Muse, Nine Inch Nails, Weezer and more bring the heat to Madrid’s Mad Cool for a weekend of sun, songs and sangria…
It's mad, it's cool, it's Mad Cool! Returning for its eighth year, the Madrid weekender is yet again packing one of the most stacked line-ups from across the worlds of rock, pop and beyond, with megastars Muse, Nine Inch Nails and Olivia Rodrigo at the top of the bill, flanked by everyone from blackflip enthusiast Benson Boone to French electro faves Justice to genuine icon Alanis Morissette.
With the mercury passing the 30ºC mark with ease, we donned our caps and suncream and headed to the custom-built Iberdrola Music to soak up the sun and sounds of some of the biggest and brightest stars in rock and alternative. And got stuck into the margarita slush puppies…
Los Angeles alt.rock prodigy Blondshell kicks the weekend off with their enchanting yet laid-back slacker vibes, bringing a much-needed chill to the baking Madrid heat. Standing centre stage in killer shades and some Metallica shorts (which we’re quite jealous of), Sabrina Teitelbum very much puts the cool in Mad Cool. As more fans gather around the Ouigo stage, which feels bigger than last year, Blondshell’s incredible voice soars through the Spanish air, with the heartbreaking Arms and T&A captivating the crowd, giving way to the sensational one-two of Change and Olympus. A lot of hype has been building around Blondshell over the past year, and with dreamy performances like this seemingly coming with ease, the expectation of great things is more than justified.
Packing out one of the twin indoor stages, rough-and-ready garage punks FIDLAR offer something with less polish but no less punch than the main stage acts here today. With the faint whiff of weed in the air, mainman Zac Carper splits the crowd for a wall of death – that swiftly becomes more of a mashed-up melee – as the festival boozehounds have turned out in their droves for a party. Always feeling like they’re clinging on for dear life and one wrong note could send the whole show crashing down, there’s a distinct chaotic edge to the LA road dogs, like they’re playing right on the limit at all times. Running through a raucous 40oz On Repeat – complete with a quick taste of Weezer’s Sweater Song, but meowing the verse – and the always knockout Cheap Beer, bodies pile out of the tent drenched in a mix of sweat, lager and adrenaline. What more could you ask for?
Like Gracie Abrams before him on the other main stage, the Godfather Of Punk has been hit with technical difficulties that are rumoured to be heat related. Iggy does his best to keep the hordes entertained with his silent fist pumping and gyrating – like the oddest mime artist you’ve ever seen in Covent Garden – but when things finally get going around 20 minutes late, it does feel like some of the anticipation and excitement has been sucked out of the atmosphere. But Iggy’s faced worse in his career, and at a remarkable 78 years old he’s not going to let some wires and plug sockets ruin a good time, swaggering and crooning his way through fan-favourites Gimme Danger, The Passenger and Lust For Life in quick succession, and a positively primal I Wanna Be Your Dog. And while a large portion of the crowd do disperse toward the end to get a good spot for Muse, there’s an air of gratitude and appreciation for a man who’s spent the past six decades on the road, and still showing no sign of stopping.
Having replaced Kings Of Leon at the last minute after frontman Caleb Followill shattered his heel, Muse don’t so much hit Mad Cool as a band with something to prove, but as an eye-wrecking reminder of just how confident and competent they are at closing the show. With no new record to promote, this is the definitive greatest hits set, (albeit with a dystopian, militaristic narrative) spanning everything from early single Unintended to the always massive Plug In Baby to Matt Bellamy solo joint Hanging In Victory Square. Surrounded by floating screens and mesmerising light show, and a whole heap of fire, the Teignmouth trio fill the vast de facto main stage with ease, like veterans of the game. Amongst all the more proggy bits that do lose some of the crowd, it only takes evergreen bangers like Time Is Running Out and Knights Of Cydonia to shift things back into gear. And as the big firework ending of Starlight takes things to its explosive climax, Muse exit as conquering heroes, having won the day yet again. No doubt they'll be back on their own terms very soon.
