The concept's simple: rock bands from the emo-slash-post-hardcore spectrum of Kerrang!'s weekly content bring their heart-on-sleeve histrionics to London's greenest borough and keep the aforementioned Scuzz-schooled jailbaits entertained for the duration of a Bank Holiday, allowing mum and dad to indulge in some D.I.Y. or whatever. Easy, right? Apparently not - upon entering the expansive venue, many halls within which could easily double as industrial greenhouses, one is met with the disheartening sign of 'No Readmission'. Doors at 1, kick out at well past 10 - no problem providing the amenities and, more importantly, the food and drink facilities are up to the challenge. But they're not - we've been here for three hours and, after spending a good third of that time in a queue for drinks, one bar at least has near run dry of beer. At the other two, queues snake from one side of the main hall, where the stage is, to the other. Time ticks on; Rise Against spring into life on the sole stage. Their enthusiasm is apparent, but our patience has waned to the point of no return. We leave with scant regard for said readmission policy.
Why? Simple: this is not the way to run a day-long festival. Where are the soft drinks for the many under-18s? Oh, you have to queue for them alongside those wanting beer, thus doubling (at least) the queue problems. What about food? Hot dog or a burger suit you? Great, join the same queue. Nothing else? Well, crisps... yep, same queue. Standard drinking water? It is hot, y'know, what with that burning ball of a sun blasting its unforgiving rays through this glass-topped dome of a main hall. What, join the same queue? You're taking the piss, right?
No, no, and quite possibly no again. And again. And, yes, again. These eyes have never witnessed simplicity so royally manhandled into an unnecessarily complicated scenario; these ears have never before been subjected to such indentikit acts, each of whom merely exists to scream a little louder than the one before them. Sure, Coheed And Cambria looked set to provide welcome envelope-pushing (well, tickling) relief from the same five songs played in a slightly different order by bands so bland they might as well ditch the black attire for magnolia sweaters right now, but we never get that far, such is our abject horror at the abhorrent organisation. Fightstar (pictured) at least incorporate a few meandering post-rock-style riffs ('Mono') into their otherwise nonsensical squall - Charlie Simpson needs to be told that he really can't deliver the searing throaty bellow he seems to believe he's capable of.
The above said, Fightstar are nevertheless twice the bad that Mae are. Poppy emo bullshittery for impressionable kids brainwashed by the background music to The O.C., Mae are utter nobodies in a sea of seen-it-all-before no-marks. No doubt they think they're this year's Hot Young White Hopes; no doubt they'll be forgotten long before 2006 rears its head. Actually, what was I just saying...?
The Lucky Nine are members of A, Hundred Reasons and Cable (and some other guys that these eyes can't identify from the safety of the towards-the-back). They play some grunting post-hardcore that's nothing like their flyers proclaim - we're told they hark back to the time of Refused and Quicksand, yet we're left waiting until the very death for anything approaching the quirky creativeness of the former and nothing meets the melodic might of the latter. My cries for 'San Quentin' or 'Arthur Walker' fall upon deaf ears. At least Colin Doran looks like he's enjoying himself. There's not nine of them too, y'know...
Alexisonfire spark a forward surge amongst the most fashionable of attendees, but their over-stylised (and overly predictable) riffs and scream/sing vocal dynamics smack of too long spent in the company of the influential records of four years ago, rather than time spent developing a sound of their own. What they do, they do fine, but all we want is another beer, the already warm one we got an hour ago now drained. A half-hour in a queue later we find that the desired drink has 'sold out', and that the alternative is even more money. A second of despair is broken by the realisation that a proper pub is but ten minutes walk away, and home but another ten beyond that. The decision takes a second - see ya.
What a waste of a perfectly beautiful, blissfully sunny afternoon. Should anyone involved in the organisational team behind this event be reading this, please do think a little more carefully next time, both in terms of the clientele that'll attend your event (clearly they figured a good 60 per cent of those coming would be either straightedge or impervious to the ever-worsening heat), and of the location. Alexandra Palace is a great venue for such an event, but please, make full use the room available to you. Taking a massive side room and placing only a few stalls (one of which - the biggest - served only a 'promotional' purpose, the wares on show not actually for sale) within it, and nowhere near enough food and drink outlets, made you look incredibly stupid. Nobody should be made to wait up to an hour, perhaps more, for something as simple as a soft drink to quench their unavoidable thirst. More alarmingly, where were the water points? Where could that 14-year-old Finch fan find the glass of tap water required to prevent them passing out? At the bar? Join the queue?
Never. Again. Thank. You.
Oh, Funeral For A Friend headlined, since you asked.
GIAN
Fightstar
Fightstar
Fightstar
Re: Fightstar
Of course, said parties were no doubt swanning about backstage proclaiming the event a success, without ever once stepping foot into what was becoming a farce. A reality check is required - massive organisations apparently promoting 'real music' - whatever - need to know that people will simply not take it. It reminded me of Deconstruction a few years back at London Arena... anyone else remember that? It was a joke, and not a funny one.
£25 to nearly dehydrate to death and starve in the process. Fun fun fun... If I'd have paid for the priviledge I'd be at SJM HQ right now giving whoever was in my line of fire a piece of my rightly fucked-right-off mind.
Oh, and the utter lack of variety inthe bands, Coheed aside, will certainly not be tolerated again. MC Lars for a few songs? Big fucking deal.
Fightstar
Finch were so bad it was hilarious but i do think Alexisonfire and Coheed were awesome.
Fightstar
GIAN just looked like my idea of hell, though.
Fightstar
Fightstar
GIAN mess
maybe they should visit Truck to see how things can be done properly when the people who these events are for and who make them possible are actually considered?