You know where you are? You’re in the Czech Republic, baby! GN’R, Slipknot, Linkin Park and more spend five days rocking the people of Rock for People…
It might not have the name recognition of a Hellfest or Rock am Ring on our side of the English Channel, but Czechia’s Rock for People has spent three decades establishing a huge reputation in Central Europe. This year's happening finds the festival celebrating its 30th anniversary with an extra day, increased capacity and its biggest line-up yet.
A slate of legendary headliners and a fine selection of cult favourites and rising stars justify the first word of the event’s name, but the bookers’ remit is admirably wide. So you’ll find Mercury-winning indie types English Teacher and Finland’s 2023 Eurovision runner-up Käärijä lining up alongside the brutality of Fit For An Autopsy and Signs Of The Swarm, while Norwegian pop singer Sigrid plays the main stage before Biffy and Linkin Park.
Even with a record 50,000 punters heading to its home on a repurposed military airfield outside Hradec Králové, a small town 115km east of Prague, RfP remains less than half the size of Download. The atmosphere is laidback and welcoming, the site is easy to walk round and the beers and food are plentiful and – by British festival standards – cheap. No wonder a group from Derby that K! meets during Poppy’s set describes it as a “hidden gem”.
But let’s get stuck into the main ingredient: five days packed with all manner of noisy delights…
If we were in a boozer rather than a small marquee in Czechia, you’d quite reasonably fear the consequences of looking at Harry Wilkinson the wrong way. Happily, his air of menace is put to positive use as frontman of mad Mancs Maruja. With sax as the lead instrument, they’re capable of intense spiritual grace and jarring, atonal noise, like Brit jazzers The Comet Is Coming on a steady diet of noise-rock. It’s a concoction that hits hardest on 10-minute single Look Down On Us, with Harry’s hip-hop-informed vocal flow calling out breadheads and enforcing the power in community. As saxophonist Joseph Carroll gets the pit started, a gauntlet is laid down for the whole festival.
“Look at this fucking walkway, man – this is insane!” Bobby Nerves, vocalist with Bad Nerves, might not be used to big stages, but he’s certainly not intimidated. He’s straight down that ramp, mugging for the cameras while his band charge through a set evoking ’70s NYC cool, the showmanship of Swedish punk’n’roll and even the cheeky rugrat charm of early Supergrass. USA and You’ve Got The Nerve are irresistible party-starters, while Antidote is introduced – inaccurately and perhaps with tongue in cheek – as the fastest song ever written. If not, maybe the funnest, along with the rest of this high-octane set.
Even under cover, RfP is already sweltering on its first afternoon – not that you’d know it from the big black coat enveloping vocalist Rizz. Along with guitarist Matt James, this core VOWWS duo are the first of many Australians at the festival, but their sound is more redolent of their adopted hometown of LA, specifically of a seedy, late night goth club populated by people with funny contact lenses and fishnets on their arms. The Depeche Mode-tastic One By One closes the set with the icy electro-rock authority of these nocturnal creatures stamped on the place. At 4pm…
More Aussies await on the main stage, but the vibes are distinctly different. Sonically, Sydney-dwellers Polaris are one of the more instantly agreeable prospects on the metalcore circuit, an impression that only gains weight while witnessing vocalist Jamie Hails lead his band amiably through 45 minutes of chug and melody. Nightmare suggests very little now separates this bunch from big-hitters like Architects, while Hypermania packs a mighty punch all of its own. Even greater success is surely in their sights.
The sort of idiosyncratic, shape-shifting auteur that defined ’80s pop is rarely sighted in 21st century metal. Unless you’re looking at Poppy, who resembles a malevolent Madonna, or perhaps Billie Eilish caught in heavy machinery, highlighted by a pummelling BLOODMONEY, while Concrete offers J-Pop sugar rush laced with epic soloing. House Of Protection’s Stephen Harrison jumps onstage for the centre’s falling out – the closest you’ll hear to powerviolence all week, no shit – while on they’re all around us Poppy’s vocals even start to sound like industrial noise weirdos The Body. Literally all sorts of brilliant.
