Sziget Festival

Now that summer is well and truly over, this report will inevitably, if unintentionally, crank up the nostalgia. And if we're talking about something that anyone who loves summer and music knows they can't afford to miss - namely music festivals - that effect only gets stronger. And if we land straight into the Sziget Festival, the summer festival par excellence for years now, there's a real risk of never quite coming back out of it. Just ask anyone who's been to Hungary at least once in their life, or rather to Budapest, or rather to that island in the middle of the Danube, during that specific week in August when the organisers' huge available space is literally handed over to music stages, stalls, food and non-food vendors, advertising installations, beer bottles, theatre performances, tents for dj-sets, portable toilets and, of course, an impressive number of visitors from every corner of Europe, ready to camp out en masse with tents and sleeping bags in this pseudo-Woodstock updated for the age of free consumerism.

What makes Sziget the most famous and renowned summer festival on our continent, though, isn't just quantity, but quality too: organisational quality, obviously, honed over almost fifteen years and able to perfectly contain the horde of attendees (90% young and, let's say, lively) without letting things descend into chaos, and above all quality of content.

Whether we're talking about purely musical factors (with something like 25 acts on the Main Stage, and almost twice as many spread across the "minor" ones) or otherwise (this year, for instance, the daily performance by Fura Dels Baus, a dance and theatre show bordering on the masterpiece), the defining feature of Sziget is that it never gives you a moment's rest: from 3pm to 6am (and often beyond), a continuous, uninterrupted flow of music of every conceivable and inconceivable kind, from one end of the island to the other - an experience that ends up almost exhausting, but precisely because of that, thoroughly enjoyable.

This year, moreover, the line-up — which has always leaned more towards easy mainstream fare compared to other festivals like Pukkelpop — seemed decidedly stronger than in other lacklustre years, if perhaps a bit too British-oriented (a good 14 English bands on the Main Stage, to give an idea).

It kicks off on Wednesday the 12th with the synth-pop of IamX, before quickly moving on to the French Nouvelle Vague (rating: 7), who, helped no doubt by the undeniable charm of their two singers, enchant and entertain the crowd with their acoustic bossa nova reworkings of classic 80s new wave tracks like "Bela Lugosi's Dead", "Dance With Me" and "Master And Servant".

But no sooner have the instruments been swapped than the first day of Sziget already works up a sweat with Ska-p (6.5) and their tried-and-tested blend of ska-punk and anti-fascist agitprop. The Spanish sextet holds nothing back, not even yet another rendition of unconditional-pogo classics like "Cannabis" and "El Mestizaje", nor their usual entertaining bit of satirical costumes and (even) dropped trousers.

We skip the following Snow Patrol set on the Main Stage and head instead to the World Stage, more geared towards ethnic and folk sounds, where the excellent Oi Va Voi (7.5) are playing: born in London but adopted Eastern Europeans at heart, given their effective mix of rock, Yiddish lyrics, Balkan folk and klezmer influences, Lemez Lovas and co. lean hard into emotional engagement, aided by the wonderful solos of cellist Anna Phoebe and the gorgeous voice of Black singer Bridgette Amofah (who, on the closing anthem "Refugee", takes the crowd all the way to stadium-chant territory).

Next up on stage are Calexico (7) with their country/tex-mex sound, while over on the main stage it's Lily Allen's (7) turn — an artist you'd never expect to close out the opening day of a festival like Sziget, yet she turns out to be a welcome surprise, much to the dismay of the "purist" rock crowd. Her show, built entirely on the cheeky but also self-deprecating winks of the pint-sized singer, on her mock-diva posturing and on a decidedly deliberate nude look, proves anything but hard to swallow, helped along by decent pop hits like "Smile", "Fuck You" and "Not Fair" — just as catchy live as on record — and by an unexpected disco version of the Spears-esque "Womanizer", which ends up getting even the most reluctant onlookers dancing.

On Thursday the 13th, having written off Toten Hosen and The Ting Tings from the start, we arrive in time instead for Bloc Party (7+): Kele Okereke's band, touring Europe after last year's release of "Intimacy", proves more than solid live, energetic and engaging as ever (thanks to Okereke's charisma), and never predictable, whether in the rearrangement of their more recent tracks (like "Ares" and "Mercury", which pass the live test with flying colours) or in the way the setlist keeps shifting — though never at the expense of their best-loved songs like "Helicopter", "Banquet" or "Positive Tension", to the delight of hardcore fans and casual admirers alike.

