I’ve always wanted to go to a proper rock festival. Duddings Lake, Mountain Rock etc are fine but they just don’t compare to the calibre of acts and the sheer scale of what goes on in this part of the world. Each year I would read Q magazine’s Glastonbury review and quietly seethe with jealousy.

So now I’ve achieved that ambition and get to fulfil another one. Rock critic.

But first, the festival atmosphere and conditions.

 

If you’re planning to go to one of these things, expect to go a bit feral for a couple of days. The campsite will be miles from the carpark so pack lightly or bring a wheelbarrow- really! There are no showers or hot water. You will need to queue for cold water, substandard, overpriced chips and hideous portaloos.

Jane even managed to rescue some poor soul from one of these. He thought he had locked himself in and had resigned himself to a weekend trapped inside a smelly hot cubilce.I don't know who was more surprised when Jane calmly opened the door to let herself in.

If you’re a bloke, there is the option of using the urinals but after a couple of hours these overflow to create a fetid swamp beneath your feet. There will be mud everywhere. The neighbours will be drunk and stoned before sunrise and the guy ropes will cause chaos for both those trying to negotiate their way back to their campsite and those trying to get some sleep in their tent.

It will rain.

So why bother?

Let me take you through two days of (mostly) fantastic music.

 

The first band we saw were The Stands. They’re from Liverpool so they are contractually bound to sound like The Beatles. That’s about all I can remember about them.

 

The Saw Doctors were up next. A curious band, all getting on a bit and sounding like a rollicking Irish version of the Proclaimers without the accents. They sing joyous folk n roll songs that everyone knows the words to, probably because their Dads’ always play the CD after a few pints on a Sunday afternoon.

Festival Moment Number One: “I wish I was on the N17, stone walls and the grass is green…” x25 Great fun.

 

The Kaiser Chiefs are spearheading the Britpop revival with an album that I imagine many people wish Blur had made after Parklife instead of disappearing up their own arses for the best part of a decade. Festival Moment Number Two “Oh My God I can’t believe it, I’ve never been this far away from home...” Even the large section of the crowd that were from Dublin sang this like they meant it. Then again, judging by their average ages, it may have been true. Can there be anything worse that having your Mum drop you off and kiss you goodbye at the festival gates?

 

One of the great things about a festival of this size is that when the main stage acts are a bit crap, e.g. Razorlight, there’s something to see somewhere else. Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel are 70’s relics, famous for one song who put on a brief show, polished but unspectacular in front of a tiny audience and in direct sonic competition with the dance tent.

Festival Moment Number Three “Come up and see me, make me smile…whoa-oh…” briefly drowns out the relentless thump, thump, thump of the dance stage.

 

Snoop Dogg obviously lives in his own gangsta paradise, surrounded by toadying homies and nubile, willing ho’s who are available to stroke his inflated ego 24/7. This makes for a great show if you’re prepared to indulge in a bit (a lot) of call and response hero worship. I wasn’t. I’d rather see Hal in the Green Room, an Irish band who sound a bit Monkeeish, but in a good way. We leave and Snoop is still doing his rapper messiah thing.

 

Echo and the Bunnymen have just begun their set on the second stage. For those who don’t know/ can’t remember, Echo and the Bunnymen were pretty big in the 80’s, playing dark swirling jangle pop that used to be described as gothic before the name was hijacked by pretend Satanists. The second best bunch of grumpy old 80’s legends of the weekend.

 

We saw enough of Queens of the Stone Age to hear my favourite song then dashed off to see The Bravery, another American band who look to the British New Wave for inspiration. They have been compared to the Killers and have begun the inevitable slagging match with their rivals. Perhaps they can settle it with a TV quiz show like Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet did. On live performance they kick the Killers’ sorry white asses. I haven’t heard the album yet.

 

Bloc Party were next. This years Franz Ferdinand who were going down brilliantly until the singer told the crowd how pleased he was to be back in the UK. Festival Moment Number Five: Tumbleweed rolls across the stage and the crowd sucks in a collective breath and begins to ominously oooo. The singer realises his mistake, apologises and kicks off another song. All is forgiven. Just this once.

 

If Kaiser Chief are reviving Britpop, Kasabian are harking back a couple of years earlier to the days of baggy. Their slinky groove and Arabic influenced choruses are perfect for a spot of wayward dancing on a Saturday evening. They turn one of their songs into a rallying call against the London Bombers- Festival Moment Number Six.

