I'm feelin' Summer Sonic (again)!
On Sunday, Sir S and I had a whizz-bang flying trip to Osaka for the annual Summer Sonic music festival.
Sadly, as the roads were choked with Obon holiday traffic, our SuperExpress bus was 1 hour late and we missed The Cardigans - curses! However, we baggsied a grand spot in front of the Mountain Stage for The Rapture and, most importantly, Editors, who were following. Sir S and I were near the stage so we had a very close squiz at the band members as they emerged from the shadows. The lead singer oddly looks a tad like Andrew from Buffy, but with dark hair. He was surprisingly short-armed and camp, and his arms were stupendously flexible in that tortured acrobat sort of way (he twisted them around his head at one point, making the nearby Japanese emit many an "eeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh???").
Editors played almost everything from their album, The Back Room, except one stray that I didn't know. Their live performance was a triumph of grey, stormy, jerky guitar that often flittered into cheerful, bittersweet jangliness, and superb vocals were delivered by lead singer Tom Smith, his voice stern with both melancholy and alacrity. Comparisons have been made to Bauhaus and Interpol. I think his voice is a little Interpolish with a tinge of Pearl Jam-ness about it too. They played my faves, "Blood" (blood runs through our veins/that's where our similiarity ends) - a fabulous tune for all enemies and arch-nemeses - and "Munich" (people are fragile things ... be careful what you put them through). Their music has that yearnful quality of grey, dead-end places yet hope for better times ahead; regret; frailty; honesty and a jolly good dash of pain to boot (but not in that thundering, roaring death metal kind of way). The show was so spiff that my skin was rendered all goose-bumpy under my polka-dot outfit and I bounced and sang along despite the quiet crowd. Editors are a marvel on the gramophone, as well as in the music hall, so if you ever get the chance to see them live, *do* go and clap along.
After watching The Eds, Sir S and I ventured into the Oasis Tent to bask under the modern Air Con and scoff down on-the-run okonomiyaki before watching The Charlatans and Metallica. To my surprise, I espied a tent which enclosed two white desks set out like the Three Bears' table with neatly arranged pens and textas (including gold and silver) - actually, special "penboys" stood shaking every one of these pens in preparation for the incoming pedants - and above the table was hung the sign "Editors". There was no other English emblazoned anywhere nearby, nor on our map (and thus few gaijin, who were off watching the next gig), but I could read the katakana which stated the obvious: "Sign-o". So Editors were going to sign sigs for the kids! Huzzah! A crowd of people waited in a roped-off area and other people sat cross-legged nibbling snacks in front of the tables. After consulting the petite security staff, we realised the quota for sign-o's had been filled, but I was content to sit back and sup on my o-mizu and watch the show.
Soon The Eds walked out to gay applause from the sizeable crowd that had gathered and took their places al desko, looking very chuffed, cheerful and a bit shy. The 30 lucky people queued up clutching their Eds records & c for signing. Observing this unexpected event was a wonderful study of Japanese politeness and cuteness. Almost every fan shook hands, then bowed, to all four members of the band. Two fans gave the Eds a pressie each (soap, perchance, or chocolates? It looked like bath soaps from where I was sitting) and a few politely asked for a hug (a very chaste embrace at that). One fan literally jumped for joy on the spot and proclaimed each Editor "kawaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii", to which there was much blushing and bewilderment from the band. Meanwhile, my neighbouring Japanese Eds fans - between signings - waved shyly and called "her-ro!", and when a band member gave them a nod or smile, they exploded in giggles and hid behind their fans (of the o-sensu variety, that is!). The band members appeared quite bashful, wonderstruck and a little smitten by the audience's attention. It was nice to see too that they were down-to-earth and friendly, with no airs or arrogance at all. Bravo!
Next, it was forward march to the Charlatans, who'd attracted a large crowd and who thumped out old Britpop faves. I was whipped back in time to the heady days of Britpop in my old town of Ad'laide - where Pop! spinned many a Mancunian music hall song - especially when I heard "The Only One I Know" and other tunes. All those images of girls wearing 70s Adidas sports jackets - stripes down the sleeves - with pin-stripe trousers dancing around their secondhand 60s reproduction handbags wearing white eye shadow, a shag-bob and thick black-framed spectacles and knocking back the Passion Pop, all came flooding back.
Then to the Open-Air Stadium - where Sir S had nipped off earlier - to witness the towering spectacle of Metallica. Now I'm no metalhead, the "mosher Charlston" didn't take off down my way, but I was rather curious to see this band in action, having observed their popularity among peers from my schooldays and knowing that my beau was mad for them in his youth. Unlike the other bands who played in a selection of warehouses, Metallica owned the night in their prime position outdoors, playing to a crowd in an area the size of a World Cup soccer pitch. The stage was classic 80s stadium concert: a massive screen projected images of religious icons and greedy politicians & c, flanked either side by scorching spotlights that flashed during all the thumpy bits, and three more screens beamed footage of the band. May I say that all the members of Metallica are bloomin' huge, mega-beasts from Hell! They are tall, muscly and BIG, with lots of hair and tattoos (except the lead singer who was shaved with a goatee ala the Australas boganus, but minus the flannie). The guitars whomped, the bass thumped, the drums rattled and thundered and James Hetfield's voice raked the night. In short, it was brilliant! Previously, I thought that metal would be a confusion of fuzzy noise when played live, but no - it was oomphy, soaring and vast and - shockhorrorgasp - I loved it! It was also most jolly to gaze at the Japanese fans with their beautiful, inky grey tattoos of trailing cloud and dragons on display, and the cropped, spiky heads banging to the music in a most elegant manner. No loutishness, no stoushes, just pure appreciation.
