Leeds 2001 Review - Friday

Friday

United Kingdom |

Though the weather may indicate otherwise, Reading's northern counterpart is anything but grim. Arranged in a lush oasis of coutryside it's less crowded, less pretentious and much more friendly.

I enter the arena just in time to see Queens Of The Stone Age finishing up their set with 'The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret' and a mad fer it crowd bouncing happily up and down. Pretty soon I'm accosted by people with rocket packs full of free strongbow - can this festival get any better?

Up next on the main stage are Papa Roach and all of a sudden it's a bit more serious. Whilst Coby Dick's well documented shenanigans include smashing his mic into his head until bloody (when he's not stuffing it down his pants), cussing like a tourette's sufferer and staring blankly into space against the telling background sound of some poor kid's less than desirable domestic environment (his own?) I witness some poor girl being led crying from the moshpit, blood streaming from her head. It's much more scary than the comic strip terror that is his pal Marilyn Manson, who according to one of those in the know backstage is 'about as scary as my little brother'.

In a mist of dry ice and a mutilated stars and stripes, MM thrills the kids with 'Dope Show' and 'Beautiful People'. What is he protesting against we wonder? Is it the fact he wasn't born a little girl? Ah well, it's all just harmless fun and if you're not in the mood for that you could always join us oldies in the evening session tent to watch Martin Rossiter crooning through Gene's back catalogue of soothers.

Meanwhile in the Carling tent a spartan but patient crowd await Gay Dad. Does it really take this long to get everything ready or are the band just waiting for the tent to fill up a bit more? In any case it proves to be worth the wait when Cliff Jones takes to the stage, determined to claim back his rebuked crown as the Saviour of Rock n Roll. He certainly looks the part with his golden mop and aviator shades and despite losing a couple of band members as well as their press following over the past two years, the band prove they can still entertain. 'Back in the driving seat' he muses to himself in a pleased fashion before launching into 'Now, Always and Forever'. Unfortunately it seems he's spoken too soon, guitar strap tangling with lead and ruining his first powerchord. Here comes the trademark Primadonna behaviour - 'Let's stop this fucking thing right now', he starts, stroppily. Poor old Clifto, nothing ever seems to go his way these days. Unphased, his second attempt is more successful and recieves raucouse reception from his adoring fans.

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