Carling Weekend 2006: NME / Radio 1

United Kingdom | by Ruth Booth | 27 August 2006

Leeds: Friday, 25 August

While the funky verse of ‘Red Shoes’ lifts a few early punters to their feet, this still feels a bit popular-indie-by-numbers to do anything further. The squalling pop of Metric fares better, Emily Haines voice floating angelically above the stage, but Tapes’n’Tapes bring the whole thing back down again with a bump with their generic Kooks-bating output. Switches at least have the messy stomp of ‘Message From Yuz’ to redeem them from the same kind of banality.

Forward Russia score points for being the first band today to inject some genuine energy into the NME stage with their adrenalin rock’n’roll. Like the Blood Brothers without the hardcore and Ritalin abuse, Tom writhes across the stage like he’s got a serious case of house fleas. It’s even more striking when followed up with Dresden Dolls and their kooky precision burlesque, the wry ‘Coin-Operated Boy’ operated with deceptively theatrical flair. And rounding off the afternoon, Hope Of The States pair tetchy violins and groin-rumbling bass into a storming version of ‘Get Ready’.

By now you would be expecting the joke to be wearing a little thin, but Goldie Lookin Chain pack the tent to bursting point for a set that pays homage to 2Unlimited and White Stripes; the latter in a re-working of the lyrics to ‘My Doorbell’ that says what Jack White was probably really thinking (“I’ve been thinking ‘bout your missus, I really wanna do ‘er…”). Compared with last year’s muted performance on the main stage, it’s safe as fuck.

With a temporary hiatus in the offing this winter, it’s a small yet rabid crowd that’s gathered for Broken Social Scene. Yet somehow it only makes the Canadian indie supergroup’s sweet shimmering guitar rock all the more poignant; the ambiguity of the huge proggy wave of brass sound that announces their arrival, strangely fitting.

No such problem with selective appeal for The Kooks, however; the crowd watching the monitors outside the tent is already twenty rows deep in places by the time the big haired ones swing their louche hips into ‘Naïve’. Which makes the choice of The Rakes above them on the bill something of a strange one; not even Jamie’s stylish dance moves can pull the same kind of crowd for their charged indie disco, and after a while things start to become a little samey.

There’s a certain pride for this Geordie writer in seeing Maxïmo Park pull off a headlining slot with such aplomb. While Paul Smith may be prone to overlong song intros bordering on the pretentious, musically they’re as sharp as the lapels on Smith’s white blazer. ‘The Night I Lost My Head’ is a simple and effective exercise in restraint, while ‘The Coast Is Always Changing’’s thundering beat judders through the crowd like a pneumatic drill. At the end of it, though, the perfect climax is all about one song. The memory of tens of thousands singing along to ‘Apply Some Pressure’ surely must rank alongside this tent’s finest moments.
 
Saturday, 26 August

“I’ll let you into a little secret. We played Reading yesterday and we were shit.” Well, not that much has changed in 24 hours, but Duels can consider today’s triumphant rendition of ‘Brothers & Sisters’ payment for their sins. There’s a certain sense of déjà vu in watching Fields right afterwards – until they let rip with towering walls of keyboard noise.

The late running of today’s stage is working out well for The Long Blondes, their girly dance punk and sultry vocals making sure Gogol Bordello’s fans stay put a little while longer. The aptly labelled “gypsy punks” themselves seem determined to start their own Romanian party in the NME tent, their insidious folk rock wheedling its way into your shoes.

However, it’s Peaches who provides the most rock’n’roll performance of the day - naturally. Churning out the sexiest rock’n’roll on the planet, it climaxes with some of the most iconic crowd surfing ever, Peaches borne up by the crowd, then collapsing Flashdance-esque into the masses.

Proof positive that having your Dad around doesn’t necessarily destroy your cool points, Mystery Jets laidback rock slots neatly into the Summer’s afternoon. Meanwhile The Secret Machines couldn’t make a huger noise if they tried, oozing out huge trippy rock, the soundtrack of a million spaceships descending.