Rock En Seine #3

Day three of Rock En Seine opened with one of the best performances all weekend, as Metric stormed the Scène de la Cascade. The Canadian new-wave band have been kicking around in various forms since 2001, but it’s only now that they are finally getting the recognition they so deserve. Vocalist Emily Haines is equal parts Debbie Harry and Madonna; a waif in white bounding around the stage, while guitarist James Shaw hammers out edgy melodies. Haines’ soprano soars on “Sick Muse”, then drops to shouted verses and an electro chorus for “Dead Disco”. Throughout it all, Metric are tight and absolutely focused on giving their audience a good time. The thudding rhythms and dancing synths ignited a passionate response from a loyal crowd, and showed just why the music press are so excited about the Toronto four-piece.

Later in the afternoon, on the main stage, Paris’ rock corps emerged en masse for America’s sleaziest, scuzziest, sexiest rockers, Eagles of Death Metal. Alongside Cougar Microbes‘ Boaz, I had a close look at the band as they played, photographing them from the pit with a borrowed camera. Frontman Jesse Hughes is a force of nature when he’s onstage; bantering with the crowd almost constantly (and promising one sign-brandishing fan that “You can touch my moustache anytime, baby.”) EODM are a band who love everything about rock ‘n’ roll, and it shows in every chunky riff and grooving bassline. The crowd seemed to agree, singing back almost every word and moshing like it was the end of the world.

We had it on good authority that the band billed on the Scène de la Cascade as Les Petits Pois was actually newly-formed supergroup Them Crooked Vultures, and it seems that rumour had spread, judging by the thousands of fans packing the arena thirty minutes before they even came onstage. I couldn’t help but wonder if there might have been a riot if anyone but Josh Homme, John Paul Jones and Dave Grohl had stepped onto that stage, but the rumours held true and three legends of international rock emerged to rapturous applause.

With a line-up so distinguished, it was unlikely they were going to disappoint. Grohl still drums with the same wild vigour, and Homme is still the imposing frontman he ever was, drawling over massive riffs. Jones, meanwhile, lived up to his reputation as the legendary master of four strings, layering blues bass and heavy rhythms (and even taking a seat at the piano for one notable slow-jam). Onstage, Them Crooked Vultures are almost a jam band; a bunch of friends rocking out for the hell of it; it hardly matters that each has rock credentials of almost mythical proportions. The crowd didn’t know any of the lyrics, but that didn’t stop the orgy of crowd-surfing and head-banging, and the sense that we were witnessing a moment in rock history. And, as if the star-studded lineup onstage wasn’t enough, I also noticed one Brody Dalle sitting in the artist’s lounge backstage, which left me a little bit star-struck considering that Coral Fang was one of my favourite albums a few years ago.

As the afternoon heat started to cool and the Rock En Seine punters continued to drink, we prepared to watch one of 2008′s biggest new bands, MGMT. I tend to think that the songs which made them famous aren’t actually representative of their discography as a whole: their performance was a lot more guitar-heavy than I expected, with a kind of prog/psychedelic overtone that was both bizarre and hugely effective. Meanwhile, the crowd took every drop and asked for more. “Weekend Wars” was a drawling, shouted-back anthem, but the real benchmark was set by “Kids”, which drove the crowd wild with that oh-so-recognisable melody.

Next came a decision I made only begrudgingly: to go and watch Klaxons perform. I have made my feelings about the nu-rave movement very clear on this site, and I stand by them. To be fair, though, the band seem to have grown up a bit, and their crowd seem to have grown up with them: I noticed a distinct absence of glowsticks in the audience. The set was tight, but the music lacks any real spark to endear it to me. The crowd, however, seemed to be having a very good time – one cheery French teenager even handed our man Niall (from Nialler9) a half-bottle of rum, apropos of nothing.

Deciding which headliner to go and see is almost always a very tactical choice to make. Unfortunately, here it seemed like a foregone conclusion, as 75% of the festival crowd packed into the main arena for The Prodigy’s set. Niall and I, on the other hand, took a bold decision and decided to hang around the Scène de l’Industrie to check out Patrick Wolf. We were in a very definite minority – there were perhaps only a few hundred others there, though the applause that went up as the androgynous English songwriter took the stage was particularly raucous. Wolf is a hugely self-assured performer; a lanky figure in a bizarre outfit, headdress perched neatly upon his head, howling and wailing and throwing himself around the stage. Then, he takes a different turn, and strips away the sequined pelisse and headgear, letting long hair drop down and picking up a Flying-V, and for a moment he looks like nothing more than a glam-rocker in his prime. His was an enjoyable set, from an accomplished performer, but you couldn’t help but notice at least some of the energy being sapped away by the musical force of nature performing a little over half a mile away.

What can I write about The Prodigy that hasn’t been written a thousand times in a thousand publications more authoritative than mine? Only that they have to be seen to be believed.  They are an electrifying spectacle, colliding around the stage like madmen while the bassline causes a minor tectonic event. And they certainly know how to work a crowd: I never imagined I’d hear tens of thousands of people screaming “Smack my bitch up”, and now that I have, I think I can die happy. Two of us stood, on a low hill overlooking the arena, and watched thousands of people partying like it was the end of the world. And it was beautiful. The band brought out every single hit from their twenty-year history, and the Rock En Seine crowd entered a state of reverent ecstasy. One day, the insanity will have to stop, but not yet. Please, God, not yet.

My personal summation of the weekend runs thus: Rock En Seine turned out to be a ludicrously good festival; the Europeans love their music, and they know how to show it. The weekend had its good performances and its not-so-good performances, but I discovered a couple of superb new acts in the process. Also, I get to say that I was there, not a mile away, when Oasis split up. And that’s pretty cool.

On a personal note, I’d like to issue massive Stereokill props to the following people, for their contributions to a grand weekend of hard drinking, easy banter and good times. So, in no particular order, a shout-out to:

• Niall from Nialler9
• Boaz/Codfish from Cougar Microbes
• Mark from Fried My Little Brain, and Paul from FMLB/Digesting Design
• Stewart from My Chemical Toilet
• Terry and Nicki from Buzzin Media
• Sam and Joe from Hush House

And, finally, a big thank you to Sarah, Camille, and Sandrine from We Are Social for setting the whole thing up and inviting us along – if you haven’t already, take a couple of moments to check out their Little Break, Big Difference campaign.

Goodnight, Rock En Seine. See you next year.

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