There’s some sort of relief when you realise you touched rock bottom: you acknowledge that worse than that cannot be and that the only way to go is up.
This was I kept repeating myself over the weeks waiting for this year Roskilde Festival and I’m happy to say, hopes were not disappointed.
Last year was so bad in so many ways that another festival with the same conditions would have been unconceivable this time around, so, it’s with some sort of relief that I noticed signs of improvement. Improvement in terms of lineup – I don’t want to say that just Deftones and Nine Inch Nails would have been a reason good enough to win me over, but I cannot deny that either – improvements in logistics and most importantly improvements in the overall mood that brought back that orange feeling so much missing.
This year arrival was the most comfortable ever, thank you to a magic paper rectangle that granted me access to the parking behind the backstage village. What a delightful experience, to carry all my bags and stuff in the trunk of the car instead of over my shoulders, and in the suffocating heat that characterised Wednesday!
I might have missed that feeling of wonder and the shiver down the spine given by the sight of the pinnacles of the Orange Stage, but it was wiser to look at the road. And yes, the Orange Stage was still there despite the plans to retire it: one more year of its iconic shape and one more year for the lucky ducky to watch over the crowds.
The festival opened with the warmest day of the Summer so far: a very much Mediterranean 32°C, humidity, little annoying stingy bugs and a handful of names in the program that made you sweat all you can sweat to cross the festival grounds.
By the time the gates opened I was all set: hugs given and received by the many photographer friends that crowded the press area, cameras ready, hopes and dreams all rolled out for the upcoming four days.
My plan for the day had five names on it with room for improvisation and by the time I got to the new Media Center – in a much better location than the previous years – I had passes for three out of four of those on restricted stages, given that, as expected, Charlie XCX confirmed her no photo policy.
I started with the lighthearted funk of Kokoroko to move on to the metal of Jinjer, where I was not ready for the dissonance between the figure of the lead singer Tatiana Shmayluk and the wilderness of her growl. Interesting.
The first big name of the day was Fontaines D.C., that in just three years moved from the promising but limited capacity of Avalon to the bright lights and tens of thousands of people of the Orange Stage. While in 2022 I covered them more out of duty than interest, this time around, after they released one of my favorite albums of last year, I really wanted to feel the songs of Romance on my skin. This unfortunately didn’t happen: at first, we were allowed in the pit as per the usual first three songs, then pulled out even before the band went on stage and told we had to wait for the last three songs, but we could wait in the crowd and take some shots from there. OK, a bit of deal because it meant not being able to cover Wet Leg, but at least I had the excuse to listen to the whole concert. Excuse that lasted less than a song, because security came and extracted us saying we had to wait at the backstage entrance and that only five photographers were allowed to go back in. Which five? Who knows. Let’s wait. After a while the five became two and that was my cue to revert my original decision and go cover Wet Leg.
I still don’t understand the five (yes, in the end they accepted five) photographers limit when at the end of their set invited on stage a number of activists pro Palestine: don’t you want to have as much coverage as possible for such a political act?
Anyway, at that point I was in front of the Arena stage not sure I was looking at the right band: I remember Wet Leg with their clumsy nightgown-dresses out directly from Little House on the Prairie but tonight they showed up in slutty outfits worth of a pyjama party at some college sorority, a show off of muscles and hormones. What happened to you?
Archived Wet Leg, the most dreaded text of the day came in: “Photographers are NOT allowed in the pit for Deftones”: what shall I do? Go with the cameras among the crowd or just enjoy fully enjoy the set?
I opted for the second option and I rejoiced of every single note that was played on stage.
Chino Moreno was jumping and screaming and caressing the ears of the crowd like I’ve always seen him doing, the pounding rhythms of the music an iron fist wrapped in the velvet glove of his voice.
For full transparency, Deftones are one of my favorite bands and it’s difficult to remain objective reviewing their set, but it is a fact that they delivered a very solid performance, with a setlist that cherry picked hits and crowd favorites from their discography. From My Own Summer (Shove It) to 7 Words, we were brought on a dark, sexy journey that peaked with an emotional rendition of Change (In the House of Flies). Chino and his guitar as a silhouette against an artificial sunrise, the ups and downs of the soft voice against the electrical storm of the guitars “Now, you feel so alive / I’ve watched you change”.
