blink-182, The Prodigy, Spiritbox, Neck Deep and more bring the noise to Berkshire at Reading Festival 2024.
Through rain and shine, it’s been a long, loud summer, but there’s still one last big fest to go. Reading & Leeds’ annual August bank holiday weekender has veered away from the rock-heavy line-ups of old in recent times, but 2024 delivers one of the biggest, boldest bills in an age.
With legendary heroes blink-182 and The Prodigy leading the charge, as well as rising stars Spiritbox, Kneecap and Loathe competing for attention alongside Lana Del Rey and Liam Gallagher, there’s a real sense of vibrancy and excitement. Meanwhile, innovations like the inspired LED-overlit Chevron Stage continue to build the experience.
Our sympathies are with those at Bramham Park in Leeds, where Storm Lilian sees 75mph winds severely disrupt the infrastructure and enforce changes to the line-up across the weekend. Getting off easy, Reading manages to escape with just a few heavy showers.
We air out our battered tent, grab a raincoat and bucket hat, stock up on lager and dive into the fray to bring you one more big review from a thrilling, jam-packed festival season…
It might be a sunny afternoon on Richfield Avenue, but inside the Radio 1 tent, Kid Brunswick’s brewing something darker. This is effectively the start of the funeral for his project in its current guise, but there’s little sentimentality involved. Instead, he just hungers for mayhem.
With his head wrapped in a bandage exposing only his eyes and mouth, the Londoner snarls for “the biggest fucking mosh-pit of the day” and while he’s not had much competition so far, missives like jagged opener Heaven Without You, the pulsing Blow and downtuned swagger of as-yet-unreleased track Apeshit quickly send the punters jostling down the front. Seizing upon the eagerness and energy of a day one festival crowd, especially one who seem quite familiar with him, he flourishes in a tent of this size. This is a send-off he can be proud of. (EW)
“Are there any Irish here today?!” It’s less a question than a call to arms, as a sea of green, white and gold swirls in front of the stage for the defiant Reading debut from incendiary Belfast rappers Kneecap.
Just over two years ago, it felt like the trio couldn’t get booked on a British festival for love nor money. Hyperbole is a hell of a thing, but Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap and DJ Próvaí were legitimately seen as too provocative, too subversive, too unbending in their sociopolitical purpose for mainstream consumption. Overseas audiences struggled to grasp their razor-sharp post-Troubles satire, yes, but their refusal to be cowed by any kind of cultural conservatism (they’re currently taking the government to court for a refusal of arts funding) didn’t do them many favours, either. All of which makes this demolition of their “biggest-ever stage” – coinciding with the arrival of their raucous biopic to UK cinemas – a delicious, delirious landmark.
Brilliantly, they’ve not budged an inch. Relishing nationwide BBC coverage, the festival’s massive video screens flash the message “THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT IS ENABLING A GENOCIDE IN GAZA” throughout (in reference to the UK government's support for Israel in the ongoing conflict), while the band themselves slam the ignorance and idiocy of recent far-right rioting. Crucially, they do so in the midst of a set with more mischief and colour than anyone else across the weekend. The narcotic highs Sick In The Head and Rhino Ket are an unabashedly perfect soundtrack, while Get Your Brits Out and H.O.O.D. communicate the absurd realities of life in 21st century Belfast loud and proud. There’s not a six-string in sight, but this is explosive proof of the revolutionary power of punk. (SL)
They don’t yet have an album to their name, but believe us when we say Lambrini Girls are a festival must-watch. Nobody else plays punk gigs like them, where they curiously fuse two very disparate emotions: anger and humour. “We’ve got Misha on the drums… we’ve got Lilly on the bass and I… AM… JASON DERULO!” bellows singer and guitarist Phoebe Lunny, but between shouting out the “queer legends” in the crowd for Help Me I’m Gay and leading a gloriously silly call and response for Craig David (“When I say Craig, you say David!”), she and her bandmates are fiercely putting the world to rights. With two powerful speeches calling for a free Palestine and to rally against the culture of silence surrounding sexual misconduct, they’re making noise in all the right ways. Fury’s never sounded so fun. (EW)
Pulling double-duty with two sets at Reading on Friday, Neck Deep could be forgiven for taking their time this afternoon. Instead, the Wrexham wreckers smash through their first turn without a second to spare.
