5Gum Are At It Again

Sigh, another day, another concert announcement. Just when I was losing hope that Big Concerts would ever get on the case with another concert announcement, 5Gum SA decided to spring one on us. You may remember these guys as being the people I vowed never to forgive after I didn't win tickets to Two Door Cinema Club last year, thus starting what I like to call the Two Door Cinema Curse. Yes, they played at Reading, and no, I didn't get to see them. Another person I haven't forgiven is whoever decided it was a good idea to put them at the same time as the FOO FREAKING FIGHTERS. But, as usual, I digress.

So there I sit at my computer at work - promise I was working, I Tweet for a living - when the 5Gum hashtag decides to pop up on my timeline. Hmm, this is cause for an investigation. Of course, because I am so diligent, I left my proper creeping til now, when work was over. Here's what I've got:

- The announcement is next week.
- You have to win tickets again (grr...)
- The ticket competition opens next week.
- The band is award-winning
- Someone - I assume on Twitter - correctly guessed which band it would be.

Oh, how I love the guessing game. And so I trawled through the tweets and made a list of who it could be.

- My guess (no, it was not a guess, my plea) was The Gaslight Anthem*. Add them to the list.
- Many people said Foals. Cool, I've been listening to them and they're legit.
- Kasabian*
- Biffy Clyro
- Fall Out Boy (I'm not even thinking it, don't feel like lying on the floor crying at the moment)
- Alt-J
- The Wombats
- Bombay Bicycle Club* (Oh good lord, shoot me, please, never again!)
- The Postal Service
- Florence + The Machine*
- The Black Keys *

Out of those possible 11, I have seen 5 live before (*), though this does nothing to diminish my excitement for anyone besides Bombay Bicycle Club. The Black Keys seem the most likely at the moment, going by the 'award winning' clue, but they're huge - like second to headliners at Reading huge - so it would be quite a task to undertake.

In the meantime, I'll keep my fingers heavily crossed for my man Brian Fallon and his neck-tattoo, or Pete Wentz and his cronies. Oh, please let me get tickets.

#Fangirlproblems

Some of us are shopaholics - we get into awful debt by spending that money that we don't quite have yet on the must-have pair of sparkly new heels from the Jimmy Choo store down at the Waterfront, and drool over the little black dress in the window of Zara.

Some of us are addicted to video games - we spend hours and hour every night trying to beat our own high score, and our social lives are affected by our inability to drag ourselves away from our computer screens to attend a friend's birthday party on a Friday night.

And then, of course, some of us are fangirls. We fangirls are faced with a whole new range of problems, many of which are downright disastrous. All of these thoughts have run through my head at one time or another, and most have been said out loud, I kid you not. Whilst this started off as a list of outrageous fangirl problems, it's turned into more of a list of ridiculous fangirl quotes. But they're still funny and all true.

1) "My favourite band are going on tour, I'm going to have to go to England again."

2) "I'm really tired, but I can't go to sleep because my favourite band have a live stream." 

3) "What am I going to do if I have a full day job and I can't go queue early for concerts?"

4) "I can't go to that meeting, I have to go queue at 2pm or I'll never get barrier."

5) "No thanks, I can't drink that cup of tea - I have to dehydrate myself on concert days or I'll lose the barrier when I go to the loo."

6) "Great, they decided to play my favourite song at the concert I didn't go to last night, and now I have to use up all my internet watching it on Youtube."

7) "I have such FOMO [fear of missing out] from this Manchester gig ... I should have just sucked it up and gone over to England now."

8) "How much do you think flights to Austria are? They're playing some festival in the snow."

9) "I can't afford food this week, groceries for five days is basically a concert ticket."

10) "An increase? More concert tickets for me!"

11) "They're on the cover of NME? How the heck am I going to get NME here? I'd better get someone in the UK to buy it for me."

12) "My two favourite bands are playing on the same night and I'm going to see them.. I feel like crawling into a ball under my desk and crying."

13) "How dare they play a festival the same night I have tickets to another concert? What do they think this is?!"

14) "There's another concert announcement this week - great, I guess I'll have to walk to work because I can't afford concert tickets and petrol."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

My Two Favourite Bands At Once? No Way!

My routine after the live show in the morning is pretty average: Take my laptop down to my desk from the control room, go to the kitchen, make some tea, try to scavenge a rusk or whatever they made on the show, take the tea and assorted junk food items back to my desk, check my phone in case my house has exploded or something, and then continue my work for the day. So yesterday, I was casually sipping my tea and checking my phone when I noticed I had an email on my non-work email account, oh, it's one of those latest concert tickets on sale things from Gigs and Tours, worth a read, I casually scanned the email in case it revealed any amazing new concerts for June when I'll be in London.
Petula Clark - no thanks, I'm not my granny; Lisa Stansfied - who even is that?; Sound City Players - OOHH DAVE GROHL; bunch of randoms; more randoms; The Gaslight Anthem - aw, pity I won't be there for their tour in March ... wait, hold up. I had noticed something very interesting indeed: "The Gaslight Anthem are confirmed to support The Killers at the show at Wembley Stadium 22 June 2013..."

