Roskilde Festival
Roskilde, Denmark
Wednesday 1st - Sunday 5th July, 2009
WEDNESDAY
I unexpectedly arrived at Roskilde a day later than many since thousands of eager campers turned up a night early and broke down the gates. I later learn that some people have even bought tickets purely for the pre-festival campground experience and don’t intend on actually seeing any bands. Such is the intensity and spectacle of the pre-festival, which consists largely of excessive amounts of drinking, explicit mating rituals, and trailing sound systems in trolleys as a kind of conga line/rave hybrid. That’s not even the officially facilitated activities.
At one point there was a line-up of punters waiting their turn on an invisible (ie. non-existent) jump rope that had engulfed the main path and a thousand-strong nudie run, while others drank on sandbanks out in the lake or jumped around with booze-enhanced tolerance to horrible music like Aqua (I swear I’ve never heard so much Aqua in my life). The disparity between what’s acceptable at Roskilde and what’s acceptable anywhere else in the world is striking and hilarious. If you go to Roskilde (or have been), the four nights before the start of the actual music portion will likely pass/did pass by in a blur, not least because sleeping in an area that’s more bush party than campground is nigh on impossible – but if you can’t beat them…
THURSDAY
The actual festival finally arrived and was greeted with the same sweltering heat we’d been ‘blessed’ with all week. The first act I caught proper was Fucked Up, the Canadian hardcore band who’ve recently graced the cover of NME and Pitchfork’s Best New Music. I’ve not heard as much of their music as their name so I was keen to check them out and was largely impressed by the charisma of the band and how catchy the songs were beneath the distortion and screaming. A tight set that managed to fit in a lot of 2 – 2.5min punk songs, the highlight of which was rousing album cut ‘Crusades.’
I then managed to take in some of The Gaslight Anthem, whose punkier take on Springsteen stadium rock kept me fairly enthralled for forty minutes - before I reluctantly ran off and somehow made my way into the front pit for Kanye West despite arriving only ten minutes before he took stage. One great thing about this festival that is lacking from say, Splendour and Big Day Out is that the front pits are emptied after each act, making it fairly easy to penetrate the D barrier for any act you so desire. Thus front sections are filled only with fans of the band currently on stage (as opposed to fuckheads booing Bjork because they’re waiting for RATM *cough Bid Day Out 08*).
Thanks to this system, I found myself fairly close to the gold, jagged set-up sprawled across the stage for Mr West, who emerged after a short electronic intro to perform ‘The Coldest Winter’ and several other 808s & Heartbreaks cuts before finally cutting loose with ‘Flashing Lights’ (which he claimed is his favourite track). His minimalist electro pop stuff works well in three minute bursts but the ill-advised protracted middle sections grew weary, one especially that accompanied a cringe-worthy rant about mistakes and haters and how Michael Jackson is a hero. People briefly booed, but he won them back with ‘Golddigger’ and eventually closed his ninety minute set with a stripped-back ‘Stronger’ and beefed-up ‘Love Lockdown.’ The highlight was probably ‘Can’t Tell Me Nothing,’ mainly because he failed to play would-be best track ‘Touch the Sky.’ Tear. Still, it was a hit-filled set that stumbled occasionally but built to a fittingly euphoric climax.
Local hero Trentmoller’s specially-arranged live show was left to follow the biggest ego in music. When we were finally let back into the front section, it became clear that the delay was caused by the installation of an elaborate catwalk and a mobile DJ station in the middle of the pit. Many of Trent’s previous vocal collaborators were on hand in a set that mixed live sections with traditional DJ workouts, remixing and mashing up songs while dancers in jellyfish-esque hats strutted around the stage and sent glowing lanterns floating up to the television towers further back. Trent maintained a dark electro feel to proceedings while managing to work in the likes of Britney and MJ. He even looped the guitar figure from The Cure’s ‘Lullaby’ over his biggest hit, ‘Moan,’ which was a highlight alongside ‘Vamp.’ The two hours-plus set culminated in a guitar, bass, drum and theremin jam while people danced on the catwalk before scattering off to leave Trent alone, playing out a remix of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart.’ A phenomenal and dynamic set that kept people dancing into the early morning glow.
