day one review (cont)

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The Raconteurs afternoon performance conjures a crowd as eager to be entertained as the evening’s headliners do. Mister shaky-voice aka Jack ‘I think I’m a spooky ghost’ White and pretty-boy partner Brendan Benson perform with all the self-reverence that a so-called super-group such as themselves might deem necessary, but after each song seems to begin with a false start then sinks into mediocrity, people’s interests soon wane. Elton John-esque heart-trembler ‘Together’ sounds misty and moving on record, but framed in the bright-blue, 02 sponsored stage, the sentiment seems a little cheap. Even jolting single ‘Steady As She Goes’ fails to impress as the strong winds blow the sound out of Hyde Park and over to the Queen’s toilet in Buckingham Palace. Once they’ve spent the single early in the set, people start politely filing out for entertainment elsewhere.

Over on the My Space stage gather über-fashionable teenagers, looking awkward and insecure behind their immaculate make-ups, precisely the people who frequent the unsettling world of the stage’s sponsor. Through the mist of hormones appear cockney Londoner’s Cazals, one part Charles Dickens, two parts Big Brother’s Big Mouth. Infectiously tuneful indie is their manifesto and if it weren’t for the creakingly awful sound that infects the stage like a bad case of athlete’s foot, their performance would have stood out as one of the day’s greatest. When you consider that lead singer Phil Cazal looks like a cross between your little sister and the weasel from The Animals Of Farthing Wood, it seems even more of a shame that a greater number of people don’t turn up to see them.

Belle & Sebastian opt for an upbeat, sun-kissed set as they play their second-billing slot on the Main Stage. Yet as effervescent front-man Stuart Murdoch sits at his piano stool chiming out the musical delights of ‘Funny Little Frog’, clouds gather and the wind picks up, meaning the intimacy of their music is lost. The crowd shrinks noticeably, as people go in search of an evening meal or musical alternatives in less gusty surroundings.

Those who find themselves at the Xfm stage seem perplexed by Bob Mould. The Ex-Hüsker Dü man stands alien on the stage, armed with nothing more than his electric guitar and a microphone, wailing fuzzy logic at the indifferent crowd. The response is muted, people sat about the tent seem tired and preoccupied with their individual conversations.

Yet this all changes as anticipation grows for the evening’s second-stage headliner’s Super Furry Animals. Assured in their surroundings and now so deeply ingrained in the annals of cult alternative, it’d be hard for them to put on a bad show. As the techno-circus wizard bleeps of ‘Slow Life’ emanate out the speakers, the Wireless crowd finally find something to get excited about and start cheering nonchalantly. Lead singer Gruff Rhys, a musical pioneer and hero to many, is as mysterious and evasive as ever, letting the band’s music take pride of place over the course of their too short, forty-five minute set. Songs new and old, from the recent ‘Atomic Lust’ to the ancient ‘Do Or Die’ meld together to form a shortened Greatest Hits set, which the crowd lap up with an endless stream of jubilant cheers. As ‘The Man Don’t Give A Fuck’, which, for the millionth time, is the greatest festival moment ever, leads out with its trademark drum’n’bass finale, the only complaint is that the band didn’t find time to squeeze in their Super Furry Calling Card, “Juxtaposed With U”.

As they draw to a close, people in the know rush full speed to the other end of the site, with a hope of catching the final moments of White Rose Movement’s headliner performance on the My Space stage. Most only arrive in time to catch them saying “Thank You! Goodnight!” and a chance to see what a small crowd they are able to draw in the face of such poor line-up arrangement. Surely it would have been wiser to place a band like Dirty Pretty Things headlining this stage, so that people would be more likely to turn up and see them, and give White Rose Movement a fair chance to shine (because, by the way, they’re amazing) earlier on the bill? If these issues were addressed, Wireless could do so much better.

The Strokes round up Wireless’ first day in pleasing style, as they mix already-classic singles with dirge off their latest album. Far better suited to massive festival performances than intimate smaller venues, in a headline slot you’re too far away from the stage to be put off by Julian Casablanca’s complete lack of charisma. Instead of the apathy, all you can make out is the flashing lights that adorn the stage, and the dancing feet of tens of thousands of people all gathered around you having a good time. ‘Someday’, ‘Last Night’ and ‘Hard To Explain’ give way to a rapturous encore that includes a cover of Lou Reeds’ ‘Walk On The Wild Side’, and as they end on ‘Take It Or Leave It’ it seems that after all, the day has been a success.

People leave Hyde Park smiling and fulfilled. For the cynics expecting so little from the festival (this reviewer included), it seems there’s been an about turn from last year’s confusion. On the whole, Day 1 at Wireless has been pretty good. Let’s see if the enthusiasm remains after four more days of it…

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