 

That leaves headliners Green Day, born again punks. Ten years ago they kicked off the whole punk pop phenomenon that has delivered some great and dire music in equal measures ever since. They disappeared for a while then came back as spokesmen for a post 9/11 generation. They also seen to have morphed into Queen with Billy Joe Armstrong sporting a crown, leading the crowd in a singalong of Shout (Not the Tears for Fears one) and ending with We are the Champions. Cheeky buggers, though I expect Freddie would approve. Festival Moment Number Seven: “Wake me up when September Ends” The only words you need to know to participate in this song. Mobile phones and lighters aloft.

 

I wanted to see the original king of baggy and apeman, Ian Brown, in the green room, but it was packed. We heard him doing the Stone Roses’ song Waterfall and true to form, he was woefully off key. You’ve gotta love the guy.

We could have stayed for Bjorn Again but I didn’t bother going to see them at the Massey University Orientation Ball in 1991 so why bother now?

 

Sunday was a scorcher and we’d decided early on to pack up and load the car for a quick getaway. By the time we had done that The Beautiful South were in full swing and we missed most of it. Still, it sounded nice from where we were and they’re one of those bands that it’s so easy to forget just how many songs they have been responsible for over that last 15 years.

 

We were pretty hot and exhausted so we headed into the Green Room for some shade and listened to Josh Rouse. I didn’t know much about the guy. I still don’t.

 

Festival Moment Number Eight arrived as we ate lunch to the sound of Suzanne Vega playing Luka.

 

By that time we were sufficiently recovered to make our way to the Main Stage in time for Audioslave. The sound was poor but the show was good although Chis Cornell’s attempt at a crowd sing-along for Black Hole Sun fell flat. Most people there were probably too young to remember it. However, they did seem to recognise Killing in the Name of and a huge swear-along duly ensued. Festival Moment Number Nine. You know the words and if you don’t, you probably don’t want to.

 

We took a gamble on a band neither of us had heard next- The Futureheads. They play that spiky post punk thing that seems popular at the moment but with added 3-4 part harmonies. Glorious. Festival Moment Number Ten had arrived when they divided the audience into two part and taught us the harmonies to their version of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. I’d imagine they made a few new fans that day. I’ve bought their album and it’s very, very good.

 

I don’t think I’m overstating it to say most people were at Oxegen to see the Killers. I know it was a major factor in us deciding to go. I was looking forward to it but I have to admit that my hopes weren’t high. For a start, the sound from the main stage had been rubbish all day. Secondly, it was going to be pretty much impossible to get anywhere near the front and thirdly,I feared that the overenthusiastic audience would know every word to every song, making it impossible to actually listen to the band. And I was right. Besides which, the band didn’t seem that pleased to be there. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t that great. The “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier” refrain was always going to be a festival moment, no matter how mediocre, so it gets number twelve.

 

I also had concerns about Keane playing the main stage. There’s nothing wrong with their music but I did wonder if they would sound a bit lame in front of such a huge audience so again, my expectations were pretty low. This time I was to be proved wrong though. The sound desk finally sorted out the sound and the music chimed out across the arena flanked by a gorgeous sunset. It’s hard to pinpoint Festival Thirteen in such an uplifting set but I’ll go with Everybody’s Changing.

 

The biggest dilemma of the weekend was at hand. Foo Fighters or New Order? An agreement was reached. We planned to watch the first half hour of the Foo Fighters and then rush to the Ticket Stage for the second half of New Order’s show. This would give us a head start on the majority of the crowd in the charge for the car parks. The plan nearly failed because the Foo Fighters were too good. Festival moment fourteen was just the sight of the Dave Grohl striding on stage in a Kiss T Shirt and a black guitar, making a God-awful din by way of introduction. The man seemed to dominate the stage in a way that said “Woe betide anyone who tries to leave while we’re playing.” However, we did manage to slip away without him noticing.

 

Which was just as well. We arrived just in time for the band to launch into my favourite New Order song, True Faith and what followed was a catalogue of their greatest hits including songs form their earlier incarnation as Joy Division. Peter Hook’s bass sounded amazing, as it should. Touchingly, he’d painted the words LOVE TO LONDON across the speaker cabinets. Bernard Sumner has been criticised recently in a couple of places for his bad dancing but frankly, who cares? We were all dancing like idiots. Isn’t that what Madchester was all about? Ian Curtis was hardly Fred Astaire either so the criticism seems a little unfair. It was also nice to note that we were surrounded by people closer to our own age. Of course an encore was demanded and the band were at pains to point out that they wanted to play three songs but were only allowed to do two. The first was to be a Joy Division song and we were to choose which one. (The crowd, not Jane and me)So we got She’s Lost Control before Mr Sumner smugly asked the audience to guess which song they were going to end with.

Festival Moment Number Fourteen- a triumphant and very long rendition of Blue Monday.

 

I can't get it out of my head.