Reading 2007 by Liam R and Claire The Karma Whore
The Beginning
It was just after Slough Town 's capitulation against Thatcham Town when I received a phone call from my friend Phil about Reading . He has received an email earlier in the day from Mean Fiddler basically saying that a lot of the camping areas hadn't recovered from the flooding we received back in July. Liam, was not impressed. Upon returning home I saw the very same message, giving the distinct impression that anything from 10% to 35% of the available camping area was unusable and that car parks were being turned into emergency accommodation. It was Tuesday, Claire hadn't even arrived and I was panicking, so I did what I always did when I panic. I fell asleep.
The next day passed off quietly, and I managed to find Claire at King's Cross station relatively easily and even drew slight amusement from her terror of the London Underground. All I can say Claire is that if you've never tried getting on the Central Line and changing at Tottenham Court Road during morning rush hour then you don't know the meaning of 'terror on the tube'.
So on Thursday morning I peeled myself off my sofa at the ungodly hour of 6am. After a fry up consisting of sausages and bacon with a side of toast and a pint off coffee, my last shower for the foreseeable future I set off to Heathrow to catch my coach to the site. The journey there was not fraught with incomprehensible irritations, namely roadworks at Junction 11 of the M4 and the coach driver dumping us pretty much outside Reading station. Still, I knew where I was going and prayed that it would be dry.
Upon entry to the Red campsite (where the smart kids go) I was surprised that the ground was merely damp to the touch as opposed to the swamp conditions predicted. Indeed some of the areas specifically mentioned as no-go zones where 90% go zones so bravo to whoever got them ready. After assembling my spanking new tent, I trudged back into Reading where my mother had kindly agreed to both drop Claire off and pick the pair of us up on Monday morning. They had also had the foresight to go shopping together (the terrifying thoughts of those conversations still give me nightmares) and so we went back to the tent where my spot was widely praised for its distance from the toilets (close enough to go for a shit, far enough away not to smell them) and from a water tap and then commenced the drinking and waiting for others to turn up.
At about 7pm-ish everyone was assembled and drinking merrily when the decision was made to head into Reading for proper food, and on the way up my complete inability to look after myself reared it's ugly head again as I walked right into a bollard yet in my defence said bollard was jutting out into the pavement at a wonky angle, and it was also painted black and at night. Seriously, I'm not an idiot. Anyway, after returning back to the tents and more consumption of slightly warm alcoholic beverages it was the end of the pleasantries and onto the campaign of misery and suffering that the Reading Festival is. Who would survive? Who would endure? Who would throw up? Who indeed….
Friday
Liam: So it is to Reading town centre to begin our journey, and after a proper breakfast in an Irish pub near the station it is a walk back and to the Main Arena. A short tour of the various stages for the benefit of Claire is undertaken before settling down for the Gogol Bordello experience. Last year’s programme had them sounding like the sound of a streetfight between The Pogues and The Clash and as such I was always going to like them, but just how much would I? Very, as it turns out. Anyway my opinion of the Bordello has changed as there are less Clash-like stylings and more of a folky Pogues vibe to them. They are also a monumental bundle of technicolor energy while giving the distinct impression that a load of travellers have somehow got lost and ended up on stage. However, the bouncing moshpit suggests that these guys are one hit away from making the big time and I for one hope they do so.
Claire: Having barely caught our breath after the "experience" that was Gogol Bordello, we continue guzzling carling like it's nobody's business (I will regret this later on in the day) and wait for Gossip. Knowing little about the band, I'm intrigued. All I know is Beth Ditto, whose vocals are I'm sure what screaming banshees sound like, but in a good way if you see what I mean.
Beth takes the stage in something shiny and bright pink, claiming they only just got into reading and did the dress fit her? Err no Beth, it doesn't. Launching into a set that, quite frankly rocked, Miss Ditto, I realise quite quickly isn't shy. Ok, so she has lost the bottom half of her dress, and is strutting around in her pants. And if you're familiar with Beth, you will know by her own admission, she is "fat". A word she herself uses, but in all honesty, the only people that seem to mind are the three fuck heads standing behind us. For arguments sake I'm going to call them Henry, Giles and Toby. Now, having had a bit of a drink (slight understatement to be honest) I started to get slightly riled when these three started slagging Beth off, comments like "there's no need for that" "put your clothes back on love" were being said in my ear, at this point Ditto had indeed stripped down to her bra and knickers, but so what? Vocally she is outstanding, and has more personality in her ankles than these three fucks had between them. And the woman CAN perform. In all honesty, I'd swap my slightly smaller ass for one that size if I could have the talent and the balls Beth has. Gossip were fantastic, “Standing in the way of contro”l has never sounded better, and for me, they were one of the best bands all weekend.
