I’ve been privileged with the virtue of covering Live at Leeds In The City two times in recent years. This summer presented a new opportunity.
It has been truly something to have championed the uprising channel of artists breaking through the glass ceiling. It’s been affirming to see artists such as Wunderhorse, Kid Kapichi, Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs, The Last Dinner Party among others, burst onto the scene and create the next phase of their career.
Likewise with Leeds Living, I have also been presented with the latitude of covering artists I had never before in my life thought to have written for; from Orbital to Madness, and from The Hives to Enter Shikari. In my two years writing in collaboration with Leeds Living, I have certainly covered plenty of ground – but on a stage such as Live at Leeds, perhaps one of the most vibrantly-known and received festivals of the British summer, I felt enamored by the line-up.
The day kicked off with gloom and doom, as the weather appeared to take a turn. Clouds plagued the skies, and gone was the spotless baby blue and bright glow that had overswept Leeds in the last couple of weeks. Having kept an eye on the forecast all week long, I was prepared for a wet, soggy day in the field, and having hit up Slam Dunk 2024 at Temple Newsam – I was totally expecting inches of soft, wet mud to be the recurring theme of the day. Pleasantly surprised I was, hours later when the worst offence came with a rare few spots of rain! The humidity was high – my Glitterer hoody proved useless until nightfall took over.
Entering the Festival was like an operation in full effect: nothing but cohesion and partnership to comprise a well-oiled machine. You have to feel at times for the orderlies and staffers who direct traffic, roads away from where the real action is. Everyone was smiling, and for the first time I can recall, the security were pally and laid back. Naturally, the detriment would be the harsh stench of cannabis which drifted about the field later on in the day.
After a quick whip-around the sweet VIP and Guest area, where there were beanbags, seats and vendors galore, the team met at the Press tent, where the excitement was already building. Much like the “on-the-couch” interview setups you will see clickbaiting up your YouTube Recommended page, it was strange to see it all in action.
I couldn’t help but eavesdrop as Fickle Friends popped into a curtained-off section to host an interview with a videographer.
With little time to wait, Fickle Friends were my first call of the day. Upon arrival they had started playing, in one of those suitably timely instances you could only write about and deem it truth. Indie rock and pop from Brighton, they triggered a ray of sunshine on an overcast day. Joyous and excitable, they presented songs from their two albums You Are Someone Else and Are We Gonna Be Alright?, they teased what is sure to be a promising third record – and after a brisk year-long hiatus a few years ago, I’m very eager to see the course these four go on moving forward.
Immediately following them saw Corella kick off on the South stage. I will say that every year I forget how steep a valley Temple Newsam encompasses. Yet while the idea of zipping from Main North to Main South and back all day long appeared daunting on the surface, it was very easy to travel. Talk about getting the steps in!
South Stage for Corella. Photograph by Jazz Jennings.
The lads brought us back to the renaissance period of britpop, with their past song appearances on ITV’s This Morning and at Manchester United games supporting what brought them to the dance. They even had their idols We Are Scientists among us in the crowd – the joy of outdoor day festivals. The rock anthem idols even budged past me to get themselves in a prime position for Corella’s performance. With a dance pit and an energetic sound, there was no trace of a long face to be found for miles.
In a time machine back to 2005, We Are Scientists brought back the neon zebra print and rocked the
house. The silver in Keith Murray’s hair reflected under the occasional instance of passing sunlight, and
there were many iPods, handheld digital camcorders and oldheads coming back to reclaim their place at
the barrier to be had. No, I’m not making any of that up. The renaissance as we know it is alive and well,
but it did dawn on me what a strange time in our lives we are at, where bands of a previous era are now
coming back to celebrate decades-old anniversaries of classics enjoyed in a more youthful time.
For context, Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt – arguably the song that helped the Californians break Britain, from their album With Love and Squalor – was released when I was 10 years old. Twenty years??? And just when you thought that wasn’t enough, I had to dash off to check out Natasha Bedingfield. Yes. Absolutely. It was planned for the novelty of it, but little did one realise just how influential her work has become, especially on the generation of today. It became an unironic phenomenon as I witnessed Natasha grace the stage and bring herself to an even level with all of us – thousands of people, impressionable youngsters and all, coming together to hear the violent sounds of her remarkable voice. I never was a pop fan, and Natasha was never for me in the past.
