Traffic Festival

All praise to Max Casacci. You're free to think whatever you like about the music of the Subsonica, but as for the organization of the Traffic Festival, there's nothing but compliments to give him: this year too the lineup is thoroughly impressive, the shows are free, and the new venue at the Reggia di Venaria Reale turns out to be really beautiful.

After the starter served up by Claudio Simonetti (ex-Goblin) with his live scoring of the film "Profondo Rosso", things get going for real with the pairing of St. Vincent–Nick Cave. The young woman holds her own well, with a set of nervy ballads, ready to shift gears and burst into "sonic" explosions where the leader's guitar runs riot alongside instruments like sax or violin. For one song the singer is all alone on stage with her electric guitar, in front of the packed Traffic crowd: a display of charisma and personality.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, on the other hand, are nothing new for Italian and Turin audiences, but the show holds a few surprises. First of all, the Bad Seeds are no longer the band of years past: Blixa Bargeld and Mick Harvey are gone, replaced by the guitar of ex-Saints man Al Kuepper and multi-instrumentalist Warren Ellis (Dirty Three), splitting his time between violin and "mandocaster". Add to that a rhythm section featuring drums and percussion (with the possibility of double drums) and it's clear we're talking about serious firepower. The result is a compact, rounded rock sound that very often builds into powerful, dissonant crescendos. Old tracks like "The Mercy Seat" and "Tupelo" benefit from it, but so does a "Dig Lazarus Dig!" pulled from the latest album, as well as the electro toy-box of "We Call Upon The Author". By comparison, the previous Turin show, in support of "No More Shall We Part", had been practically a chamber-music concert. But Nick Cave himself has changed too (moustache-less once again), leaving behind his old cursed-artist persona to slip into the role of an ironic, energetic entertainer. His performance as a mad preacher is simply extraordinary, turning "Stagger Lee" into a lesson in over-the-top acting.

All these changes come somewhat at the expense of pathos, strangely missing from the renditions of the old ballads and entirely forgotten in the more recent tracks, especially in the skippable songs pulled from "Abattoir Blues". Given the rather scattered context, though, the return to rock (on some songs Nick plays electric guitar) turns out to be a pretty smart choice. Sure, you could say Nick Cave was better back in the "Murder Ballads" days, but you have to admit he's found a convincing way to reinvent himself.

On Friday the dancing kicks off with Ladytron, appearing in an expanded lineup with guitars and live drums. In reality the result sounds even more eighties than on record, with synths and electronic beats front and center. The open-air concert setting doesn't seem to suit them though, and to the music's static quality is added that of the two singers, who are pretty and skilled but have zero stage presence. Best moments: all the songs sung in Bulgarian by Mira Aroyo, "Seventeen", "Destroy Everything You Touch".

The Primal Scream, on the other hand, are fabulous. The lineup follows the classic scheme with bass, two guitars and drums, and the repertoire, even the more genre-crossing stuff, gets reinterpreted through a rock lens, albeit with the necessary electronic touches. It's precisely the densest, most sound-packed tracks that mark the high points of the show, as with the lysergic raga of "Deep Hit Of The Morning Sun", the psychedelic blues of "Suicide Bomb", and above all the tracks drawn from the album "XTRMNTR", including a funky "Kill All The Hippies", an "Accelerator" that sounds like a child of the Stogees, the mini-rave of "Swastika Eyes". From "Screamadelica" instead come the sweet soul ballad "Damaged", a "Movin' On Up" that sounds like the continuation of the "Sympathy For the Devil" that Keith Richards never wrote, and the murky dub of "Higher Than The Sun".

But even when they turn into the Stones, into MC5, or into some Sixties garage band, Primal Scream are never anything less than fantastic, effectively blowing away the competition from new British bands drawing on that same repertoire. Among their strengths are certainly Bobby Gillespie's charisma, as he never stops egging on the crowd, and Innes's devastating solos, thoroughly old-school, mocking punk and indie-rock minimalism at every turn. During "Rocks" the entire audience has their hands in the air, from the front row to the back.

In short, to paraphrase a famous saying: I have seen the past of rock 'n' roll, and its name is Bobbie Gillespie. And that's meant as a compliment.

Saturday, on the other hand, is the dance night with Santogold, Underworld and Crookers.

Underworld are Karl Hyde and Rick Smith, one in charge of the machines and the other in the role of vocalist, and they deliver their trademark techno sound with a strong melodic streak, coming both from the ever-present synth beds and from the voice. Despite the odd foray into electro and drum n' bass, the two remain faithful to the style that made them famous in the Nineties, reaching the inevitable apotheosis with the anthem "Born Slippy" and with tracks from the follow-up album "Beaucoup Fish". The performance, with Hyde dancing wildly whenever he's not singing or playing guitar, comes with the fitting visual trappings of lights, projections and huge coloured balloons, which - inevitably - come out during the famous refrain of "Born Slippy", amid general jubilation.

The feeling of being caught in a kind of time machine is, paradoxically, stronger in their case than in the appearances of the thirty-year-career rockers from the previous nights; the two, however, succeed brilliantly in their aim, which is to get the large crowd gathered for the closing night dancing and having fun.

The verdict on the three nights is clearly positive: even if perhaps a really major headliner was missing compared to previous years, the Festival managed to maintain quality and interest across all three nights, weathering the move from Parco della Pellerina to Venaria well. The only criticism one could raise concerns the tendency to rely too heavily on long-established names, though this isn't really down to a deliberate choice by the organisers so much as the current state of a music scene that offers few artists able to combine novelty with major crowd appeal. Given the economic climate we're living through as well, one can only wish the Traffic Festival a long life.

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