FRIDAY
The next day opened with 2008 heroes Fleet Foxes, who I love and have seen before but still couldn’t wait to see again. It was a set almost identical to the one they played earlier this year in Australia, but with the addition of a promising new song and a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Dreams’ – the latter being apparently the first time they’ve ever played it. As drummer Josh Tillman put it, “that was, technically, ‘jamming.’” Early sound problems were overcome and their harmonies and charming stage banter reeled everyone in before ending the set with the untouchable trio of ‘He Doesn’t Know Why,’ ‘Mykonos’ and ‘Blue Ridge Mountains.’ Rad.
The next two hours were, truth be told, spent trying to kill the time before the greatest man ever alive aka Nick Cave finally walked onto the Orange Stage. The first band I took in were Baddies, a British pop band with some punk undertones that are yet to even release an album but drew a respectable crowd despite being up against Faith No More but were ultimately kind of boring. I then ran over to Friendly Fires, who put on a surprisingly exciting live show and who I made a mental note to check out in a fornight’s time at the Benicassim festival since I caught only forty-five minutes or so of their set from the back of a packed tent. Predictably, ‘Paris’ incites a riot, but I was more surprised at the depth of their catalogue to which I’ve hitherto been largely ignorant but will now seek to rectify.
Finally, I was in the front section (again) as Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds emerged and played a set much lighter on Dig material than when they toured Australia earlier this year. Thankfully, the title track and album cut ‘Call Upon the Author’ still got a run-through alongside bona-fide classics like ‘The Mercy Seat,’ ‘Red Right Hand’ and the almighty ‘Stagger Lee,’ which managed to erupt and shock me even though it was my third time witnessing it live. The Saints’ Ed Kuepper, who performed alongside the band at ATP in January, definitely held his own in lieu of the recently-departed Mick Harvey. They played softer cut ‘Breathless’ in typically perfect fashion after warning that a lack of practice had it doomed for failure, and later return for an encore of ‘Get Ready For Love’ off Abattoir Blues. Most disappointingly though, Nick Cave has lost the ‘tache! Tear. Again.
Next was meant to be Wavves, but, to absolutely no one’s surprise, the band pulled out at the last minute, with half the duo leaving the band and again showing that the little noise-punk band that could continually can’t. Shame really. Still, this opened the door for me to catch The Mars Volta, who I’ve not been into nor seen live for over five years and who are well-suited to the lengthy Roskilde stage times. It was a fun show that reminded why I once liked these guys without actually inspiring me to get back into them, playing a set mainly drawn from latter day stuff that all kind of blended together in shouting and guitar solos and loud drumming.
I was rushing to see another band when I heard the opening chords of ‘Rock’n’Roll Star’ ring out from the main stage and, without warning, the fifteen year old in me who once worshipped at the alter of Britpop dragged me to see Oasis. I was quite far away, but even from where I stood it was clear how lifeless the performance was, with Noel’s ominous warnings earlier this year of how bad things were in their camp haunting every move. Their new album was way better than anyone expected and those songs went over okay, but after half an hour I’d absorbed as much as I was going to and realised Gang Gang Dance were about to start so I escape.
The aforementioned New York experimental dance group played to an initially small crowd that swelled during their hour-long set. They were actually less schizophrenic than on record, with soundscapes and idiosyncratic beats built up to dance-inspiring climaxes by layers of effects pedals and drum machine. It was a different side to the band who, on record, follow the most obtuse tangents and shy away from any traditional house-like peaks, but still combined heads with feet and featured a tiny Asian guy waving a flag onstage the whole time. Not sure why, but it worked at the time.
Again, I found myself in the front section for Nine Inch Nails (seriously, this change-over system is the shit) before Trent and co. arrived and attempted to send every bit of equipment air born, knocking over the drumkit just two songs in and throwing a mic way out in the crowd (sucks to be on the receiving end of that). The set was drawn from their whole career, with stuff from last years great (and free) The Slip sitting beside Downward Spiral cuts. I don’t know a whole lot of NIN outside of those two albums so I’m not the most NIN-qualified here but it definitely whipped people into a frenzy, with most of the massive crowd sticking around for the whole ninety-plus minutes. Others, like myself, attempted to go see Royksopp about halfway through, but an impenetrable crowd, frigid cold and steadily rising sun in the distance inspired me to get some sleep before the hoards soon invaded the campground after a big day.
