Carling Weekend 2007: Overview (Leeds)

United Kingdom | | 28 August 2007

The UK has it all when it comes to festivals. From the rain-soaked splendour of Glastonbury to the fey whimsy of Latitude, the corporate blast of V to the sunny eccentricities of Bestival – we’ve got it covered. Then there’s Leeds Festial: poo-smeared, popper-fuelled and tent-slain. Does the Carling double still deserve to reside in the upper echelons of Britain’s festival circuit? Or with a pack of musical puppies snapping at its heels, do Reading and Leeds need to up their game?

Despite the eternal promise of punch-ups and putrid campsites, the drive to Bramham Park is as picturesque as any other country-plotted shindig. The sun beats down on Yorkshire’s soft peaks, and handmade signs advertise pet rabbits and honey for sale. However, Friday’s main stage line-up belies the English idyll, because Leeds is being invaded by the US. Nestling on tonight’s main stage are Gym Class Heroes, hellogoodbye, The Used, Fall Out Boy, Nine Inch Nails and The Smashing Pumpkins. Waving the flag for Blighty (or Wales as those west of the border would protest) are Lostprophets and Funeral for a Friend. It’s a line-up as loud and brash as the festival’s habitual fairground rides. And after a dubious headline set by moon-head Corgan, begs the question, is it really worth sharing Bramham Park with thousands of extra punters than the UK’s smaller festivals?

So the main stage line-ups are hardly inspired and with many of the acts using it as a last, knackered, port of call before diving on their tea and slippers for a few weeks respite, it’s a toss-up as to whether they’ll shuffle through their sets in record time or save something special. The Carling Stage, which should have streams of tomorrow’s big hitters on tap, feels decidedly puny compared to the last two years' bills, which writhed with the likes of TV On The Radio, The Maccabees, Klaxons, Two Gallants, Arctic Monkeys and Clor. Whereas Glasto takes military planning and Latitude urges people to jog frenziedly from one tent to another, Leeds caters for so many people on so few stages that festival-goers can waddle drunkenly from one act to the next without much fear of two favourites colliding.

However, what Leeds lacks in booking prowess and mumsy touches – no fairylights, or lily-pad strewn lakes here - it makes up for with arguably the most hedonistic, up-for-it bunch of young hoodlums in the country. There are certainly a few more thorough-bred, Peachy looking young girls than we remember from former years, but they don’t outweigh the lads puking on the floor, or victorious GCSE students chucking cup after cup or warm beer down their necks. When on Day One, Operator Please slap the crowd round the lug-holes with the pin-ball racket of 'Song About Ping Pong', and the sun beats down with all the intensity of Natasha Kaplinksy on Strictly Come Dancing – it soon becomes clear this is going to be a Leeds to remember. Operator Please’s Geordie successors, Kubicheck! are equally impressive, with their machine gun drums and frenetic energy.

Applause for New Young Pony Club on the Radio 1 stage is a little cool, like their biggest hit, but the tent’s programming is the most eclectic and bristling of the day. Cold War Kids’ chunky riffs cushion Devendra Banhart’s unique meanderings, he in turn bolsters cheeky town-crier Jamie T who makes way for the Brazilian children’s party which is CSS. The night ends in style with LCD Soundsystem and the irrepressible Klaxons.

Despite its swathes of visitors, Leeds remains a particularly patriotic festival. Broad Yorkshire accents and a melting-pot of soft, north-eastern tones wreathe the air, making it nigh on impossible to forget exactly where this colossal party is based. Northerners are good to their own brethren, so on ambling over to the Carling tent to see Hooks For Hands on day two, we shouldn’t have been quite so surprised to see Leeds lad, Ricky Kaiser, and his merry chiefs beaming at an increasingly hysterical crowd. A set of barriers are swiftly erected to control the rest of the site as they cotton on to the secret gig. They’re just as swiftly knocked down as a dozen chunky legs plough through them to join the fun. Despite a couple of ensuing wrestling matches between security and fans, the gig is a sweaty little pit of joy. 'I Predict a Riot' never sounded so good, 'Ruby' is bellowed back at the band with relish and the lucky crowd who manage to see their homeboys wholeheartedly show their appreciation. Saturday continues with similar gusto. Maximo Park’s Paul Smith, dashing in black bowler and white tuxedo, scuttles and handclaps across the main stage like a delirious sand-crab. His amateur dramatics leave the crowds in rapture, while the lyrical prowess of 'Books From Boxes' and 'Parisian Skies' don’t fail to flip some of the more romantic hearts.

'Pioneer To The Falls', the album opener to Interpol’s latest offering, Our Love to Admire, already sounds like a like a classic. Paul Banks’ strengthened vocals wind through strands of astral blue light to ensure a magical set. The New Yorkers are followed in majestic style by the Peter Pan of indie-blues, Caleb Followill, and his fellow Kings Of Leon while over on the Carling Stage both Patrick Wolf and Albert Hammond Jr are impressive. Closing the main stage, Johnny Borrell gives his all. Towards the end of a heartfelt set, his voice starts to show the strain but what he lacks in tonsil force, Razorlight make up in their effort to please.

Day three and the site is flecked with burnt necks, flaky noses and drooping frames. The queue at the smoothie stand is a little longer, the throng at the bar a little shorter. Yet the party spirit persists. Another day of blazing blue sky is the backdrop for act after act of upbeat ear ticklers, while a few jokers still insist on wearing lycra creations which vacuum seal their manhood. Crystal Castles are a sublime start to a class-filled day on the dance stage, with arched front-woman Alice, peering through a coiled mic cable like a wide-eyed spider before scrambling onto the monitors to shriek like a banshee. Eagles of Death Metal can barely conceal their glee at having a chance to frolic on the main stage, and are followed by dad-friendly The Shins complete with teddy bear wedged on drum kit. The Portland fivesome compliment the sunshine with handfuls of shimmering, ramshackle pop-nuggets and soon have the crowd forgetting their scalps are being crisped into pork crackling. Over on the Carling Stage, Foals pack a punch – and the tent – with a heavy splattering of sonic techno-erruptions. The Radio 1 stage play it safe with Pigeon Detectives, Dinosaur Jr, The Twang and Biffy Clyro, with bum-faced The View scooping poll position.

As the giant sun melts into a pool of fluffy, dusk-tinged clouds above the main stage and Regine Chassagne settles into her customary frown, Arcade Fire instigate their last mammoth British gig of the summer. As usual, their intense swirls of goth-pop brilliance are diluted in the open air and across the swarm of bodies, but it’s a heavenly send off for Leeds' first ever completely dry festival. Forget the burnt tents, laugh in the face of molten faeces, embrace the debatable line-ups – because Leeds is still a white rose movement.