V festival- live review
V festival- live review
V festival- live review
V festival- live review

V Festival
Weston Park, Stafford
live review
August 20/21 2011

It’s all about the money honey… No kiddin’!!! After numbing the pain of the V line-up two years ago with more cider than a Wurzel could handle – I vowed to leave this long term friend to the people who it was gearing itself toward in latter years.

But when I was offered cheap last minute tickets I thought we could spend the weekend hunting out new life and new civilisations in Weston Park. A tall order now for a festival with the sole purpose of bleeding you dry, pumping you with safe music and says bollocks to anything like a ‘fringe tent’ for up and coming bands.

‘Up and coming? Has Simon Cowell or Chris Moyles ok’d them?… No..? Well fuck ’em, the kids aren’t interested in discovering anything we’ve not shoved in their faces…’ (Will the last one out please turn off the light, oh, and mind the syrup!).

All my recent reviews have been moan, moan, moan and then a little bit about the bands… So while I’m on a roll, let’s have a whinge…

Even having my brother Jordan on car parking duties didn’t stop the Vastards charging £15 to stick the Crudmobile in a field – Don’t get me wrong, money makes the world go round, it’s what our society was built on (blame the Romans) – I love money – I love to buy things and I love a bargain – I have to earn it to spend it. What I hate is being ripped off… Fuel prices spring immediately to mind! I’m not writing this review with revolutionary thoughts (the chavs would only go looting anyway, and then stab you).

It’s so easy – easy! Marketing reaps BIG money and you can’t blame the kids – they’re force fed shit and they believe it, scoff it up. They won’t subvert, and the majority wouldn’t dream of seeing a band they’ve never heard of. Maybe 50,000 saw Manic Street Preachers and only 5 of us got it and 3 were in the band! The crush at the front were kids crammed in awaiting (fucking) Rhianna and the soon to be £2m richer Eminem. They (the kids) were totally bemused by the Manics, and the Manics were bemused by them, and I wouldn’t have blamed the band had they said ‘Thanks for your money, wankers. Enjoy your syrup dripping pop.’ They sadly didn’t; the normally outspoken Nicky Wire instead chose to play Motown Junk with his back to an audience new to this seeing bands game.
If you think for one minute that Radio One and even daytime 6Music or the NME is anywhere near cutting edge or risque, then you’re so wide of the mark you may aswell join the Blind Amputees Darts Pub Team. Everything you hear thru those mediums has been paid for by some coporate pimp – pushing his whores, his drugs, his filth, for ONE THING… your money, or more importantly… THE KIDS MONEY.

This isn’t new, Stock, Aitken & Waterman manufactured Kylie, Jason and Rick Astley. Chinn & Chapman helped turn The Sweet into a knicker wetting phenomenon in the 70s, even Leiber (RIP) and Stoller pen pushed Elvis… These song writing factories taught the Cowells of this world all they know, and now they’re clever enough to control and own the TV companies that push this shit onto our screens. When you hear The Script in the background on a radio on Coronation Street, it’s not by chance, RCA have paid for it to be there. When the same band are telling you should dig deep for Children In Need, they’re really thinking ‘Fuck the kids, buy our new single,’ or at least RCA or Epic are thinking that.

A new disaster? Let’s line up the cattle and get them to make a single – we need the add on sales. If they really gave a fuck they’d work in a soup kitchen.

It’s all about Product Placement – from the shelves of Tesco to The V Festival to the next tsunami – it’ll wash over you and you’ll duly part with your fivers and tenners. As HMV demises, despite it too being a consumer pimp that crushed the independent stores; the supermarket takes the lion’s share of the pocket money and snuffs out the opposition. This of course isn’t just music – 20% of high street premises are now empty in some towns because the supermarket has squeezed the lifeblood out of the small trader. Know Your Enemy!

Yes, yes, yes I know I shouldn’t even be at V, and yes, maybe I should pass on the baton at my age and gracefully accept that time and music moves on. Stop clinging onto times gone by…but… V was once a great festival – great mix of bands, not too big and better marshalled (less tent ransacking, less trouble and less heroin than other fests).

The writing was on the wall years ago when the likes of a Spice Girl crept her way onto the line up (& was duly pelted with mud) and year on year, the novelty acts like Sugababes, McFly, Chipfuckinmonk began populating the line up more and more until the likes of The Manics become the novelty act and Olly Fucking Murs, an X-Fuctor runner up with the pedigree of a council estate mongrel has 80,000 screaming kids lapping up this new star.

V festival live review continued here

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