As compensation for the abrupt end of Limp Bizkit's European tour, those nice chaps the deftones have slotted in this last-minute replacement show.
Most of the crowd seem unconcerned that they've lost out on the opportunity of experiencing the Bizkit in glorious sunshine and are instead ecstatic at the prospect of seeing Chino Moreno and chums up close and personal. They are, after all, playing a venue a tenth of the size of the one they graced last time they were in the capital.
The length of the queue to collect tickets outside means many people miss some or all of much-lauded Welsh sextet Lostprophets. Which is a crying shame, as they tear up the stage with a precision-drilled set culled from their fine debut album. Despite vocalist Ian Watkins suffering from laryngitis, he pulls no punches in delivering the hook-heavy choruses.
Indeed, no sooner has the opening of 'Shinobi Vs Dragon Ninja' kicked in, than their turntables man is in the crowd. By the end of the track, Watkins has followed suit.
Watkins has obvious poster-boy potential, a fact that hasn't been overlooked by several American record companies. But the Lostprophets' real appeal lies in the fact that they rock, pure and simple. The raging 'Five Is A Four Letter Word' and the alternately dubby and stomping 'Kobrakei' are just two of the highlights of a very warmly received set.
The Cult recently bemoaned on this very site that America won't look to the UK for rock bands as they've got an excess of homegrown talent. Lostprophets look set to redress that situation in style.
And so to the headliners. The Deftones have certainly not hurt their kudos by pulling this show out of the bag. "Chino, Chino" the crowd shout and, sure enough, there he is - the Tiger Woods of rock.
Moreno is very much the Lord of the manor tonight. He dominates proceedings, whether it be astride the monitors, mockingly declaring "Oooh, my back hurts" after a smouldering 'My Own Summer', inviting the crowd to sample his homemade cocktail, the "Smurf", or slipping in the choruses of Gorillaz's 'Clint Eastwood' and Limp Bizkit's 'Nookie' to his own songs.
Later on, he causes security pandemonium by going for a spot of extended leave from the rest of the band that takes him across to the balcony staircase, down through the bar for a drink, outside to grab a bootleg T-shirt off an unsuspecting vendor and back to the stage.
It's lucky Moreno's in such playful form, as a dire sound mix renders much of the band's trademark crunch to an indistinguishable mush. Not that the kids in the pit seem to care; being in such close proximity to their hero is seemingly reward enough.
However, for those of us of a less partisan persuasion, it means a tedious cloud of blackness between the chinks of light like 'Be Quiet And Drive' and 'Change'. And therein lies the danger of preaching to the converted - you let your guard slip and forget what converted them in the first place. Chino thanks those who saw them in the early days, but they'll need to pull out more stops in future to retain their current lofty plateau as kings of the alt-metal jungle.
