Live Review

Wireless Festival: Day Three – Hyde Park, London

• 7th Jul 2011

The third day of the biggest and best O2 Wireless Festival is off to a slow start: at Gate X16 there was an almighty queue to rival the Exodus and murmurings of ‘short-staffed’ trickled down the 30 foot, 30 minute lines. Our first glimpse of the festival site is a bright orange Jaeger-Truck, positioned appropriately close to the entrance like a shining, orange beacon of hope, and then we are inside.

The site is spacious an open, with burger vans stretching into the distance as far as the eye can see, with only the central main stage, the white ‘Unwind’ tent and the shamefully named Pepsi Max Stage breaking up the food stalls. The high pitched (but fashionable, so I’m told) background caterwauling of Metronomy, the third band of the day (and unfortunately our first given the hour it took us to work our way inside) scream away in the background as we set out to explore the festival site.

After three days of being stomped on in the glorious July sun, the grass of Hyde Park is more scorched earth but other than that the site looks in pretty good nick. A slow stroll round the back of the mains stage confirms our suspicions that if it weren’t for the three stages, this would definitely be a burger festival – it is sorely lacking in the quirky, individual crafty/boutique stalls which personalise the best festivals. There aren’t even any Moroccan-esque tea tents! Just stall upon stall of burger bars, each one promising to deliver the finest gourmet burger on the festival scene.

Swallowing our mild disappointment, we make the most of the British Summer (although it is starting to cloud over!!!) and take a £4 pint of McCider (not much in the way of locally brewed ales etc, and no spirits but Bacardi from their single (non-burger!) stall). Settling on the grass between a blockade of commendably maintained port-a-loos and an utterly pointless Vodafone recharging station (it’s a day festival!), we take a look at the line up still to come.

The rest of the bands leading up to Pulp’s long awaited headlining set promise to be fashionable and on-the-pulse of the current music scene. From our patch of grass we can hear heavy rock tones emanating from the (sigh) Pepsi Max Stage which turns out to be the haven of the more ‘alternative’ sounding bands, including The Pretty Reckless (whose sound certainly lives up to their name).

By now the Horrors have taken to the main stage and are thumping away with an encouraging amount of energy, taking the excitement level up a notch after the uninspiring performance from Metronomy before them. Their set is consistently crowd-pleasing and does well to highlight the excellent sound system which never falters throughout the evening. The Horrors’ own fan base are determinedly jumping away at the front of the stage and even for people (like me) who aren’t so familiar with their music, their thoroughly modern blend of My Chemical Romance with the edgy tones of Depeche Mode is buzzing with all the right elements which make up staple pop music.

We make our way over to the stage to watch The Hives with all the excitement of seeing a band you’d almost forgotten about (a wonderful pre-cursor to the main event to follow). The meatballs of modern music, the Hives storm the stage with military force and we are delighted to see they’ve dressed for the occasion in full dinner suits complete with cummerbunds. Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist quickly proves his is far from an empty nickname and demands the audiences’ attention from the second he sets foot on the stage, screaming ‘come on!’ over and over again until we do just that and start paying the band our undivided attention.

Much to the crowd’s approval, they begin with ‘Main Offender’. It’s a rollicking stomping crowd pleaser which gets the rest of the crowd to their feet and dancing with ease. Their incredibly energised, even slightly manic performance doesn’t wane for even a second, drawing comparisons in my mind with the live shows of Iggy and the Stooges in the days of yore. I hear someone comment that Almqvist “thinks he’s Elvis” and that doesn’t seem to be worlds away from the truth: between songs he struts and drawls about rock ‘n’ roll music as though he invented it. The Hives’ signature song ‘Hate to Say I Told You So’ goes down a storm and even though it comes as a real blast from the past, it is performed with easily as much conviction as it did at the turn of the century, when it cemented itself as a Song of the ‘Noughties’.

After threatening to massacre the audience unless we listen to some new material, Almqvist proves the band’s still got it as their new sound easily rivals their old one. The thing about the Hives which their performance absolutely confirms is that it takes one outrageous front-man to turn an average band with good music into a sensational, global success. Almqvist believes unequivocally in the power of his band and his faith erupts through each song he sings, turning the audience (whether they want to or not) onto his side. Testament to this comes with their last song when he orders everybody to sit down to listen, which they do without much coaxing, their attention rapt on the stage. As they leave the stage at the end of a set which could quite happily have been a few songs longer, we set out on a food hunt hoping to find something which isn’t a burger.

After a small hike, with a delicious mound of paella apiece, we sit to listen to TV on the Radio. Third in the line up we expect great things from this band who come across as unremarkable, un-energised, unenthusiastic as they sing their ever so slightly melodramatic songs and I can’t help but think that whoever decided put them as the follow up to the Hives must have a bit of a sadistic streak as their performance just doesn’t match up. Their set moves by quickly and we prepare ourselves for the unexpected in the form of Grace Jones.

Jones seems to be a bit of a controversial character on the music scene, with some claiming that she puts fashion ahead of music. Certainly as she strides on stage wearing nothing but a black corset, boots and some barely-there underwear, every ounce of the 63 year-olds frame screams of a lifelong dedication to looking her best. With a body which would make most 25 year-olds green with envy, and her head covered in a decidedly ant-like fascinator she begins her set with a song which I can’t place, delivering a performance which seems quite restrained. Certainly she is still in excellent voice but as the wind machine is turned on Jones is coming across more as a dramatic visual spectacle than a musician; her hats change more than her expression and whilst it is ambient, her music makes no attempt to arouse the audience. Given that she’s supporting Pulp, Jones doesn’t seem to be building much excitement.

Things take a sudden turn for the better with a beautiful calypso-ish cover of ‘La Vie en Rose’, a personal favourite of mine and judging from her sudden relaxed manner, Jones’ too. Finally fashion and music combine as I realise that the giant red accessory (I don’t know what else to call it!) which envelopes her body almost makes her look like a rose herself. Jones seems to have found her stride. She belts out ‘Love is the Drug’ with force and conviction and people are finally beginning to pay her some attention, but if there was any concern that her burst of personality and energy has come as too little, too late, she astonishes us by performing her final song, ‘Slave to the Rhythm’, whilst hula-hooping. Even with the song itself aside, the crowd is willing her to make it to the end without letting the hoop drop and as she does there is an almighty cheer of appreciation. Grace Jones leaves the stage to the beginnings of a surge of movement towards the stage as people prepare themselves for the performance of a lifetime from a band we thought was lost to the history books. Stomach in, chest out, on your marks, get set, GO! It’s time for Pulp.

Stay tuned to glasswerk.co.uk tomorrow for our review of Pulp’s performance at the Wireless Festival.