Wait, what?!

Here's a screenshot of the email.

"The Gaslight Anthem.... The Killers." My heart starts to beat faster, the blood rushes to my head, I struggle to breathe normally. I read it again, convinced I've read it wrong. No, still says the same thing. I thrust my phone towards the girl next to me and ask her to read it aloud to me. Oh, it's true. I'm seeing stars and the world is about to come to a sparkling end. No, regain some control for goodness sake, you've seen them live before! I cover my face with my shaking hands and squeal a few times.

But as it's 8.30am my time, it's only 6.30am in the UK, so I am clearly the only one fangirling over this little announcement. In fact, no one else even seems to know about it yet. Yes, I am one of the first people to tweet about this revelation - in caps lock no less. Anyway, once England wakes up, I realise there are two schools of thought: the Victims who are like "Ah yeah, Gaslight Anthem" and the Victims who are like "Who the eff are these Gaslight people?" The former seem to outweigh the latter though, so I'm not the only one who is barely resisting the urge to curl up under my desk and cry in pure happiness.

Seriously, this is the best news I have heard in a long time. Never did I ever imagine that The Gaslight Anthem would open for The Killers. It's just too good to be true, my two favourite bands playing together! Bring on the 22nd of June!

Post-Concert Depression: It's Totally A Thing

In early 2011, I purchased three sets of concerts tickets: The Script, Kings of Leon and Coldplay. The latter two were both right at the end of the year, so as much as I was looking forward to them, it seemed like the time would never really come. By then time I'd see these two concerts, I'd be mere days away from the end of my university career and quite frankly I couldn't see anything beyond that at all. So, The Script came and went, and everything was still alright because I had two more concerts to look forward to! And so in the lead-up to Coldplay I experienced that strange emotion where you feel so overwhelmed you think you'll start crying everytime someone mentions the band's name. Wait, is it just me who feels like that?! Awkward. Anyway, after Coldplay I was too elated to be depressed, but three weeks later, once KOL was over, it was a different story. Yeah, I was feeling defeated after four fruitless years of studying, but PCD was part of it too. On the way back the next day, I felt panicked for hours for absolutely no reason at all. I just could not work it out! Why was I feeling this way? Was it because I had looked forward to this event for so long and suddenly it was over, leaving me with nothing to look forward to? Was it because I wished I had enjoyed the concert more while I was there?

How do you feel the day after a really good concert? No, I don't mean the day after a quick little gig in the local botanical gardens, or that cool club in town, I mean a real concert. Picture this: you've bought tickets to see your favourite band live for the first time, and for months and months everything leads up to that moment. Hysterical excitement, crazy screams, hyperventilation and then ... it's all over. And now what? Now it's time to come back down to earth and go back to real life. Also, what if you never get to see your favourite band again? What if the lead singer ODs, or the bassist hits the drummer over the head, leading to the fall out of the century? When it comes to bands, you can never quite be sure that "Oh well, I'll catch them again on their next tour, toodles."

People deal with the aftermath of concerts in many different ways. If you're a cool kid (...then get the hell off my blog, firstly), you'll probably post a couple of photos of you and your mates, holding a few beers and grinning like idiots. Then you'll tell everyone at the office that you had "a pretty kiff night, hey bru", and go back to your daily life.

But if you're not a Cool Kid (ie, you're a band kid), you'll most likely be left in floods of tears. You'll feel a horrible panicky feeling deep in the pit of your stomach, as though you're dreading something. And you will be dreading something: a life without the concert you'd so looked forward to. Perhaps you'll become even more obsessed with the band you just saw, tearing up at photos of wee Jared Followill, or setting an image of Dave Grohl's face as the background on every device you possess (of course, I have never done the latter. Ahem).

My first experience with real Post-Concert Depression (PCD) was something like that. When I saw The Killers live in 2009, it was also my first trip to Cape Town, about everything about that week was just plain wonderful. Upon my return home, I became positively obsessed with the band; listening to nothing but them, Twitter-creeping, finding out absolutely everything I could, and constantly thinking back to the concert. It was as though I had to keep reminding myself that I had actually been there, and that I could remember it. Maybe not quite PCD, but definitely some kind of strange PCR (Post-Concert Reaction).