SATURDAY
Saturday began early with a midday kick-off from Swedish hip-hop star Adam Tensta putting on a fun set, with a cadence like Lupe Fiasco poured over beats that sound put together by Justice. Funtimes for the packed crown, not that I knew any of the songs or understood a word that he said, but I think it had something to do with racism judging from his between song speeches that included bits of English. Next up was …And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead, another band I haven’t listened to in quite a while and who I only then saw live for the first time. It was definitely an exciting performance, not that I expected any less or can remember much of what was played. Brain overload.
Locals Oh No Ono put on a fun performance on a stage adorned with trees and leaves, mixing absurd pop with Vampire Weekend-esque workouts, sometimes divulging in more electronic excursions and including a loud, post-punk inspired cover of Radiohead’s ‘Weird Fishes.’ One guy is wearing a pinstripe ones-y and has a red afro, if that is indication of the their stage presence. Also, they look about seventeen. It’s not all winner, but when they gel then things go really well.
I missed The Dodos when they were out for Falls so I was glad to chance to catch them live. With their sophomore effort out in a couple of months, the set combined new stuff with Visitor cuts, but the poor mix (too-loud drums and too-low vocals) means that all songs sound similarly clattering and wasn’t a great indication of what’s to come. A bit of a shame. Also, the introduction of a vibraphone player to the band might’ve sounded odd on paper but worked well. When he could be heard he definitely added something, banging away at the keys and sometimes even riding them with cello bows.
De facto Aussies Cut Off Your Hands were up next and put on a theatrical show for the large crowd. Despite having their debut longplayer overly-slickened by Bernard Butler (aka the guy who also wrecked Black Kids’ debut) and losing a member, the Auckland via London four-piece put together something that’s a lot rougher and engaging than on record. They drew from earlier, punkier EPs and wisely kept mainly to the louder, faster part of their oeuvre. I was slightly proud as one half of the Australia/NZ musical contingent on the schedule walked off to thunderous applause.
Too bad they were completely overshadowed by the biggest surprise of the festival in Britain’s The Chap, who put on one of the best sets of the weekend, if not THE BEST. On record, these guys are just bizarre and it doesn’t always work; however, live, with freeze frames, synchronized dancing, lyric placards, a piercing string section breakdown and hilarious banter, these guys are the balls. Merging electro with post-punk and what-the-fuck pop, it’s a melting pop of fun and absurdity self-described as “shit disco” and, elsewhere, as “Justin Timberlake vs The Chap.” It was great. Laneway, bring these guys out! Do it!
I was meant to leave The Chap early but clearly that didn’t happen so I was left sprinting to catch the start of The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, lest they open with personal favourite ‘Young Adult Friction.’ It was another fantastic set to an appreciative and expansive crowd. They ripped through their album (which is only about thirty-five minutes long anyway) and threw in a few b-sides and early songs as well that didn’t ever sound like padding. These guys are all winner. Again, Laneway, do it!
Yet again, I was left to sprint over to Fever Ray since I couldn’t tear myself away early and, despite the massive crowd at the back of the tent, I saw that the green light is still on to go into the pit. So I do – and thank god. I’m not sure what the view was like at the back but from the front it was hard enough making out the band in the thick blanket of smoke than engulfed the stage and which was continually replenished throughout. It maintained the appropriate and expected air of mystery around Karin Dressjner, but at the expense of any intimacy or interaction. Which, admittedly, is maybe her point. The light show, full of flickering antique lamps and lasers, kept most entertained as she worked through her self-titled album, which is still my favourite of 2009 so far.
I did run back to see The Very Best, the London/Malawi band whose 2008 mixtape had bloggers wetting themselves It was a good set from what I remember, but it’d been fifteen hours since Tensta started and after twenty minutes I went to sit down and fell asleep immediately, only to be woken up by someone throwing cups of water back overhead.
