Faith No More

Chronicle of a festival that was missing the festival, and a report on an initiative that was missing the initiative.

Let's not beat around the bush: Rock In Idro was a total, unqualified failure. Moving the location from the Idroscalo to a scorching-hot Palasharp due to unspecified bureaucratic issues is no excuse, and shouldn't matter to anyone who paid for a ticket expecting a summer festival like the ones held everywhere else in the Western world.

The organisers' amateurism meant that the much-touted "water-jet fans" existed only in their wildest fantasies, that the water inside the Palasharp (sold at petrol prices) had run out by 9pm with an indoor temperature of 40/45°C, that the scorching asphalt made every activity a chore, that there was no security keeping the emergency exits clear of people crowding them just to catch their breath, that there wasn't so much as a scrap of a schedule, and that there was no entertainment whatsoever to offer as an alternative to suffocation.

I could go on, but I think it's more constructive to hope that certain people move on to other pursuits and step aside for those who, by contrast, still manage to put professionalism at the service of the people who let them earn a living from their work.

Whatever was good about the night came down to the sheer class of Faith No More, a performance that confirms them as one of those bands that are and will remain part of history – making any comparison with the rest of the bill superfluous, almost redundant.

We arrive at the Palasharp as Gallows are wrapping up their set, and the general impression is that they've clocked in with their usual energy and dynamism, in support of an album, "Grey Britain", that has been met with almost unanimous critical praise.

When Bring Me The Horizon take the stage, logistical problems steal the show. A lackluster performance from Sheffield's best-coiffed grinders, but a mediocre album like "Suicide Season" could hardly have promised anything better.

Next up are Lacuna Coil, who, playing on home turf, have the crowd's enthusiasm on their side. A little less so that of history and critics. Time enough to tear through "Enjoy The Silence", and then it's time for them to go back where they came from.

To promote Rock In Idro, there had been talk of not one but two reunions, and it seems the time has come to test the validity of the first of the pair. When Limp Bizkit take the stage, it's already 9pm and the atmosphere inside the Palasharp is truly stifling.

Maybe for this reason, or others unknown to us, their set runs a quarter of an hour shorter. Not that history, as mentioned above, will ever miss those lost minutes, and the aficionados of the band fronted by one of the most unlikeable frontmen on the planet can call themselves satisfied, having heard a proper "greatest hits" set, proudly featuring: "Nookie", "Break Stuff", "Re-arranged", "Counterfeit", "Take A Look Around", "Rollin'" and "My Generation".

Special mention goes to the musicians: truly exceptional. Were it not for the fact that having a forty-something dressed as a schoolboy hopping around the stage only works with Ac/Dc, I'd be tempted to say Limp Bizkit are just one Fred Durst away from being a really great band.

Nice words, but the heat is rising, the humidity hangs palpable and visible in the air between heads and lit lighters, while scattered shouts cut through the constant murmur of the crowd, now back from its half-hour breather.

The lights now grow ever dimmer, a handful of piano notes and a bass sliding between the chords. A few seconds later, a roar greets Mike Patton as he walks onstage with the aid of a cane ("We have to take breaks now and then. We're old!" he'll say later). "Reunited" (a Peaches & Herb cover) still keeps the hall in darkness, the rhythms still hushed; the song ends and goes back where it came from.

It's the drums that kick off "The Real Thing": one verse, and the lights explode along with the roar. Faith No More are back a few decades late, and from here on every single song is a triumph of irregular, imprecise nostalgia, of references to so many memories that they can't possibly be contained within the 4 minutes of a song.

"From Out Of Nowhere", "Land Of Sunshine" and "Caffeine" form a trio that brings back what is perhaps the Californian band's most complete album, with a crowd following Patton's every syllable. Some will say we'll remember this show for the following "Evidence", sung by the man himself in Italian: I'd say only those unfamiliar with Faith No More's reckless artistic daring could fail to expect a move like that. The result "is a bit Eros", as Patton himself points out, but it works all the same.

The set continues without a dull moment and, if anything, hits (sometimes unexpected) peaks with songs like "Ashes To Ashes" (the chorus, sung in unison by a crowd now indifferent to the ever-worsening conditions, is spectacular), "The Gentle Art Of Making Enemies" and "I Started A Joke".

The rest is history, and blistering versions of "Epic", "Be Aggressive" and "We Care a Lot" can add little or nothing to a show that could have gone on much longer without satisfying those who had waited 15 years to see one of the most influential bands of the last 30.

The evening outside offers the day's second joy. A third goes to the unlicensed merchandise sellers, undisturbed with their stands at the gates of the sweltering enclosure we had, unknowingly, walked into a few hours earlier.

The festival wasn't really a festival, granted, but for a moment I'll settle for the oxygen I've regained and mentally run back through what really matters in judging a great show. For every time I've asked myself these questions: tonight I lived the answer.

Ride the wave of great music

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