Alternatively, like other forms of depression, you may feel the need to sit alone in your room and cry for a few days. And anyone who dares to say "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened" will get quite well acquainted with your fist. After my return from England, I was tired, my body had launched a protest against lack of food, lack of sleep and too much travel, but most of all, I was sad. I'd just seen a ridiculous amount of bands live, and now it was all over. Cue pulling my blankets over my head and hating my life for a full 12 hours before I had to be at work the next day. My life continued to be hated for several days after this.

Another manifestation of PCD is a feeling of dissatisfaction with your every day life. I mean seriously now, what could be better than going to a concert every night? Nothing. Nothing at all. But we've all got to face the facts; there are only a select few amongst us who get to do that for a living, and you're probably not one of them. "I'll just quit this piece of you-know-what job and become a groupie" is a thought that's crossed many a mind a day or two after a concert, but hold your horses for a just a little while so that PCD can wear off before you hand in that letter of resignation.

Perhaps the most bizarre way in which PCD rears its ugly head is in a full avoidance of any reminder of the band at all. Everytime you hear a song by the band you saw live, it may feel like you're being stabbed in the heart with a tiny needle. Ouch. Better to avoid The Shins altogether lest a flood of memories should knock you so hard you become a blubbering mess when "Bait & Switch" comes on your iPod in the car.

Yes, PCD is totally a thing. In fact, I'd been wondering why I was in such an awful mood today, when suddenly I realised that I am experiencing RHCP PCD. No, I don't hate my life, or my job, or my car... I simply hate the fact that I'm not sure when I'll get to hear 'Dani California' live again. Now where's my box of tissues gone...

Update (30/07/2013):

My own PCD is back in full swing, and this time it's worse than ever. It's been two full weeks since T in the Park, but it still plays on my every thought. I realise that I've never actually offered any solutions for curing PCD, so here are my top three tips:

1) Identification: As long as you know what you're suffering from, you've taken the first step to overcoming PCD. Every time you feel a little stab of pain, remember what it is, and remember the great time you had at the concert.

2) Desensitize yourself: It doesn't help to stop listening to the band because it reminds you too much of the concert for which you so long. Just suck it up, play your favourite song at full volume and pretend you're back at the show. Similarly, look at your photos often.

3) Plan another gig: As long a you have a concert on the horizon, you're sure to feel much better about life. I myself have Yellowcard and Billy Talent coming up within the next few weeks - they're not The Killers or Bruce or The Gaslight Anthem, but they're good enough.

Red Hot Chili Peppers Cape Town Review

True rockstars are a bit like exotic, endangered animals – you hear about them all the time, but you’ve never actually seen one, and you’re pretty sure you never will.  Well, if that’s the case, I went on something of an exotic safari last night: Anthony Kiedis and his Chili Peppers are nothing if not rockstars. Let's also keep in mind that the man is in his 50s. Damn. I want to be that cool when I'm his age, at least I have 30 more years to get it right.

Die Antwoord's set was spine-chilling but mercifully short. Yolandi - a tiny but explosive woman burst onto stage shrieking "VOK JULLE NAAIERS". Aibo, lady, who do you think you're calling a naaier? (And if you are foreign, I'll leave you to figure out what that means with the help of Google Translate.) I hope for Flea's sake that he googled every single lyric of their's so that he knew what he was getting himself into before playing alongside them. *Shudder* The visuals on the side-screens were equally disturbing as what went on on the actual stage - I mean, Yolandi holding a heart dripping with blood was completely normal, but next thing I knew she was eating the thing, and I rolled my eyes and turned away. This duo is so damn creepy that they make Lady Gaga look like Mother Teresa.

Anyway, the terrible-twosome exit and the tangible excitement in the crowd starts sky-rocketing; increasing more and more as the sun set over Cape Town. Rumour has it that 55 000 people had packed into the sold out show, more even than Coldplay were able to pull back in 2011. Red Hot Chili Peppers are somewhat of a phenomenon, having been around for almost 30 years, the 50-odd-year-old members attract fans within an age group ranging from 60’s down to early teens.  But age means nothing tonight.

RHCP power onto stage amidst hysteria from the crowd – never have I heard a stadium audience quite so loud in my life!  A grinning Anthony Kiedis, Flea, Chad Smith and Josh Klinghoffer burst into ‘Monarchy of Roses’, from their most recent album I’m With You, accompanied by electrifying stage lights. Eh, man, something's wrong though... Anthony's voice seems to be shuddering, and for a minute my heart sinks so low that it settles somewhere on the field 50 meteres below me: all the rumours are true - the sound sucks from up here. 'The cri-i-i-i-m-s-o-o-o-n t-i-i-i-d-e i-i-i-i-s-s-s-s..." Oh dear. But I barely have time to panic when suddenly everything's perfect again. Whether it was some deliberate, strange sound effect or a genuine mistake that was fixed in less than 30 seconds, the sound never wavered again. OK, So I'd recovered, and began singing along shamelessly... one of the things that brought my Kings of Leon experience down a teeny bit was the unenthusiasm of the people around me, but last night I didn't give a damn. The only thing that mattered were the people on that stage. 

