In their place: Coldplay headlined Main Stage on Saturday night at T Pic: © Drew Farrell
You almost felt a bit sorry for Coldplay, having to follow in the ferocious high-heeled footsteps of Beyonce. What was the point, exactly?
You could sense that they thought exactly the same thing as they took to the Main Stage, firing off a few fireworks then some fancy lasers as well, as though T in the Park festival-goers were about to immediately flee if they didn't become absolutely mesmerised by loads of BRIGHT FLASHY OBJECTS AND STUFF.
Not that they needed to worry of course, as they launched into a spritely Hurts Like Heaven. Their earnest pomposity was still dull enough to numb any attendees wishing to then drink themselves into a stupour and imagine that they were witnessing something of epic splendour. Early numbers such as Yellow and In My Place showed off the band's talent for writing anthemic songs that aren't half-bad, even if they lacked the vibrancy of the stage-stealing artist who preceded them.
No matter how much Chris enthusiastically jumped about there was still no denying that this was a great big yawn of a set. Sometimes a yawn and a nice warm hug to be fair (as when The Scientist reared its head), though never of enough interest to arouse any full-blooded feelings. (Disgust or indignation might at least have left something lingering in the memory bank.)
As ever Coldplay's best moments evoked Jeff Buckley and Radiohead, but with never with the propensity for risk-tasking that rendered those superior acts so artfully thrilling. Just because something's been said before that doesn't make it not true, and the quartet hammered home the point yet again during their set that they're a more broadly accessible but far blander facsimile of musical high points which have preceded them, perhaps adept at copying successful templates but never coming close to forging something of its own unique worth.
Indeed, the most interesting moment in the set up to that point came when Chris Martin slyly muttered 'F***'s sake' as he fluffed the intro to God Put a Smile upon Your Face. (There was a spark of life there, for a second, which seemed to infuse the rest of the song.) There's certainly worse ways to end a night, but by goodness there's much, much more invigorating ways in which to spend the last couple of hours of a Saturday at T in the Park.
Such as Dave Clarke at the Slam Tent for instance (which I then decided to hastily make my way to). The venue wasn't as packed as might have been expected – the lure of fellow dance act Swedish House Mafia on the Radio 1/NME Stage may explain that – but 'The Baron of Techno' still delivered a typically fearsome set, unrelenting yet still subtly shifting in dynamics as the beat maintained it's unyielding grip upon dancers in the crowd (fresh hooks and samples constantly spinning out and flickering away), the three massive LCD screens and strobes in the tent sending any unsuspecting punters into sensory overload. This was anything but dull, and that really shouldn't be too much to ask on a night like this.
