2009.07.12 Punchestown Racecourse, Co. Kildare, Ireland

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hydro
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2009.07.12 Punchestown Racecourse, Co. Kildare, Ireland

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Last edited by hydro on Mon Jul 13, 2009 9:17 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by hydro »

this is so sweet!!
davenavarro6767Having a great European tour so far! Thanx to @ettyfarrell for taking such amazing care of us! She truly is our Mother Eagle!
about 3 hours ago from TwitterBerry
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Post by bman »

damn they are awesome.
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ESFOS
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Nice to see the boys still keeping it real.
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Post by Mike »

Review of the week: Oxegen * * * *
Punchestown, Co Kildare

By Ed Power
Friday July 17 2009

We've been promised a downpour and we duly get one. But not straight away. For the first 24 hours of Oxegen 2009, the weather is positively balmy. Truth be told, everyone feels vaguely silly stomping around in wellies.

Sharing Friday's headline slot are heartfelt, woolly-haired northerners Snow Patrol and a rejuvenated Blur. It's the veteran Britpopper's who carry the night, romping through their repertoire of jaunty hits while never coming across quite as over-rehearsed as you feared they might (when singer Damon Albarn loses his way in the set-list, he explains, rather quaintly, that someone has given him "a little bit of hash"). They finish with a tingle-inducing Universal, dedicated to Joe Dolan, who delivered an affecting cover of the song in 1999. Snow Patrol, by comparison, are gushingly earnest, yet oh so dreary.

Depressingly, day two sees the heavens open. Come nightfall, every fifth person seems to be staggering about slathered in muck. Still, the mud bath cannot take the glimmer off the Pet Shop Boys, who rise above the conditions with a performance two parts pop concert, one part West End musical (and which, surreally, is accompanied with a video introduction from Sacha Baron Cohen character Brüno, who declares Oxegen the "gayest festival in Ireland").

Granted, a ballad-heavy closing section asks a lot of the luke-warm fan (the eight-minute Jealousy sends the beer-chuggers fleeing into the mud ). Nonetheless, for true devotees, it's worth squeezing into the 9,000-capacity Green Sphere tent to see Tennant and Lowe dust down classic album tracks Two Divided By Zero and Why Don't We Live Together?, belted out by four backing vocalists dressed as skyscrapers.

Elsewhere, the wide-open spaces of Punchestown are perfect for the windswept silliness of Kings of Leon, who have moved increasingly away from their southern rawk origins, to the point where, as of last year's Only By The Night album, they have started to resemble a deep-fried Coldplay. However, the evening truly belongs to Nick Cave, who attacks his material with a ferocity bordering on the feral. With no new album to plug, the O2 Stage is treated to a greatest-hits set that veers from the raunch of Pappa Won't Leave You Henry to the porcelain balladry of The Ship Song.

As showers continue to buffet the site on Sunday, Lady Gaga gamely seeks to distract us from the drizzle by waggling her behind at the audience. Fifteen minutes of Poker Face are fantastic, obviously, but you do wish she'd stop trying so hard to shock. Sitting at a piano to bash out Brown Eyes, she demonstrates there's more to Brand Gaga than gratuitous attention seeking.

Happily, the sun has the good sense to comes out for The Ting Tings. Strapped into a lurid green jumpsuit ("I'm dressed like an Irish power-ranger") frontwoman Katie White (right) does an impressive job of appearing both otherworldly and endearingly down to earth as she and partner Jules de Martino rip through the day-glo pop of Great DJ, We Started Nothing and Shut Up An Let Me Go. A short, muddy, trudge away, the Red Bull arena is transformed into a carnival of the bizarre, first by odd-ball Prince tribute act Of Montreal, then by the arcane pop onslaught of Florence and The Machine.

Back on the main stage, Razorlight are subjecting Punchestown to a plodding reading of their underwhelming third album. Which might explain the large turn out for Perry Farrell and Jane's Addiction, who serve up 90-plus minutes of agreeably debased proto grunge.

On the heels of Farrell's rag-tag mob arrive Nine Inch Nails, playing what frontman Trent Reznor insists is one of their last ever shows. Predictably, it's a hit-laden foray.

Surprisingly, The Killers' headline slot provides one of the main stage's more intimate moments. Then again, only an Olympic-class peacock such as Brandon Flowers could stand before a field full of bawling fans and make it feel as if the venue was barely large enough to contain his ego. Still, too many rock stars nowadays seek to come across as normal blokes who've lucked their way to the big time (yes we mean you, Snow Patrol). Flowers and company have the good grace to remain utterly ridiculous at all times and, for that at least, we should be grateful.

- Ed Power
http://www.independent.ie/entertainment ... 26530.html


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