Wasting no time, the band went straight into ‘Dani California’, much to the disappointment of the fans who’d been hoping to hear ‘Scar Tissue’ – it’s well known that the two songs very rarely appear on the same setlist. Oh, but we were in for a treat when - lo and behold – ‘Scar Tissue’ made it’s appearance as the third song of the setlist. Yes! Alright, Peppers, you can leave now, that's three of my 6 favourite songs right off the bat, I've gone my money's worth, Anthony, you can go back to California now.

Now, it’s one thing to see a live band who – great though they may be – rattles off the CD versions of their songs, and then departs the stage. This was something different altogether. Seemingly impromptu jam sessions on the stage, Klinghoffer and Flea nearly falling to the floor of the stage whilst playing their instruments, and Flea’s handstand-walk back onto the stage for the encore, along with Kiedis’ flawless vocals all teamed up to make this a concert of a lifetime. Also, Kiedis wore his shirt for, oh, I dunno, maybe a full three minutes discarding his shirt mere minutes into the show (Flea neglecting to wear a shirt at all). 

And the setlist just kept bringing the hits: ‘Snow ((Hey Oh))’, was one of the most well received songs of the night, no one caring whether the ‘snow’ in this context was a reference to the cold white stuff that falls from the sky, or the powdery white stuff some rockstars like to sniff before shows…

“The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie” followed the funky ‘She’s Only 18’, and the soft beginning ‘Under the Bridge’ was definitely a highlight. Oh and one of my very favourites made an appearance - 'Universally Speaking', which is somehow always overlooked.

Everyone’s favourite Chili Peppers song, ‘Californication’ and ‘By The Way’ ended off the main part of the show, with the lyrics “Standing in line to see the show tonight, and there’s a light on” in the latter song highly appropriate to all of us! Expecting only a two song encore, I was pleasantly surprised when a very excitable Chad Smith led us in a few minutes of ‘Ole’ before being joined by the rest of the band for four more RHCP songs, finally closing the show for good with ‘Give It Away’. The only thing that could have topped it would have been a surprise encore of 'The Zephyr Song', which hasn't been played since 2005. But we're not that lucky, so stop being so fussy, Cape Town!

It was a no-frills, no fireworks and minimal crowd interaction show, but who needs bells and whistles when you’re RHCP? They don’t need meat dresses or pyrotechnics or 360 degree stages – all they need is pure rock and roll.

And somehow everything seemed to go off without any major glitches in organization – even traffic was bearable, but perhaps that was simply because we were all on such a high. 55000 people went to sleep dreaming of Californication, whatever that may mean to you.

Red Hot Chili Peppers in Cape Town

What kind of a fangirl doesn't get concert tickets the day the things go on sale? A very, very bad fangirl. Or perhaps one who's just gotten off a plane from England, tired, aching and still bearing a sheen of residual mud from Reading Festival.

Yes, the day Big Concerts decided to announce RHCP, I was still in London, and the most excitement I could muster was an 'oh', followed by a collapse into my bed, where I stayed for the next 24 hours til I boarded the plane home. This put tickets on sale the day after I returned, and I couldn't give a damn. I don't even really remember the hype around getting tickets, I was still sleeping off Reading. And of course, reveling in the fact that Dave Grohl had been mere meters from me a few days before - who needs Chili Peppers when you have Foo Fighters, right? Plus, I after four days of Reading, I couldn't have faced another concert if you'd paid me. Maybe I'd get a ticket closer to the time, but I didn't really care at the time. What I wasn't anticipating was tickets selling out so quickly! Oh well, I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't be going, and life moved on for five full months. About two weeks ago, however, I decided that I was absolutely ridiculous and unacceptable for me not to attend, and so I needed to make a plan.

Now, if you know me at all, you'll know that no matter how harebrained my schemes may sound, if I put my mind to something, I can usually get it right. It was easy enough to find a friend of a friend selling tickets, slightly more worrying to leave the poor things in the post, and even more worrying when internet banking decided that I simply could not pay for the them, but all worked out eventually. In my hand I held two seated tickets to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers live in Cape Town. Ha! I win.

Some people study really, really hard for exams, but I was never one of those people. Present me with a setlist, however, and it's a different story altogether. Yes, I compiled a list of most likely songs, and I've existed on nothing but a diet of these 20 songs for the past 10 days or so. It's getting a little ridiculous, I kind of want to rip my brain out whenever Snow gets stuck in it, but I shall refrain.