“We don’t get to play the UK so much nowadays,” smiles frontman Ben Barlow, lamenting the bittersweet side of global superstardom but, otherwise, their Main Stage appearance is a high-energy sugar-rush, from the sweeping sing-along of this year’s Dumbstruck Dumbfuck via a 100mph Sort Yourself Out to a smashing Heartbreak Of The Century.
Their Festival Republic stage headline might be the more fan-oriented showcase, but a few hours before the mighty blink-182 make their Reading return, seeing Ben and the boys rule with songs as effortlessly infectious as STFU and In Bloom is a reassuring sight. When the time comes for the genre’s old giants to fully pass the pop-punk baton, safe hands will be waiting. (SL)
With their vintage, breezy style of garage rock, watching Bad Nerves is like being transported back in time. They want to take you to a tiny, sweaty room that smells of booze in an era where you could pay for a pint with loose change, and the experience is a non-stop thrill, from the skittish Baby Drummer to the cocksure Plastic Rebel, while New Shapes has all the frenetic energy of someone with caffeine shakes. Frontman Bobby Nerves performs with a suave nonchalance, bantering with the crowd before him – “Who’s heard the new record? Not enough of you…” he quips, and later gives them a telling off: “If you’re going to clap, clap in time, please.” Fair fucks. Nonetheless, this is tremendous Friday night fun. (EW)
Real metallic munch might be in short supply on this year’s Reading & Leeds line-up, but Spiritbox have more than enough to go around.
“We’ve wanted to play this festival for a long time, but we were a little nervous,” smiles vocalist Courtney LaPlante, shifting gears from a summer spent at festivals like Wacken and opening for Korn to going on here before, er, Two Door Cinema Club and Gerry Cinnamon. “We’re still trying to work you out.”
Of course, the unbending attack of Cellar Door, Jaded and The Void simply cannot be ignored, sending even casual listeners spinning into the pit, with the dynamic shifts between gritty brute force and glassy melodies standing out in the summer sun.
“I like this!” Courtney makes up her mind before piledriving through a closing salvo of Circle With Me, Holy Roller and Hysteria. With a sweaty, swelling crowd finding full voice, it’s safe to say Reading likes Spiritbox, too. (SL)
Having cancelled a support slot at Korn’s massive Gunnersbury Park show a couple of weeks ago over fears for his voice, there’s a little trepidation amongst fans turning up to catch Denzel Curry light it up beneath the Chevron Stage’s flashing LED canopy. Thankfully, there’s no need for concern. Fully dialled into the Big Ultra persona attached to excellent recent mixtape King Of The Mischievous South Vol. 2, there’s a playfulness and unpredictability about HOT ONE and BLCK FLAG FREESTYLE that stands apart from his performance at R&L two years ago.
“They don’t even fucking know I’ve got so much energy right now,” he gasps, with an almost jittery energy, pacing constantly back and forth across the stage. “Ya dig?!” With a horde of voices screaming themselves ragged and a pulsating pit that doesn’t stop throughout, Reading very much does. (SL)
Given they’re the heaviest band here today by a country mile, and they’re playing a notoriously tricky stage, The Amity Affliction could have floundered. Fortunately, the tent is teeming with dedicated fans who keep them buoyant as they tear through their set. The sweeping Drag The Lake is met with a huge reception, as is Show Me Your God, which hits like a cannonball to the chest. Later, Don’t Lean On Me and colossal closer Soak Me In Bleach are howled back at the Aussie bruisers with genuine vitality. Indeed, there are murmurs of disappointment as the crowd leave after chanting “ONE MORE SONG!” and failing to get what they wanted. That long, long flight from the other side of the world has been made worthwhile. (EW)
Friday’s balmy ambiance means that some crowds in the shade of the Festival Republic tent have felt a little sparse on day one, but it’s absolutely rammed for Neck Deep’s second appearance, headlining at sundown. Having already proven their ‘Big Band’ chops across site earlier on, Ben and the crew are free to explore the deeper, subtler, and arguably more emotionally resonant corners of their catalogue as the shadows lengthen. That’s not to say Serpents, Motion Sickness and Kali Ma aren’t overloaded with massive hooks, but the contrast between today’s dual performances really emphasises how far they've come – and how polished their sound has gotten – over the past decade.
Indeed, Ben himself admits that the band have their eyes more on the road ahead than the one behind, and this kind of nostalgia is very much fan-service. “It’s cool playing these old songs, man. They may not mean that much to us these days, but seeing how relevant they are to you makes us feel so much!”
