LATITUDE FESTIVAL (Henham Park, Southwold, 18/07/08-20/07/08)
“More Than A Musical Festival.” Well, Suffolk’s premier festival likes to brand itself as such, and to its credit it’s true- the literary and comedic talent on offer is easily the equal of the bands on offer, and despite the focus of this review I did get the opportunity to sample some of its more unusual delights. But ultimately I was there for the music, and on this count Latitude (for the most part) didn’t disappoint.
First on were local heroes The Godwits, who failed to do Suffolk proud with their wet and uninspired indie balladry- much more impressive were London three piece The Joy Formidable, whose angular rock is backed up with an arresting energy that may secure them some mainstream success. Rosie and The Goldbug didn’t bode well with their self-consciously quirky, irritating electro pop but a talent for working a crowd really served them well and they managed to have half the audience dancing by the end.
But the day belonged to hotly-tipped Edinburghers Broken Records, who commanded the beautiful Sunrise Arena with a performance that surely made a fan of all who witnessed it. Previously hamstrung by a nervy, static stage presence, a punishing touring schedule has seen them finally gain the confidence to give their excellent Arcade-Fire-meets-Beirut material the edge to make them an unmissable live proposition, and rollocking closer A Good Reason stands out as one of the musical highlights of the whole weekend. Slow Club weren't quite on the same level, but nonetheless put on a delightful set, their lovely boy-girl harmonies married to whimsical but refreshingly unpretentious lyrics. It’s a shame Bearsuit didn’t take notes- Slow Club’s simple charms were much more fun than the messy, overegged pudding of the Norwich eccentrics (nice costumes though.)
Liverpudlian mentalists a.P.A.t.T were typically great, barnstorming through every genre conceivable like Akron/Family on crack, and even though they attracted one of the smaller audiences of the festival I saw few people without big grins on their faces, which is more than I can say for the oddly disappointing British Sea Power. The wonderfully triumphant All In It was neutered by an inexplicable lack of volume, and not even the inspired contributions of an Bulgarian woman’s choir could save a set that was too quiet for its own good. The Go Team were a lot of fun thanks to Ninja’s irrepressible energy and an up-for-it crowd, and even though the instruments are still too low in the mix (a flaw they haven’t rectified since I first saw them three and a half years ago) they were actually one of the most enjoyable acts of the day. Death Cab For Cutie’s phoned-in set was lacklustre, with the exception of the slow-burning, lighter-waving climax of Transatlanticism and Franz Ferdinand were exactly how you’d expect- great singalongs (I’d forgotten just how great their debut was), passable showmanship with a sprinkling of promising, synth-driven new songs. A perfectly enjoyable way to wind up this most eclectic of days.
Saturday didn’t start well. The unusual falsetto-heavy grooves of Wild Beasts captured my imagination, but otherwise I was treated to a parade of pleasant but uninspiring fare- tame indie poppers Fanfarlo, up-and-coming songstress Beth Rowley and venerable Belgians dEUS. Thankfully, this state of affairs was to prove short-lived, with a triumvirate of pure brilliance that was to blow me away. First off, American bluesman Seasick Steve- although he may not be quite the just-off-the-streets hobo he portrays himself to be (nowadays he’s actually a Norway-based record producer), he’s one hell of a charmer. An impeccably charismatic performer, he’s got the musical chops to back up his fantastic story-telling- whether playing a banjo, a three-stringed guitar or a plank of wood (!) he never less than impresses. Guest appearances from Eli ‘Paperboy’ Reed and the impromptu dragging up of a pretty young lady to serenade were memorable, but it never distracted from the basic premise of an old country fella singin’ the blues and was all the better for it. Definitely my most unexpected treat of the weekend.