So, they day has finally arrived, I've checked and re-checked my tickets at least 25 times, I've still got my setlist on repeat and I'm all rearing to go. Sadly, seeing I have seats it would be a little daft to queue at 2pm for a concert that will probably only start after 8am, but I still feel uneasy sitting at home when there's a concert tonight. As I told a co-worker as I left the office about an hour ago "If I had standing tickets, I'd be there already!" He thought I was nuts. Oh well.

On my way home, I did a sneaky sneaky past the stadium to see quite a few fans already waiting in line to see the show tonight. I also had to resist the urge to don dark glasses and sit outside the One & Only hoping to catch a glimpse of Anthony and company (most of the big bands stay at this hotel), but let me not be creepy...

There is nothing like the thrill and elation of a concert to look forward to: as I make my way into that stadium, I'll experience the emotions normal people feel when they're in love or something. Go ahead and tell me to get a life... I'll teil you this is my life.

Fall Out Boy Are Back

Er.mah.gerd.

Fall Out Boy have returned.

Why are you reading this, go back and read the line above.

Are you finished screaming yet?

No, continue then.

Done? Good. OK, so I come home this afternoon to a mildly hysterical digsmate, sprouting some story about Fall Out Boy and a reunion. I immediately take to my computer to do what I do best - creep. I manage to track down some tweets saying something about an announcement at 2pm GMT on some random radio station in Chicago. Hmm, I have a while to speculate then, 2pm GMT is still in... oh, it's in 40 minutes. Just enough time to creep then.

Before long, a tweet from FOB themselves appears saying "the future of fall out boy starts now #saverockandroll http://falloutboy.com pic.twitter.com/Y18iL0bC" It's a pic of Pete and company burning a bunch of FOB records. They're also in the snow. Huh, seems legit.

Click on the link, check the tour dates... oh my gosh! There's no time for me to get from Cape Town to London for the show on the 25th of Feb, is there? Damn.

Also, I find it rather interesting that this announcement has come mere hours before Reading Fest announces their line up for this year. So if FOB are on that stage, I called it!

Would I really traipse back to the Festival of Mud for a band that I quite liked back in high school? Oh hell yeah, I would! In 2006, there was nothing I liked more than 'Sugar We're Going Down Swinging'

OH AND THERE'S A NEW SINGLE. "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark', and now if iTunes would stop lying to itself and saying I've forgotten my password, I could buy the thing. (Mom, did you disable my iTunes to stop me using your credit card?)

So, new album 'Save Rock and Roll' drops in May. Have fun!

Do Memories Determine Our Favourite Songs?

This morning we were discussing comfort food, when a thought suddenly occurred to me: what classifies something as ‘comforting’? Where does one draw the line between liking a certain type of food, and just liking it for its comfort value? I have a striking memory from early childhood of always having a Marmite sandwich when I read a certain book, later it progressed to always eating instant pudding during Survivor. It wasn’t that I particularly liked instant pudding (in fact, it’s really pretty gross), but it was just what I did, so I continued to do it. I took comfort in the routine of always having that pudding at that time. If there was no pudding on a Survivor night, I’d know there was something hugely wrong – either we were bankrupt or I was dying. Good thing neither of those things ever happened, but I digress. The point is that I associated the pudding with a routine, and routines make me happy.

All of this got me thinking, can the same thing happen with music? Do we like certain songs and certain bands because they remind us of something, or because we have some kind of association with them, rather than because they’re any good? Maybe none of us have any taste in music at all, and what we like and dislike is almost entirely a psychological reaction to our memories and associations. It’s not as outrageous as it sounds…

Let’s take Westlife, for example. Why the hell do I like those four little Irish lads so much?! I mean, I almost shed an actual tear when they broke up, but they’re so not my scene! Now, most of you will nod your heads understandingly, “Yes, well, I loved the Spice Girls when I was ten, but then I realized the error of my ways, and now I’m into Skrillex.” Fair point, but I never did realize the error of my ways: I still melt at the first few beats of ‘My Love’, and dance my face off to ‘When You’re Looking Like That.” But when I examine my general reaction to any mention of Westlife, I start to figure it out. “Ah, I LOVE Westlife, they’re like my entire childhood!” AHA! That’s about the closest I’ll ever get to being sentimental. Westlife represent my childhood, and the thought of my childhood comforts me.

Another seminal example is the Bee Gees and Celine Dion’s ‘Immortality’. I don’t even like Celine Dion, yet I adore this song. Why? No, it’s not because it’s a great  piece of music, it’s because it reminds me of Saturday afternoons spent at my grandparents house listening  to music and existing in pure bliss. In fact, with the exception – of course – of newly discovered music, most of my favourite songs are only classified as such because they hold some kind of memory for me.