With I Hope This Comes Back To Haunt You and Crushing Grief (No Remedy) feeling a stage light for the first time in five years, mind, they’re not shy about making sure that every ounce of nostalgia is wrung out. And there’s even time for a spectacular troll during grandstanding closer December, with Ben teasing “Ladies and gentlemen, Mark Hoppus… is not here!” 20 minutes before the blink-182 legend hits the Main Stage to a mixture of jeers and applause. Never change, lads. Never change. (SL)
Half a decade on from the shocking death of figurehead vocalist Keith Flint, The Prodigy’s return to Reading & Leeds feels like a milestone moment. A slew of festival slots and headline shows over the past two years might have proven their ability to move on a man down, but can they recapture the fire at a festival that’s felt like a proving ground for over a generation? Damn right they can. With volume cranked to staggering levels and the Chevron Stage’s LED canopy finally fully lighting up the night sky, the Essex supremos absolutely level the place.
“We didn’t come to fuck around,” seethes war-painted frontman Maxim, commanding the crowd like a neon demon. “We came to bring the sound!” Quite. Few bands ever could even imagine opening a set with a run of songs as devastating Breathe, Omen, Spitfire, Firestarter and Voodoo People, but even those all-time classics are on another level tonight, earthquaking across the site with enough elemental power to raise the dead. And although the laser-lit silhouette of Keith is no substitute for the departed firebrand himself, it’s easy to believe that he’s smiling somewhere seeing songs Smack My Bitch Up, Invaders Must Die and We Live Forever still upstaging everyone else on weekends as hot and heavy as this. Absolutely incredible. (SL)
There’s something slightly redemptive about blink-182 headlining Reading today. Last time they stood on this stage a decade ago, they were touring an album some regard as a damp squib, and those in attendance didn’t have to squint to see the cracks in their foundation. Less than six months later, Tom DeLonge quit the band.
In the present moment, however, they’re just chuffed to be onstage together. “We will suck our collective dicks,” Mark Hoppus says in characteristically coarse fashion, “we’re so fucking good at what we do.” That’s easily apparent – with their wheels thoroughly greased from a long stretch of touring in the U.S., they zip through the hits with finesse, warmth and industrial quantities of fun, from rapturous opener Feeling This and sprightly newer cut DANCE WITH ME to a golden run of bangers in the form of What’s My Age Again, First Date, All The Small Things and Dammit.
There’s such joy to these songs that it almost washes away the sadness of closer ONE MORE TIME…, but perhaps it’s not such a bad thing when it would otherwise seem like an odd down note to wrap up with. Stay Together For The Kids isn’t treated with much sentimentality either – as the crowd raises their phone lights, Mark jokes that “every single one is a home you wrecked”. Nonetheless, it’s everything you want from a Friday night at a festival – a moment of collective, goofy euphoria. Really, this is the shiniest and happiest a band can be after three decades in the game. (EW)
Hammering rain is something of a double-edged sword for Dead Pony early on Saturday afternoon, sending scores of punters scuttling for shelter under the roof of the Festival Republic tent but dampening spirits, somewhat. The rising Glaswegians bring the heat, though, with MK Nothing and Ignore This custom-built for occasions like this.
With each festival set, the band are growing more and more at home on the biggest stages, with vocalist Anna Shields in particular settling in to a real rock star swagger. And though the chaos of full-throttle closer MANA – with a massive inflatable pony bouncing over punters’ heads – does make you wish they’d cut loose and rev the engines a little more, there’s no doubt they’ve got the character and class to keep climbing bills like this for years to come. (SL)
Rainswept and smiling wryly, Dead Poet Society frontman Jack Underkofler seems enlivened by his battle with the elements as grey clouds continue to absolutely chuck it down. Marinated in Massachusetts’ salt air, the briny, hard-worn alt.rock of Running In Circles, .CoDA. and Lo Air are the perfect soundtrack for an afternoon under grey skies, as they ramp the emotion up to thunderous levels. It’s just a pity that the audience is literally too bogged down to deliver the kind of response they deserve, responding to calls for “a little movement” more with shivers and soggy swaying than any kind of real cathartic bounce. Still, by the climactic HURT and .intoodeep., it’s impossible not to be roused by seeing a band with this kind of rough-hewn talent tearing it up on one of the grandest possible stages. (SL)
“The rain’s just stopped… in time for everyone to fuck off,” guitarist Conor Dockery half-laughs as The Scratch blaze on for one of the finest sets of the weekend. “Thanks for sticking around!”