Yes, Chino, we watched each other change over the years but tonight I’ve never felt so alive.
Let’s fast forward days two and three: the storm of Wednesday night dropped the temperatures to a more enjoyable festival weather and of the many names you can see the galleries below, here are few highlights.
On Thursday I had two non-negotiables: the first, Beth Gibbons, the fragile queen of trip-hop in her touching solo version, so intense, so intimate, despite the early afternoon slot and too many chatty people under the Arena tent; the second, Bright Eyes (at the exact same time of FKA Twigs), rock wins over trendy pop performer – yes, I might have missed some beautiful photo opportunities, but the moment Conor Oberst starts singing everything else doesn’t matter.
On Friday I had just a draft of a plan but isn’t the beauty of festivals to have the opportunity to discover new and unexpected acts?
The day started with Fujii Kaze, a pop artist at his first ever festival appearance outside of Japan. It was like watching a tea ceremony but played on a piano. He rigorously bowed to the crowd at the end of every song.
The day ended with the most antithetical act to the one I started it with: John Cxnnor x Witch Club Satan. From the candid politeness of Japan to the doom of this Danish-Norwegian combo. Tribal dances, gloomy atmosphere, naked female creatures: a show that transcended music to become a pagan ritual. Given the dense crowd under the small tent of the Gaia stage, that was the place to be and it didn’t disappoint.
And finally we got to Saturday, the day that I was longing for the most with two of the big names (for my personal taste in music) of the festival: Anohni and the Johnsons and Nine Inch Nails.
The hopes to be able to shoot those sets were basically none and yet, life can always surprise you: both artists agreed to have photographers, with special conditions, but still enough to give you two photo galleries to scroll through.
Anohni is the shy caterpillar that over the years transformed into a fragile butterfly: you can really see her discomfort of being on stage and at the same time that discomfort becomes her power. Hands, eyes, every movement, every expression gain a meaning and a communicative force that hit deep where the feelings are. The stage looked like an aquarium, with scenes underwater of the great barrier reef and between song, testimonies of scientists and environmental activists that explained how we’re putting our world at risk. The one of Anohni and the Johnsons isn’t just a concert, it’s an act of love towards our planet and the moving melodies she sings some sort of CPR for our dry hearts.
As the day was fading into a bright nordic night, the Arena stage was taken by a different kind of expressive force, the massive power of Nine Inch Nails.
Wrapped in a bubble of light and smoke, the creature of Trent Reznor slammed their songs and their fierce energy straight into the face of the thousands gathered under the Arena tent. No frills, no distractions, just a solid hard wall of raging sound.
After a relatively soft beginning with The Beginning of the End, it was with Wish that the frenzy started: strobe lights, the band on stage seemed possessed and, I have to admit, it was so damn difficult to stay focused on the photography rather than jump and scream on top of my lungs.
“Now doesn’t it make you feel better?” Reznor sings in March of the Pigs – yes: I’ve never felt better!
Finished the first three songs, a quick run to the press center to drop my cameras and I was back at the edge of the crowd. It started raining, I didn’t care: Heresy, Copy of A, Closer, Every Day Is Exactly the Same… who cared of getting a bit wet when you were witnessing such a concert?
The sky stopped dripping and we were going towards the end of the set. There were two songs I really really really loved to hear and the fairy godmother of the concertgoers granted my wish: back to back we had the song of David (Bowie) and the song for David (Lynch), I’m Afraid of Americans and The Perfect Drug. Maybe not so mainstream like The Hand That Feeds or Head Like a Hole, but so emotionally impactful.
Time’s up, one last song to play and it cannot be other than the immortal, desperate Hurt. Piano, voice, the storm of the synths and it was over. Magnificent.
Goodnight, Roskilde. See you again next year.
click on the images to see the full gallery
clicca sulle immagini per vedere tutte le foto del concerto