This time the week before, I was at a dinghy hardcore-punk show at a bar in Hull, hosting maybe 100 people. A stark contrast in style, in song and in atmosphere would be a gross understatement. After not once believing that I would ever see Natasha Bedingfield, nor plan on it, I was chomping at the bit to hear more.
You could also tell that this was a defining moment in the lives of many families and young women. There were so many photos snapped by pleased mums or aunts, and selfies taken by dancing and prosperous girls feet away from someone who’d clearly had an impact on their life. Pocketful of Sunshine, Unwritten, you name it; this set had it all.
But from there we ventured into what I signed up for the day they were added. For the past eight years,
I’d really taken to a band known as The Amazons. Formed in 2014 in Reading, this hard rock and at
times, psychedelic group had produced albums full of bangers that suited my taste buds. And the cherry
on top was the revelation weeks ago, that they had released their third album 21st Century Fiction on
May 9. It’s been on my queued list countlessly ever since.
Much like I had always anticipated seeing them live might sound, these guys were loud, melodic and unapologetic for anything they provided. As vocalist Matt Thomson skulked out to the stage with his guitar, dressed like a businessman of a time long gone, I had a feeling this would be my moment of the day.
There was an incredible atmosphere from start to finish, as thousands flocked together to form a unity of
a cheering, singing crowd that occasionally bounced off one another in the most wholesome pit I can
recall seeing.
I have said for years that an album is like a soundtrack produced for motion picture – and there was something absolutely theatrical about the packaged presentation on that Saturday afternoon. It was euphoric, and you could sense the passion from long away. Joe Has A Gun is so far and away the most violent hit of theirs, and yet, you would not have sensed it from the crowd’s apoplectically cheery onset. Absolutely, there is a place for rock music in 2025, and The Amazons personify this with a bright red bow on top.
Walking by after this, I was definitely ready for a break from the action. A nonstop afternoon by this
point, saw me seeking a pint and a bite to eat. Well, that didn’t happen – not just yet. At the Dork stage,
Sunday (1994) had kicked off their proceedings. They’d been about since 2014, having found
themselves together from different corners of the world. Could you think of a bigger comparison in
hometowns than Los Angeles, California and Slough, England? Well, map-crossed lovers Paige Turner
(LA) and Lee Newell (UK) can.
The dream pop aura presented a gateway of memories leading this author back to days of listening to Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive. There was something mesmerizing about the experience, an awakening within me that said “yeah, ten more minutes” – but over and over. I was sad when our time came to an end, but feared not that it would be the last.
I finally recharged my batteries and indulged in some top-notch loaded fries (courtesy of the vendor,
suitably called “Loaded Fries”), and VIP-tier beer. I never did like drinking alcohol out of those tallboy
milkshakes cups like the ones you can get at McDonalds. After two quick-to-stale pints of Estrella, I made
full use of my privileges and got myself the good stuff from old faithful – that see-through, plastic cuppies
that gig beer infinitely belongs in.
Public Service Broadcasting brought a different vibe to the party, hitting up the DIY stage gone past
teatime. Tenured, having been brought together in London in 2009, it was a unique experience to say the
very least. Different from anything I’d heard in the hours leading up to them, their niche hits all from the
checklist: your ambient rock, dance punk and electronica subgenres. It was loud in the tent, but the
vibrance and progression of the pulsating audio at times made me feel like I was in a rocket ship heading
off for horizons unknown. Not to mention their use of LED boards, providing awesome and antiquated visuals courtesy of the British Film Institute’s archives.
Gotta say, as far as concept albums go, I can’t go without selling you on the topic of their most recent record, The Last Flight. It chronicles the final takeoff for legendary aviation pioneer Amelia Earhart, prior to her disappearance in 1939. Her circumnavigation around the world as a female pilot was driven on ambition and determination, and that absolutely reflected in PSB’s set.
