Reading 2002 - Friday

United Kingdom | by Raymond Sayer | 23 August 2002

1pm is an unnaturally early hour for white-knuckle garage kicks, but despite the blazing sunshine outside the Carling Tent, the Von Bondies manage to transport us to a dank and dingy r'n'r dive where the jukebox plays nothing but Cramps and Screamin' Jay Hawkins records. As with the White Stripes, there's a bad-lovin' spoonful of blues in the Von Bondies recipe, mixed with a drum and bass strut (no, not that kind of drum and bass) that recalls prime 70s glam. Singer Jason Stollsteimer has the lank fringe and retro-chic look of a lost Stroke, but it's guitarist Marcie (girlfriend of Jack White Stripe) that the crowd are hollering for as the band take to the stage (why not bass queen Carrie? Maybe her thousand yard stare intimidates those delicate indie boys...). Forty minutes later, they've added quite a few converts to their cause.

The Von Bondies might ignite the garage-rock fuse running though Friday, but over on the main stage there's a reminder things can get a little more widescreen, too. Mercury Rev overcome the somewhat muted response to their last album with a fine, crowd-pleasing performance; as the twin keyboard produce ever-spacier, speaker-panning noises, Jonathan Donahue flails his arms to and fro, for all the world like Mickey Mouse conducting his magical helpers in 'Fantasia' (OK, perhaps you had to be there). 'Goddess on a Hiway' is a laid-back Stonesy charmer that's perfect for a Summer afternoon, while 'the Dark is Rising' prompts the first mass heart-melting moment of the festival.

Next up, it's the Dandy Warhols, a band who've outlived numerous scenes by not nailing their colours to any particular one. Sure, they exhibit the kind of depraved swagger that should see them comfortably ride out the current vogue for rock'n'roll, but their sound is underpinned by a mantric, mechanical quality that's not a million miles away from early Stereolab or even Spacemen 3, as the slow-building opener demonstrates. Unsurprisingly, they play 'Not if you were the Last Junkie on Earth'; more surprisingly, keyboardist Zia doesn't shed so much as a sock throughout. It's a fine, if curiously detached, performance; maybe this is material they've been touring a little too long.

Next up on the main stage, it's a little-known Detroit duo who've caused faint ripples of interest in the UK music press (ahem), the White Stripes. Here's where any pretence of critical objectivity goes out the window: the Stripes are never anything less than compulsively watchable, and they're in fantastic form today. Things might start out with a technical glitch, as 'Dead Leaves' only emerges from the onstage monitors for the first couple of verses, but this only adds to the drama when the main speakers kick in during the piledriving riff.

It's a set that sidesteps 'Fell In Love With a Girl' (more of an albatross for them in the US, to be honest, thanks to constant MTV exposure) but takes in numerous 'De Stijl' favourites, including a stunning rendition of 'Death Letter'. Jack scatters various semi-comprehensible lyrical references to Buddy Holly throughout, and ends up sharing a drum stool with Meg, leaning into her while she's pressed ever-closer to the drums, a look of good-natured forbearance on her face.