Poppy barely speaks to her audience, but Jordan Benjamin – aka grandson – has plenty to say. He speaks of unity, of fighting the weaponisation of hatred, of us all joining together as, “One voice, one heartbeat, one revolution.” Fittingly, his set references a history of musical protest, from the Rage Against the Machine stylings of a beefed-up Oh No!!! to a cover of Bob Dylan’s Masters Of War. He’s neither the first (Maruja) nor the last (Kneecap) to stand up for Palestine today, but he does so to the largest crowd – one whose vociferous calls for an encore proves that he’s got RfP totally on-side.
Later in the week, K! will witness an acrobatic display from Losers Cirque Company on this stage, but Sydney smashers Speed have their own way of setting bodies in motion. “This music was made for moshing,” declares vocalist Jem Siow, and he doesn’t have to tell the sweaty, up-for-it crowd twice. Impassioned speeches from Jem on their love for hardcore, and continuing surprise that “music that we made for our fucking friends” is allowing them to tour the world emphasises their band of brothers charm even as their relentless riffs kick your ruddy head in.
On the huge screens either side of the stage, Avenged Sevenfold are being rendered as skewed Barbies and Kens in real time. Any unwary festival-goers currently engaging in psychedelic experiences are gonna be having a very bad time of it as Mattel’s prog-thrash unfurls.
On the other hand, anyone who caught A7X at Download last year will be feeling rather less discombobulated. We’re into the victory lap stages of the Life Is But A Dream… campaign, and only a few tweaks distinguish tonight’s set from the one they brought to Donington 12 months ago. Hail To The King and Nightmare remain sufficiently imbued with the chunky heaviness of peak-fame Metallica to demonstrate why, of their peers from that early 2000s intake of American metal, this lot are the only ones to retain headliner status at this heightened level.
This is a chance to witness the slickness, then. As the insidious groove and pop-metal chorus of Afterlife rise into the night, this lot really seem too big, too professional, to fail. The former punks with silly names are now such seasoned performers that danger feels in short supply. If a young(ish) Tom Cruise had played a rock singer in a movie, his performance would have looked remarkably like the one given by frontman M. Shadows this evening.
As it goes, things do get rather bogged down mid-set. Buried Alive’s power ballad moves are belatedly rescued by the song’s heavier coda, while the prog odyssey that is The Stage proves something of an endurance test. Things get back on course with the divebombing riffs of Nobody – just one example of the way that the relatively risk-taking approaches of Life Is But A Dream… continue to breathe fresh life into the A7X agenda. It’s there at the set’s very beginning, with the System Of A Down-go-musical theatre of opener Game Over, and again near the end when Cosmic eases that chemically-engaged punter into an unusually blissful place.
Ultimately, though, it’s one of the night’s very oldest songs that finds the band at their best. Twenty years old, Bat Country still sounds supercharged with the ambition and attitude that catapulted this lot into the big leagues. Everything, from the huge stadium metal to the freaky adventures of LIBAD…, can be heard in embryonic form here. Their next moves remain unwritten, but if they can tap into that youthful vigour and retain their latter-day sense of adventure there could still be excitement to come.
It’s the end of the festival’s first day. You’ve moshed to a bunch of bands. Drink may have been taken. Flagging? Tip: go and see House Of Protection. This all-action duo bring supercharged entertainment, with guitarist/vocalist Stephen Harrison playing second song Learn To Forget from the pit and drummer/vocalist Aric Improta scaling the lighting rig during Godspeed. Fuse and Fire both inject the wild rave energy of imperial period Prodigy into catchy modern rock, and as It’s Supposed To Hurt brings proceedings to a close, the pair’s speedy set even proves short enough for the fleet of foot to catch the second half of Kneecap’s night-closing performance elsewhere.
Static Dress have the unenviable task of waking up Rock for People, but both parties acquit themselves well – the Leeds lads with a solid set of heavier-than-average emo, the crowd by getting a small circle-pit going before noon. Aside from singer Olli Appleyard’s matching shirt and eyeshadow, this is a band whose music largely screams for itself, with recent singles face. and crying proving that they’re very much still on the up.
The concern here is that Superheaven’s woozy mixture of shoegaze and post-hardcore might just be too subtle a prospect for an early afternoon main stage crowd. As it turns out, RfP is ready to be soothed rather than cajoled, while the Pennsylvanians gradually ramp up the heft as their set unfurls. Established hits like Leach and Youngest Daughter already sounded nostalgic on their release, while a clutch of cuts from last year’s self-titled comeback prove they’ve lost none of that timeless knack for warm superfuzz.
