V Festival

Posted by Gill Sutherland at 13:38 on 18 Aug 2008

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OK, so this is the plan of attack, we pitch up front of the Main Stage just after a hearty lunch to sustain our bellies for the day's musical onslaught, and we don't budge, except for bar/loo runs obviously, until going-home time. So juicy is today's V Festival line-up that we see no reason to wander about seeing rubbish bands in stuffy tents, buying hippy tat from the market stalls or sampling the pigswill grub. Nope we will merely gawp and tap our toes in wonder at some our fave bands.

First up is Girls Aloud looking sharp and uber-sexy in black catsuit-type outfits. As the set kicks in we overlook the lame choreography (village hall line-dancing lessons, anyone?) and dodgy lip-synching and instead get jiggy with stupendous renditions of Robyn's With Every Heartbeat and Salt'n'Pepa's super sassy Push It, a none-funkier Walk This Way, Biology,  Jump (For My Love) and set closer Something Kind Of Ooooh, which sees even the most self-consciously hip indie kids jumping around like loons.

Next up the The Feeling keep up the poptastic atmosphere with catchy hits like Fill My Little World, Never Be Lonely and Love It When You Call, but the biggest crowd response is brought by their cover of Take On Me, a hit for posters A-ha back in the 80s, which sees grown women doing outlandish dance routines while holding pints of beer aloft less they spill them. What fun.

Is there a sexier beast in the whole world than Mr Lenny Kravitz in full rock throttle? We think not. Nicole Kidman, what were you thinking? Country warbler with drink problem, commitment issues and crapo name, Keith Urban, versus Rock God with bulging intellect, biceps, stunning style, attitude and coolly monikered LK? Anyway we would even if you wouldn't, Nicole.

We lap up Len's dudesome rock; and are quite literally blown away during his funk-rock fusion of Jacko's Billie-Jean. Literally blown to the backstage bar by a mighty downpour that is. It's not so bad, we pass the hours waiting for the rain to pass looking out for Hollyoaks starlets (we spot two, we think) and marvelling at Tim Burgess's of the Charlatans daft barnet (he sports a fat Beatlesque moptop which sits in comical contrast atop his skinny frame).

Ah warm wine, and crap star-spotting, it's what festivals are made of.

The rain abates and we scuttle back to our now rather boggy pitch for Amy Winehouse's set, and on the way see her jump out of the back of her car backstage and tiptoe through the mud, which rather-disappointingly she manages rather well, ruining our 'Winehouse on arse in mud' exclusive tabloid snap.

Winehouse has a slow start with a dreary Tears Dry On Their Own, then dedicates second song Wake up Alone to jail-bound hubby Blake, the crowd boos half-heartedly but Amy doesn't respond, not even to punch anyone, just troops on. By the time she gets to classics like Back to Black, You Know I'm No Good and Love is A Losing Game, the crowd singalong, covering Amy's missed cues and slurry bits. But she actually looks quite well. Her hair is upright and beflowered, she wears a black and white crop top and capri jeans. OK, so she makes the mic stand look chubby, but she has enough ooomph left for a spot of slightly bonkers dancing.

She tells us we're gorgeous and we forgive the wobbly bits because the non-wobbly bits are so very fine. By the time Kings of Leon come on our platform flip-flops have sunk five-inches below the quagmire. And even the brothers' raunchy southern-fried rock can't distract from the mud working its way kneewards and the rain oozing down inside my Pac-A-Mac. We admit defeat, it is time to seek shelter.  

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