There were a lot of pallid faces going through the gates to Creamfields this year, as packs of sniffer dogs and men with metal detectors swept through the queues. Finally in, the 15 hour affair rolled out infront of us with a trip to the Pimms bus and a nice big deckchair next to the main stage. Mark Ronson was first up and played to a very thin crowd, people choosing to have a sleep under marquees in anticipation of the start of the dance tents. His set was a bright and breezy run through of his ‘Versions’ album, and although it did not make the field jump, it made a great backdrop for people to drink their beer to. Kelis was incredibly dull, rolling through ‘Millionaire’ and ‘Milkshake’ with the gusto of a wet fart.
LCD Soundsystem did not get the ravers from their tents. Their early slot had a scattering of people doing congas to ‘Yeah’ and chucking each other to the floor, but the real fun was happening in the dance tents.
The Chibuku tent was like the twilight zone at 8pm. Fluorescent faces, dribbling huggy people and bodies strewn on the floor like it was the end of a 3-day stint. DJ Yoda over in the Beatdown tent had failed to get us moving, his hip-hop dragged like bricks and his more cheeky mixes were sadly left at home. Simian Mobile Disco fixed the situation, with mixes of ‘It’s The Beat’ thrown about through their set. Annoyingly they clashed with The Chemical Brothers, so off the troupes trekked back to a now heaving main stage.
The set catered for the discernable fan, playing less of the new and more of the old, although the opening ‘Do it Again’ and ‘Galvanise’ reeled everyone in from fans of ‘We Are The Night’ and to the men with their dummies and boiler suits. Their trademark digital backdrops of freaky clowns and running men took them through to classics such as ‘Star Guitar’ and ‘Hey Girl, Hey Boy’. It was not a back to back running of tracks, with samples from ‘Saturate’ weaving through, though the tune bizarrely never materialised. A trippy and sedated set, it still worked through their mind warping visuals and intricate mixing.
On the Myspace Happy Daze bus, the DJ blasted the 15 lucky souls on board with mainstream dance. Cheeky smokers puffed out of the back windows and curled up on the seats, like Grange Hill gone wrong. Next door, The Strongbow Rooms were home to Radioclit, big fans of M.I.A, Latin American house and all things springy. By now it had turned freezing and the hard house bunnies were jiggling frantically to stay warm.
By the end, the Tidy Hardcore tent was the warmest choice, and people piled in and jittered to Amber D until the sun came up and brought reality with it. A girl threw up all over our coach home then wept like a baby- the sign of a definitively good night.
