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It’s quite a bizarre concept - mixing a live gig and running - but the bigwigs that be at sports superpower Nike clearly thought it would be a damn brilliant idea. The premise of tonight’s event in a bitterly cold and wet South London is this: 1,000 of London’s best young athletes compete in a 1kilometre time trial watched by their friends and family in the confines of the main arena of Battersea Park. Then, once the winners are announced by some guest athletes, The Enemy and Dizzee Rascal play a set of their hit tunes to those in attendance.
Good on paper, yes. But after an hour-and-a-half, freezing my balls off sitting in the aircraft hanger-esque room, while friends and family cheer on their cherished ones and a DJ spins song after song of ultra-commercial shite hip-hop tunes, I’m starting to get itchy feet. Perhaps the biggest cardinal sin of the night though is that in keeping with promoting healthy living, it’s a ‘dry event’ (ie NO ALCOHOL!), meaning that I’ve only got a bottle of evian to help me get through the seemingly never-ending proceedings. But it’s okay, not even those annoying presenters are going to put a dampener on the fact that Mr Rascal and The Enemy will be heading onstage.
Finally, three hours after arriving and plenty of razzmatazz, flashy screens and the overly drawn-out announcing of winners later, the ever cocky Tom Clarke and co. take to the stage. Only there’s a major problem – the sound is so dismal that it seems like The Enemy are performing in a tin can. Despite tearing into the opening ‘Away From Here’ with plenty of gusto, at points you’re almost straining to hear. ‘40 Days & 40 Nights’ fares little better, while by the time they rattle through the aptly titled ‘Had Enough’ we’re ready to give in. Of course, it doesn’t help much that the now vast hall is now sparsely populated, presumably as hundreds of youngsters have headed home to stick ice packs on their sore legs. Mr Clarke does try his best to muster up a bit of atmosphere (“congratulations to the winners, there’s a lot of fucking talented people in here”), but it falls flat. Only the ultimate ‘You’re Not Alone’ has any resonance.
It’s therefore up to Dizzee Rascal to spark a bit of life into proceedings. Thankfully, the sound man proves that he is alive and kicking by turning the volume up a notch – coupled with a typically energetic Dizzee bounding from side to side across the sprawling stage, at last I’m starting to think my presence was worthwhile. ‘Rinse Me Out’ is typically confrontational, ‘Pussy’ole Old School’ is dirty as fuck and Mr Rascal is on form blurting out plenty of clichéd lines (“This is for all my fucking criminals!” before ‘Sirens’). Even so, with the crowd getting thinner and thinner, you can’t help but feel that the music is merely an afterthought to the main running event. A nice idea to combine the two, but, sadly, it really hasn’t worked.