Fancy something a little different? How about a drumming druid, a bass-toting plague doctor and a What We Do In The Shadows-style vampire with a Flying V, led by a big-haired singer in chainmail bikini and thigh-boots? Castle Rat deal in lurid fantasy psych-doom, delivered with low-budget but larger-than-life stagecraft. Sheer chutzpah and confidence in their lore expunges any whiff of Spinal Tap, inspiring total devotion in the rapt crowd. Come for the riffs, stay for the swordfight with a rat-masked Grim Reaperess. Check this band out at your earliest opportunity, before they make an inevitable step-up to big stages.
There’s a no-frills aspect to Dead Poet Society’s alt.rock. These aren’t songs that take time getting to the point, instead getting those hooks into your head as soon as possible. How could I love you? exemplifies that direct appeal, while .swvrm. shows their nu-metal side. Lo Air and .CoDA. throw blues stylings into the mix, allowing Jack Underkofler’s voice to shine. A closing HURT sets the seal on a performance that made more than a few new friends in Czechia.
Making their RfP debut this afternoon, Dvne must surely have exceeded their baggage allowance on the flight over from their native Edinburgh, so packed is their set with classy heaviness. There’s no guarantee that lengthy prog-sludge workouts won’t go over the heads of unfamiliar punters, but while there is plenty to engage the cerebrum here, there’s also a mighty, Mastodon-esque punch. Impassioned vocals, particularly from French-born guitarist Victor Vicart, provide a mesmerising point of entry for the curious. Killer.
Dayseeker arrive on the main stage with the most pop-forward set this side of Sigrid. According to vocalist Rory Rodriguez, this is their first time playing not just RfP, but any European fest, and it’s not unfair to suggest that the crowd is curious rather than committed today. The memorable toplines of Pale Moonlight and Dreamstate, not to mention a cover of Evanescence’s My Immortal, catch the attention. But by definition, the smoother music gets, the less edge it has – and Dayseeker’s grooves are very smooth indeed.
Uncompromising, unbiddable and viscerally engaging, IDLES show RfP there’s a different way to approach a main stage set. Colossus is a gnarled slow-build of an opener that refuses to bend to expectations, while a feral blast of Mother nails their anti-fascist colours to the mast. Speaking of which, singer Joe Talbot gets righteously annoyed at an unfortunate punter who keeps waving a St. George’s flag. You’d think their distinctively British outlook might get lost in translation, but they still inspire circle-pits to a tune about ‘a heathen from Eton’, while the pro-immigrant terrace chant of Danny Nedelko cuts across national borders. An absolute, unstoppable triumph.
As evening gradually falls, Sun//Eaters Lorna Shore lay waste to RfP’s second stage, probably unaware of the hilarious incongruity of witnessing this total onslaught occur under a logo more associated with meal deals and Clubcard points. Into The Earth and latest single Oblivion show why crossover success is in these lads’ grasp, even if their grandiose deathcore prioritises maximalist brutality over obvious hooks – nobody is returning to their tents tonight unable to dislodge Welcome Back, O’ Sleeping Dreamer from their head. Rewarded with a huge reaction from a sizeable crowd, Lorna Shore send the sun packing and leave this field reeling.
As the tension-building intro tape of the pulsating theme from cheeseball ’80s action series Knight Rider gives way to the familiar disruption of 742617000027, RfP collectively braces itself for what is to come from Slipknot. And just as well: (sic) might not be an unexpected opener, but this rendition is genuinely off-the-hook, the sound of a band violently unleashed. People = Shit follows, if anything even more feral in its delivery. Throw in Gematria (The Killing Name) and we have a troika of album-opening barnburners, cumulatively arguing that Slipknot have always been a thrash band at heart.
Their use of masks was an undeniably canny way to get attention in the early days, but what you probably wouldn’t have predicted in 1999 was that these visual appendages would retain the ability to unsettle 26 years later. So even Wait And Bleed, by some margin the most commercially assimilable tune here, gains a creepy edge from being crooned out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre chic of Corey Taylor’s head-covering.