It's evening already, and time for one of the "hot" names of this year's Sziget: Fatboy Slim (6.5). The famous DJ is eagerly awaited by pretty much everyone, since — as we know — vast open-air crowds have been his bread and butter for countless summers, and they're only there to dance to his lethal 90s singles. So, in terms of the sheer spectacle on offer, no complaints: an inevitable sea of people, the biggest crowd seen at the festival, going wild and thrashing about while huge coloured screens flood everyone in light and imagery from the DJ booth. But we have to be objective, and also consider the DJ set on its own merits, and then one can't help but think that good old Fatboy could have offered a little more. After ten years, "Right Here Right Now", "Rockafeller Skank" or "Star69" alone aren't enough to carry a show anymore; it also takes all the DJ's experience to find the right tracks to mix in, and so falling back on an all-too-easy "7 Nation Army" or even the famous refrain of "Born Slippy" ends up feeling like the classic bare-minimum homework, and little more.

Luckily, the best of the day (or night, by now) is still to come. First there's Tricky (7.5), the king of trip-hop, who in the A38 tent (dedicated to more niche bands and artists, and thus all the more enjoyable) proves to be in fine form as ever, putting together an applause-worthy live set, alternating sampled dub textures with powerful rock sounds and creating a strange atmosphere of "apparent calm", almost mystical, in which the Bristol rapper — dreadlocks in the wind, striking the pose of a possessed Messiah — simply waits for the right moment to throw himself into the arms of his adoring crowd.

Then comes the shift towards club sounds with Armin Van Buuren (8), the Dutch DJ on stage at the Burn Party Arena, delivering one of the best DJ sets of the whole event. If Fatboy Slim had been something of a letdown for playing it a bit too safe, Van Buuren — known mostly within the trance scene — surprises everyone with a wonderfully cross-genre selection, ranging from easy house to full-throttle electronics, literally sending the packed crowd inside the tent into a frenzy. Helping matters no end is the setting itself, awash with laser lights and flashing spots, turning the atmosphere into something close to an amusement park for club-music lovers.

On Friday the 14th, out of national pride we head back to the World Stage for Figli di madre ignota (6.5), the only Italian band playing at Sziget, and while the lads aren't reinventing anything (ska and Balkan rhythms in the vein of Gogol Bordello), they still come across as thoroughly likeable.

The day, however, is dominated by the rave scene, and by two genuine "sacred monsters" of the genre: Primal Scream (7.5) and Prodigy (8-). The former, led by a Bobby Gillespie still as spry and lively as a kid — not to mention his stage presence and voice — seem completely unaffected by the passing years, especially since their music (a masterful blend of rock, pop, acid and dance) still sounds remarkably modern and forward-thinking today: hearing tracks like "Swastika Eyes", "Movin' on Up" and "Shoot Speed Kill Light" again, faithfully performed and with the adrenaline rush of their earliest days fully intact, makes you realize just how much bland current bands like Kasabian (to name just one) owe to Innes and co.

That said, we'd move straight on to the evening's headliners, if it weren't for Pendulum (4) standing in the way — without a shadow of a doubt the worst band heard across these five days. An embarrassing jumble of drum'n'bass basslines, hulking metal-style guitars, Prodigy-esque effected keyboards (fittingly enough) and even two singers, one of whom looks like he's stepped straight out of the emo version of Linkin Park — it's simply too much. Naturally, such a cheesy mix can only send the festival's Eastern European crowd into raptures, and indeed they dance non-stop for an hour and a half.

Then there's Prodigy, as we were saying: one of the most eagerly awaited shows, if only to check on the health of a band that in recent years had seemed to have lost its old edge and fury. Wrong impressions: the mere presence of the famous frontmen Keith Flint and Maxim Reality (who by themselves generate an aura as magnetic as it is unsettling) is enough, and the first blazing seconds of "Breathe", "Firestarter" or "Smack My Bitch Up" send the crowd into a frenzy and plunge everyone into one giant, chaotic open-air rave. The live setup, complete with drums and guitars, also works extremely well on their more recent (and far from bad) singles, like "Omen" and "Invaders Must Die"; the only criticism, if anything, goes to those who, perhaps a little too worked up, mistake the gig for an all-out physical brawl.

Aching but satisfied, we close out the night at the A38 stage with Muchachito, an eccentric Spanish group made up entirely of former street performers.

Saturday the 15th is dedicated to Albion's shores, with an all-English Main Stage. Opening are The Subways (5.5) and their fairly formulaic rock energy, followed by Editors (7+). With their upcoming album imminent, the band airs a few new tracks, showcasing a sound now leaning decidedly more towards electronic dark-wave, where synthesizers, rather than guitars, take centre stage. The gamble pays off: yes, there are the irresistible riffs of "Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors" or "The Racing Rats", but there's also room for the Ultravox-style atmospheres of the single "Papillon".

Now it was time for Klaxons (6), but in the schedule we spotted a tasty yet underrated show at the World Stage: American act Woven Hand teaming up with Muzsikas (8), a Hungarian folk group. Put like that, bearing in mind frontman Eugene Edwards' grim bulk and the dark, brooding charge of his post-folk, the pairing with traditional music from Budapest and its surroundings - all cheerful violins, drums, flutes and the like - might sound like a joke. And yet it comes across as one of the most successful events of this edition, born somewhat by chance, somewhat as a lark, after a joint appearance in Holland back in 2008. The two bands share the stage but end up playing together in a surprising jam, alternating dances and fiddle runs with psychedelic codas and gravelly vocals, gifting the crowd with some truly spine-tingling moments.

