Green Day, Paramore, Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

"Hello Dad! Hello Mom! I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-CHERRY BOMB!" Holy crap Cecil, is that Joan Jett up there looking five times foxier at 52 than most folks half her age? Why yes Mildred, that is indeed JJ and her tattooed love boys the Blackhearts, looking like Streets of Fire extras who'd tear strips off you with barre chords for switchblades. Freshly enshrined in celluloid, the Runaways legend straps on her Fender and blasts through a ruthlessly efficient set that kicks off with 'Bad Reputation' and steams through classics old ('Crimson & Clover', 'Do You Wanna Touch') and new ('ACDC', 'Backlash', a co-write with Paul Westerberg). Even a big dumb mutt of a song like 'I Love Rock 'N' Roll', which we've heard played to death on country pub jukeboxes from here to Ballinspittle, and which she must've cranked out everywhere from Albuquerque to Afghanistan, is given a good goosing today. Behind us, a heavily inked middle-aged bleach blonde amazon in a dog collar rocks out with aplomb, God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world.
Paramore have their work cut out after that, but with a freshly minted platinum album under their belts, they've little to worry about. Slick tweemo anthems that sound like Avril Lavigne fronting At the Drive-In are delivered to US military efficiency specs by this mob of Tennessee skinny jeansers and their spunky frontwoman Hayley Williams. Sometimes they're Barbie goth, sometimes the Sugarcubes in spandex, but they exit stage left after 45 minutes having, if not stolen, then comprehensively borrowed GD's crowd for the duration.
As for Green Day, well, talk about bang for your buck. There are more explosions, bells, whistles and punk panto routines on offer throughout this 160-minute show than American Idiot – The Musical itself. The set hasn't changed much since last autumn's 02 date, but no one's complaining: the overall effect is akin to some Hanna-Barbera designed Dickensian urchin gang hijacking a Nuremberg rally. Highlights? Many, including the Who-ha power pop opener '21st Century Breakdown' and a scorching 'Holiday'. But the home run beats all: 'American Idiot' into the snot-nosed symphony 'Jesus Of Suburbia', plus sombre beauties like '21 Guns', and the customary closer 'Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)'. And when a fine rain silvers the air right on cue for 'Wake Me Up When September Ends', you figure even God's a GD fan.