The talismanic Clown remains on an extended sabbatical to care for an ill family member, and of course his absence is felt, his trash can set pulled onstage and on occasion given a damn good hiding by fellow percussionist Michael ‘Tortilla Man’ Pfaff. If there’s a little iconoclasm going spare, Sid Wilson absorbs it, not least on a mid-set glitchcore remix of Tattered & Torn.
This break in proceedings comes to a violent end when the rest of the ’Knot return for a destructive airing of The Heretic Anthem, sending Czechia’s maggots into meltdown. The crowd is huge, incidentally, and right now they’re going 666 shades of mental. The Devil In I keeps things accessibly demonic, before Unsainted and Duality push their fingers into everyone’s ears to close the main set.
That isn’t it, of course: the Iowans return for a hotly-demanded encore with three deathless debut cuts still in their arsenal. Spit It Out is another tune which has only accumulated power in the last quarter-century, while Surfacing’s collision of hip-hop techniques and industrial heft offers a vision of what rap-metal could have been. Finally, Scissors ends things deep in the dirt, its cutting edge favoured over a more anthemic choice for a show-closer.
Slipknot’s illustrious history has included many iconic shows, so tonight might not go down in their annals of history – but to anyone here, it will live long in their hivemind memory.
At RfP, there’s always more fun to be had on other stages after the headliners bow out. Later in the weekend, the likes of Perturbator and grime MC P Money will provide small hours entertainment for hardy night owls; tonight Dublin electro-noise trio YARD draw ever-growing numbers to a tent more often used for daytime talks. As the floor fills, the pied piper beats get harder and industrial-tinged, sometimes approximating the sex dungeon vibes of HEALTH. Along with outfits as varied as Scaler and Teeth Of The Sea, YARD are part of a vanguard finding new routes to electronic nirvana.
One of many British hopefuls showing their wares to RFP, hotly-tipped quintet Defects have arrived with a fully-formed version of modern metal to display. Chuggy riffs and melodic choruses might not be an unheard-of combination, but a set drawn primarily from last year’s Modern Error debut reveals clear mastery of the form. Just as importantly in this context, they build a confident rapport with the audience, whether from vocalist Tony Maue’s easy banter or unscripted moments like lead guitarist Luke Genders visibly enjoying kicking a beachball back into the crowd during Heresy. Ones to watch, for sure.
Lake Malice singer Alice Guala seems right at home here, rocking an anime-aligned crowd of the faithful and the curious with star-power and energy to burn. The band’s electro-rock keeps things rowdy on the hyperpop-punk of Magic Square and Scatterbrain’s supercharged beats. Persistent problems with their in-ear monitors might prove a hindrance onstage, but there’s no communication breakdown in the way their music connects with an the audience, provoking a wholesomely frantic response that leaves closing tunes Stop The Party and Bloodbath both inaccurately-named.
‘I wanna know whose side you’re on,’ demands Spiritual Cramp frontman Michael Bingham on opening tune Blowback. There’s no need to consider this too deeply: the sheer driving energy of the Cali sextet’s testifying garage punk will win you over in seconds. Like former touring buddies Bad Nerves, there’s some common ground with The Hives here, but with choreographed stagecraft substituted for Michael’s dry wit and lead-swinging charisma. Talkin’ On The Internet and Better Off This Way are just two absolute bangers that’ll rattle your head for days.
It’s lovely, if unexpected, that Paleface Swiss growler Marc Zellwegger takes a moment to acknowledge and compliment the exotic floral décor inside RfP’s biggest tent. Unexpected, because he spends most of his time smashing through the likes of Nail To The Tooth speaking in deathcore tongues, and leading his band through fun but lowest common denominator moshathons like I Am A Cursed One. On Best Before: Death, they launch the festival’s – and quite possibly the world’s – dumbest sing-along, an achievement entirely fitting with their knuckledragging charms.
In marked contrast to what has come before, Amira Elfeky’s vocals alone bring a sensual quality to proceedings right from opener Take Me Under. This is widescreen modern rock, with some definite Evanescence vibes and, as things get crunchier, an unmistakable nu-metal energy. This is music to transport you somewhere else – even if those spilling out of the over-subscribed tent find themselves distracted by an aerobatic display from The Flying Bulls in the skies above. Still, there’s no tearing your eyes and ears away from tunes as memorable as Forever Overdose, and this tremendous artist will rarely struggle for attention.
