to Reading Festival 2017 - I find myself in a field in front of Kasabian who rattle through their set in a professional fashion. The sound is flawless, the lights are slick but there’s something missing that I’m struggling to put my finger on. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Kasabians and I can tell you the title of each of their songs. But, if anything it’s too good. Where’s the chaos, the crappyness… the danger?
It all runs like clockwork - leaving the stage at 10.40pm, allowing five minutes for foot stomping before entirely predictably returning to the stage for a crowd pleasing encore - finishing at exactly 11pm (give or take 30 seconds). The only glimmer of oddness was when Noel Fielding was wheeled onto the stage in the guise of Vlad the Impaler by a couple of nuns (almost certainly not real nuns) before hopping to his feet and gyrating weirdly around the rest of the band.
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Haim… what’s that about?[/caption]
Even the crowd are a bit Stepford Wives - yes, there’s a mosh pit, but everyone’s very nice about backing up to create a circle before launching themselves in at the appointed time. I swear I even heard someone say: “Excuse me!” at one point.
Perhaps it’s all about expectations - people are asked to shell out a lot of dosh and they simply won’t put up with any form of shoddyness - but without creative chaos there is no room for the spontaneity that makes a live event a unique moment that you experience rather than watch… there is a difference.
Over the years, I’ve found that the best thing to do at festivals is to scrape around the murky corners - it’s a bit like visiting a new city… once you’re done with Nelson’s Column and Big Ben - you want to go and lose yourself and end up in some amazing backstreet dive.
And so I deliberately avoided headliner Eminem because a) he’s famous b) he’s a bit crap and sought out the grimy outer reaches of the festival - vaguely guided like a rock magpie looking for shiny things amongst the filth…
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A hungover Australian band - Tired Lion[/caption]
And after a short wander, during which I managed to step on someone’s plastic tray of noodles and was accidentally hugged by someone insisting I was ‘Ian’ - I found myself standing in the ‘The Lock Up’ tent watching the Gnarwolves who were a) not that famous b) bloody great. According to ‘the internet’ they are a melodic hardcore band, but they’re not. They’re an ass-kicking post punk-inflected powerhouse (annoying when ‘the internet’ gets these things wrong). What also makes them great is that they have released a compilation album called The Chronicles of Gnarnia and their third EP rejoices in the name Funemployed. Lovely stuff.
I also saw Haim, in error. They were not good.
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The Gnarwolves are in there somewhere…[/caption]
Since you’re interested, I then stumbled upon Tired Lion - a punchy Aussie band whose lead singer Sophie Hopes had a voice like a hangover dipped in honey and stuck to your face. They told us that they had not slept for 13 hours and were not even bothering going to sleep that evening because they were catching a flight back to Oz in the early hours - the nutters! I found myself caught up in the heaving crowd in one of those rare moments of togetherness. A couple of arm lengths away - I briefly spotted someone pointing at me, looking delighted and mouthing the name ‘Ian’... and then he was gone.