The upside of the casuals’ exodus is that everyone here seems fully dialled-in to the Dublin crew’s brand of raucously offbeat, folk-tinged punk. Cranking heavy riffs from acoustic guitars and battering out percussion through a cajón and bass-drum rather than a conventional kit, they’re a fascinating collective just to look at, but there’s a high-tempo insistence about Cheeky Bastard and Cig In The Breeze that sees most of those in attendance swept into a gleeful circle-pit, while a snippet of Thin Lizzy’s Emerald is always welcome. A rousing, avant-garde cover of The Pogues’ Sally MacLennane calls to mind esteemed colleagues Lankum, proving they’ve got more artistic itches to see to than just frantic attack. But as they return up to top speed for bonkers closer Blaggard, absolutely no-one is complaining. (SL)
They might have changed shape and size since they were last in the UK, but with the despair and difficulty their line-up changes brought shrinking further into the distance, Yours Truly are on glowing form today. Playing a set supercharged with fresh bangers, there’s a real joy about them, entering a new era by ticking off a big bucket-list item. Singer Mikaila Delgado is an absolute vision, swaying and high-kicking her way through the gritty Back 2 U, the feisty California Sober and the stormy Walk Over My Grave with a sprinkling of sass. Every time they step onstage, they’re increasingly more confident, and it’s lovely to see them flourishing in this way. (EW)
Earlier this week, Bleachers mainman Jack Antonoff was down the road at Wembley Stadium helping his old mucker Taylor Swift power through a surprise rendition of Death By A Thousand Cuts on the last night of her mammoth European Eras Tour. Having scarcely had time to visit these shores with his own band through the years, it’s clear that many amongst a big, big crowd today have turned out only because of his songwriting for the biggest singer in the world, but they quickly find out that Bleachers are able to speak to far more than the Swiftie faithful, looking absolutely at home on an occasion of this scale.
Sort of like a millennial E Street Band, the stage is filled with players thumping keyboards, tapping xylophones, honking saxophones and strumming guitars – as well as two drummers – but its all party dressing for the beautiful simplicity of songs like How Dare You Want More, Rollercoaster and I Wanna get Better. The sun has fully beaten through the clouds by the time Jack and co. spill totally over the top with a glorious Don’t Take The Money, and few bands have anything like their ability to crystallise the glittering glory of moments like these. (SL)
It’s been a long-ass summer for Militarie Gun, with virtually non-stop touring across the United States, Australia and Europe. The California lads are drooping a little as they arrive at the business end of Saturday, but their blend of indie-inflected hardcore is right at home at Reading. It doesn’t hurt that the frustration and hangdog charm of Big Disappointment, Very High and Thought You Were Waving makes a lot of sense from a band running on fumes. Plus, that relentless schedule means they’re a well-oiled machine, delivering exactly what this crowd needs. A climactic Do It Faster also has an energy all of its own, sparking the audience into a chorus of throaty sing-alongs and pumped fists before they spill out into the late afternoon glow. (SL)
“I’m getting a bit shy up here!” jokes Deijuvhs near the end of his set on the Festival Republic Stage. The irony is, he’s got charisma coming out of his pores, and nothing about the way he and his troupe of very fabulously dressed backing musicians attack their set screams shy. Their frenetic, ice-cool hybrid of punk, nu-metal and anything else they fancy seizes the crowd’s attention almost immediately, with headbanging starting from the off.
“Don’t make me get my DJ down there,” the East Londoner jests, but despite their willingness to mosh, the silver balaclava-clad DJ comes and joins in anyway. Things are slightly haphazard at points – Deijuvhs sometimes needs reminding of what song is coming next, and later something onstage breaks, the chaos adds to the charm instead of feeling like a stain on the show. Deijuvhs claims at one point that this set is his “one minute of fame”, but he’s made it count. (EW)
Surprise is a dwindling currency in the music industry, but it was impossible not to be taken a little aback recently when uber-trendy Dublin post-punks Fontaines D.C. started hyping imminent fourth album Romance by trumpeting their love of Korn and Deftones. They look the part today, too, turning up with neon tracksuits and a couple of hairdos straight out of 1994. Grian Chatten’s mouthy accent and the thumping indie jangle of Boys In The Better Land mean they do intermittently feel like early-’80s U2 dressed as early-’90s U2, but the weirdo menace of massive bangers Televised Mind, Death Kink and Starburster proves they’re not just tourists in the world of real alt. music. (SL)
Cometh the hour, cometh the band. The UK might have finally have gotten rid of the pesky Tory government who’d been a main focal point for most of Kid Kapichi’s existence, but with everything from the continuing war in Gaza to white nationalists literally rioting in the streets, there’s no lack of purpose to keep stoking the Hastings crew’s brilliant ire.