Deafheaven’s Lonely People With Power is surely in contention for Album Of The Year lists already, but will its chilly blend of black metal and shoegaze (two genres not notable for crowd participation) translate to a European festival stage? By the time a fist-pumping Magnolia hits two songs in, it’s clear that these emotional journeys still resonate with a non-partisan audience. Frontman George Clarke’s slightly camp stage presence certainly helps, but really it’s the sheer quality found in tunes like Dream House and Winona which ensure this band leave RfP as conquering heroes.
“Where’s Frankie?” Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones has temporarily lost sight of Mr. Carter, currently held aloft in the crowd. Frank, for his part, is looking slightly sheepish, as if fearing a dressing-down from his three dodgy uncles. You wouldn’t, needless to say, have got this with John Lydon.
Forty-eight years since the release of Never Mind The Bollocks, and nearly 6,000 miles from their subsequent onstage implosion in San Francisco, nobody is expecting the filth and fury of the legendary punks’ original tenure to be recaptured tonight. A band who originally thrived on chaos and violence are now enjoying an unexpected jaunt around the world in front of audiences here to celebrate rather than confront.
Crowdsurfing aside, this is actually a pretty restrained performance from Frank. Instead, the one-time wild-eyed Gallows loose cannon quite rightly here to pay respect to these musicians and their songs. He doesn’t mimic Johnny Rotten’s Old Man Steptoe stage presence, but he does follow the vocals pretty faithfully. On the big-hitters (the opening Holidays In The Sun, Pretty Vacant, God Save The Queen) it’s an approach that works well. There are other bands these days to stir up controversy and take the heat for it, most notably Kneecap, while IDLES offer a more up-to-date dismantling of the country’s prejudices and complacency. Rightly or wrongly, but almost inevitably, the Pistols catalogue are now standards of the kind they once demolished – like My Way, played tonight with Frank taking the Sid Vicious role.
Bodies is perhaps the only real casualty of this transformation, its originally jaw-dropping mixture of spite and transgression losing something through the passage of time. After post-punk, hardcore, thrash, grind and powerviolence, it’s more obvious than ever that the foundation of these songs is simple three-chord rock’n’roll – nothing wrong with that, but a form that has long been superseded in terms of extremity and shock value. Funnily enough, it’s some of the relatively less-garlanded tunes, notably No Feelings and Problems, that come closest to smashing through the nostalgia into something more provocative.
None of this, though, is to take away from the pleasure of seeing Steve, drummer Paul Cook and bassist Glen Matlock get to play to larger crowds than they ever managed in their brief original existence. The bow they take after a show-closing Anarchy In The UK is simply lovely. And the weird thing is, once the last power chords have rung out, the power of these tunes of ancient discord endures.
Given that there are people here whose parents weren’t born when Never Mind The Bollocks came out, it’s perhaps unsurprisingly to head to the other end of the runway and find a headliner-size crowd already set for While She Sleeps. Not that the Sheffield mob need any special circumstances to attract an audience. Tonight’s show is simply the latest step in a steady ascent to join Bring Me The Horizon and Architects at Brit metal’s freshest mountaintop. A set packed with favourites and guaranteed party-starters like Four Walls and SLEEPS SOCIETY closes Friday with a mighty wallop.
Brits out of Hell Creeper take the stage with aplomb, even as lead vocalist William Von Ghould winkingly acknowledges the blazing sun as “not very suitable for vampires”. Opener Cry To Heaven is the sort of atmospheric banger most bands would kill to close their sets with, while new tune Headstones gravely points towards a bright (dark?) future. Meanwhile, older number Down Below sounds like The Lost Boys taking a road trip to New Jersey – The Gothlight Anthem, anyone? – and The Ballad Of Spook & Mercy tilts at the Nick Cave songbook by way of AFI. How many sleeps till Halloween?
They may be winding things down career-wise, but Stray From The Path are as wound up as ever today. Needful Things remains a powerful call to arms, and righteous fury fuels the entire set. The New Yorkers certainly haven’t called time because all the things they’ve raged against have been defeated, and the venom with which they deliver Fortune Teller shows their exit shouldn’t be mistaken for acquiescence. Catch them on their farewell tour for one last raised fist knees-up.
