Thursday review

The O2 Wireless Festival is a weird little beastie. Yes, it’s a festival. Yes, there is live music, and yes, there is a selection of noodles-burger-chips for our delectation…but just remember – it’s slap bang in the middle of London. London – where people wear wellies for fashion, not for the weather, and where off-road vehicles glide smoothly around the tarmacced streets of Chelsea and Westminster. This is a city that loves its comforts and that’s what O2 Wireless Festival is all about.

There’s a cash point for people who forgot to use one of the thousands of ATMs in the vicinity. The Sony Ericsson tent hands out floor cushions and rugs for people who don’t like contact with the grass. You can even print out your Bluetoothed photos there. The Ray Ban bar is a London bar-a-like with obligatory trendy flock wallpaper, faux leather sofas and a variety of people on the decks. Apart from the exposure to the elements, it’s like any night out in London.

Thursday evening brings us Satellite Party, Perry Farrell’s new offering. This man is legendary. Not only has he given us Jane’s Addiction and Porno For Pyros, but he’s now strutting about on stage in a fabulous corset with his backing-singer wife Etty Lau sporting a 70’s calendar girl strapless flowery swimsuit. Throw in Nuno Bettencourt (yummy chap from 90s cheese-rocksters Extreme), and songwriters Carl Restivo and Jenny Galt, and you’re in gorgeous rock heaven. Dave Lee Roth would give his right eye for a scene like this. It’s rock, with more than a smattering of Porno For Pyros’ style creeping in and most of all it’s totally fun.

In comparison, Queens Of The Stone Age are totally non-descript and less cartoony. They’re well known without being famous, and what they offer is pure unadulterated rock. Only a few songs in and the big screen is showing a couple of the obligatory rock chicks, sitting on someone’s shoulders, flashing their boobs (suspiciously already bodypainted... "No doubt planted by the record company" someone ventures next to me). Their set is a long slow start. They play new tracks, but everyone is waiting for the old songs. Truth be told, no one in the crowd really lifts until ‘Feel Good Hit Of The Summer’ kicks in and it certainly wakes everyone up. They lose their serious edge for a few minutes as Josh Homme throws a round of "...everybody knows you dance like you f*ck.." as an alternative bridge. QOTSA are brilliantly formed, play like utter professionals but I can’t help but feel there’s something missing to their set. Or possibly they just seem to be lacking some showmanship after Perry’s antics.

The White Stripes sneak on stage while we’re all drinking and chatting. Before you can say “So are they ACTUALLY related?” they’re four bars into their first song. Everyone sits up and takes notice. In fact, if it’s possible to imagine a crowd of thousands leaping to their feet at the same time then that is exactly what happens. The screen is suitably tinged red and white throughout the whole set. Meg is bouncing on the drums, Jack barely lifts his head high enough to let this hair fall from his face but still runs about the stage with boundless enthusiasm. If there was a White Stripes bible that told them exactly how to be on stage at all times, they are following it word for word, like caricatures of themselves.

By the time they play ‘Hotel Yorba’ I’m not sure that anyone has taken a breath. Besides their own music, they are able to take the simplest of songs like Dolly’s ‘Jolene’ and Dusty’s ‘I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’ and exploit their pain and suffering in a completely beautiful way. ‘Seven Nation Army’ is the perfect encore song, ending a perfectly crafted set, and despite the formula, tonight is all about the White Stripes because the music speaks for itself.

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