Carling Weekend 2007: Carling Stage (Leeds)

United Kingdom | by Daniel Pratley | 28 August 2007

At first glance a curious mixture of obscure pop, mainstream emo and middling Americana defines a lineup that will draw on the flippant, casual music fan, on an idle tour of the site. Its not all doom and gloom mind, hidden amongst the fetid are some heavily polished acts.

Republic of Loose are, in fact, just that. Polished that is, only they’ve been polishing the wrong ‘act’. Firmly grounded in that ‘Funky Town’ acoustic funk twoddle, this Dublin outfit are a form of laboured pop we’d rather not subject ourselves too. Which couldn’t be further from the truth for Australia’s Operator Please, who are fantastically brash, fresh and although look nothing like gypo’s have an undeniable stench of the aforementioned. Culminating in the glorious ‘Song about Ping Pong’ Australia’s newest punk fiddlers are undeniably onto something special.

Kubicheck, although relentlessly active, have fallen a little short of the radar recently and todays performance is a sure indication why. They're far from bad, in fact they're tirelessly tight, but they lack the style of their counterparts and somehow drift perilously close to emo at points. Drummer Chris McGreevy is devilishly fervent, a powerhouse that renders Kubicheck’s faults almost irrelevant, yet they still remain, a superbly competent band, just lacking in that one standout track.

Old man Seasick Steve is an icon. He’s quickly developed into a must see act and a buskers wet-dream. You all remember Chris Helme’s flirt with stardom when John Squire plucked him out-of busking obscurity to front the ‘mighty’ Seahorses, well Seasick Steve couldn’t be further from that. Torn from his ramshackle life busking in the deep south, Seasick’s bluesy stomp is achingly soulful and mournfully emotive. His detractors will always question his authenticity, but who gives a shit, the music is amazing, the man is fascinating, what else really matters?        

Friday night headliners are The Hold Steady, a ramshackle band from Brooklyn who, here, manage to drive us literally insane. Its been a pretty inconsistent day so far and to top it off The Hold Steady bore the last cell out of us. Obviously there’s a market for these bearded nobodies, but the Carling tent is not it. Drenched in god-awful rock ‘licks’ and springsteen style Americana these boys are lost on us from the off.  

Thankfully Saturday morning’s delights are much more potent, particularly those tiny upstarts Bombay Bicycle Club. For 16 and 17 year-olds they are uncharacteristically confident, tight, and show a maturity in their sound unrivalled by the majority of the bands on the bill. Musically songs like '16' hint at Pavement with a slight lean towards Slint, indicating just how mature their sound is. Visually, frontman Jamie MacColl is pure boxed madness, manic and jittery and eccentric, you couldn’t ask for better things from such a foetal band.

Hooks For Hands, Leeds’ most famous sons, return to the festival after almost headlining the main stage last year. Its quite a fall, yet it’s a fall we’re all willing to bear as this is surely the hottest gig of the festival. As Ricky Wilson takes centre stage, dressed as usual in grotesque garb and the first notes of ‘Everyday I love you less and Less’ its obvious this stage and this day will belong to the Kaiser Chiefs. it’s hardly Beatlemania, but levels of hysteria reach fever-pitch as barriers set up around the tent are broken and the uncouth youth are tackled and ejected by vicious security. The Kaisers are in fine form, delivering a thirty minute ‘greatest hits’ mêlée, proving they’re a brilliantly articulate live band, who, in all honesty, should never be committed to record.

The 1990s from Glasgow are a bright prospect, seeped in a melting-pot of ‘Ooooh’s’ and ‘Laaa’s’ they deliver the most upbeat and cheery set of the day. Tracks like 'You're Supposed To Be My Friend' have an unquestionably SFA quality that instantly sets them adrift from the majority of the lineup.

The Reverend is famous, he knows it, he feels it, and by damn he’s gonna milk it for all it’s worth. While the rest of The Makers take a sheepish shuffle stageback, John Mclure, arms aloft, is working stagefront with a fervour Mr Ashcroft would be proud of. He’s a King, and when 'Heavyweight Champion of the World' kicks in all is lost… make way for the biggest ego in pop. After the robotic vocals of the Reverend a pleasant respite is found in the twinkly pop of Albert Hammond. Its not far removed from The Strokes moniker, but it comfortably ticks a few more boxes than the latter.
    
Sunday’s line-up is questionable to say the least. Built upon a mass of mediocre emo the lords day of rest is penetrated by the devils scourge. Director are the first to break the mould. Fronted by Irelands answer to Andy Warhol (with the voice of Stephen Hawkin) Director are a curious spectacle. Tracks like ‘Reconnect’ stink of A-level imagery, but somehow manage a timeless quality that endears much of the crowd.

Highlight of the weekend for the Carling Stage undoubtedly goes to the contorted genius of Foals. These fine young lads can't be touched for shear ability, verve and, dare we say it panache. They are simply breathtaking, each track a marvel, both intricate and delicate, dynamic and danceable, they are the Rapture born of Boards Of Canada, and are stunning. ‘Hummer’ in particular.   

It’s the end of an emphatic three days. There have been some surprises, a lot of pap, some great sunshine and some amazing performances, proving that out on a limb, is often the only place to be.