Between bands, the Europa 2 Stage makes a cool place to shelter from the relentless heat. While a portion of these shade-seekers swiftly depart, a healthy crowd remains when post-hardcore veterans Thrice take the stage. The soaring emo chorus of The Artist In The Ambulance offers an early highlight, while Black Honey seemingly has the majority of the audience getting their phones out. If some of what happens in between feels a smidge workmanlike, this bunch are at least masters of their craft.
Like Monty Python regenerating into Aussie metalheads, Battlesnake are a knowingly silly band. But if the general presentation – deliberately shitty costumes, a pink keytar, that sort of thing – screams comedy, the punchline is a set of irony-slaying tunes pitched somewhere between Judas Priest and thrash. The likes of Sanctum Robotus and Murder Machine are instantly memorable, and it’s refreshing to see kids leaving the pit with massive grins rather than livid bruises. It all ends with Billy O’Key scaling the lighting rig clad only in speedos, before giving guitarist Ben Frank a piggyback into the pit for a triumphant cover of AC/DC’s Let There Be Rock.
Aside from the dubious pleasures of watching three pale-faced Scots gradually develop sunburn in real time, much of the joy of watching Biffy at this level is seeing how they contort their more angular impulses into a stadium rock setting. On the one hand, Mountains could be a Coldplay song if not for the sense of urgency. More pertinently, Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies, with its violin-assisted, post-rock Bond theme intro, is as huge as it is weird, while the sunny math-pop of Bubbles hits every sweet spot going. Just gotta hope they packed the aftersun.
Necessary Evil, with its nu-metal stomp and ‘It’s my party and I’ll die when I want to’ refrain, perfectly encapsulates the ghoulish appeal of Motionless In White. Tunes as strong as Slaughterhouse, assisted tonight by Stray From The Path drummer Craig Reynolds, eminently justify their primetime billing, but vocalist Chris Motionless seems genuinely and winningly grateful for the crowd’s rabid response. Slowies like Masterpiece provide variety, but it’s fearsome metalcore moments like Meltdown which guarantee this lot still have a wild future ahead.
There are those who’ve seized on any setback to portray Linkin Park as a spent force. Well, Czechia didn’t get the memo. Slipknot’s crowd was huge; this is bigger. An accomplice informs K! that there are about 50 people watching ace LA post-punk pervs Sextile over at the Petr Svoboda Stage; Czech alt-pop band Meluzína have presumably rallied some local support on the Conference Stage. That leaves about 99 per cent of RfP’s 50,000 attendees here for what seems to be, even in such exalted company, the most hotly-awaited headliner of the festival.
Emily Armstrong has one of the most unenviable jobs in rock right now. You could read certain lyrics from comeback single The Emptiness Machine as a pre-emptive strike against the predictable trolls. In fairness, she is still growing into her role as co-leader of the band, but RfP has her back. And in one of the evening’s more unforeseen developments, she reacts to a fan holding up a sign saying ‘EMILY CUT MY HAIR’ by shaving most of his head with a set of clippers. “We gotta leave some at the back for the party, baby!”
Spontaneous barbershop activity aside, Linkin Park are on defiant form as they deliver a career-spanning set. Somewhere I Belong, One Step Closer, Numb… most of the hits are present and correct, along with confident airings of From Zero material. Of the latter, Two Faced stands out for its rap-punk verses and excellent chorus, while Let You Fade and Heavy Is The Crown are deemed sufficiently potent to form half of the encore. Up From The Bottom, with Emily on guitar, is another fresh highlight.
Mike Shinoda remains the glue that holds everything together, his MCing skills and onstage experience placing him right at the heart of the show. His good-hearted charisma could power proceedings on its own, but the whole band remain a tight machine, cranking out tunes from the back catalogue with little tweaks to ensure a distinctive live experience. The love and nostalgia felt for this lot is tangible, and while the cynics might find their emotional scope painted with rather broad brush strokes, there’s no denying its effectiveness.
When Bleed It Out brings a generous 20-song set to a close, you feel that the naysayers are missing a trick. Chester Bennington will always be missed, but the continued existence of Linkin Park is to be celebrated and encouraged.