All in all, a fab day out, even if Sir Anderson's fringe was absent this year!
Sadly, as the roads were choked with Obon holiday traffic, our SuperExpress bus was 1 hour late and we missed The Cardigans - curses! However, we baggsied a grand spot in front of the Mountain Stage for The Rapture and, most importantly, Editors, who were following. Sir S and I were near the stage so we had a very close squiz at the band members as they emerged from the shadows. The lead singer oddly looks a tad like Andrew from Buffy, but with dark hair. He was surprisingly short-armed and camp, and his arms were stupendously flexible in that tortured acrobat sort of way (he twisted them around his head at one point, making the nearby Japanese emit many an "eeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh???").
Editors played almost everything from their album, The Back Room, except one stray that I didn't know. Their live performance was a triumph of grey, stormy, jerky guitar that often flittered into cheerful, bittersweet jangliness, and superb vocals were delivered by lead singer Tom Smith, his voice stern with both melancholy and alacrity. Comparisons have been made to Bauhaus and Interpol. I think his voice is a little Interpolish with a tinge of Pearl Jam-ness about it too. They played my faves, "Blood" (blood runs through our veins/that's where our similiarity ends) - a fabulous tune for all enemies and arch-nemeses - and "Munich" (people are fragile things ... be careful what you put them through). Their music has that yearnful quality of grey, dead-end places yet hope for better times ahead; regret; frailty; honesty and a jolly good dash of pain to boot (but not in that thundering, roaring death metal kind of way). The show was so spiff that my skin was rendered all goose-bumpy under my polka-dot outfit and I bounced and sang along despite the quiet crowd. Editors are a marvel on the gramophone, as well as in the music hall, so if you ever get the chance to see them live, *do* go and clap along.
After watching The Eds, Sir S and I ventured into the Oasis Tent to bask under the modern Air Con and scoff down on-the-run okonomiyaki before watching The Charlatans and Metallica. To my surprise, I espied a tent which enclosed two white desks set out like the Three Bears' table with neatly arranged pens and textas (including gold and silver) - actually, special "penboys" stood shaking every one of these pens in preparation for the incoming pedants - and above the table was hung the sign "Editors". There was no other English emblazoned anywhere nearby, nor on our map (and thus few gaijin, who were off watching the next gig), but I could read the katakana which stated the obvious: "Sign-o". So Editors were going to sign sigs for the kids! Huzzah! A crowd of people waited in a roped-off area and other people sat cross-legged nibbling snacks in front of the tables. After consulting the petite security staff, we realised the quota for sign-o's had been filled, but I was content to sit back and sup on my o-mizu and watch the show.
Soon The Eds walked out to gay applause from the sizeable crowd that had gathered and took their places al desko, looking very chuffed, cheerful and a bit shy. The 30 lucky people queued up clutching their Eds records & c for signing. Observing this unexpected event was a wonderful study of Japanese politeness and cuteness. Almost every fan shook hands, then bowed, to all four members of the band. Two fans gave the Eds a pressie each (soap, perchance, or chocolates? It looked like bath soaps from where I was sitting) and a few politely asked for a hug (a very chaste embrace at that). One fan literally jumped for joy on the spot and proclaimed each Editor "kawaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii", to which there was much blushing and bewilderment from the band. Meanwhile, my neighbouring Japanese Eds fans - between signings - waved shyly and called "her-ro!", and when a band member gave them a nod or smile, they exploded in giggles and hid behind their fans (of the o-sensu variety, that is!). The band members appeared quite bashful, wonderstruck and a little smitten by the audience's attention. It was nice to see too that they were down-to-earth and friendly, with no airs or arrogance at all. Bravo!
Next, it was forward march to the Charlatans, who'd attracted a large crowd and who thumped out old Britpop faves. I was whipped back in time to the heady days of Britpop in my old town of Ad'laide - where Pop! spinned many a Mancunian music hall song - especially when I heard "The Only One I Know" and other tunes. All those images of girls wearing 70s Adidas sports jackets - stripes down the sleeves - with pin-stripe trousers dancing around their secondhand 60s reproduction handbags wearing white eye shadow, a shag-bob and thick black-framed spectacles and knocking back the Passion Pop, all came flooding back.
Then to the Open-Air Stadium - where Sir S had nipped off earlier - to witness the towering spectacle of Metallica. Now I'm no metalhead, the "mosher Charlston" didn't take off down my way, but I was rather curious to see this band in action, having observed their popularity among peers from my schooldays and knowing that my beau was mad for them in his youth. Unlike the other bands who played in a selection of warehouses, Metallica owned the night in their prime position outdoors, playing to a crowd in an area the size of a World Cup soccer pitch. The stage was classic 80s stadium concert: a massive screen projected images of religious icons and greedy politicians & c, flanked either side by scorching spotlights that flashed during all the thumpy bits, and three more screens beamed footage of the band. May I say that all the members of Metallica are bloomin' huge, mega-beasts from Hell! They are tall, muscly and BIG, with lots of hair and tattoos (except the lead singer who was shaved with a goatee ala the Australas boganus, but minus the flannie). The guitars whomped, the bass thumped, the drums rattled and thundered and James Hetfield's voice raked the night. In short, it was brilliant! Previously, I thought that metal would be a confusion of fuzzy noise when played live, but no - it was oomphy, soaring and vast and - shockhorrorgasp - I loved it! It was also most jolly to gaze at the Japanese fans with their beautiful, inky grey tattoos of trailing cloud and dragons on display, and the cropped, spiky heads banging to the music in a most elegant manner. No loutishness, no stoushes, just pure appreciation.
All in all, a fab day out, even if Sir Anderson's fringe was absent this year!
posted by Miss Ember at 12:38 am
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