Now let’s take my theory a step further. If someone asked me what my favourite Coldplay album was, I would – without hesitation – say that it was Viva La Vida. But rephrase the question slightly and ask what I thought was Coldplay’s best album, and I’d answer just as easily: A Rush of Blood To The Head. Why, then, is my favourite album one that I admit is not their best? It’s because of the memories. Viva La Vida was the album that made me fall in love with Coldplay, and for that it will always be cemented as my very favourite. Let’s do the same with The Killers. My favourite album is Battle Born, but their best is unquestionably Sam’s Town. This is simply because their two concerts I attended in the UK were the beginning of the Battle Born tour.

Now we can talk a bit more about musical associations. How is it that a song triggers certain physical reactions in a person? I used to be quite partial to Gwen Stefani’s ‘The Sweet Escape’, until it was drilled into my head and I was forced to sing it on a balcony at 5am with a bunch of strangers in my first week at university. Now just hearing the tune makes my heartrate increase, I start to feel panicked and slightly ill. Just thinking about is now it making my palms sweat! I experienced the same kind of thing after my trip to England: I tried to listen to the Foo Fighters album on the plane back,  but I was almost in tears remembering the concert just two days before, and I had to turn it off. I also couldn’t listen to The Shins for several weeks after returning, for every time I did, I felt like I was being physically stabbed. It was downright weird. As soon as I decided to return to England this year, I could go back to my festival playlist with no problems. How strange. I also shy away from The Killers’ bassist Mark Stoermer’s solo album, as hearing any of the songs makes me feel physically sick after listening to it on repeat during my very depressing final week at university back in 2011.

Perhaps I have unwittingly discovered why I hate dance music so much! Maybe it’s got nothing to do with the fact that songs with lyrics such as “oh hey baby, let’s get on the dancefloor and dance with our clothes off baby, baby, baby, dance, baby” are so brainless that they make me want to pull my hair out! Maybe it’s that I don’t have much love for the drunken party culture in general. Could that be why club music gets on my nerves so much?

So what does all this mean? Does it mean that I can completely disregard all my rules about what makes good music good? Well, no, perhaps not, but it is an interesting thing to think about. Perhaps Rebecca Black’s ‘Friday’ would go down in history as the best song ever written, if we just associated it with the things that make us happiest in the world…

London 2012 Part VI: Reading Festival Part I

We had exactly one day to rest before Reading happened. I was bracing myself for the worst, but I didn’t honestly believe that there were no showers. I just thought everyone was pulling the leg of the poor South African who didn’t know any better. I was wrong, but we’ll get to that.

Somehow it took a lot less time to get to Reading that it had taken to get to Chelmsford, and despite all the warnings, we encountered no traffic whatsoever. Well, until we reached Reading town. So that’s where all the traffic was. We were backed up for miles and miles and miles but at least this afforded us the opportunity to creep the rest of the festival goers – people-watching is super entertaining. By now it was lunchtime and we were absolutely starving so we stopped off at the mall to track down a McDonald’s. Oh, but there was no McDonald’s. And no Starbucks. Burger King would have to do, but I swear their burgers are barely an appetizer. Ugh.

The fortuitous thing is that we’re a few meters walk from the Hexagon, where we have to collect our tickets. And by some miracle they let me collect Lauren’s ticket so we’re spared another trip through the traffic. By now Lauren’s coach has arrived, but after the Hexagon, we’re stuck in ridiculous traffic to get to the drop off point. But eventually we get there and after getting lost a few times, we follow some people towards what seems to be a parking lot. Yay! Memorizing the location of the car would probably be a good idea, seeing it’s a hire car and we don’t even really know what it looks like. It’s in row 28. Or 8. (I’m writing this two months later, and the smaller details have abandoned me.)

There’s a guy with an accent in front of us in the line to be searched be security, and the security guard asks if he’s from South Africa. Se-ouff Efrikah. No, he’s Australian, but we pack up laughing and the guard raises an eyebrow. “We’re from South Africa.” He wonders what we’re doing, leaving sunny SA for the UK, and is absolutely shocked when we say we came over for Reading. “Just for this?!” Yep. We know we’re nuts.

The camping area is, well, rather large to say the least. White camping is the furthest – and apparently the quietest -  but it looks like a hell of a walk from the arena, and we’re planning to be absolutely dead tired after seeing the likes of Dave Grohl perform. We’ll be in no state to walk this far. It also seems that a lot of the camping space is full already, even though it’s only Thursday evening  - music gets underway tomorrow afternoon. We settle for the second-furthest campsite – Brown – and set up along a fence next to the ‘supermarket’ so that we know we’ll find our way back at night. Our neighbours don’t seem to like us much though. They’re all about 15, but they swear like sailors, and drink like fish. They’re also not too happy that we’ve set up camp in what they call their ‘back yard’. Tough luck, kids.

