Last Nite: The glory days of The Strokes
With the nasal American whine they’re fondly known for, the guitar-based power-emo of Jimmy Eat World brought some angst to the park, regardless of the band having outgrown the uncertainty of their youth.
Their biggest release, Bleed American from 2001, makes a large part of the set tonight with each track acting like a ticket back in time. Jolting arms and legs in the air, the same enthusiasm surfaces as those first listens after school or during maths if you were lucky enough to have a seat at the back of the class, and balls of steel to hide your not so personal cd player under your wallpaper covered text book.
Get It Faster exudes teenage rebellion as the guitar dirge of the chorus propels crowd surfers in the air in a golden ocean of pints (or chilled urine). Extended guitar acrobatics from Adkins and Linton here nudge even the most modest of air guitarists into axe fighting stances.
The reassuring scramble of best-known track The Middle strikes with a feeling that the adults have left the room, the short poppy burst exploding from the front of the arena to the back.
Ending on a potent rendition of Sweetness, Jimmy Eat World and their fans may have outgrown the angst and poetry writing, but nostalgia still tastes sing-a-long sweet tonight.
The next serving on our United States platter are New York cool kids The Strokes, now fully grown males, as laid-back as always but seemingly lacking any enthusiasm at all for their performance or the hit-hungry crowd.
The bland drawl of Julian Casablancas seemed entirely disinterested from beginnings tonight, much like the crowd when the band played tracks from new album Angles. With his back to the audience and the band somewhere between laid-back and lacklustre, it’s very difficult to warm to The Strokes regardless of their previous success.
Upstaged by cheers for a super-sized ginger attempting to board several brave soul’s shoulders, it was time to pull out the hits with Sometimes just about salvaging their performance so far. Even a compliment that he “digs” the festival from Casablancas seems argumentative as it’s coupled with “I don‘t get the name. Yeh, I know it‘s a beer. Still don‘t get it.” Perhaps low I.Q is an additional factor to add to the front man’s rudeness.
Pulling out Juicebox like the release of Godzilla after a tranquiliser-induced nap, the set is more like what would be expected, the harsher number having more of an impact than the tired You Only Live Once.
The Strokes have been in the business for a long time but tonight rather than show their experience they seemed only bored. At least the feeling was mutual on-stage as it was off-stage.
