Right, I'm not typing up Sunday;s review too, I'm too tired. I'll do it Saturday, deal?
A U.S. sitcome writer couldn't have imagined it better: geeky, bookish High School student MC Lars has become hugely popular main stage graduate rapper simply by putting in the effort and being himself. He certainly deserves it, working the crowd effortlessly with a light humour and a pounding laptop, and showing how far he's come in the two years since he first visited Oxford. And if you perhaps wish he could discover some other poetic metre than the rhymed couplet, you have to admit that "Rapbeth" is a classic, and that "hubris really stinks" is the best encapsulation of the tragic ineluctability of Moby Dick's denouement ever heard in a hip-hop dong.
The Raveonettes sound like The Jesus & mary Chain having a crack at some old tin pan Alley numbers, and as such they're a sort of Primitives for our times. Albeit without the tunes. Some of the tremolo-heavy passages recall early Madder Rose, and of course, The Velvet Underground references are never far away (they made a record with Mo Tucker, you know), but if The Raveonettes are a long way from unpleasant, they're sadly equidistant from fascinating. Without wishing to sound too Oxcentric, The Factory sounded as good as this after half a dozen gigs, and it's a pity The Raveonettes don't have an ything else up their sleeves, as they started so promisingly.
Whilst we're bashing the big names, let's have a pop at Biffy Clyro, shall we? A blooming age setting up + songs that sound like The Foo Fighters + an opening number that resembles a flabby Placebo. Not a recipe for a great headline slot, I'm afraid.
I'll admit that I left before the end of the set. You'll have to make your own minds up whether that makes me a bad reviewer, or wether it makes Biffy a boring band. So ended something that I'd never experienced in 5 years, a disappointing day at Truck. Luckily, Sunday more than compensated.
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