We mission back to white camping to find food  (chips with cheese on top, not as great as it sounds), and then have another adventure in the form of setting up Kirsten’s tent in the dark. Thank goodness for the torch, which think I managed to break. Whoops.  Our attempt to go to sleep early is thwarted by our dear neighbours, who decide 2am is a great time to start a singalong. I can deal with them singing Oasis, but when they launch into renditions of Pitbull’s worst songs, I growl and my head hits the roof of my tent as I sit up to stick my head outside and give them a piece of my mind. Luckily I manage to restrain myself. I don’t really want to be beaten up by a group of 12-year-olds before I’ve even seen Brian Fallon’s face. Also, I’d never camped before in my life (besides on my friend’s front veranda when I was 12, and that time on school camp when I was 13), and by the time the sun began to rise, my body was aching like that of an 80-year old. Moving was very difficult indeed.

It’s Friday, and we’ve realized that the showers are communal. Ew. On the upside, at least it’s not too hot this weekend, so we’re not sweating.  I can do this whole not showering for four days thing… what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.

Reading’s giving us free breakfast baps every morning (a bap is basically a roll with something on it), and of course I choose bacon over egg or sausage. Bad idea. I’ve never tasted something so salty in my entire life. Plus it’s tiny. At least walking the festival grounds and standing in the food queue gave us chance to keep the rest of the festival goers. It really bugs me that half the population was decked out in Beatles shirts, even though I’m sure 90% of them had no idea who John Lennon even was. No don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are some youngsters who have great taste in music, and know all the words to ‘Hey Jude’, but these were not amongst them. Trust me.

So we creep around stalls (much creeping was done this weekend) and then at 11am we creep into the arena (“No cans, no open bo’oles”) and as soon as I’m inside, someone hands me a flyer advertising touring bands and the first thing I see is The Gaslight Anthem. I wish they were playing today, but alas they’re only around on Sunday. Oh well, guess I’ll have to see PARAMORE tonight! But even before that we have Angels and Airwaves to look forward to, so after a thorough creep of the arena – including a preliminary judgment of just how fast we’ll have to run to get from the main stage to the NME stage between Paramore and Foster The People – we head off to the main stage to wait for A&A. Getting a good spot is almost too easy. They’re really good, but I failed on learning all of the songs, and every few minutes I turn to Lauren in abject confusion and ask “Is this the song I know?” Nope. ‘The Song I Know’ is ‘Secret Crowds’ and it’s not on the setlist. Aww.

We disappear from the crowd during Crystal Castles’ set, and get back in for You Me At Six. But we have the foresight to recognize that the crowd will probably get a little bit crazy for them, so we stay out of the mosh pit area. And we’re not wrong, the band even encourage crowd surfing and general craziness. Then the crowd starts something which seems to be called the Circle Of Death – basically people running in a circle, kicking up as much dust as possible, and causing chaos. It’s pretty fun to watch from the back. By now we’ve got a pretty decent position against the middle barrier, so we decide to wait here for Paramore. Bombay Bicycle Club are on first, and although I’ve enjoyed their music, they positively freak me out. It’s two months later and I’m getting chills just thinking about it. Their frontman never wipes his face of a seriously eerie smile that’s part innocent and child-like, and part murderous. It’s like he knows something that we don’t. Or maybe he’s just high. I breathe a sigh of relief when they leave the stage and Paramore’s backdrop appears. Another thing that appears is Ryan, a fellow Vicitm. He’s looking for Sinead, and on the phone to Jess. Oh how I love bumping into Victims all over the country!

The sun has set by the time we hear music and the screens light up and Hayley Williams – tiny, fiery-haired and bouncing – appears on stage. But there’s something very wrong… if it weren’t for the fact that I’d listened to ‘Brick By Boring Brick’ at least 5 million times, I wouldn’t have even recognized it.  Hayley’s ‘ba da ba ba da ba ba da’s were far too soft and almost entirely eclipsed by the instruments. Somehow they got their act together by the second song, ‘Renegade’, and I was completely happy again by ‘For A Pessimist…’. But really, what was up with not playing ‘CrushCrushCrush’?! But I dealt with it. It almost didn’t feel real when they played ‘Decode’, because… because it was ‘Decode’! This was the song that made me like Paramore in the first place! Yes, I was a little slow on the uptake, yes it was the Twilight song, but really, so what? My photos of the set are horrendous because I was jumping up and down so much, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. ‘The Only Exception’ was particularly beautiful, with the entire crowd singing along. ‘Misery Business’ ended the set, and we all lost our minds for a bit. I’m pretty sure this is when my brand new camera acquired that little paint chip on the side. Whoops. Festival scars FTW.

