The ground's turning into a boot-wrecking bog, it's now cold enough that our breath is now visible in the air, everyone’s starting to look thoroughly miserable... Oh boy, the only thing that can rescue T in the Park now is the appearance of one of the actors from Panic Room, someone who can rescue us pitiful dregs of humanity from our wretched fate using nothing more than some mighty POWER-EMO... (Which takes pretty much everything you've despised about emo, then blows it up to the power of ten.)
Oh, hi Jared Leto! As though it was pre-planned, the former Hollywood golden boy takes to the Radio 1/NME Stage complete with blonde mohican and natty kilt, which he at one point lifts to reveal... His trousers. Oh, my Jared, you are a cad.
Pompous beyond the point of parody, the post-hardcore Bon Jovi, a band so mind-gnawingly awful you actually want to slice off your own ears in protest... Say what you want about 30 Seconds to Mars, but know this: you're probably right.
You know when there's a scene in a movie that’s supposed to feature a gritty rock band playing before an enthralled crowd, except that unfortunately the director's interpretation of such an outfit is so devolved from reality that you can't actually believe such an overblown aural atrocity would ever exist in real life? Well, it turns out you were wrong. We were all wrong.
While that may be enough for some of us to abandon all hope, there's plenty of those gathered in the audience who are more than willing to put their faith in Leto, as is evident during Vox Populi when the singer suddenly stops his band of minions midway through the song, getting those who can still summon the will to live to scream aloud as though their very T in the Park experience depends on it.
And perhaps it does. To 30 Seconds To Mars’s credit, when nestled among the drab monotony of other touring festival acts, at least they are aspiring to something more grandiose, and making those who watch them feel like they part of something a bit special.
Then again, contracting a particularly nasty STI can feel a bit special. (So I've heard.) After contemplating that thought for several minutes I regain focus to see Leto urging the crowd to jump around again, like the crazy son of a gun he is. Oh yes, an infectious energy is spreading, and no one seems willing to put a stop to it.
“This is the only show where you can be having so much fun and guys will be pissing on the wall right next to you,” notes Leto wisely as he stops a song again - this time Search and Destroy - for some more participation from those stationed out in the audience (also taking the time to point out those beasts urinating against the side walls of the arena), before moving on to a sweeping This Is War. Is it wrong that I'd much sooner choose these preened, pre-rehearsed shenanigans over the jangling dingy tunelessness of the likes of Babyshambles? (The answer is no, of course not, by the way.)
As the show goes on it becomes harder to deny that his charisma - much as it often seems part of an act, playing the role of rock star with irreverent panache - lifts this show above those of many other musically superior acts (the amusing engaging banter about 30 Seconds to Mars 'virgins' preceding The Kill in itself probably merits attendance). That still doesn't mean it's any good, mind.
The show ends with Leto taking photos of the audience for Twitter, then inviting some T in the Park workers on to the stage to revel in the attention, all concerning some hippy dippy notion concerning changing the world or something. Man, if only Dwight Yoakam had showed up instead, this could have been a whole different sort of Panic Room-related festival-saving experience... Still, it could have been worse, because in spite of everything the show was actually quite fun. And what a grand achievement that is, given such a ridiculous spectacle.