Anyone who loves even a little bit of brit-pop must have felt a few chills too, courtesy of Manic Street Preachers (7.5), the historic Welsh band now on the scene for almost twenty years. If nothing else, because seeing them live these days amounts to watching a sort of greatest hits of their catalogue, where it's not just the recent songs from "Journal For Plague Lovers" filling the setlist, but also perfect, time-honoured pop anthems like "Motorcycle Emptiness", "Faster", "Everything Must Go", right up to the ever-famous "If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next", best sung along with hands raised. Once again, in terms of comparison, one might say the old guard eats the newcomers alive.

The one kicking himself here is yours truly, for making the insane misjudgment (compounded by clashing set times) of choosing Placebo (5) over Notwist, both headlining but on two different stages. Because Brian Molko & co.'s set, perhaps due to some ailment the singer suffered in Tokyo just a few dates before this one, turns out fairly disappointing: limp, flat, with zero engagement or interaction with a fanbase that is nonetheless sizeable and devoted. Not to mention that the entire first hour of the show is devoted almost exclusively to the latest "Battle For The Sun", sacrificing songs that are surely better than the ones on it (though the title track and "Ashtray Heart" don't sound bad at all), and even when other classics do get played ("Every You, Every Me", "Special K"), it feels like they're doing it purely out of duty.

Sunday the 16th, the last day.

They want to close things with a bang, and here come Maximo Park (7+), as riveting and charged as frontman Tom Smith's performance. A tight, enjoyable, sweaty set, with tracks from the latest "Quicken The Heart" but also from the two previous albums ("Apply Some Pressure", "Girls Who Play Guitars", "Our Velocity"), plus some welcome deep cuts (the gorgeous "Acrobat"). Nothing like the slick posturing of other similar indie bands, thankfully.

This time our instinct doesn't let us down, and rather than sit through the well-worn Offspring on the Main Stage, we head back to the A38 Arena, where there's a real gem on show strictly for those who love and appreciate Joy Division: Isolated (8), a Hungarian cover band with a name that couldn't be more on the nose. Anyone expecting to find four kids on stage mimicking Curtis and co.'s look, poses or mannerisms (practically a given by now) will be, if not shocked, at least surprised: the band is made up of dignified middle-aged gentlemen, including a grey-haired, long-haired singer, who make no attempt to recreate the JD's "form" and instead aim straight for the "substance" - reproducing as faithfully as possible the alienating, icy, magnificent sound of the Manchester foursome. And if achieving that means having an actual percussionist (!) banging pots and aluminium sheets (!) to simulate the electronic drums of "She's Lost Control" and "Isolation", or if the background effects of "Atrocity Exhibition" are entrusted to a guitar pedalboard, well, so be it, and gladly. All the more so given the singer's vocal timbre - the ultimate test for any wannabe new-waver - is absolutely comparable to Ian Curtis's, sending all the fans into raptures. Impartial types need not attend.

The final headliners of this 2009 edition of Sziget are the resurrected Faith No More (7.5). Now, whether or not you're into their musical territory - which ranges without much ceremony from the heaviest crossover to funk to tender melodic ballads - what needs saying is that Mike Patton, the frontman/singer/soul of FNM, is quite simply a stage animal, and pretty much carries the whole show on his own. In chronological order: he shows up in a flaming red outfit, wades into the crowd to find someone willing to translate a bit of one of his songs into Hungarian, swallows the lace of a shoe thrown on stage, puts on his head a thong that met the same fate, gets carried shoulder-high through the crowd by bodyguards, and greets the audience in Italian. This isn't a concert anymore, it's a solo performance. Then comes the cover of "Easy" and the closer "Diggin' The Grave", to satisfy the many fans of the reunion.

But it's not over yet: dulcis in fundo, there's one more jaw-dropping performance arriving after hours. It's Squarepusher (8) and his accelerated, schizoid drum'n'bass: a phenomenal live show precisely because recreating live - with a real drummer and without heavy reliance on samples - the whole string of tempo shifts, slapped bass, frantic overlapping melodies that define his music is something only truly deranged people can pull off. So, while Squarepusher himself juggles laptop, sequencer and basslines, and his drummer raises hell playing wildly warped downtempo grooves, all we can do is stand there, jaw dropped, listening in ecstasy; and when the (admittedly anonymous) dj-set by Paul Oakenfold (6) officially closes out the festival, we think: yes, this has been the kind of musical feast that could floor you with indigestion, but at least the sweet aftertaste will linger on our tongues for quite a while to come. Until next year, that much is certain.

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