So Paramore get off the stage and we – breathlessly – dash to the NME tent for Foster The People. Once again, wisely keeping to the back of the tent in case the crowd goes nuts. There’s a guy who looks just like Bono standing off to my right, the first of several celeb lookalikes spotted during the weekend. Foster The People, though. I love them, I love their poppy vibe that disguises the fact that their lyrics are downright creepy. I love their uniqueness, and quirkiness, and I think they’re just great. What I’m not expecting is a performance to top everything I’ve seen during the day. ‘Pumped Up Kicks’ is a freaking stadium rock tune, nevermind some poppy radio hit about deranged teenagers shooting people. I positively bounce back to the tent, convinced that this will be the highlight of the entire weekend. This is clearly just because a certain Mr Grohl hasn’t shown his face yet. Oh, but bouncing is a really, really bad idea. My back feels broken, my feet are overrun with blisters bigger than my actual toes, and I can’t actually bend my knees. And so day one draws to a close with the shouts of my pre-teen neighbours acting as a lullaby.

Hard ground or no hard ground, I pass out and actually manage a few hours sleep. Not that I wake up with any less aches and pains, but at least I’m slightly less exhausted, and now that I’m into the swing of things, I won’t be as tired during the day. Oh, have I mentioned the bathroom situation yet? No? Ha. Bathrooms are for the weak, and the spoiled. Here we have rows of longdrops, and I have to hold my breathe whenever I walk past to avoid losing my supper. Ew. We take a walk to find some tea before hitting the breakfast bap line again, and man does tea taste good! Even though it’s cold by the time I get back to my tent, cold tea is better than no tea at all.

So the kids in Beatles shirts are out in full force again, and whilst observing them in the breakfast line, I’m hit by a missile around my waist. Except, it’s not really a missile, it’s Alice hugging me. Next Sinead’s hugging me too, and we’re all jumping up and down because once again, out of a crowd of 100 000 this time, we’ve managed to bump into each other. With Alice and Sinead is Emma, and we’re all chatting happily about the day’s lineup because The Vaccines are on today! They’re going to be amazing and Foster The People last night and Foo Fighters tomorrow and Kasabian today and did you hear the Green Day rumour and guys we saw The Killers and we rolled on the floor when we met Brandon Flowers and and and and this is definitely the most fun anyone’s had in the line for breakfast baps. Speaking of those baps, I tried the egg one and vowed to go back to the salty bacon the next day. Ew.

Uh, but hold on just one second, what’s this Green Day Rumour all about? During the week, there had been some speculation on Twitter that Green day would be performing a surprise set at Reading on Saturday. Buuut, there’s also weekly speculation on Twitter that Justin Bieber has died, and that there are lions roaming around Essex (I’ll get to that, it’s a great story), so I took it with a pinch of salt. Up until the Tuesday night, when dear old Zane Lowe form BBC Radio 1 (is it weird that I know DJs from other countries?) interviewed none other than Green Day themselves, and a giggling Billie Joe had a lot to say. “So,” said Zane, “there’s a rumour that your American Idiot musical might be turned into a movie…” Billie Joe cracked up and replied “There’s a rumour that American Idiot might be played at Reading!” They ended off the interview with a comment like “If you missed the Reading this, use your brain”, and this combined with Billie Joe’s ‘Hey England, what rhymes with SHREDDING?’ comment and a photo of a leaked tour t-shirt saying ‘Reading – England’, and I started to believe it.

But I didn’t really believe it! I mean, Green Day were always on my list of 20 bands I needed to see, and funnily enough we’d even looked up tickets to a festival they were playing in Paris, but we never would have made it there from Reading in time. If Green Day had announced a South African tour, I probably would have spent a good few minutes rolling on the floor crying before I composed myself enough to buy a ticket.

Anyway it’s just before 11am, and the rumour mill says Green Day are on at 12pm in the NME stage. Psssh, as if. Anyway, we head off to the arena just in case. There’s not way Green Day will actually play…

But I swear I can hear them playing even before I’m in the arena… someone’s obviously playing a CD – one stall has been playing The Killers everytime I’ve walked past. But. But. THAT’S BILLIE JOE’S FACE ON THE BIG SCREEN OUTSIDE THE NME TENT! He’s screaming, and throwing his hands in the air, and now there’s no time for rolling on the floor crying, but I’m pretty sure we won’t get into the tent, we’ll watch on the screens outside, but who cares?! We get to hear Green Day!  Oh, how wrong I am. Before I know what’s happening, I’m right at the front of the tent, clutching a barrier for dear life, as Billie Joe and his buddies go absolutely mad five meters from my face. I can’t. I can’t. This is not happening. But it is. And although they don’t play many of my favourite songs, ‘American Idiot’ now eclipses ‘Pumped Up Kicks’ as the highlight of my weekend. At one point Billie Joe starts shooting toilet paper into the audience. Ya know, as one does. I am utterly in awe of these three men, and heartbroken when they’re forced to leave the stage after an hour. But I still can’t believe it happened. I saw Green Day live, with no warning. It kind of just happened, and sometimes that’s the best way.