“Are we headlining tonight?” asks Rivers Cuomo, as the clock nudges toward 1am, and tens of thousands of fans flock in from Muse’s finale on the sister stage. Judging by the reception to beloved hits like Hash Pipe, My Name Is Jonas and the timeless Surf Wax America, you could make a reasonable argument that they deserve proper top billing. Charmingly making the effort to bust out as much high school Spanish as he can muster – “Hola, Madrid España. Buenos noches. El tiempo para Weezer…” – there’s a joy in the air, as Madrid sways to the self-deprecating alt.rock anthems of Sweater Song and In The Garage, although it’s quite surreal not seeing them in the traditional sunny afternoon festival slot, and now under a full moon.
Although it’s a Blue Album-heavy set – which no-one is complaining about – the nerd rock legends find time to dig into their coloured catalogue through El Scorcho, Pork And Beans and somewhat deep cut I Just Threw Out The Love Of My Dreams. Closing on Buddy Holly to rapturous reception, Weezer end day one of Mad Cool as the definite highlight, matching the blissed-out, sun-kissed vibe with songs that still speak to generations of rock fans. Leaving the stage to Ozzy Osbourne’s Mama I’m Coming Home blasting over the PA in a salute to the recently retired legend is the icing on the spectacled cake.
Shrouded in a red mist as they take to the stage, following strains of I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire (that song you know from the Fallout game series), Boston hard rockers Dead Poet Society have filled out the Mahou Cinco Estrellas tent with those looking for some good old fashioned hard rock on an early evening. Well-oiled and tight as hell coming as their 20-somethingth show in a Eurofest run, pounding opener .Intoodeep. awakens something in the Madrid crowd who’ve been itching to mosh all day. The frantic .swvrm. takes things to another level still, with bassist Dylan Brenner hurling himself in circles like he's trapped in a washing machine. By the time the bombastic HURT rolls round, to a huge ovation, and emphatic closer Running Circles, the tent is practically buzzing. Yet another victory for a band finally finding their footing.
There’s an uncharacteristic chill in the air, which feels tailor-made for the next 90 minutes of gothic goodness. Following in the footsteps of last night’s headliners Muse, Trent Reznor and co. unfortunately don’t pull as big of a crowd, but more than make up for it in the scale and vision of their blustering, blinding performance. Doused in more smoke than a pub in the ’90s, a staggering light display, and stylish black and white video screens, the main stage is transformed into an industrial utopia. Oozing cool from every pore, the punishing powerhouse are all attitude and grit, as they delve into all corners of their musical history, from the brooding Find My Way to squelchy fan-favourite Closer to a hypnotic Copy Of A.
Comfortably the heaviest band of the entire weekend, those of a more metallic persuasion of fully locked-in, knowing that they’re witnessing one of the most important artists in our world still at the peak of their powers, able to put on shows of this magnitude and magnetism. And while there’s very little stage patter from Trent besides introducing the band, when you’re packing such a stunning final run of The Perfect Drug, The Hand That Feeds, Head Like A Hole and Hurt, just leave the music music to do the talking. Putting night two to bed with a wall of sound, as Madrid stand like statues in stunned silence with ears ringing and skin tingling, it’s a visceral reminder of just how good the industrial legends are.
Remarkably, for a band this far into their tenure, this is PVRIS’ first ever show in Spain. And for the bulging crowd crammed inside the Mahou Cinco Estrellas stage, who were queueing for more than half and hour beforehand, Madrid are more than ready to make up for lost time. Coming off the back of an epic 2000trees headline set, tonight is a stripped-back 40 minutes that never loses momentum, with the capacity crowd belting out every word with Lynn Gunn in unison, who looks every bit a superstar and simultaneously bowled over by the raucous reception. As she and the crowd share heart hand signs, there’s a genuine feeling of love fizzing in the air, and like a more alt. version of tonight’s headliner Olivia Rodrigo, the PVRIS vocalist has found herself as the voice and inspiration for a generation of young female fans who have turned out in force to show their adoration for tracks like HYPE ZOMBIES, Hallucinations and the stone cold stunner of My House – introduced as ‘Mi Casa’. As the marquee bursts with the communal cry of ‘This shit is so exhausting!’ to closer GODDESS – a feeling everyone can attest to at the minute – that original connection somehow feels even deeper right now, and you can be sure PVRIS will return to España sooner rather than later.
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