Sunday is this year’s extra day at RfP. With ticketing options meaning many festival-goers headed home this morning, to be replaced by an influx of daytrippers, the atmosphere shifts, with the big stages predominantly featuring bands suitable for supporting tonight’s headliners, Guns N' Roses. And so it is with Dirty Honey, LA denizens who nonetheless tap into the soulful Southern strut of The Black Crowes. While no original ideas are aired for the entirety of their set, their laidback charms carry along plenty of new friends this afternoon.
With a history now stretching to eight albums, Rival Sons became unwitting midwives to the last decade’s revival of classic rock. Vocalist Jay Buchanan, clad today in a fetching brown three-piece suit, might describe his band as “just five jerks fucking around and trying to make it work”, but these guys have some serious chops, with Scott Holiday’s lead work particularly epic. With no less a band than Led Zeppelin coming frequently to mind, this is a masterclass in unpretentious, gimmick-free rock excellence.
Mexican trio The Warning take to the weekend’s last Tesco Stage slot like the conquering force they are. A double whammy of Six Feet Deep and S!CK makes for a mighty welcome, while Qué Más Quieres might bring the most Latin flavour this Czech airfield has ever tasted. Of the all-singing Villarreal Vélez sisters, guitarist Daniela is the primary frontwoman, but drummer Paulina is just as focal a character, investing almost pop star-worthy choreography into her performance behind the kit. Automatic Sun might bring Tesco’s opening hours to a close, but The Warning’s business is very much unfinished.
Only a decade younger than the Sex Pistols and with a shared appetite for self-destruction, it’s just as heartening to encounter the core Guns N’ Roses trio as it was Messrs Jones, Cook and Matlock two nights ago.
Of the three, bassist Duff McKagan is the lean, clean punk elder, six-string legend Slash one of history’s most recognisable hat-wearers this side of Abraham Lincoln. Axl Rose, meanwhile, seems match-fit and in good humour – always a relief. That said, his voice takes long enough to warm up during an opening Welcome To The Jungle that the thought occurs: this could be a very long three hours for everyone concerned.
As it turns out, Axl’s vocals are an inconsistent instrument. During Live And Let Die, even he seems surprised at how well he holds a long scream. And, sensibly, many of the biggest choruses receive back-up vocal ballast from Duff and the dual keyboard team of Melissa Reese and the stalwart Dizzy Reed, GN’R’s longest-serving member besides Axl. Rounding out the band are Slash’s guitar foil, the Ronnie Wood-esque Richard Fortus, and sparkling new drummer Isaac Carpenter.
Junkie logistics anthem Mr Brownstone lacks a little oomph tonight, but most of the band’s other non-negotiable bangers hit the mark. You Could Be Mine remains spine-tinglingly exciting, while It’s So Easy – its intro actually sounding a little like the Pistols – retains the dark menace of the one-time Most Dangerous Band In The World, questionable sexual politics included. And if Nightrain’s paean to excess doesn’t quite pass muster this evening, there’s always the funk swagger of Rocket Queen and, with Slash on fine form, the legendary Sweet Child O’ Mine.
A rare example of imperial period GN’R taking an interest in geo-politics, or indeed anything beyond stimulants, ladies and fighting, Civil War might be tonight’s most surprisingly effective moment. Unless you count Axl’s turn at the piano, in a sparkly showbiz jacket that could have been loaned from one-time supporter Elton John, for an eminently successful November Rain.
Said jacket is one of about five that Axl sports throughout 180 minutes that pack in plenty. Slash gets his talk box out for an extended Rocket Queen, and later drops some Hendrix into a solo turn. Covers range from the brilliant (a Duff-led run-through of The Stooges’ I Wanna Be Your Dog) to the tragically unwise (Jimmy Webb’s Wichita Lineman is a country rock evergreen, but you wouldn’t know from tonight’s reading).
This rock’n’roll circus leaves town with Paradise City, its unmistakably iconic groove probably the first clue that this band would one day be huge headliners. And here they still are, a little battered round the edges, but bonded by music that left an indelible mark on the world – as it does tonight on an old airfield outside Hradec Králové.
Rock for People returns in June 2026.
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