Opening the proceedings and keeping it local, Dinosaur Pile Up (NME) load up the riffs and let loose, nineties style. Matt is not holding back on the rock clichés and even though their peculiar brand of grunge rock is nothing new it makes for a lively start to the festival proper.
Lively, until you see Pulled Apart By Horses (FR). Wearing day-glo capes and crippled by appalling sound (nothing sounds miked up), they lumber belligerently into a set that is shout along fun and includes crowd surfing guitarists, semi-nudity and punches in the face. A typical satisfying PABH performance then.
I shun Detroit Social Club (FR) after realising that they appear to be fronted by Howard Moon pretending to be Ian Brown and check out Spinnerette (NME). Good call. Ex-Distiller Brody Dalle is a gorgeous, curvaceous David Lynch heroine whose attitude rich voice is backed by some incredibly raucous B-movie riffage. Real guilty pleasure stuff, but guilt is way overrated.
Eagles of Death Metal (MS) don’t really grab me – It’s enjoyable guitar based rock for sure but… meh. I’m too excited about Patrick Wolf (NME) and boy is he on good form. Dressed like Jerry Cornelius and Vampire Lestat’s bastard hermaphrodite child he charms the crowd, prancing and crackling with sexual energy. Taking choice cuts from his last two albums, he coaxes beautiful music from keys, violin and a priapic guitar before rounding off his set with a costume change and a climax as camp as… oh, any of the surrounding fields. Bloody amazing.
Secret gigs are fast becoming the essence of Leeds Festival and being in the right place (NME) at the right time (ummm… then) can sometimes become a unique experience. Today it is the turn for the Them Crooked Vultures (NME) to become the stuff of legends. With Dave Grohl, Josh Homme and (gasp) John Paul Jones (plus Spinnerettes Alain Johannes, the luckiest other guy ever) this is the super group of super groups and their combination of throaty QOTSA riffs, Foo-ish percussive energy and zep-esque grandeur makes for an enjoyable, if nostalgic, never to be repeated experience. There is one moment when the three of them are playing together so joyfully in a triangle that it is unimaginably beautiful. Probably the defining moment of the weekend.
Rival Schools (DT) have certainly seen better days, so I prepare for the post-rockalypse that is 65daysofstatic (FR), a band who finally after all these years appear to be on the verge of actual and deserved recognition. Unfortunately the sound is again an issue, but the band and audience are unbowed (even though the rabble rousing ‘Retreat, Retreat’ is lost to the garbled mix). The resulting rave-mosh is satisfying and appreciated by the band who are, quite literally, unstoppable.
As are old hand mainstagers Prodigy. Going for maximum crowd pleasing tonight, there are no new tracks, no obscure muso-pleasing references, no pauses, come to think of it – just energetic hard floor beats, bass and tunes. Maxim calls upon his ‘Prodigy soldiers’ to move like they’ve got a purpose, Keith gambols about like a crusty punk clown and every song hits the mark. The set climaxes with ‘Outer Space’ and nothing could be more bloody apt.
On a nineties rave high I make it to the NME stage in time to catch the close of Glasvegas. I must admit that I am surprised at how anthemic, striking and likeable they are. Fortunate really, as we are kept waiting an extra forty minutes for Gossip. Beth Ditto enters at crowd level in a black and white patterned off-the-shoulder number with a bright red pixie cut and black hole eyes. Meanwhile the rest of the band (or ‘Kens’) wear muted colours and know their place. It really has become a one woman show and this is the problem – yes, there are some good tunes, Beth has a good voice but the ephemera is getting in the way. We get it. Move on. More band, more tunes… better time keeping.
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