The weekend began for myself in my newly adopted home village of Trelawnyd; not really the epicentre of all things rock ‘n’ roll but quaint all the same. In fact, had I not been dragged kicking and screaming across this nation’s motorway network I’d have spent Saturday night across the road at my new neighbours’ house-warming party (I later learned they got through 150 burgers and 8lb of bacon..! Some party!). The Bethesda minibus picked me up, driven by a reluctant Tim who proceeded to cough swine flu over me throughout the 5 hour journey. A familiar whiff of earthly smoken goods reached my senses as the children in the back sparked up to make the journey a little more enjoyable, but I don’t need any of God’s gifts and soon found myself drifting beyond the ether.
With the A55, M56, M6 and M1 safely circumnavigated and the 8 of us carefully smuggled into the ‘family rooms’ at the Travelodge we made Dunstable a priority (for some reason) and sampled their finest Thai cuisine before hitting the town.
‘I think I really have got swine flu’ moaned Tim the next morning as he turned over onto his cold kebab.
Sonisphere 2009 - the first one. We arrived at Knebworth and realised our £70 tickets were completely redundant. Yep — we walked straight in through a hole in the fence. No security, no drama, just a big open invite for the cheapskate faithful.
It’s been a long summer and it’s only the first week of August. Sonisphere being the 7th maybe 8th Festival I’ve attended this year, and there’s still a couple more to do. Decided early on that 2009 would be one big festival, and why the hell not eh? What’s wrong with shaving 5 years off your life if that five years was going to be spent shitting your pants in an old people’s home?
Sonisphere wasn’t on my radar, Tim called me up in Prestatyn Football Club of all places and asked if I was up for it. 'Of course', I unwittingly replied, not really knowing what it was all about. Having sludged through the mud of Wakestock, some bright spark decided we would have the luxury of a hotel for this one, and the Travelodge on Junction 13 of the M1 Southbound was booked for 8 of us. Seemed a good idea at the time ’til we realised Knebworth was a £75 taxi ride away; at least there was safety in numbers!
We delighted in the trappings of downtown Dunstable for the first night, crashing back to the room at stupid o’clock and ensuring a stinking hangover would follow us around until we washed it away with a £3.80 pint of cider.
Let’s get something straght here, I don’t do all that ‘Let’s be fucking hearing you Knebworth’ and ‘Come on motherfuckers, let’s make some noise’ metal bollocks that these kids like, I’m just here for the crack.
Crystal Meth aside it’s the vibe I’ve got into rather than the music (this being my 3rd ‘rock’ festival of the year).
We wandered into the arena just in time to catch the dying strains of Buckcherry’s last song. Slightly gutting for Tim, but it was soon shaken off as the highlight, by a mile, was stumbling upon a group of outrageous Dutch buskers called Blaas of Glory — decked out like marching-band metal maniacs, blasting out heavy rock classics in a full-on oompah/cabaret/brass band style. Think Ace of Spades with trumpets and tuba swagger. They were hilarious, technically brilliant, and totally captivating. That performance alone made the trip worthwhile.
Me and Tim ditched the rest of the gang to go see Killing Joke, hoping for something raw and unpredictable. Unfortunately, they delivered a fairly disappointing greatest hits set — competent, but lacking the edge or intensity we’d hoped for.
The rest of the day was a blur of chatting to rock chicks, drifting between bands, soaking up the atmosphere, and people-watching — which was half the entertainment. Some great characters, some complete melts, but all part of the fabric. Saw Feeder (it was a good set, I knew many more song than I thought I did). Lamb Of God were ace, and a really scary moshpit! Also saw Machine Head and a bit of high school nostalgia from Saxon (Biff!).
We kept the drinking modest — not by choice, but because £3.80 a pint was absolute daylight robbery. That said, the music kept spirits high. Nine Inch Nails delivered a tight, industrially sharp set — Trent Reznor still has it. Then came the headliners: Metallica. Three hours of metal royalty. Impressive, yes, but three hours!! The crowd was so rammed we could not escape.
When it was all over, we just wanted to crash back at the Travelodge in Toddington — it was about 28 miles from Knebworth, but it might as well have been 200. No lifts, no buses, no one taking pity. We were properly stranded. In the end, we had to split a £72 taxi fare just to get back. Brutal.