SUNDAY
I was more than a little sad that the last day has arrived, even more so as I saw the thousands of people packing up and leaving the campgrounds. Apparently a lot of people traditionally leave early for a combination of reasons; that they have work the next day, that the last day is shorter and quieter line-up wise, and that skin-heads set your tent on fire and topple portaloos. I didn’t see any tents getting set alight with people actually in them, but there was definitely some burning and rampaging to be had later on that night.
First though, I saw Pete Doherty, who instantly made it clear why people continue to give him so many chances. The loveable junkie ran through a set drawn heavily from Libertines and Babyshambles albums, and also included three aborted attempts at a ‘Billie Jean’ cover and a cheeky vomit at the back of the stage. He also started ‘Rose Of Scotland,’ thinking he was at T In The Park (which started a few days later) before someone stopped him. He didn’t look well, not least because his baggage was apparently lost (read: impounded) and he went through nearly a pack of cigarettes on stage. Still, when he bursts out ‘Man Who Would Be King,’ all is forgiven.
2562 is reportedly a Dutch dubstep artist, although his music lacks the syncopated, subdued subtlety of dubstep and falls closer to minimal techno. Even then, it’s far from the top of the pile and won’t be the record you put on when you’re wide-eyed at four in the morning but it was still fun for a little while. It grew tiresome after half an hour, with too little variety in beats and sounds leaving me slightly disappointed after having them talked up by the program...and a random guy in the campsite.
The Whitest Boy Alive were up next and again amassed a huge crowd for their electro-tinged jazz-pop outings. Clearly a favourite in this part of the world, they got a full hour and forty-five minute set and, even after walking off, the crowd jumped around singing the vocal hook from the closing number for over ten minutes – not so much as an attempt to coax them back for an encore as merely an outlet for the excitement they invoked. Not bad for an unassuming side-project that never gets too loud or out of control, but trade on economic playing and nerdy chic.
Finally, I made the barrier for Yeah Yeah Yeah’s, whose stage set-up consisted of a massive inflatable eye, glittery swirls and, as later revealed, heaps of confetti canons. Opening with ‘Runaway,’ the set was drawn heavily from It’s Blitz (unfortunately not ‘Hysteric’ though) and Show Your Bones highlights. Karen O is an enthralling frontwoman whose shrieks and thrusts drew the eyes of the thousands before her, at one stage donning a lit-up face mask for ‘Head Will Roll’ and steadily removing layers from her elaborate, colourful outfit. ‘Maps’ was performed as a slow, acoustic number, which was still moving though not as effective as the electric original. In fact, only ‘Black Tongue’ and set-closing ‘Date With The Night’ make the cut alongside it from their still-best album Fever To Tell. Although the setlist could’ve been better it was still an exciting and accomplished performance from the band who jumped on the electro bandwagon later than most but have raced to the front of the pack.
At this point I decided I should probably go see Coldplay, mainly since they’re the only band actually playing still. Many continued to vacate the stages and campground but there was still a huge canopy of flags and hands thrust up before the Orange Stage. Maybe I’m just ignorant to the Coldplay experience, but the rootsy interludes (including a more successful cover of ‘Billie Jean’) and, later, the drum machine revamps were a pleasant surprise in a set more dynamic and not half as bad as I anticipated. Album tracks didn’t go down as well as anything featured on Grey’s Anatomy et al, but it was still an okay way to end the festival. Chris Martin was smart enough to mention Roskilde and Denmark in almost every song to elicit those “oh-my-god-that’s-where-we-are!” shouts.
Roskilde is definitely something special and any number of OHS, liquor licensing and noise restrictions (not to mention a more conservative/sensible social decorum) would preclude such a festival taking place back home. It has a massive attendance and a vibrant, appreciative atmosphere and, judging from the number of Australians I ran into, a growing magnet for ex-pats. Definitely worth checking out if you’re in Europe, or even making a special trip for if you’re especially into festivals. It was a great eight nights that even made the pneumonia that landed me in hospital two days later worthwhile.