It's the sold-out final date of the so-called Loudest Tour Ever and no band wants to disappoint the H&M-wearing, glowstick-wielding crowd, of which the average age must have been six or so. Chinese Finger Trap The openers took to the stage so quietly I hardly noticed they were there, until they unleashed some predictable hardcore-by-numbers on us.
 | | Chinese Finger Trap |
The band displayed constantly confusing drumbeats, duelling guitar-lines and the misplaced notion that going from full time to half time in every song created atmosphere. However, they received the best reception of any support band I have ever seen, and they worked the crowd until it was putty in their hands and would do whatever was asked. This included pelting the stage with a barrage of glowsticks - it was like a snowstorm, or a glowstorm? It's a common myth that hardcore and screamo bands lack melody, and it may appear that I've given them a slating, but that was one thing they certainly didn't lack. The roof stayed firmly on for these guys, but they gave it their best shot. Yourcodenameis:milo They may have a name that's a pain in the arse to write, but you forgive them in a heartbeat. They all had a swagger reminiscent of a certain four Leicester lads and one Gallagher brother. What's more, there wasn't a pair of skinny jeans between them. The band had more pop sensibilities than Chinese Finger Trap, and were much better for it. With this came hooks and melody that can be as abundant as four-leaf clovers in some acts.
 | | Yourcodenameis: milo |
The three-guitar assault never cluttered, even when a song turned disarmingly heavy (which it did quite frequently) like in their encore jam - they called all of Chinese Finger trap to the stage for a boozy rendition of every hardcore nut's anthem, Row Row Row Your Boat. Following this was one of the sludgiest breakdowns in history; enough to kill an army of cockroaches, and Keef Richards to boot. Falling to the floor with the brain melting-ness of it all, the band started to speed up again, and rise as they did so. Then, when they could take the speed no more, the instruments began to fly and the drum kit got dismantled while the drummer was still playing it! "It's been a real pleasure playing on this tour. We've played to something like 19,000 people and it's been amazing," said a member of the band. So, Enter Shikari - how do you follow that then? Here's how. Enter Shikari Let's begin by listing the stage props Enter Shikari enlist to help their live performances: x12 strobe lights, x2 smoke machines and x1 trampoline. Yes, you read correctly - trampoline. Christ, what have I let myself in for? A dimming of the lights and a pulsing dance-beat signalled the beginning (of the end?), and it was seizure city as the strobes began to work their magic on the crowd, who responded in turn by screaming at them.
It proved ineffective as a method of getting them to stop. All of a sudden, a man clad in a black hoodie, football shorts and glasses with glowsticks attached ran on stage, raving to his own beat. He was gradually joined by the rest of the band, and the roof was in danger of parting company with its four walls. Then the sample started, the droning voice signalling that they were 'sick of waiting'. So were we. They ran through their set at a steady pace, mixing most of their songs with a good dollop of schtick, which consisted mainly of sex jokes, penis gags and trying to get the crowd to form a human pyramid. Hey, they're in a band - do you really expect them to be mature? The band were so acrobatic, it did have me wondering if I had strayed into a circus at one point, especially when the singer straddled the stage and speakers, his testicles dangling a good six inches away from my face. I was the envy of every 13-year-old emo girl in the crowd. Musically, it's the trance elements in their music that set them apart from any other hardcore bands, but it's also the trance that sees them shunned by the more... erm... hardcore, hardcore fans.
 | | Enter Shikari |
In my opinion, it is their saving grace, regardless of whatever shelf life it seems to have. They proved they were aware of the concept of dynamics by breaking out an acoustic, with a sweet song that owes much more to U2 than it does Fugazi. It broke the monotony of the screamy vocals which lack certain definition, and, to be honest, can get on the nerves after a while. The band, exhausted after trampling their way through a particularly off-the-hook version of Sorry You're Not a Winner, returned to the stage for one last rave. The bass frequencies caused all kinds of unwanted bowel movements on the crowd, and made you feel like every atom in your body wanted to go its separate ways. Soon after, every member of every band was onstage, glowing fluorescent pink and green on seemingly random parts of their bodies, having one last rave. And then the tour was over, sweat everywhere. The rave is over, children - go home to your parents. Until next time, that is.
Oh, and if anyone finds an eardrum in Bath Pavilion I would like it back please. | 
