Leeds Festival

Bramham Park

Leeds

26th August 2005

Leeds Festival has become a firm fixture in the UK open-air weekenders over the last few years.

To my mind, like most festivals these days, it tries far too hard to be all things to all men and, whilst it does achieve a great deal, it really satisfies no-one fully. In my youth, Reading was rock/blues, Donington was the best of Metal and Glasto was Hippyfest Central. Early in the 21st Century, Download strives to corner the Metal market in all its various forms, but doesn't really cater to the older generation; Leeds/Reading leans towards the more Emo/Indie scene with a token rock band thrown in to boost the ticket sales.

Nevertheless, those of a certain age still fork out the £100+ to spend a lot of the weekend bored, tired and/or stoned, waiting for a band that actually doesn't sound like they're drilling holes in the stage and suffering from a bad case of trapped wind. So, Leeds, to headline Friday, shipped in establishment heavyweights Iron Maiden to soak up some extra sixty-five quids. Let's face it, it is not a metal bill and without Maiden, a lot of the people who made the trip, would not be there. Conversely, much of the audience is made up of people who would not normally be seen dead at an Iron Maiden concert. That said, looking around it does make me chortle to see the strange mix of t-shirts in the audience. Unkempt longhairs side-by-side with pasty-faced emokids. If either lot weren't so stoned, there would be a riot!

Anyway, it was to sunny Leeds we traipsed at the end of August. Back in the day, the August Bank Holiday meant a trip to Reading, blazing sunshine, a weekend of drunken debauchery, and some [classic] rock. You could set your watch by it... if you were in any state to see your watch, or indeed, remember where you last saw your timepiece. This year, it meant driving rain, biting wind, and a hell of a lot of waiting around for the bands you actually came to see. Myself and firstborn were just here for the Friday; secondborn was here for the duration, emokid that she is.

It was quite a hike from the day car park to the 'arena'. Good job that it is possible to get a decent cup of unmasculine European coffee at one of these things nowadays. I tell you, if someone had told me back at Reading '83, that in twenty-something years time, we would be drinking cappuccinos at a rock festival, I would have assumed that:

a) they were stoned

b) I was stoned

c) I would be dead long before I saw that happen.

Still, here I was, twenty-five years after I first went to a rock festival, sitting in a field, drinking coffee, wondering why I wasn't acting my age sitting at home, in front of the fire, having a nice cup of tea and a nap. Really, had I learned nothing from the previous three years at Download?

Not really.

Note to self: Grow Up!

If you have to explain the point of James Osterberg to anyone, then there’s no point; they will never understand his role in society, or the history of music. I have always been a fan of the Detroit music scene be it the Iggy and the Stooges, The MC5, Ted ‘all-the-squirrel-you-can-eat’ Nugent, Frijid Pink, or the Motown sound. There is just something raw and immediate about the blue-collar music that is addictive. It’s about as subtle as a 20lb sledgehammer to the soft parts but, then again, Detroit is not a city for the weak and worthless, and Iggy Pop is as much a part of that as anyone. His anarchic punk/rock style pre-dates UK punk by a good ten years and his set was just a frantic run through of back catalogue tunes that was lost on these young ‘uns. Semi-naked, Iggy cavorted around on-stage as manically as ever, looking very upset when his attempts to incite a riot failed because of the security, whilst the audience looked on like a dog that has just been shown a card trick. The organisers of these events really should give some extra thought to who appears where on these festival bills. If they’re going to have acts like Iggy, Maiden and Manson, then why put FFAF, Incubus and NOFX on the same day? It just does not make any sense to me.

And so it still is, thirty-odd years down the line. This time its Marilyn Manson who is seen as evil personified. Please. Michael Jackson is evil. Phil Collins is the antichrist. Manson is trying to alert you to some important issues, if you’d care to stop being so outraged for a minute and listen to the man!

Musically, Manson is doing some interesting stuff. Covers of Tainted Love, Sweet Dreams and Personal Jesus, take songs that, to my ears, were as lame as Tiny Tim Cratchett in the ‘80s, and give them a new lease of life. (And yes, smart arse, I know that Marc Almond didn’t record the original version of Tainted Love!) Along with his own original material, Manson puts on a good show and does what he does best: entertains.

You see, I am old enough to have seen most of this stuff the first time around. Before the Brave New World tour, the last time I had seen Maiden live was on the Killers tour. I remember how much energy and power the pre-Bruce line-up(s) had on stage. Prowler and Phantom of the Opera were truly mind-blowing, with Di’Anno stalking the front of the stage, growling and spitting out the words, full of bile and contempt. It wasn’t necessarily refined and cultured, but it was heavy, fast, and felt raw and untamed.

All that changed with Dickinson’s arrival into the fold. Maiden became more professional, more accomplished; a much better band. In my mind though, they lost some of their raw edge and what made those first two records so great, making them the undisputed kings of NWOBHM. In the years between Killers and Brave New World, whilst I lost interest in Maiden they, in turn, quite deservedly, became the establishment house band. Don’t get me wrong, Iron Maiden is a fantastic band, and I don’t think any other group on the planet does what they do, any better. But, they are a different band from that pre-Bruce era.