On paper, it could have been the first mini festival of the year. The Raveonettes, Polyphonic Spree and The Datsuns, with Supergrass headlining: an enviable line-up in anyone's book. The couple mooning around the venue in standard issue 'Spree smocks (no doubt band members themselves) merely add to the proto-Glasto vibe.
But then, some bloke in a green security T-shirt bellows 'get your f***ing feet off the seats' at an unsuspecting punter in Block 10 and the free love vibe vanishes like incense through an extractor fan. It's an obvious point, but it's one worth making. If you want to organise a successful convention for the British Guild of Carpet Fitters, then Wembley's your place. For a half-day extravaganza of characterful indie rock, however, you really should look elsewhere.
Of course, a gig at Wembley Arena isn't without kudos. Eight years on from their sprightly debut 'I Should Coco', this is arguably the biggest gig of Supergrass' career. Presiding over a bill of this calibre, in a venue Wembley's size is a defiant statement: no longer the indie also-rans, Supergrass have outlived Britpop and emerged with a refreshing take on 21st century glam pop that is quintessentially their own. If anyone can crack the least charismatic venue in London, then surely it's the 'Grass.
They give it a good try. We get all the hits: 'Late In the Day' is beautifully rendered; 'Grace' sounds like vintage Slade - which is meant as a compliment; 'Pumping On Your Stereo' transforms the floor into a frenetic, swarming mosh pit; and as a set closer, 'Caught By the Fuzz' is incendiary in it's artless simplicity.
But these are flashes of brilliance in a set that's otherwise pretty one-dimensional. It's all good, it's just a touch generic - only 'Life on Other Planets' closer 'Run' dares to waver from the 90mph junta. Time and again there's a hit of adrenaline when each song's familiar intro chimes in - but within seconds that energy turns to nothing - an empty promise of possibilities unfulfilled.
Of course the venue should take some of the blame. It's hard for a crowd to really let go in a drafty warehouse with the warmth and character of a paperclip factory. Supergrass aren't entirely blameless, however. Tonight they fall victim to their own lofty standards - sometimes good is just not good enough for a band that are so consistently great.
