Saturday review

V 2006 – ‘bigger and better’, they say. Errr, no, bigger does not mean better. My last girlfriend was ‘bigger’, it was not better. It was greasier, harder to manoeuvre and waking up in the mornings felt like emerging out of the womb of a menstruating woolly mammoth, which by all accounts is not a pleasant feeling. Same goes for V. Despite some hefty names on paper, this year the lingering memory is of a grubby field tightly packed with loutish skinheads, complete with their decomposing old girlfriends, tipping back the booze and starting fights with one another after endless, boorish elbowing for space. Oh, and James Morrison playing two sets for fuck’s sake, is one not enough?

Saturday morning’s storms send people’s straightened hair frizzy and the flip-flop contingent into muddy toe-squalor, and people’s smiles sink even further when it’s not-announced-officially-but-somehow-gets-spread-by-word-of-mouth that Phoenix have been forced to pull out of their performance in the JJB arena. Boo!!

Thankfully by the time Kula Shaker are ready to do the time warp over on the Channel 4 Stage, the clouds have given way to a little bit of sun and everyone does their best to party like it’s 1996. Opening up with ‘Hey Dude’ may be the ultimate nostalgia-you-were-actually-there-for moment but after they’ve spent the hits and new material like the awful ‘Dictators Of The Free World’ starts taking over, you can’t help but quiver in your boots at the thought of a new album.

The Magic Numbers are the afternoon’s answer to the chaotic ambivalence besieging the air like an onslaught of drooling trolls, as they tinker away on the V Stage, determined to have a good time on our behalf. Good on them, as people sing along and do this thing where they slap their hands against one another in time to the music. ‘Forever Lost’ is of course, the runaway success, but is an example of how familiar territory goes down best with the apparently myopic V fest crowd. Maybe if each day started with Richard Branson reciting the poem about taking the path less travelled, people might lighten up a bit and dare to be different. T4 is not a way of life, people.

Bloc Party follow on by transcending every other act of the weekend, as they kick off with new song ‘Waiting for the 7.14’ and proceed to give stoicism a massive boot up the arse. People dance, people sing, people cheer – woohoo! – and best of all the sun is shining. It’s like being in a giant idyllic commercial for a summer rock festival (Hold on, how’s that right?). By the time they climax with ‘Helicopter’, the second greastest indie disco hit of the decade (first is Test Icicles’ Circle Square Triangle), there’s no doubt that Bloc Party are one of the greatest bands of current times and that they’ll be making a fair penny from back-catalogue sales in many years to come.

Not quite sure the same can be said for Art Brut, performing on Virgin Union stage. Yet although they may not be releasing greatest hits packages when they’re well into their fifties, Eddie Argos’ rock preaching is still vital and entertaining, a whole year after the initial novelty of it wore off. Who knows, maybe those rumours of a major label record deal are true… (Oh, and he’s changed all the lyrics to ‘Emily Kane’, again, so forget singing along).

Over on the Channel 4 stage, The Ordinary Boys play throw-away ska punk that every knows but nobody really cares about, meaning it’s the perfect afternoon fodder to nod your head to whilst you eat one of those upmarket burgers that cost seven quid because they give you a seeded bap, but gives you just as bad shits as the four quid ones served by the zit-infested teenager with mucky hands two stalls down. Bloody festival food.

But all is saved come just after 7pm, as Russian New Yorker and Voice Of Elation Regina Spektor attracts a huge crowd in the Virgin Union tent. Spotlighted at her piano, with chair-as-drum poised artfully beside her, she mesmerises the gracious crowd, who cheer with a wilful zest that one might expect from a man who has just discovered who his real mother is. I don’t know what I mean by that either, but it feels right to suggest it. ‘Us’ is the highlight, her beautiful soaring vocals capturing a beauty that peaks beyond anything you might think possible in the scummy surroundings of a corporate music festival.

Rushing over to the V Stage to catch the end of Beck’s set reveals him churning out a lounge version of ‘Sexxlaws’ that’s not very good. But don’t worry about that, he’s wearing a cowboy hat! Amazing! Better still, a troupe of marionette Becks and Band are performing along side him too, making for the weekend’s most eccentric performance. What he lacks in bonafide tuneage, he makes up with stage-antics. ‘E-Pro’ wraps things up with is chugging riffery that’s like a funky robot dinosaur moonwalking down flowing lava plain, which might sound cool but don’t forget we’re at V festival, so it’s never quite as cool as it should be.

Look! It’s Radiohead! Corr, this is going to be the greatest thing ever, WHY? ‘cos it’s Radiohead, innit and they’re effing marvellous. Well, mostly marvellous. If only that drunken tart stood next to me wasn’t leering like a rabid hound, “Nahhhahhhh Surprriiiisesss, NAHHHHHHH NAHHHHHHH SURRRRISSSESSSS ‘ere... I know this one, Beverly!”.

The truth of the matter is that although Radiohead are still essentially great, tonight in Chelmsford they fail to cough up anything close to memorable, as their hit-packed (it feels wrong describing Radiohead songs as ‘hits’, but I digress) set is faultless to the point that it doesn’t offer anything unexpected and ends up slightly under-whelming (apologies to everyone at eFestivals for the barrage of hate-mail from Radiohead fans which that last comment shall no doubt cause). It’s still enjoyable, mind you and ‘2+2=5’ is an early treat that picks up on the excitement where their last tour stopped off. ‘Street Spirit’, ‘Karma Police’ and ‘Paranoid Android’ are still huge sing-a-longs but somehow they fail to evoke that extra special something. Far more interesting are the glitter-ball infused movements of a soaringly beautiful ‘Pyramid Song’ and the vagabond electro wizardry of ‘Idioteque’.

Well la-de-da, they end with ‘Creep’, is that still a surprise? They’ve had it back in their set for over five years now so stop getting over excited about it. Oh hold on, it’s actually bloody amazing and probably the best song they could end their set with. Thank you Radiohead, it was fun, but I was really holding out for a cover of ‘Careless Whisper’.

With Day 1 over, and not a lot to write home about (except Bloc Party, they were amazing), could Day 2 do any more to impress? I'd find out in the morning, after an uncomfortable night slept beneathe a sky pouring torrential rain.

Latest Updates