With superb new album There Goes The Neighbourhood, there’s no lack of great songs for them to rocket through, either. Rob The Supermarket and Smash The Gaff feel like bona fide hits at this point, but the less-well-worn playfulness and electricity of Let’s Get To Work and Can EU Hear Me? prove that Kapichi are still on a steep upward trajectory, with the fire-and-fire interplay between mainmen Jack Wilson and Ben Beetham ever more impressive. Their indie-centric brand of punk rock means they’re able to reach out to new fans here this afternoon, too, and the deafening reception hints heavily that they’re more than capable of stepping up to smash a prime spot on the Main Stage within the next few years. (SL)
If anyone can put the fear of God into a crowd of teenagers in bucket hats, it’s Loathe. After they walk on to Nessun Dorma in a cloud of smoke, the opening squalls of Gored readies Reading for violence, as vocalist Kadeem France gestures for a pit. The message is clear: get involved or stand the fuck back.
The next half an hour is astonishing. White Hot evokes the feeling that the jaws of Hell are opening, while Dance On My Skin is absolutely monstrous. Though it might be intimidating to be the heaviest band on a rather un-heavy festival (they clash with Lana Del Rey, for one thing), the Liverpool metallers relish it, pelting the audience with their most cataclysmic tracks with only Screaming offering a moment of melody. All those months spent touring the U.S. this year have added up to a masterful showing – right now, Loathe are the best they’ve ever been live. (EW)
Lots of people have descended on the Festival Republic tent as the sky blackens, craving something more eccentric to finish their day. Viagra Boys’ infectiously wonky punk makes for the weirdest Saturday night disco you can think of, and it’s an inspired booking.
Opener Ain’t No Thief is as funky as you like, the fizzy ADD is simply outrageous and Sports inspires gigantic, stupid shout-alongs, while saxophonist Oskar Carls – sporting some very small shorts – solos on his instrument like he’s strangling it to death. Frontman Sebastian Murphy’s stage patter is just as goofy as the music itself – “If you’ve got any joints, throw it onstage! The boys need it!” he suggests, to which someone in the crowd chucks a KitKat. It’s no surprise that after closer Research Chemicals goes off like a party cannon, the crowd are chanting for them to continue. Can they play every Saturday night at every rock festival from now on, please? (EW)
Crawlers were overdue some luck. They only got to play four songs at 2000trees last month after getting into a freak accident on the M6, while their set at Leeds two days ago was pulled due to bad weather decimating the site. It means they’ve got twice as much in the tank today to rouse the sizeable crowd who have turned out.
I Don’t Want It bristles with high-octane spirit, during which singer Holly Minto lifts the mic stand like they’re in the gym, while Kiss Me is a heartfelt moment dedicated to the queer women in the crowd and I Can’t Drive is for “the hot bitches who still have their provisional license”. It’s closer Come On Over (Again) that provides the sort of beautiful festival moment that you want to preserve in amber, with Holly triumphantly holding a Pride flag over their shoulders like a superhero’s cape. Watching them live their teenage dreams is pure freudenfreude. (EW)
“I’ve been dreaming about playing this festival since I was a wee one!” enthuses Destroy Boys' Vi Mayugba, which sounds particularly amusing in her Californian accent. Her bandmate Alexia Roditis is also embracing the British spirit, performing in a football shirt, and they quickly strike a chord with their very healthily-sized congregation. “Are you guys mad? That’s why you’re here, right?”
