Prior to Gaslight Anthem's performance with very-fucking-special-guest Bruce Springsteen came Portland's freshest buzz-band, Hockey.
The chipper pop group have a one of their biggest tours to date on the horizon, so what better way to kick off proceedings than in the sweatbox of the John Peel Stage at the greatest festival in the world.
Having been the focus point of some blog heavy musos as of late, it turns out that all this tattle-chatter has not been without a worthy end product. The four-piece hit the stage with a stockpile of poppy, climatic three-to-four minute new-wave excitements that induced frontman Benjamin Grubin into a knee-bending, arm flailing dance episode that looks like Freddie Mercury had given Orlando Weeks dance lessons - which, by the way, is in fact a good thing.
Past singles "Too Fake" and "Learn To Loose" greeted expectations with a comfortable funk-hug. And it was hard not to get excited, because lets face it, excitement is at times contagious, and Grubin was as excitable as I could have hoped for. Headband on and camp cavorts, centre stage seems a homely place to the bands vocalist, and judging by their album due out on August 22nd, he's going to be spending a lot more time up on such musical plinths.
What's truly exciting about this band, though, is that their reassuringly systematic songs are not as commercially pop as they first appear. There's a bubbling excitement beneath the seemingly simple surface that gradually liberated itself as the show progressed. They quite efficiently manage to breach a generic line that in the future will see tunes such as "Song Away" and "Work" cascade the pop-press as well as the alternative publications.
A grasp-full of funk-drive Stokes-y quirkiness layered with the ethical party stance of The Virgins means Hockey are going to have indie disco crowds getting their jive on way into the night.
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