Thursday 4 July 2013

Hard Rock Calling

29/06/2013
Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park
London, UK

The stage was set for a glorious day in the capital. An early morning road trip in a Micra with three mates, top notch weather, loud music and some bacon sandwiches. Oh, and some live music to top it off.
The first ever live music event at the Olympic Park had to be a big one, what with the capacity and the grandiose scale of the place. It seemed like the only logical thing to do was to have a massive fuck off rock concert there, so the yearly Hard Rock Calling event was moved from it's other London home at Hyde Park to the Olympic Park.

Arriving just about in one piece after doing battle with Apple Maps and the roads of London, Helios was smiling on us from above, and the gates were opened to the rest of our day. Arriving at the main stage at about 12:30pm to the sludge pop sounds of Nashville residents The Weeks, it was an appropriate soundtrack for the lying down that we were partaking in. The crowd was still unhealthily thin, with about 150 people standing on the concrete near the front to watch the band, whereas the Astro Turf surface behind it was withstanding the backsides of a few thousand. This trend continued into the next act to grace the main stage: Lower Than Atlantis. A rockier serving after the sombre sounds of The Weeks, it gave the crowd the first mosh pit of the day, but with vocalist/guitarist Mike Duce desperately trying to hide his frustration at the lack of crowd interaction based on all the groups sitting on the floor, their enthusiasm about the show seemed a little forced. I might be wrong, but either way, songs like 'Something Better Came Along' meant their melodic rock was a loud wake up call to the crowd at the front to get their asses into gear.

Irish band Kodaline were next, and if ever there was a sign to lie back down and soak up the rays, this was it. This doesn't mean the music was meek and uninteresting, it's just that, as Oliver Butler described it, it was "perfect hangover music".  'Pray' made us sway, and closer 'All I Want' actually made me stand up and listen intently. This is one band I came away from the show thinking "I'll check them out... next time I get a hangover". The crowd suddenly began to grow once Twin Atlantic walked onstage. Touted by many as "the next Biffy Clyro" with their Scottish swagger and their alternative rock crunch, I was all up for this one. Vocalist/guitarist Sam McTrusty could do with some work on his crowd banter, but it didn't detract from the tunes served up, and the mosh pit returned for a more permanent stay. Closer 'Make A Beast Of Myself' whipped the crowd up into a frenzy and the band left the stage as heroes.

Indie rock n'roll maestro Miles Kane got everyone on their feet and bouncing. 'Rearrange' and 'Give Up' were the perfect sounds for a summers evening, and not once did Kane look like he was hanging from his appearances at Glastonbury as himself and with Arctic Monkeys. The crowd bounced around as if the concrete covering the front 20 metres were a trampoline, and there was even time for Kane to dedicate 'Darkness In Our Hearts' to onlookers Peter Crouch and Abbey Clancy. Like a son passing to his father, penultimate act Paul Weller, the Modfather himself, eased the crowd down a bit after the ruckus of Miles Kane. 'That's Entertainment' was a wonderful acoustic singalong that brought the crowd together as one in a sign of togetherness... that is until 'A Town Called Malice' came on and the whole place goes apeshit like it's 1982.

I can't think of many bands up to the task of closing a day of wonderful music such as Kasabian, one of the remaining titans of British rock. Arriving onstage to the Grandstand theme tune, every male in the vicinity sings out at the top of their lungs, and opener 'Days Are Forgotten' kickstarted the carnage. They continued to roll off anthem after anthem, such as the catchy 'Underdog', rarely aired old song 'Processed Beats' and to the chants from guitarist Sergio Pizzorno of "MOSH PIT, MOSH PIT, MOSH PIT" leading into a rampant 'Club Foot'. Suddenly the concrete at the front of the crowd didn't seem like a good idea, as during an amazingly energetic 'Switchblade Smiles', this clumsy writer fell in the pit and was crushed on the concrete for a brief moment, and the wounds are still quite visible five days later. This was part of a three-pronged attack that concluded with 'Vlad The Impaler' and 'Fire'. Many attendees would agree though that the moment of the gig had to be 'LSF', that resulted in an extended crowd singalong into the encore, with half the crowd placing themselves on the shoulders of the other half.

All in all, a fantastic day, resulting in constipation, dodgy sandwiches, overpriced burgers, a grumpy Yorkshireman, and many battle scars, but most importantly, golden memories.