Kasabian turned Finsbury Park into one giant open-air celebration - with just enough organised chaos to keep the seismologists interested.
Sometimes the easiest decisions are the best ones. A Friday afternoon invitation to see Kasabian at Finsbury Park the following evening required roughly three seconds of deliberation. Saturday was free, the forecast promised one of those suspiciously rare occasions when the sun remembers London exists, and Kasabian have never exactly been in the business of disappointing a festival crowd. Declining simply wasn't an option.
By the time I'd navigated queues, security checks and whatever administrative purpose my "Kasabian Guest" wristband was supposed to serve (judging by its structural integrity, it was apparently designed to survive a nuclear winter - I eventually needed pliers to remove the thing), SOFY had already opened proceedings. From all accounts, she proved a lively and fitting choice to get the crowd moving before the marathon of music ahead.
One wildly overpriced Camden Hells later - my bank account bravely absorbing yet another festival-priced financial setback - I went in search of what could generously be described as a decent viewing spot.
Now, I'm usually more at home in venues where you can actually make eye contact with the band. Forty-five thousand people is a rather different proposition. "Good view" became a wonderfully elastic concept, largely meaning that the enormous video screens provided a significantly better perspective than the actual stage. It occasionally felt less like attending a concert and more like watching the world's loudest outdoor television.
Miles Kane arrived with his trademark swagger and effortless stage presence, reminding everyone why he's remained one of Britain's most dependable live performers. Songs like Rearrange and Don't Forget Who You Are landed exactly as they should. The K's followed with an energetic set that had their fans enthusiastically singing every word back at them, particularly during Glass Towns and Hometown. They may still be on the way up, but they clearly brought a sizeable contingent along for the ride.
Razorlight offered exactly what most people had turned up expecting: polished indie anthems delivered with practised ease. Golden Touch, Before I Fall to Pieces and America still possess the sort of effortless singalong quality that has comfortably outlived countless musical trends.
Louis Dunford provided a welcome change of pace. Mixing local storytelling with disarming sincerity, he gradually drew the crowd in before closing with The Angel and The Local, both greeted like old friends by a thoroughly appreciative audience.
With the final changeover under way, it seemed the ideal moment to take a breather. After several hours on my feet, a short sit-down felt less like laziness and more like sensible preparation for what everyone knew was coming next.
As the stage was prepared for Kasabian, the anticipation around Finsbury Park became almost tangible.
Opening with Club Foot was less a statement of intent than a declaration of controlled chaos. From Club Foot onwards, the crowd bounced with such collective commitment that it wouldn't have been remotely surprising if a nearby seismograph had mistaken Finsbury Park for the epicentre of a minor earthquake.
From there, it was one anthem after another. Underdog, Empire, Shoot The Runner, You're In Love With A Psycho and L.S.F. kept the momentum firmly in overdrive, while the newer material slotted seamlessly alongside the established classics, never feeling like an interruption to the party. The unexpected appearance of Goodbye Kiss - absent from the printed setlist - felt less like a surprise than a reminder of just how enviably deep Kasabian's catalogue has become.
Serge Pizzorno wore the sort of grin that suggested he wouldn't have swapped places with anyone. Whether commanding the stage or darting along the security lane in front of the barrier to get closer to the crowd, he seemed determined to shrink the distance between band and audience. Relaxed, charismatic and completely in his element, he made forty-five thousand people feel as though they were part of something far more intimate. It was a commanding performance without ever feeling forced, all effortless confidence rather than rock-star posturing.
For an outdoor show, the sound was remarkably good. The guitars sliced cleanly through the mix, while the rhythm section hit with enough force that the bass and drums weren't merely heard - they were felt somewhere around your diaphragm. Kasabian have always understood that rock music should occasionally be a physical experience, and Finsbury Park got the full treatment.
Standing right against the front barrier - albeit off to one side - I also had a front-row seat to another part of the evening's entertainment. Every few songs, security found themselves hoisting overheated or over-served punters across the barrier before escorting them to somewhere rather less hectic. It became something of a conveyor belt. Whether the culprit was the blazing sunshine, one pint too many or an enthusiastic visit to the Smirnoff stand remains open to debate. Personally, I'd put a fiver on all three.
By the time Fire arrived, any lingering sense of restraint had long since disappeared. Ending with Fire was hardly subtle, but subtlety has never been Kasabian's preferred language. By then, the entire park was bouncing, shouting and singing as though Monday morning had been permanently cancelled.
As the lights came up, a sea of slightly sweaty but thoroughly satisfied faces reluctantly drifted towards the nearest Tube station. I joined them, still wearing what must surely be the world's most indestructible festival wristband - and already wondering where I'd left the pliers.
Kasabian have long since reached the point where reinvention is largely beside the point. People come for the songs, the swagger and the sheer sense of joyous abandon, and on a glorious summer evening in Finsbury Park they delivered all three in abundance.
Some bands grow older gracefully. Kasabian have simply decided growing up is entirely optional - and on evidence like this, nobody in Finsbury Park seemed remotely interested in arguing otherwise.
Setlist
Kasabian:
Hey Jude (Intro)
Club Foot
Call
Hippie Sunshine
Underdog
Days Are Forgotten
Shoot the Runner
Empire
You're in Love With a Psycho (Justice vs Simian’s “We are your friends” outro)
Coming Back to Me Good
stevie (“The Doberman” outro)
Italian Horror
SUPERPOWERS
treat (Kendrick Lamar’s “Not like us” intro)
Vlad the Impaler
Release the Pressure (Calvin Harris & Kasabian song)
Goodbye Kiss (Not on written setlist)
L.S.F. (Lost Souls Forever)
Encore:
Ill Ray (The King)
Bless This Acid House
Fire
Louis Dunford:
Superman
Bossman
Billy Flynn of Bethnal Green
Rave Now Die Later
The Unlucky Ones
The Streets My Friends Died On (unreleased)
Lucy
The Angel
The Local
Razorlight:
Rip It Up
Golden Touch
Stumble and Fall
In the Morning
In the City
Before I Fall to Pieces
Somewhere Else
Don't Go Back to Dalston
Good Night
America
The K's:
Chancer
Gravestone
Hoping Maybe
Glass Towns
Black and Blue
Hometown
Sarajevo
Miles Kane:
Troubled Son
Rearrange
Coup de grace
Never Taking Me Alive
Inhaler
Without You
Sunlight in the Shadows
Don't Forget Who You Are
Come Closer
