Saturday at Low Festival was marked by a crowd far larger than on Friday and by a brief threat of rain that, fortunately, did not escalate. A few droplets fell that seemed to announce a storm, but everything stayed just a scare. The sky remained overcast for hours, trapping the heat well into the night. Not a few of us would have welcomed a downpour, though memories of Primavera Sound past make us wary of what we wish for.
Antonio Soria Park fills up with band T-shirts, especially among The Hives fans — many surprisingly young — and Love of Lesbian: John Boy’s Fan Club T-shirts pop up everywhere; walk a few metres and you’ll cross paths with another.
The presentation of La Paloma‘s “Un golpe de suerte” blends new anthems like “Sale el sol” or “Sé lo que quiero” with the already indispensable “La edad que tengo,” one of the songs most chanted by its followers, and also with timely reflections on current politics that feel very apt. They won’t be the only ones during the day to reference Ayuso’s attic, but they do so to reclaim the Madrid that is more popular. After mentioning the attic and showing discontent that “this crowd represents the city their parents and grandparents built,” they insist that “they’re not going to keep it” before introducing “Bravo Murillo”: “It speaks of that Madrid that isn’t the fucking mess they’re turning it into, and I hope it comes back.”
Concomitantemente, el espectáculo de The Hives se torna un oasis de euforia donde solo existe la diversión y los problemas del mundo quedan aparcados. Tampoco hay demasiado espacio mental para otra cosa cuando ves a Per «Pelle» Almqvist sacudirse de un lado a otro del escenario como un poseído, convertido en una auténtica bola de fuego humana y en una ametralladora de gritos y escupitajos. Ellos aparecen, como un bloque, vestidos con trajes negros de vivos luminosos blancos que se iluminaban durante el concierto, un detalle futurista que contrasta con la inmediatez rock ‘n roll de su música.
The Hives’ show not only sounds perfectly greased, with sharp guitars and frenetic rhythms. Pelle proves once again that he is one of the best showmen in rock, speaking a more than decent Spanish throughout the concert to insist again and again that in a The Hives show silence has no place or to present ‘Hate to Say I Told You So’ as a song with “a riff famous around the world” and “a great hit” that the band will play because they love their audience.
That is when the first drops start to fall and even a few lightning flashes appear in the sky. Fortunately, The Hives’ garage-punk onslaught continues without hitch until it culminates in the crushing finale of The Hives Forever Forever The Hives, which elevates the intensity of an already frenetic concert.
Ojete Calor’s show also serves as an outlet, skewering themselves, the audience, and society at large with their acerbic humor and without pulling any punches. In Torrevieja they insist on “how ugly the city is,” “even uglier than Benidorm,” speak of the “betrayal” of the venue change and rename the town as “Torreviejoven” before delivering their usual medley of covers, accompanied by a delirious monologue about a supposed MTV Unplugged and a joke about Daniel Sancho. Here, everything fits.
Against monologues about social media or the second-hand clothing trend that land a laugh the first time, though perhaps not so much the second, the songs remain the duo’s true strength. There are the sub-nopop bursts of “Extremismo mal”, the cover of “Agapimú”, and, of course, a “Mocatriz” already turned into a crowd anthem that the audience sings from end to end.
Love of Lesbian, one of the day’s national magnets, offers at Low one of the final shows of the Hermandad Tour before the announced pause, whose scope remains unclear. As ever, the energy is festive and communal — that is precisely what La Hermandad is about — and the repertoire leans once more on big emotions and long instrumental developments that turn the show into a small musical odyssey.
It goes without saying that Incendios de nieve and Algunas plantas remain anthems, that Contradicción already plays in that same league, or that the songs from Ejército de salvación live in harmony with the classics. The concert unfolds without major surprises until, at the end, comes the long-awaited sociopolitical reflection from Santi Balmes.
The Love of Lesbian performances can almost be dated by the reflection Balmes shares on every tour. This time he talks about information overload, mentions the Ceuta migratory crisis, Madrid’s fires, and Ayuso’s attic controversy before introducing “Allí donde solíamos gritar”. He explains that excess information “impacts” but also “numbs,” and frames the song as a way to release emotions that otherwise would remain bottled up. As always, the show ends up a collective celebration, and with the cry of “Long live democracy, long live culture!” the John Boy Fan Club enjoys one last dance before the pause.
The Ultraligera show confirms the enormous growth of the group in barely three years. With a single album released, they offer something very close to a cult-rock spectacle, with Gisme turned into a rockstar with potential sex symbol status, an image he leans into by performing shirtless, just like the rest of the band. It’s notable how, at moments, they verge on metal and hard rock through a few riffs, though at heart their songs remain lifelong indie. The front rows, mostly female, clearly illustrate the kind of phenomenon the band has become.
Between songs they remind that they have played together since they were 16 and that they are now living a dream. The most emotional moment arrives with “Cuando todo vaya mal,” dedicated to those who have lost a loved one. While Gisme sings, a fan breaks into tears in the front row: the band’s emotions reach that level so early in their career.
Critics may rain down on them for their swagger, but it’s refreshing that someone feels it so deeply on a stage. It’s not that common, perhaps. We can discuss Bunbury’s affected voice, perhaps too Bunbury-esque, or debate the quality of the songs, but it’s hard to deny they put on a tremendously entertaining rock show. They maintain energy at 200% even after a 16-hour bus ride from Galicia to Alicante, and Gisme acts as frontman head to toe: he appears in sunglasses, ends up shirtless, and climbs the speaker tower. Another group whose success has surprised us and who, like The Hives, could probably bow out with a line like: “Hate to say I told you so.”
As Kasabian did the night before, Editors also took the two o’clock-TH slot. The Brits proved they remain a safe bet at a festival thanks to a sound that blends post-punk and indie rock naturally, occasionally stepping on the gas to sustain festival momentum. A dark and elegant universe, upheld by Tom Smith’s authoritative voice and by a band that sounded flawless. The careful arrangement of the musicians on stage, with keyboards and percussion distributed to both sides, along with an striking lighting design, helped give a level of polish to a show worthy of their career.
