Bloc Party @ Leeds Festival 2005
By Dave Sugden
Three days, four nights (five, even, if you're hardcore, or none if you're of the wired, Lucozade Tablet-guzzling insomniac variety), thousands of lovely boys attentive to the lure of (so) many an alluring female, two hundred bands, two million pints of Carling and two famed yellow wellies; it's all about numbers. So a warm welcome to the numerically-minded ˇForward, Russia! four who show five hundred clean-shaven and fresh looking folk (last we ever saw of this rare breed, I hope they are all right) why these particular Russians are all music and no gimmick. New single 'Thirteen' sets the scene most nicely, though twenty minutes of yelps and exclamations, Tom-tying and limb-flailing is nowhere near long enough and we sadly miss its flipside 'Fourteen'...
... so onwards and from watching the sharply-attired O Fracas comes a buzz, a grin and the excitement of a child with a freshly-stocked cookie jar and not a parent in sight. Or the young, giddy festival-goer encountered later near the candy floss stall. Sadly, rumours of hot The Rakes-Bloc Party action in the nearby NME/Radio One tent are regrettably ignored (I loathe hindsight) in favour of the Dance Stage for VHS or Beta whose dance-rock come 80s electro Cure-ish tunes dazzle very briefly with 'You Got Me', but soon fizzle out like a guttering candle.
So with the Dance Stage proving itself of little joy, it's left to Newcastle's Maximo Park on the Indie Kid Stage to awaken in a thousand people an as-yet hidden, yet irrepressible urge to dance; many later attributing the final two days' aching calves to the jittering delights of a set influenced by the likes of XTC/Gang Of Four, with a little nod towards Futureheads/Jam and similar others. Sharp, literate lyrics too. Mint!
On we go, via the oh-so-skinny, oh-so-pretty, oh-so-catchy-and-ace Komakino (including frontman Ryan sporting one of the Russia's iconic double exclamation tees and last seen rocking out somewhere near the top of the rigging... the singalong to 'Say Something' a clear weekend favourite), and the infectious electro-rock grooves of LCD Soundsystem (frenzied hip-shaking again good, nay obligatory, etiquette; sing it: "Daft Punk is playing at ma house, maa house... ") to the wonderous The Futureheads ...
... yup, it's those four cheeky Mackem lads bouncing joyfully into view, intent only on continuing where their North East counterparts Maximo Park left off and sending an already crazed crowd further into freneticism via yet more XTC-induced aceness! A mass of highlights include the harmonies-aplenty deliveries of 'Decent Days And Nights', 'A To B' and 'Meantime'; an array of engaging, literary gems that foolishly attempt to demand the attention of your last surviving braincell (the one not concerned with the delights of alcohol, jumping, singing, stumbling, silliness, girls - those braincells had no chance, did they?); and one throbbing, sweaty swell that only a few hours earlier was widely known and recognised as a respectable, well-dressed, clean-cut festival crowd ("Back to the office on Monday, sir?"). The finale is a festival-defining moment as the audience are split to sing along to 'Hounds Of Love' ... "ah, oh, oh, ah, oh, oh" ... wowsers.
Some take in air, some use the small respite for water, others get by on the rush of pure adrenaline administered moments earlier by the 'heads; all five thousand sing along to 'I Predict A Riot' in an incredible moment of Yorkshire Love. Group hug, anyone?
Well blimey, it's getting cosy; Bloc Party innit? The next hour is of the how-bleedin-fantastic-is-this order, yet at the same time it's mightily frustrating as the setlist appears to have been ripped up into little pieces, jumbled and rearranged by a very small child. The likes of 'Banquet', 'Little Thoughts', and the superb 'Helicopter' (electrifying buzz when that guitar kicks in... mmm) are the centrepieces (though supplemented by an underlying dodgy sound) but as the set is more riptide than casual ebb and flow it seems to lack all coherency. The songs are ace; the order of the songs is confusing. Hey-ho, that's how it was meant to be - 'She's Hearing Voices' is ever so special, before an extended, most-spectacular version of 'Pioneers' completes a bizarre, yet ultimately amazing set as the masses leave happy and somewhat hypnotically chanting the mantra:
"red pill, green pill, red pill, green pill, red pill..."
