Year two of the IOW's relaunched festival and the south coast sun has popped up on cue to banish memories of last year's drizzle. There are around 12,000 people here, and, as the heat beats down, The Thrills arrive to provide the rainbow-coloured soundtrack.
The Dublin boys with the West Coast sound fire-off half an hour of melodic, power pop that suits the vibe perfectly - even if Conor Deasy's American Pie vocal suffers in the full rock show glare. He looks cool though - not a bead of sweat beneath his Martin Peters (rather old-skool England '66 World Cup winner - football ed) side parting. Also missing are the much vaunted Brian Wilson meets Richard Carpenter backing vocals evident on forthcoming debut album, 'So Much For The City', but hey, they're still great. From Haight Ashbury to Haylands in one week. Some trip!
Meanwhile, in their de rigueur, Camden Town gear, The Cooper Temple Clause are beached and struggling. This is not the Astoria, people are wearing shorts and are familiar with sunlight. Not good. Singer Ben Gautrey struggles on, introduces new single 'Promises, Promises' and tries a local reference to Shanklin before 'Who Needs Enemies' but this is not their day. 'Panzer Attack' signs off like Primal Scream with a sore throat.
John Squire makes the most understated entrance of the day. Floppy fringed and bearded, he barely notices the crowd as he launches into the Roses' 'Driving South'. From here on in we're treated to a pleasant yet lacklustre blend of bluesy Hendrix licks and Zeppelin riffs mixed with Dire Straits and the Stones, as Squire and his faceless outfit run through the singles 'Joe Louis' and 'Time Changes Everything' and Roses oldies including 'Made Of Stone' and 'How Do You Sleep'.
The biggest let down is Squire's vocals, but halfway through the expertly weaved yet passionless rendition of legendary funksome groove 'Fool's Gold', it becomes strangely apparent that you can hear all the words and you long for Ian Brown's incoherent mumble and the Roses' energetic, exciting, f*ck-you arrogance.
James Osterberg is 56. Bloody good job nobody's told his alter ego Iggy Pop. Stripped down to his hipster jeans, lean and sinewy, bulging blood vessels and leather torsoed, he bounces, wiggles, clambers and skips around the stage like an aerobics instructor on speed.
Thrusting his middle finger at the audience he screams "Mutha f*ckers!", smooths back his Tamsin Outhwaite style blonde hair and kick starts 'Raw Power' - as relentless and explosive as it was in '73, while 'Real Wild Child' is charmingly introduced with the raised digit and "You mutha f*ckers I'm gonna kill your ass!" 'T.V. Eye', 'Cold Metal' and a rousing version of 'The Passenger' are highlights of a stunning, breakneck set which gives the afternoon a much needed boost.
As the sun sets slowly over Newport and Paul Weller launches into an awesomely fierce version of 'Out Of The Sinking' it soon becomes apparent that there's something special in the air. The Jam's 'In The Crowd' has seldom sounded better in all its 25 years. It's followed by the only tracks from last year's 'Illumination' album - the gorgeously strummed folksome, pastoral pop of 'Going Places' and recent single 'Leafy Mysteries'.
The Jam's 'Man In The Cornershop' is mighty fine, as is 'Sunflower' and 'Heavy Soul'. Things are pared down a bit for the piano-led 'You Do Something To Me' and 'Can You Heal Us (Holy Man)', plus the acoustic 'Tales From The Riverbank' and 'That's Entertainment' which is as inspirational as ever. The sultry groove of The Style Council's 'Long Hot Summer' is sublime, but it's the last breather we're going to get as Weller and co go up through the gears, the end in sight for the closing barrage of 'Into Tomorrow', 'Peacock Suit', 'The Changing Man', 'A Town Called Malice', 'Broken Stones' and 'A Woodcutters Son'. Magic.
All this and he didn't even play 'Wildwood' ladies and gentlemen!
