London's 02 Wireless Festival

For his 4th of July headlining performance, Morrissey promised: "I will take Hyde Park like a flea inhabits a dog. Art-hounds and people with badly cut hair are very welcome." He didn't dissappoint......

In the center of the city, surrounded by the posh, well-trimmed terrains of Knightsbridge and Kensington, et al, the Wireless Festival is one of the more tame and "civilized" of Festivals (i.e. no acid heads/nitrogen/vomit pools in sight?) So tame in fact, it seemed almost half in motion when I arrived mid-day on Friday despite being sold-out; people sat slowly sipping plastic-bottled beers and chatting leisurely on the grass--as though awaiting a midsummer-night's opera. With happy smiling people and little push and shove- and oh joy a lack of rain or mud (Glastonbury I am looking at you)- it was a nice, unintimidating intro to the Euro festival circuit (save the plastic beer bottles- squishy and cap-less due to Brit's bizarre beer throwing tendencies). In the meantime, the line-up was high-caliber rock: The National, Beck, Morrissey, The Howling Bells, The New York Dolls, The Wombats, The Duke Spirit, The Whigs, Black Kids, etc...Did I mention Morrissey?

One of 30,000 Morrissey fans at Park.................

While it was independence day in America, in Britain they celebrate the 4th of July differently......

Light tricks on the Dirty Pretty Things

Dirty Pretty Things' brand of rock reminded me of Vampire Weekend (i.e. frothy island pop) meets the rock of The Strokes or Albert Hammond Jr...From their performance though, I agree with Drowned in Sound that, while they don't "entirely deliver; Barât can charm, but sometimes his delivery resonates with a cockiness too cloying." And those allusions to The Libertines (Carl Barat of the Libertines on the left of shot above) still hold by the way.

God damn tourists.

The crane dropped some mid-sized Airmail?

The park was not without non-musical amusements as well- from some air-flying contraptions (see above) to rides and a skate-boarding platform....but these did little to distract from the main musical attractions

Next up Nicole Atkins & The Sea. While the Brit crowd seemed largely unaware of Nicole's talents- she drew in a crowd in with her velvety voice- and her band bared slight tech difficulties to charm the chilled out crowd.

Nicole Atkins & The Sea

Nicoke Atkins' lead guitarist pulling a 'I'm a blind guitarist' move

Her killer ruby suede slippers...a happy mix between Dorothy and Elvis, no?

Festival food proved to be the usual: hotdogs and burgers, suspicious-looking chinese food, and weird free promotional drinks (yogurt this time). That's my buddy Carlos above showing off his manhood- i.e. scarfing down a foot-log dog. Why was the hot-dog line was filled with men only? a) few woman knew how to handle a foot-log dog (?) b) only the boys believe the age-old adage "you are what you eat." (?)

Pirate booty. Literally. Bad-ass. Literally.

Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly

While the red tent was packed to see Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly- (i.e. 21 year old Sam Duckworth, from Southend, Essex, UK) it was only until 4 people deep anyone even tried to tell me who was playing: "Get Cape In Air Fly?" "Get Captured Flag Fly?" "Cape Flying Flyers" were several derivations I heard. Again, if anyone has the oppertunity to slap Sam for such a moronic name please do. However, he really did steal the crowd... that was dancing and raving to his 'folkelectronic' (ala he had the pep of Black Kids without their whining).

The crowd reveling

Now- Beck will always be a legend. Why? First off, I've never seen him give a bad, or even slightly comme ci comme ca performance. Granted last time I saw him I believe he was in a 4-colored bedazzled cowboy suit...These days, Beck's sporting Tom-Petty style hair- but still put on a riveting live set previewing tracks from his forthcoming album 'Modern Guilt', as well as old favorites like 'Loser', 'E-Pro.' He's addictive in the non-toxic sense. Everyone dashed out of the bars the second they heard the first chords of opener 'Devil's Haircut' and he held their attention the whole way through.

Considering the ridiculous level of recycling in Britian (see above: you can tell an alcoholic nation by the specificity in bottle recycling types. In UK, there are separate bins for brown, green and clear bottles, and one bin for newspaper, and one of 'other trash'. Hey- at least it's a literate alcoholic society)- I was surpised at the amount of garbage still littering the ground even mid-day (see below). Apparently, people just eat, drink, get up and throw the remains on the ground. At least it made for nice pick-up plastic-bottle soccer games in between sets.

Dude where's my comb?

A romantic balancing act.

(On a side note- I am a bloody idiot and missed the Rascals perform (and Alex Turner from The Artic Monkeys showing up to do a suprise set). But Nicole introduced me to Miles Kayne of The Rascals and The Last Puppet Show) behind stage. Wooga. Heard it was a killer set too tho.Cute pict. )

Fans grooving to Morrissey.

A while back, Morrissey had said "I will take Hyde Park like a flea inhabits a dog. Art-hounds and people with badly cut hair are very welcome. I shall do my utmost not to pull a sour face.The sun will make up its own mind. It is, of course, the day when America celebrated its independence from Sidcup, but we can easily reverse that situation with a bit of John Mills stiff-upperness. Bring your own lodging-house towels, but don't expect any three-shrimp appetizers." (According to Pitchfork). He didn't dissappoint.

To start, Morrissey bounded onstage ripping off his blazer to reveal a "playboy t-shirt" whiling singing about........being an international playboy. He was debonair and full of energy - mocking Kylie Monogue and America (jabs about Bush- big surprise).He has a showmanship that is as rare- reminding me of a time when musicians were gods because they were god-like- not devil-like, commercially-starched, or reduced to tabloid-ashes. He is also still mysterious even when surrounded by bright lights; the timbre of his voice, that lilting vibrato, the dramatic pauses, the deliberate sweeping back of the dallop of hair that rests on his forehead, the furrowed brow- and lyrics that have the daft ability of sounds like ornate poetry and yet at the same time bizzarely coversational- all lead to Morrissey glowing a bit like Zeus on that stage of his. If he played a flute, we would have followed. If he started a religion, we all would convert.

The grey-haired god played some songs from his forthcoming album 'Years Of Refusal', including the well-received 'Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed'. But the real charmers were The Smiths' hits and sing-along singles. As this was his only gig in the UK this year, Morrissey brought out 30,000 avid fans- most who knew each word- and sang heartedly along as tho the park was a grand old pub and everyone had just got back from war. (Americans- speak if I am wrong- but I don't feel we as audiences are as interactive as brits - throwing, singing, jousting, jumping, writhing about.) I was in front of particularly inebriated couple, that precariously waved a pitcher of wine and fruit, frollicked with strangers like old friends, and shouted out sweet obscenities to the icon. Can we say Drunk-punch love?

As a visiting American, something about the performance seemed so breathtakingly and brazenly British- (Englishmen- speak if I am wrong) Riveting to the very encore, M. even ended by stripping off his shirt and throwing it out to the audience- while managing to look like the first of the gang to have done that...... For a moment, I found it hard to believe the world was full of crashing bores.

Hence the happy morning plate the next day. God save Morrissey.