T in the Park 2010 – Sunday

Article by Chris Duncan | 24 Jul 2010

Frank Turner's early bird slot on the Radio 1/NME stage is yet another milestone for the man who just recently warmed up for Green Day at Wembley stadium, especially considering this is his first visit to T.  Unfortunately it falls a little flat - perhaps we can blame this on timing too - but you can't knock the guy for trying as he does his best to coax a singalong out of the bleary-eyed crowd. [rd]

Day three on the T Break Stage, and one thing above all else is becoming clear: they really like Arcade Fire in Glasgow. This is no bad thing, and Washington Irving are perhaps one of the best examples of those who have made such musical expansiveness their own. They instigate a full-on hoedown amid “Dear Liza”, and the overall package appears very promising, particularly at a time when Mumford and Sons are capturing the popular imagination. [mh]

Canada's Billy Talent tirelessly attempt to fire up the fairly placid second stage crowd, eventually managing to squeeze a sizable circle pit out of them. By the final charge of 'Red Flag', though the crowd is finally all theirs, giving back all they've got in a haze of devil horns, middle fingers and fists. Taking full credit for the first sunshine we've seen all weekend, the band undoubtedly leave on a high note. [rd]

Of the many unsigned bands on offer this year, Three Blind Wolves are one of those who clearly have something of a following already, and the reasons for this quickly become clear. Their sound is steady, focussed, and Ross Clark’s voice loses none of its potency on the festival stage. Even the way he approaches the microphone, hunched over guitar or keyboard, seems to set he and his Wolves apart from much of the weekend’s mediocrity. [mh]

Alan Moore, Brian Blessed, Cousin It and Jesus Christ: none of these people are members of considerably hirsute Glasgow quartet Kassidy. What the former foursome might lack in, say, sonorous harmonies, nifty songwriting and general musical ability, would at least have been redressed by the imbuement of a bit more je ne sais quoi. Otherwise, Kassidy don’t really put a foot wrong here, and even a couple of out of tune guitars fail to detract from a gig that is basically nice, if not all that enthralling. [rp]

Ramona are a female-fronted quartet who deploy two-chord bubblegum punk with Blondie trimmings to immediate yet unremarkable effect. Furthermore, the band themselves seem rather impassive and whilst the decent crowd size sticks around, it feels unlikely that much will be remembered of them come tomorrow. [dc]

Whatever reason there might have been for carrying out a soundcheck in the middle of a show should be beyond the comprehension of any reasonable mind, yet somehow, a backstage staffer saw fit to listlessly clang on a snare drum for 15-20 minutes through what had been a perfectly respectable set that snaked between tech-house and “minimal electro”, as Ivan Smagghe calls it. Despite profuse remonstrations and apologetic gestures, he and Andrew Weatherall remain demonstrably powerless to ameliorate matters. A farcical episode. [rp]

Much better are A Band Called Quinn, an unlikely assortment of individuals peddling their wares of electro-lite carnival pomp. They kick of nicely with DIY and end strongly enough with the cabaret swagger of Oh Jackie and Wolf Cries Boy. In-between, there is a fair bit of flab, with Scum coming across like a facsimilie of Killing Me Softly. Overall though, fine festival frivolities.[dc]

Tricky has often operated on the margins of what you’d call dance music, and so the suspicion that his appearance at the Slam Tent might jar with the rest of the lineup is confirmed as the lugubrious guitar riffs of Psychosis splash into a sea of marble stares; folk look completely nonplussed at the lack of kickdrums and 808s and such. A genuine shame, because Tricky’s impassioned set deserves a far more appreciative audience. [rp]

There’s nae fucking about with Black Mountain whose half-hour time slot could conceivably be engulfed by one of their sprawling psychedelic rock epics. Playing the Futures tent feels like high irony as the Canadian troupe transport us back to 1973, hair and all. It’s a tremendous set that, whilst eschewing breakthrough album In The Future’s variety, plays right into the hands of classic and immediate rock riffage that seems to visibly impress all who have made the short pilgrimage here. The new tunes are sounding a bit tasty too. [dc]

Dizzee Rascal has undergone a remarkable transformation, now scaling the heights of the UK charts with a much poppier, party vibe compared to his murkier London Grime roots. Flaunting a knack for showmanship, with full live band in tow, Dizzee somehow manages to blend his fairly diverse catalogue into a seamlessly entertaining set. The crowd lap up everything but its no surprise closer, Bonkers, prompts the crowd to act accordingly. [rd]

An elephant sized caveat applies to what may constitute your idea of fun at Crookers’ mid-afternoon slot. If you can accept being dry-humped by the collective 4/4 thrust of a couple thousand febrile revellers, then Bot and Phra’s singularly hedonistic odyssey of house music is just about one of the best experiences you’re likely to have. Everybody – and I mean everybody – loses the run of themselves here; a roving crowdcam screens female revellers engaging in a series of ‘compromising episodes’. We’ll leave the rest to your sordid imaginations. [rp]

Silver Columns could hardly have imagined a more inauspicious setting. A sparsely populated gathering around the BBC Introducing... stage hardly engenders enthusiasm for prospective passers-by to see what all the fuss might be about, and gives the illusory impression that they’re not worth seeing. Which is obviously wrong, but especially so in this instance; synthesizers, distorted vocals and megaphone bursts accompany a rambunctious slot that fuses twitchy electronic textures with a healthy pop sensibility. More of this please, T. [rp]