Guy Garvey may have been a less accomplished raconteur than Steve, but he still delivered the goods as frontman of superior British indie-merchants Elbow. They’ve long skirted the edge of mainstream acceptance, but it’s only now that they seem to have finally crossed over- and deservedly so. For although they vaguely occupy the same genre space as dullards like Coldplay, their songwriting elevates them far above their peers. A deft hand in instrumentation is another point in their favour, giving them more substance than your average guitar balladeers and a phalanx of hardcore fanboys at the front enhance the atmosphere of an already very impressive set. But not even they could hold a candle to the utterly phenomenal Sigur Ros. Even as a dedicated fan, I had serious doubts they’d be able to recreate their otherworldly magic in a setting as vast as Latitude’s main stage but dear God did they prove me wrong. Without wanting to sound like a hyperbolic fanboy, it was the best festival set I’ve seen in my life and one of my top three performances I’ve seen full stop; perhaps it was the starlight, perhaps it was being surrounded by fellow fans but it was a majestic, magical performance from start to finish. For the first time, Hoppipolla was as dazzling as it’s always threatened to be and their ineffectual attempts at getting the audience to sing along to Med Blodnasir showed that the glacial demeanour of old is starting to melt, and as for the twenty metric tonnes of confetti they unleashed during Gobbledigook…well, that’s a moment I’m going to savour for a very long time.
And although Sunday was always going to struggle to live up to what I’d experience the previous night, the first show of the day almost gave Sigur Ros a run for their money. Delivering a special midday set before her evening performance at London’s Somerset House, the mesmerising Joanna Newsom enchanted all that witnessed her. Comfortable enough to try out a few new piano-based numbers (which, for the record, all sounded pretty excellent) she shone most when sticking to her trademark harp- Emily was tear-inducingly sublime, Peach Plum Pear and Bridges and Balloons breathtaking in their intricate prettiness. Even when she completely forgot the words to Sawdust and Diamonds the crowd forgave her- her infectious, unassuming charm made even her mistakes endearing. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
The rest of the festival inevitably seemed a bit anticlimatic in comparison. Patrick Watson’s shambles of a set was upsetting, Glasvegas sounded great if a bit samey, Those Dancing Days were moderately entertaining and provided much late night fodder for the middle-aged male photographer crowd. Flavour of the month Noah and the Whale underwhelmed me with their forgettable whimsy; Okkervil River suffered from sound problems galore but managed to win the audience thanks to Will Sheff’s admirably concerted efforts to win over the crowd. Blondie, if truth be told weren’t very good by any objective standards- the embarrassing gyrating of an OAP purporting to be erstwhile sex object Debbie Harry plus plodding renditions of old hits can’t really be construed as the epitome of live music- but there’s just no resisting the singalong potential of classic songs like One Way Or Another and Atomic. I’m embarrassed to say it, but they were actually much more fun than festival closers Interpol whose snappy dressing and cool NY style is counteracted by the fact they only have one song, which they proceeded to play seventeen times in succession. They were actually so dull that I sought solace in the Uncut tent where Tindersticks proved a far more worthwhile experience, their understated, lushly orchestrated ballads actually distinguishable from one another. But neither band had the ‘oomph’ a final-night headliner should have; certainly, neither was in the same league as last year’s brilliant Arcade Fire set.
But all things said and done, I had a fantastic time. The atmosphere was lovely (if a bit genteel), the intimate scale of the festival makes it less stressful than the likes of Glasto, it’s bursting from the seams with hidden treats for those willing to look (a 3am piano rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now in the middle of the woods with a hundred folk singing along was pretty much the best thing ever.) The musical quality was less consistent than 2007, but it had more genuine highlights- Sigur Ros and Joanna Newsom were much better than anything last year. If there’s one major criticism, it’s that the line-up is a bit too indie-centric for its own good- some more left-field choices could spice things up a bit. Apart from that, can’t find much to fault- same time next year, I suppose!
(Photos: John Gleeson)
By far the best part of CSS’ never-ending tour last year, the New York electro-dance duo (famed for their fantastic remix of The Knife’s “We Share Our Mother’s Health”) unleash their crisp, crunchy beats, wailsome guitar and freaky projections in Shoreditch hipster haven The Cargo, with surprisingly awesome results. Although their material does stick rigidly to a formula, it’s delivered with such aplomb that niggles about variety are moot- unlike many acts of their genre, there’s quite a lot of live input (guitars, bongos, snare) along with the backing tracks making it much more than just a live replaying of their albums. But the thing I enjoyed most (apart from the sublime “Wildcat”) was seeing such dance-related anarchy in the Cargo- I’ve oft complained about the total lack of atmosphere at that venue, but that audience more than made up for previous failings in that regard. Their hour long set just flew by, and unlike many shows I could have happily watched them for many hours more- although I love my more cerebral bands, it’s nice to have a proper dance once in a while.