The Sacramento quartet might have plenty to rage about, but they don’t stomp as much as they do strut, breezing through the spiky Shadow (I’m Breaking Down) and bitingly candid Boyfeel with a real sense of grace. They’ve got a feisty side, too, unleashing a greater sense of energy with a smart cover of The Clash’s Should I Stay Or Should I Go (“Joe Strummer would say ‘FREE FUCKING PALESTINE!” cries Alexia) and summoning big sing-alongs for I Threw Glass At My Friend’s Eyes And Now I’m On Probation. They’ve owned this tent, for sure. (EW)
Pendulum might have been better suited on paper to the electric, energetic vibes of Friday night rather than an overcast Sunday teatime slot, but no matter the time or place, they make their moment count. There are times where standing still for their seismic tunes would be considered criminal however fatigued you might be. Explosive opener Napalm hits like an electric current through the brain, while the uplifting electro-metal of Halo and old favourite Tarantula whip the crowd into a dancing frenzy. The engines have recently started rumbling again for the Aussie genre-destroyers after a prolonged period of relative quiet, but if today’s hour-long set proves anything, it’s that they’ve found a way to connect with a new generation of fans. (EW)
Away from the noise and the spectacle of the bigger stages, Reading’s smallest stage is playing host to a variety of hidden gems. North East punk newcomers Venus Grrrls are one of them, introducing themselves at their first-ever Reading appearance with a febrile yet elegant half-hour set. Their performance isn’t so raucous as it is understated and cool, but in terms of the tightness of their sound (not to mention vocalist Grace Kelly’s gorgeous, powerful voice) their sense of personality and witchy energy, they’re incredibly strong. “The best way to deal with creepy men is to hex them,” Grace suggests. It’s a hugely promising showing, and judging by the large cheer they receive as they wrap up with the eerie Glisten, they’ve cast just the right spell. (EW)
Is Ashnikko the blueprint right now? Quite possibly. Sonically speaking, it’s clear she’s someone well-admired, and watching her storm a rammed Radio 1 tent in a whirl of theatrics and tight choreography, it’s crystal clear why.
“I feel really fucking divalicious today, just to warn you,” she says. If the likes of Working Bitch and an absolutely uproarious Slumber Party are anything to go by, she means it. Indeed, it feels like something beyond live music; the sound itself isn’t so much the focus as it is performance. There’s one moment where Ashnikko says they need “an oil change and a cigarette” and is duly handed a lit bifter. They’re not just a musician, they’re an entertainer, and one who could have easily brought the house down on the Main Stage. (EW)
Delilah Bon has been underrated for far too long. She’s finally got her turn at Reading & Leeds after years of grafting, and appears to be in playful spirits as she takes to the stage flanked by two backing dancers, who duly pull out a bubble gun. Then again, as thrilled as she is to be here, she’s got big things to say. I Wish A Bitch Would feels particularly potent, gaining a far harder edge in a live setting, while the visceral Dead Men Don’t Rape is not just incredibly arresting, but brings out a sense of empowerment and fury. At the same time, it's hugely fun, with closer Maverick offering a lighter, feistier conclusion. The only complaint? It ends too quickly. (EW)
Playing a festival slot like beebadoobee’s – on a Sunday night, sandwiched between two headliners – might be a short straw for some. For Bea, it’s somewhat advantageous. Her style of everywoman, coming-of-age alt.rock is a balm on a chilly August night when your feet are aching, and it’s in this vast yet intimate space that the likes of the gently grungy Talk, the breezy 10:36 and kitschy Sunny Day come alive in.
“I had a dream last night that no-one was going to come and watch me,” she admits, and while there’s an understated sweetness about the way she performs, when she puts down the guitar and steps out from behind the mic, she gains a new, more confident attitude. If she’s the last act people watch this weekend, she’s offered them a lovely ending. (EW)
Sunday night rave, anyone? He might be one of the biggest DJs on the planet right now, but Skrillex was one of ours first. It’s been almost two decades since he walked away from guitars in From First To Last to the decks, but no matter how familiar you are with the music that made him his millions, his eye-popping theatrics are impossible to forget.
Across an hour and three quarters of ribcage-shaking music – with absolutely no pauses to catch your breath – there’s plenty to have your head spinning under the spider’s web-like structure of the Chevron Stage. There’s enough CO2 canisters let off to fill a good hundred fire extinguishers, while he also boasts the sort of dazzling laser displays that would have Enter Shikari drooling in envy. Even if say, you got stuck in the back row, or, say, you forgot your glasses, you’d be pulled right in. It’s the mark of a dance titan. (EW)