Getting planted right on the coupon with a bottle of beer/pish (the difference is often negligible) will do nothing to lighten your mood, and so it transpires that Dubfire’s sleek, downtempo house grooves aren’t sufficiently distracting for the idiot quotient at the Slam Tent. Having also likely noted the mass evacuation of the arena after Crookers, you suspect that he wished he hadn’t bothered turning up. He carries on after drying himself off, dropping Ribcage near the end. We barely deserve it. [rp]

Yeasayer played at T in 2008, but after the success of second album Odd Blood there are a few more punters drawn to their mystic pop this time around. Ever morphing, most of the tracks feel fresh and inventive against their album counterparts. The added dollops of percussion to Sunrise or 2080’s reverberating vocal mantra that ricochets around the Futures tent ensure that the Brooklyn quartet keep us on our toes with their old material whilst bowing out with a glorious pop finale of newer cuts O.N.E. and Ambling Alp. [dc]

With the proper “lads” becoming aroused by the prospect of rhythmically punching each other to the sweet sound of Kasabian later in the evening, many warm themselves up by watching The Cribs (most likely due to their history of mildly rock n’ roll behaviour and regional accents). Amongst all this, anorak-wearing Smiths fans are dotted around cutting obscure silhouettes, happy to be in the presence of Johnny Marr but concerned for their wellbeing. The band play like they usually do. [mh]

People who don't visit the Slam Tent or deem the line up on the stage across this weekend as dumbed down compared to other showcases at T may well have the following stereotype in their minds. A superstar DJ with his face plastered across every screen available, pumping his fists in the air, with hangers on dancing behind the decks as girls throw their bras and numbers into his record bag. Usually this isn't true, but it fits the bill for Sven Vath perfectly. Congratulations on living up to the stereotype. [cd]

From the outset, it is apparent that The Drums are here to have a good time. It’s the last fixture of their UK tour and singer Jonathan Pierce is strafing and flouncing like a drama school crab. As always, the band aren’t making an awful lot of noise – it’s not their way – but, á la Vampire Weekend, it seems that anthems and riffs are not necessarily required to get a festival crowd interested. They bring colourful tunes and tambourine antics, and closer Let’s Go Surfing is one of the weekend’s whimsy-pop highlights. [mh]

Though few look old enough to have owned a ZX Spectrum, the slew of lion hats adorning heads this year tells us that many have been looking forward to see Unicorn Kid tear apart some vintage gaming hardware. It should send a seasoned festival veteran into a ‘young uns and their music’ style rant but seeing Oliver Sabin pogo through a tight half-hour set that puts the tinny bleeps that have been rattling around your skull for two decades into unashamedly populist crowd pleasers is too good to grumble about. We know it’s wrong, but it feels so bleeping right.[dc]

Heading up a strong Hip-hop contingent this year Jay-Z's set tonight is arguably the most anticipated of the weekend. And indeed, Mr Z does not disappoint delivering all the hits and more, whilst plastered with one hell of a grin. Amongst so many others, 99 Problems is given a particularly funky airing tonight, benefiting from additional live instrumentation, but it's Empire State Of Mind that coaxes one of the weekend's most spectacular singalongs.[rd]

 “This is our new single. Buy it”, orders Night Noise Team ringleader Sean Ormsby, before chugging away at the chords that make up You Won. Question is, have NNT made a strong enough case for us to part with the dough? Debatable. The pared-down Brian Molko stylings of Ormsby grate a bit, but NNT show themselves to be a capable outfit, encapsulating most of the good stuff that remains in the otherwise turgid indie landscape. Tonight it’s given due consideration. [rp]

We initially have to rub our eyes when Goldfrapp arrive to Voicething due to the quite horrendous jumpsuits on display. Alison herself looks the part though, a black feather dress billowing against a well-placed fan, all in silhouette. Her voice sounds just as good, showing an impressive range and hitting each note with remarkable precision. In fact, past those outfits there is little to fault, making it easier to point out what was extra good, in this case Number 1 and finale Strict Machine particularly hitting the spot. [dc]

It is an easy thing to do, particularly if you're from Glasgow. Slam host and play at their excellent monthly nights Pressure and Return to Mono, so it's easy to get complacent and forget just how good they are. The Edinburgh Castle of techno, you forget what you have on your doorstep but every once in a while snap out of it. Here, they delight everyone in attendance with a tightly coiled and acid tinged set whilst excitement for reaches a high point for the forthcoming Plastikman performance. [cd]

Is Richie Hawtin – tonight resurrecting Plastikman – the Alfred Hitchcock of dance music? Ignoring the fact that Hawtin still has an unreasonably abundant mop of hair on his bonce, he shows himself to be an arch manipulator of dramatic tension, slowly feeding his audience through the wringer; restraint, rather than a cheap euphoric release, is Hawtin’s medium of climax. Tellingly, not one lager javelin finds its way to the circular light cage that surrounds Hawtin, a quantifiable sign of respect given all that’s preceded today. A sensory masterpiece. [rp]

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