Rock Werchter 2004: Sunday

Belgium | by Roy Kasius04 July 2004

SUNDAY

Big mouthed Danko Jones gives us a startling wake up call, the leathered Canadian rocker telling us to leave the festival if we don't want to "rock and roll". Seldom have we seen such an enigmatic front man not giving a shit if we like his music. Who wants his Sunday served with silence and peace can fuck off, "Because I'm the devils son", says Danko. Yeah, as if we didn't know that.

Young guns go for it. Belgian rock trio Zornik stake their claim to fame on another level. After supporting Muse, they're now ready for a slot on the main stage at Rock Werchter, clearly a band that likes to have fun on stage with catchy Placebo-like rock monsters pounding out of the speakers.

Starsailor can rely on a huge fan base nowadays and every song is sung word for word by today's audience. Singer James Walsh visibly enjoys their popularity during Starsailor's solid repertoire. There are no real surprises, at least until Walsh performs a stunning solo cover of U2's 'Where The Streets Have No Name'. At least they can't lose that one.

He could have been a character on The Sopranos. With his slick hair and his black suit Roy Paci looks like a mobster. Maybe it's because he's from Sicily, who knows? At least the man knows how to entertain, emanating a sound similar to that of Manu Chao. His musicians create a jazzy, Latin sound, using a huge array of instruments. A great band, a great singer, and great songs. But what the hell are Lamb doing on the main stage? Their music is so beautiful and fragile, it should be enjoyed in a more intimate tent setting. Nevertheless, they pull off a great show, 'Gorecki', 'Sweet' and 'Gabriel' provoking blanket's of sonic warmth.

PJ Harvey is mad. Very mad. Even in a tight yellow dress, face adorned with a sweet smile, she can't hide that she is angry with someone or something. Only someone this heated can deliver such a terrific show of both verbal and musical fireworks. We come hurtling back to earth though with Wilco, who are possibly the worst band of the weekend. What a load of crap. These musicians should go back to their teachers and ask for a refund. How they managed to get a slot at this great festival, I will never know. My sister can sing better.

Thank God then for the Pixies. For the youngsters out there, that fat, balding bloke and that Roseanne-lookalike form part of the most important bands in history. During possibly the quickest hour ever to pass, they unleash all those 'hits' that were never actually hits without ever coming up for air. We don't care about the lack of pleasantries, we are just enjoying one of the best shows of this Rock Werchter, 'Debaser', 'Here Comes Your Man' and 'Hey', evoking as much nostalgic joy as McCartney at Glastonbury.

N*E*R*D may be a jumped-up, unpleasant bunch to talk to but when they are on stage it's a whole different story. They rock like no one else and being pure ladies men prove to be the best crowd pleasers of the festival. Pharell Willams croons through the slows, then blows the audience apart during funk rockers like 'She Wants To Move' and 'Rock Star'. And like every N*E*R*D show, it all ends with the crowd jumping around frenetically to 'Lap Dance'. 

Another year and another performance from Werchter favourites Placebo, who always put on a good show. Same again this year then, despite a slight lack in effort as if they're tired of their constant touring. Still Brian Molko and the boys don't let us down. If it's easy to get overexcited about Placebo, it's just as easy to be a bit too negative about Air - two Frenchmen standing like statues on stage, playing breathy porn music, woolly lounge, and overly long acoustic tracks sung in English with a bad French accent. We try to have a dip in their warm bath and wash ourselves down with classics like 'Sexy Boy', 'Kelly Watch The Stars' and 'Cherry Blossom Girl' but we are most definitely ready and waiting for 2 Many DJ's to take the stage and crank things up a level. Belgium's most famous DJing brothers play a two hour set of party crackers, interweaving dance and rock seemlessly. Who else could start a set with Bowie's 'Rebel Rebel' and end it in Outkast's 'Hey Ya!' Outstanding.

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