As the day drew closer to night, it made you appreciate the spectacle of early-midsummer in the
countryside. For all the hangups people had to say about Temple Newsam, whether owing to the poor
signal or hunting for WiFi in unusual areas, it felt like getting to know nature once over. The sights were
one thing, of hilly ventures allowing one to take in the breathtaking sights of trees far on the horizon.
The mansion of the Temple made for some picturesque sights, too, and do we even need to talk about
the pigs that frequented the field on the path in and out of the festival? Now that’s what I like.
Manic Street Preachers may have possibly been the busiest set of the day thus far, taking to the Main
South stage – which, might I add, may be the most ideal outdoor stage location you could ask for. The
stage is at the bottom of a sloping hill, so there was not a bad spot to stand on the elevated ground. All I
wish was that there was more space – with the production and sound tent not far behind me, things
began to feel squashed around here. The legends of Wales were not receptive of photographers, which
was a mighty shame, but it did still make for a treat of an experience. It added to the allurement of
seeing such a novelty band all these decades on, in a place that you had to see with your own two eyes
to believe. You couldn’t fault the setlist, either, firing on all cylinders with what brought them to the
dance in their heyday.
And to wrap it all up, Bloc Party dazzled the Main North stage. With zero opposition, you could argue this was what it was all building to – one hefty culmination to an exhilarating day that made it all worthwhile. After a bout of discovering these guys back in 2010, it had been a few years since I had even heard the name ‘Bloc Party’ – and then they appeared.
With all the bells and whistles, they enamored the masses with timeless classics, bringing together a vast
age range of people from variable backgrounds. You could argue these, like MSP, could have fit in at any
big-time festival in the world, such as Leeds or Glastonbury, but they were here and they played it
like it was their last show on earth. For ninety minutes, they ran through the chartbusters, and I was
holding out for my own personal favourite, Helicopter. They got me to hang on for the encore to do it,
but it made that wait all the more nail-biting. Nonetheless, as far as a lengthy sets go, I feel this was
worth the price of admission alone for many people there that day, continuing to establish their names at
the very front of British rock.
Before The Amazons closed out their tantalising set with Mother, vocalist and guitarist Matt Thomson thanked the sea of humanity and commented with a humble himble tone, that they were hopeful of proving that rock music belonged in 2025; that there was a place for it in the world. In the past quarter- century, we’ve seen trends change and innovations made.
The 1990s and early 2000s brought Britpop to the forefront of the musical world. Drum-and-bass and
trance took off, and dubstep became a benchmark of the turn of the decade, into the 2010s. Pop music
now dominates the charts on a weekly basis without fail, perhaps with an overabundance of production
value and marketing prowess. The world is far smaller than it once was – much like other creative
sectors, we live in a time of globalised sound and emotion. This unity has made one question the virtue
and future direction of the music genre, occasionally at great length.
I personally gravitate towards music that fits my interests, as I’m sure many do. I like the spirit of pop-punk, and feel the thrill of punk rock and post-hardcore. I can feel the beats and rhymes of rap and hip-hop, and I can become one with the raw emotion of emo, grunge and shoegaze. Never really was an
electronica guy, except when playing a video game, or feeling a scene’s sequence in a film. This timeline
is fascinating, in that I drift from a Tyler, The Creator song to something from The Rolling Stones, circa
1967.
Festivals in the United Kingdom were built on the DIY ethic of bands putting on astonishing feats of artistry, in rock ‘n’ roll, blues and punk avenues. Over time, they became the highlight of the summer: now, almost each and every week between May and September, there’s a festival taking place somewhere in the British Isles.
There’s something for everybody. Live at Leeds In The Park was a palette of palpable taste, providing something of everything within the rock genre. As we know it today, who knows how many subgenres and spinoffs this wide and evolving genre truly has?
But as the dust settled on Live at Leeds, and the banners and advertising were removed for Slam Dunk Festival the following day, it was without an ounce of doubt in my mind that rock music will always have a place.
It was always here, and it always will be.
