As dotmusic weaves through the shit-strewn concrete streets of Reading what appears to be coming from the Main Stage is the ungodly cacophony of Less Than Jake. In fact, it's the shit-strewn Andrew WK. He's Less Than Good, though he's also no less than about 40 meters into the crowd. For this he should be applauded - crowd surfing, you see, is not allowed.
He finally makes it back to the stage for the riotous finale of 'Party Hard' and thrashes away punching the air and convulsing on the spot, perhaps keen to add that extra layer of sweat to his white tee shirt and jeans, apparel that looks never to have been washed. It's the musical equivalent of WWF.
Over in the cavernous Evening Session tent, the next band have brought their very own Showtime Master Of Ceremonies with them, direct from Vegas. "Make some f**kin' noise for The Icarus Line," he yells, going alarmingly purple. No matter how much noise the crowd makes it's destined to pale in significance alongside The Icarus Line who thrash away at their instruments as if they were mortal foes to be pummelled into submission by masters fearing for their lives. Their singer, the ludicrously stylishly titled Joe Cardamone, makes a barely audible squall above the utterly tuneless racket that results from the musicians' struggle. It's a performance that simulates complete mental and physical breakdown, closer in effect to an art happening than anything like 'music'.
Dashboard Confessional, by contrast, are not only 'playing' their instruments but they're even in possession of the ultimate Reading 2002 faux pas, an acoustic guitar. What could they have been thinking? Forgive them though, because this is not only their first time in England, it's the first time that they've been to Europe. And, of course, they're as American as apple pie, all easy rock melodies to soundtrack Dawson's Creek therapy sessions with songs called 'Rapid Hope Loss'. For a band that has never been seen on these shores they're already well loved by the over-capacity Concrete Jungle Stage. Imagine if it was that easy for UK bands in the States.
The Hives have rapidly become a kind of popular musical revue in this country, their Swedish Americana embraced with the kind of nationality transcending enthusiasm previously reserved for the Chicken Tikka Masala. They illustrate that all-important distinction between hurling a guitar around and genuine showmanship. Howlin' Pelle Almqvist's outrageous comedy arrogance is amped up to the fit the occasion: "Make some noise for your Hives - you love us!" It's hot and the guitarist looks like he might have a heart-attack.
Nicholaus Arson spits like no other man alive and strikes the best poses in pop since Kraftwerk. Howlin' Pelle throws his hands in the air and gestures towards himself, throws perfect scissor kicks from the drum riser, spits. It's glorious entertainment, all of which serves to help put from your mind the lingering suspicion that, if last night The Strokes gave the impression they are about to remake their debut album, The Hives are still gathering together enough tunes for one. But, when those tracks are 'Supply And Demand', 'Hate To Say That I Told You So' and 'Main Offender' no one really cares. The highlight comes with a cover of rock'n'roll treasure, 'Stop And Think It Over'.
Sum 41 play a close second to The Hives for showmanship, opening with 'Motivation' the little tykes are all over the stage. Shame then that lead vocalist Derick Whibley's voice is yet to break. Throughout the set they intermittently hammer out nods to classic metal - Slayer, Metallica, Iron Maiden, even - they've obviously been listening to their Dads' record collections. The tight jeans have been replaced with baggy three-quarter-length ones, the scummy hi-top trainers with fat skate shoes and the apocalyptic guitar symphonies with Californian bedroom rock, played by Canadians. It all adds to the overall impression that the Main Stage has, so far this weekend, offered one never-ending major chord chugged relentlessly into the field. Where are Queens Of The Stone Age when imagination and power are so desperately needed to rescue proceedings?
