overview

Anyone who’s ever laid eyes upon a Manga comic or Japanese anime movie will instantly recognise the stereotypes. Outside the mammoth Chiba Marine Stadium congregate Tokyo’s spirited youth, bustling amongst their individual niches in a vivid hive of colour and intrigue. Their Eastern brand of ‘Indie Scenester’ puts our UK counterpart to shame, as the intricate fashions heavily outweigh us in terms of creativity and sincerity. Touted by everyone from Belle & Sebastian to Gwen Stefani, the famous Harajuka girls are out in force, dressed up as toy dolls and comic book heroines, absorbing themselves in a form of wild escapism that us vaguely repressed Brits could only dream of. There are the hardened jocks, prowling the back rows with studded ears and eyebrows; limp cigarettes perched loosely on their bottom lips, and lumbering metal-heads, industrially clad with painted white faces as if shipped straight from the morgue. Between them all lie many more, each as dedicated to their own individual call as the next. Japan is a country where there is no half way, every possibility is realised to it’s maximum, to the ultimate extreme. It’s the most compelling start to a festival you’re ever likely to see, and no one’s even picked up an instrument yet.

With Japan being amongst the most densely urbanised countries in the world, the festival finds itself situated awkwardly on the outskirts of the Tokyo Metropolis, amongst large motorways and high-rise buildings. With the stages situated at random points where space allows, festival stage hopping becomes a confusing and time-consuming process, so most people settle by the one that most takes their fancy, and remain there all day.

On the other side of the globe, in wild foreign surroundings and in an alien time zone, there’s a sense of poetic tragedy in being faced with the two-dimensional, cardboard cut-out punk posturing of Towers Of London, opening up on the Marine stage. Here in the UK they’re currently waiting in the same queue that the likes of Goldie Lookin’ Chain and Electric Six did before being handed their ‘Fifteen Minutes Of Fame’ ration stamp by the good people of the British music press, but in Japan any irony is lost and they’re treated like rock heroes from another world.

Sprinting across two motorway bridges to the Mountain stage (via a quick stop off in the Dance tent, where Her Space Holiday are noodling away at their synths) affords witness to Louis XIV taking what the Black Rebel Motorcycle started then re-moulding it into something better. They’re followed by The Departure who, after signing a surprise five-album deal so early on in their career, storm the stage like men with something to prove. Opening with a stomach-rumbling ‘Be My Enemy’, things start off well, but pissing away the excellent recent single ‘All Mapped Out’ so early on in the set sees their performance trail off into the realms of lacklustre.

Thankfully things are turned around by the dense sonic soundscapes of TV On The Radio. In a classic case of ‘Big In Japan’, the multi-cultural Brooklyn rockers are yet to make a huge impact on the UK music scene, despite considerable critical acclaim. Like !!! on a bad drug-trip, they tap into a darker side of funk that commands your utmost attention. It’s absorbing and highly enjoyable and, if that’s not enough, the gargantuan beard/afro combo of lead guitarist David Andrew Sitek creates the human equivalent of a four-leaf clover – the rarity that is someone who has a face that would look exactly the same if you turned it upside down.

The Arcade Fire on the Sonic stage serve justice to their surrounding hype, performing what can only be deemed the greatest set of the day. We’re only three songs in before the drummer is overcome by a rousing fit of excitement during ‘Rebellion (Lies)’, charging through his kit, to the front of the crowd, with a solitary cymbal and stick in tow, which he continues to crash at with the ferocity of a barred maniac breaking free of his chains, setting himself upon the unsuspecting world. Songs from their debut album ‘Funeral’ sound even more visceral when performed live and the Tokyo crowd wail with euphoria through every moment of their set.

Returning to the Mountain stage for Interpol’s early afternoon tinker and something is amiss. Perplexed by what stands before us as the crowd clap in time to ‘Slow Hands’, we can only assume the band got out of bed on the right side this morning, as they rip through a highly-charged and – get this – cheery, upbeat set! Very strange.

Across the six stages of Summer Sonic, there are no more than five native bands performing. Whilst nu-metallers The Mad Capsule Markets blow speakers on the Marine stage, we opt for Japan’s answer to the Beastie Boys, the curiously named Denky Group. The novelty of their endless “Hey-ho” call and responses, twinned with what we can only assume to be ten minute stand-up interludes between songs, that keep the Japanese roaring with laughter, but us vaguely confused, soon wears off, calling a premature halt to our foray into the murky world of J-pop.

In one of the many confusing contrasts between expectations in the UK and our friends in the East, Slipknot draw a crowd so dense and varied you could be mistaken for thinking you’d unwittingly arrived at a casting for a United Colours Of Benetton advert. Whilst a huge number of the habitual boiler-suit wearing rock minions are scattered about, groups of cute young girls raise screams of delight louder than any ever heard at a Smash Hits Poll Winner’s Party, and loved-up couples nod their heads in the kind of curiously passive bemusement normally reserved for the likes of Maroon 5, whilst nine crazed Americans in latex masks bash the shit out of anything within arms reach, be it an instrument, speaker stack or another band member’s head.

After slotting bones back into sockets and dabbing TCP on the fresh mosh-pit wounds, it’s back to the Mountain stage for what you’d least expect after a Slipknot gig, the perfectly juxtaposed Duran Duran. In another confused image shift, poor old Simon Le Bon’s gone from looking like a fat baker (as he did at the start of this reunion tour a year and a half ago) to a prototype Englebert Humperdink, with his tan-caked skin now engulfed by dirty sprawling mutton chops. It’s no worry though, as they round up Summer Sonic 2005 with a hit-packed set. After monumentally camp renditions of ‘Wild Boys’, ‘Planet Earth’ and set-closer ‘Rio’ you can almost forgive them for the indifferent new material they insist on throwing in the mix.

As Summer Sonic is brought to a close, the people of Tokyo file out politely and efficiently to catch their rides home. The raw energy and air of spontaneity that characterises British festivals is lacking, but an underlying charm and benevolence filters through that makes the whole thing seem more than worthwhile. Attending Summer Sonic is in itself an insightful experience, to see a handful of great bands whilst you’re at it is just a bonus.

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