So, on the slim chance those three fucks are reading this, yeah you know who you are. Thank your lucky stars I was being restrained (Liam next time let me go for it pleeease!) You know those jumpers you had tied around your shoulders?? Round your neck next time... ok? Beth Ditto, a whole lotta woman, and a whole lotta legend.
Liam: I’d been meaning to see Jimmy Eat World since first hearing “Bleed American” some five odd years ago but ever since fate has conspired against me. Also this year I finally discovered the “Bleed American”and finally realised that I had to see this band, despite the fact that they were the pioneers of emo and so responsible for the likes of MyChemical Romance, Fall Out Boy and Panic At The Disco, but they do what those bands do with such a windswept style and with infinitely more depth. And so “Bleed American”, “The Middle” and “Sweetness” are all despatched with a verve and brutality that underpins the fragile nature of their words. But it’s one song, played midway through their set, which formed the basis for what is the greatest moment of my life ever but I’ll leave Claire to finish that thought off…
However words have temporarily failed her, which is unusual as I can normally never keep her quiet. Anyway, the boys on the stage started out the slow, acoustic introduction to "Hear You Me" and I knew exactly what I had to do. Beer was placed gently on the floor, I slowly wrapped my arms around Claire’s waist and slowly sung the words into her ear. I feared all the way through that my caterwauling would ruin the song but when she turned around after the song had finished, she was crying because she thought it was a beautiful moment, and she ranks up alongside her favourite memories in her life. Hell, I’m getting teary just thinking about it but before we get too emotional, we’d like to apologiseto fans of Maximo Park and Interpol because while they were onstage and not awful, that kind of emotional connection can tend to need a while to sink in. Sorry.
Claire: I'm not lost for words, Liam just put it better than I could, my version would have been, Liam wailed in my ear, I was a tad drunk, I cried like a bird then we went and fell onto the grass in an emotional/tipsy heap, where we proceeded to ignore Maximo Park and Interpol, and discussed Ben Affleck.......But it was a moment, it was like an epiphany. I realised then that whatever happens, Liam is always going to be there. That’s probably why I was crying.......
Liam: Well, I can't possibly follow that up so talk amongst yourselves for a few minutes…
With normal service hopefully resumed, the Kings Of Leon took to the stage just as the evening was turning to darkness. Now the Kings are a fine band, mining the seam of dusty blues rock that seems mightily prevalent in the United States . They release cracking singles and from all accounts are a pretty nice bunch of lads. However when they take to the stage in their jeans that are so tight they must have been sprayed on, they fall flat. Yes I fully understand that the songs and not the band themselves are what people want to see, but in reality they help each other. The Kings suffer from an alarming lack of charisma and as such say barely five words to the crowd all gig. Yes they are on top form and perform brilliantly but at a festival you need to get the crowd involved with more than the songs and in this respect they failed. Still, they may come out of their shells as they progress, but I'm not holding my breath.
Claire: "All he does is go 'Oh oh oh oh ohhhh' and then this," said Rick, as he lifted his top to show me his nipples. I had known this man for around 24 hours, and he was showing me his nipples, though he did have a point. Girls in the crowd were jigging about (according to statistics 70% of them would do him, Johnny Borrell, not Rick) and the men, well they looked threatened........ After becoming slightly bored of the men going "Oh oh oh ohhhh" and nipple flashing, Myself, Caroline and Sonia moved away from the testosterone and went further forward, subconsciously forming the "I love Johnny" club, we just wanted to be nearer the sexual panther..Having earlier witnessed much booing when Razorlight's name was called out, rumours of a mass bottling amongst the crowd were rife. I didn't care much either way, as much as I love Razorlight, I just wanted to see the nipples.
Now having read several reviews since Reading slating them for their performance, I feel like a bit of a numpty saying I thought they were good, not mind blowing, outstanding or orgasmic, but damn good. " America ", "Golden Touch" and "Somewhere else" were my particular faves (what, no 'In The Morning'? - Liam), but really, the best bit was when the coat came off, then there was some strutting, then the t shirt came off, then there were nipples... possibly more strutting...Ok, Borrell IS without a shadow of a doubt a bit of a wanker, but my god, he's a sexy wanker. Who just so happens to write spiffy tunes and wear very tight jeans... I thought they were great, and I will gladly admit to being one of the 70%. And if nothing else, that night a new phrase was invented; it's called "Doing a Borrell". So everyone lift up your tops, get your nipples out and go "Oh oh oh ohhhh".
Liam: Next week - more Ben Affleck, Arcade Fire, Snakes On A Plane and much wankery!