Still, no regrets — not a bad way to blow a Sunday.
Three days of cider, drunkeness, campervans, and corporate-sponsored madness – welcome to V2003. By now, the Fatman crew, Crud, Sync, Fairziff and assorted hangers-on had festival survival down to a science: arrive early, pitch the tents before the Strongbow takes hold, and dive headfirst into the weekend with no thought for livers or long-term damage.
Friday Night: Warm-Up Mayhem
The festival began the way all good ones do – raiding the fences into the campervan site, hooking up with the Fatman clan and their converted removal vans complete with sound systems, and sinking enough booze to forget which field you’re in. Friday was less about music and more about setting the tone: overindulgence, near-misses (Mrs Fatman narrowly avoided concussion from a falling fence panel), and the first of many late-night parties.
Saturday: Saxophones, Scousers & Strongbow
The Zutons had the honour of opening the NME Stage, proving Liverpool still had a stranglehold on the UK indie scene. Their funky guitar-sax combo divided opinion but “Pressure” hit hard enough to get early heads nodding. The Stands followed with a laid-back Cast-like sound, while The Coral later in the day showed exactly why they’d risen above their peers – effortlessly pulling off their psychedelic shanties to a huge crowd.
Not every blast from the past worked though. James in ’01 had been euphoric, Happy Mondays in ’02 chaotic but fun – this year’s retro slot was Inspiral Carpets, and it was awkward. Like watching your mate’s dad dance at a wedding, the nostalgia curdled fast.
Morcheeba restored some calm with dreamy grooves, while elsewhere Echo & The Bunnymen’s greatest-hits swaggered into the weekend, Mac’s voice still commanding and Will Sergeant’s guitar sharp as ever. For many, that was the real Saturday highlight.
But not for all. While the Red Hot Chili Peppers pulled a suffocating crowd on the main stage – so packed the big screens were the only way to see them – a couple of thousand made the smarter choice. Over on the NME Stage, Underworld delivered the weekend’s true revelation. With lasers slicing the night sky and “King of Snake” rattling bones, Karl Hyde and Rick Smith turned V into a rave cathedral. By the time “Born Slippy” erupted, it was clear: the lucky few who skipped the Chilis had witnessed the set of V2003.
Sunday: Killing Joke & Coldplay Clashes
Sunday started with bleary breakfasts cooked on Fairziff’s trusty VW stove and more cider to wash away the hangovers. Echo & The Bunnymen set the tone with another soaring set, and Damian Rice plus Athlete kept things mellow for those still piecing themselves together.
But the day belonged to Killing Joke. Jaz Coleman stormed onstage in war paint and bone-strewn robes, leading the band through a blistering half-hour that spanned new anthems (“Blood On Your Hands,” “Total Invasion”) and classics like “Wardance” and “Requiem.” It was ferocious, theatrical, and all too short.
Later, Goldfrapp’s lush electronica washed over the dance tent like a dream, while Turin Brakes impressed against the odds with a packed crowd despite Foo Fighters dominating the main stage. Coldplay headlined to the largest audience of the weekend, but not everyone was convinced – some of us slipped away to a nearby bar where the DJ spun Joy Division and The Undertones instead, a far better soundtrack for Coldplay refuseniks.
Feeder closed the NME Stage with a tight, uplifting set that proved them festival headliner material, ending Sunday on a high before the inevitable stumble back to camper parties and more late-night chaos.
Monday: The Hangover Epilogue
By Monday morning Weston Park was a wasteland of litter and broken tents. Bacon butties with chilli sauce softened the blow as the last of the gang packed up, swapping favourite moments and crowning the best festival T-shirt spotted all weekend: “Midgets Make Me Laugh.”
Verdict
V2003 had everything – the highs of Underworld, Echo & The Bunnymen, and Killing Joke; the lows of Inspiral Carpets trying too hard; and the chaos of campervan raves, bungee cages, and Strongbow-fuelled stupidity. It was messy, funny, occasionally transcendent, and above all a reminder of why we keep coming back: for those rare “festival moments” when the music, madness, and mayhem all line up just right.
