Reading Festival,Richfield Avenue,Reading RG1 8EQ

I wandered aimlessly for a while around the stands and stalls between the smaller stages with the main Reading stage off in the distance. After eating the bad food at the V-Festival I was first appalled by, then resigned myself to the fact that the same companies supplied the grub at Reading as well. There are usually one or more acts each year that make Reading the UK Festival to be at, and 2001 was no different. The act of that year was most likely the Strokes, who were to be making their first UK Festival appearance. You may have seen the cover of NME the week before with the photo of the Strokes and the caption “The One Band You Must See this Weekend.” I would have been green with envy to have received a copy of the music magazine in my mailbox in Minneapolis, but it was somewhat smugly that I picked up my copy of NME that week at a London newsstand with a ticket to the sold-out festival in my pocket. In 2001 there was some controversy regarding the Strokes appearance which only added to the media hype even though the band was already unquestionably the biggest buzz band in the world at the time. The Strokes were scheduled to play the Radio 1 Evening Sessions Stage, which is in a tent that holds only about 8,000 people. Festival organizers refused until the last minute to move the Strokes to the main stage. Wisely they ultimately gave in. The Strokes were a definite festival highlight when they played Friday afternoon few bands away from Iggy Pop. Other Friday Highlights were New York’s the Moldy Peaches (friends and tour mates of the Strokes) in the Evening Sessions tent whose song “Please Pass the Crack” was one of the catchiest fun songs of the summer. The final day of the festival (Sunday) may have been the most full of music for me. I took a liking to a band called Lowgold who sounded awesome live but upon my return to the States I found their import-only studio material lacking in some important areas, one of which being that the lyrics were just plain boring and cliché. The Cult played an intense, energizing set and as if on queue it actually rained during “Here Comes the Rain.” Queens of the Stone Age bassist Nick Oliveri played the entire QOTSA set stark f’ing naked with nothing covering his privies but his uh, instrument.
Recollections of England's V-Festival 2001 (Chelmsford, 2001) Photo: Wheatus on the second stage at V2001 (Click for full size.) Photo: The big tree by the second stage provided a respite from the rain. (Click for full size. I'm sitting at home in Minneapolis today listening to the V-2003 Festival highlights on Virgin Radio over the internet as I clean my house. I try to make a habit of being exactly where I want to be at all times, but as the live festival began at 2 PM Minnesota time today, (8 PM in Chelmsford) I do feel a bit of a yearning to be there in the English countryside, even if it was just a month ago that I returned from this year's jaunt to the European rock festivals. The V-Festival was my first foray into the non-US festival world. (Lollapalooza in the US was my first true festival experience.) I had worked most of the day on the Friday before the festival at my job in Minnesota. I was helping an English customer get setup for a videoconference at just before noon and was in bit of a rush to get him up and running. "I have to be in Chelmsford by 2 p.m. tomorrow," I mentioned in passing, figuring that would get his attention. I also wanted to make it clear to him that I would simply not be available that afternoon if things went awry once his conference started. Festival-going the way I do it makes for a truly dream-like experience due to the combination of jet lag and sleep-deprivation that accompany the first legs of my journeys. First I fly all night on Northwest flight 44, and I don't sleep well, if at all on overseas flights. I land in England at Gatwick Airport in the morning and smell the diesel of the trains mixed with cigarette smoke on the train station platform while catching the Gatwick Express into London. I arrive at my hotel too early for check-in because although check-in is at 11, your room typically isn't ready until 2. After a bit of bargaining, I usually get into my room around noon, leaving enough time to shower, shave and catch a bus or train a hundred miles or more to my ultimate destination. As I get off the train and ascend into Chelmsford, the local police have setup an amnesty zone where we are encouraged to drop off our "gear" in a bin, no questions asked. “If you proceed into Chelmsford and caught with drugs, you will be arrested,” we are warned. “The dogs caught two people earlier today,” is tacked on for additional emphasis. Fascinatingly, people comply and dump bags of pot and other substances into a small garbage can right next to the police officers and proceed on their merry way. This is a far cry from the underhanded entrapment schemes devised by the US police at festivals. (See this article in yesterday's Star Trib as an example.) There's been no division of a night's sleep between the workday the day before and suddenly and suddenly I'm walking through the gates of a major music event on the other side of the world, amidst thousands of people, many of whom camped overnight the night before or who commuted a lot less far than I did. In 2001 tears literally came to my eyes as I walked into the grassy area of the main stage at Chelmsford and heard up close the first strains of music that had only been represented by a glossy ad in Q Magazine just 6 weeks before as I sat in my Minneapolis backyard. It may have even been David Gray onstage, running through "Please Forgive Me" as I dried my tears. It could have been Neil Finn, or the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I don't recall for sure, as they were all there that year--as was Placebo, Wheatus, Nelly Furtado, The Foo Fighters and a host of others I won't even begin to name as you already get the picture. I'd flown myself straight into a music lover's heaven, and I knew it.


