Reading Day Two // Truly His Brother’s Keeper
Double the fun or double the trouble? Sibling rivalry rarely runs smooth, and all too often it’s the junior partner who’s hard done by and conveniently airbrushed from history. We hear nothing of Abel, slain in a fit of pique by the jealous Cain, and it wasn’t Remus who founded a city and gave birth to one of the greatest Empires of all time. To the victor the spoils, then? And what of Reading and Leeds, these two late summer behemoths, separated by geography yet united in time, taste and purpose? Noize mused on this dichotomy as we considered this unique relationship and the bureaucratic nightmare that had us here but our trusted lensman up north.
Yes, once again the vicissitudes of modern life had conspired against us and dictated that our other (some might say better) half get snap happy some 160 miles away. Our loneliness was compounded by day two being all about the blood that ties, familial bonds, and friendships rekindled (and reformed) in an outpouring of mutual love and respect. We began with The Invasion Of…, better known as Gary Powell’s post-Libs, post-Dirty Pretty Things side project. A large number of clued-up fans swelled the ranks and whilst we’d hesitate to say they were bad, it’s unlikely they’d have made it this far without the fame and name of their talented drummer.
Brotherly love was all the rage on the main stage, with the White brothers of The Maccabees looking every bit as pleased as singer Orlando Weeks. “We made it to the mainstage!” he cried, in reference to his wish from this time last year, status fully deserved with the enthusiastic way they gave us most of Wall Of Arms and the best bits from their debut. Noize even spotted a certain Nicholas Hoult bouncing around with the great unwashed, on a wave of euphoria, although we weren’t so impressed by his light fingered work around our bag of chips.
The Jarman brothers, joined once again by Johnny Marr, were up next, and the word on the grapevine declaring that this could be their last live appearance for some time, possibly even the year, lent their set some last minute intrigue. A veritable triumph, their best moments came during songs written before Marr became a full-time Crib like Mirror Kisses and Hey Scenesters, leaving him looking like an adopted son on Christmas morning; three may be a crowd, but four is, well, just damn awkward to accommodate it seems.
The milieu of kids dressed like some 19th Century colonial Officer, a veritable battalion of the Royal Highland Libertines in matching, blood-red tunics, could mean only one thing. The moment that many thought might never happen, and millions more wished would, was upon us. The Libertines were back, enough water having flowed under the bridge, and as we waited with baited breath we wondered if it would be a time for heroes or a horrorshow. We needn’t have worried. They were tight, they were terrific, and the glances between Pete ‘n’ Carl seemed genuinely affectionate. Even a crowd surge during Time For Heroes couldn’t derail them, Gary patiently beating out a rhythm until The Likely Lads returned and picked up exactly where they left off - a neat metaphor perhaps for their reunion. Indie’s greatest bromance jostled at the mic for closers I Get Along and What A Waster, and while there may have been a lack of their signature shambolic flair, Noize believes that what we witnessed was far more important; a show of solidarity by four men who have grown up and taken on their staggering legacy.
Words by Derek Robertson and Julie Tanner
Photos by Danny Payne
Crystal Castles looking for their contact lenses
Enter Shikari, entering proudly
Frank Turner does his best Billy Bragg impression
Pendulum steal the show with their blend of Rock’n’Drum’n’Bass
