Latitude Festival 2008

This was my third Latitude-I've been there since the start- so I knew what to expect, and this in turn made the festival possibly my easiest yet. Having witnessed the first two years I could perceive a slight shift in personnel and their number- word of the festival had spread across the country and the event was less like the sleepy rural festival of old but ever so slightly more cosmopolitan. I expect it to continue in this vein. The success of previous years had allowed this years line up stellar names in music and comedy, as well as a luxuriant selection of other arts entertainments. Although some have noted unfavourably upon Mean Fiddler attaching a more corporate status to Latitude, it is perhaps worth considering the idea that festival is a success because of such a stable and experienced backer. Two sides to every coin.

I'd arrived on site earlier as I wanted to take in as much as possible. The first band of the weekend I witnessed was the New Yorkers Heloise and the Savoir Faire. The little I'd heard of them suggested Scissor Sisters, but I was pleasantly surprised to learn they had more in common with disco punk peers such as LCD Soundsystem and Hercules and Love Affair. An energetic performance, both camp and theatrical with the backing singers sashaying around the stage in togas. A promising start.
Next up on the Uncut stage was Gravenhurst, a bespectacled young man with an electric guitar. What made Gravenhurst stand out from the legions of wet songwriters was the emphasis on the guitar compositions- moody, potent sounds, often let down by vocals that didn't quite match the power of his playing. Micah P Hinson, on the other hand has a superbly warm, husky voice. Backed by his band Hinson's music had a muscle that contrasted with the fragile performance that preceded him. The songs I'd heard prior suggested a sleepy, folky set but Hinson found the time for some more upbeat, rocking tracks to balance the material.
Probably the only disappointingly dull acts I saw over the three days were residing on the main stage on Friday. The Aliens, featuring former members of the Beta Band, were the first victims of boredom. The stuff I'd heard on record was quite decent if not mindblowing- amiable psychedelic indie pop- but up on a big stage in front of a lot of people they just fell a little flat. The only notable thing about their set was the singer bounding about like a monkey or drunk clubber on a Friday night. Beth Orton was perhaps even less interesting, so much so that we didn't even bother to get up from our sitting positions to watch her and left after only a few songs.
After catching a bit of British Sea Power (4th time seeing them- I don't even know why), it was off to see Howling Bells, who seem to have become a welcome staple of the festival- the only band to have played all 3 years. It had been a couple of years since I'd seen them play at the first festival, and what struck me was how Juanita Stein had matured into a great frontwoman. Yes, she's gorgeous and plays the guitar, but she parades around the stage so confidently and in such a sultry manner that it's easy to get swept up in her performance. The band as a whle were again great, and I'm looking froward to another album of dark, moody desert rock from the Australians.
An expedition into the film tent rewarded me with an interesting interview with Grant Gee, director of the recent documentary 'Joy Division'. Unfortunately we missed the screening of the film, but he had some insightful thoughts about the coverage of celebrity and rock music, despite alimp interviewer and some daft questions. In the woodland Sunrise arena were Clinic- a real treat. A lean, quick set mixing old favourites like Walking with thee and The Second Line with new stuff from their excellent recent album To those who don't know them, the Liverpool band play a weird hybrid of psychedelic organ driven krautrock and wear surgical dress- and were fantastic.
We hung around for Crystal Castles, who I was kinda familiar with but a little apprehensive of. Their set was packed with excitable teenagers claouring to touch the spritely 'singer' (screamer) on the satge, who bopped continuously while screeching out unintelligible words, occasionally leaping out onto the barriers, once amusingly being dragged into a pack of sweaty youths. Ah, the kids of today, when will they learn? I'm retty sure no one can consider Crystal Castles high art, but they do evoke a visceral, pleasurable reaction, as evidenced in the crowd reaction.
The 1st day ended with alternating trips between Franz Ferdinand and Amadou & Mariam, who both got popular crowd responses, and Franz Ferdinand looked capable headliners.

2nd day

On the second day I had determined to infiltrate the formidable fortress that is the comedy tent. As the tape was pulled around the edge of the tent, a huge wave of people rushed into the tent and jumped into seated positions- ah, so that's why no one can ever get in! Smug at my infiltration but my buttocks soon to be sore, I waited for the opening comedian Dan Atkinson, a Yorkshire comedian with a scruffy appearance. He was OK at best, and didn't always pander to his youngish audience, but was often confused and confusing. He was followed by Carey Marx, a sub par Bill Hicks with a voice resembling Alan Rickman. He had a devilish demeanour and some filthy jokes to go with it. Not bad. Then Tim Minchin came on. He plays the piano. He sings songs in an ironic fashion . He has long ginger hair. He is a cunt. And of course, he was extremely popular with the numbskull crowd of square teens. I think the best way to describe him is as Newton Faulkner with crap jokes. Yes, that bad. My distaste for him climaxed with a song aimed at a critic who slated him (a perfectly reasonable response to Minchin), which had him singing typically bland lyrics badly about wanting to kill said critic. Oh, the audacity!
If I'm being honest, I'm not that clued up with the world of stand up comedy, and this was actually the first experience I'd had. But recently I was lucky to see a trio of Irish comedians in a low key performance at the Edinburgh Fringe festival. Against these so called stars of the stand up scene, these Irish comedians seemed like geniuses. Wittier, funnier and a much better rapport with the crowd, it made me realise the guys at Latitude were actually pretty poor.

Having escaped the comedy tent I caught bits of Wild Beasts and White Lies, neither of whom caught my fancy. The first major band of the day was dEUS, the veteran Belgian band. They were a tight act and played with youthful enthusiasm, intercut with some odd Belgian banter from the singer. As much as I enjoyed the performance, I still feel unable to really describe what kind of music they play. Rock music, yes, but any more than that and I get flummoxed.
I'm quite a bug fan of the shoegaze/dream pop bands of the 80's/90's so I was intrigued to see House of Love play. They looked old and unfashionable but hadn't lost their touch. The sound had some problems, such as the guitars being a little muted but otherwise it was a successful reappearance.
I've been lucky enough to see most of the bands I've really wanted to see, but Sigur Ros was one band that had previously eluded me. Closing the 2nd night they met all my expectations. Hypnotically beautiful, I could have watched them play for hours. The stage was all lit up in in a white glow with large white spheres making the backdrop. The band were joined on stage by a marching band and orchestra which made it a more theatrical experience, but it would have been fantastic with just the four of them. Sadly my enjoyment was tainted somewhat by a gaggle of pricks who pushed in front of me to get to their friends, then turned their backs on the band and started talking loudly and amusing themselves by taking pictures of each other on their phones. Jesus Christ, anytime but during fucking Sigur Ros. I wouldn't have minded so much if they were enjoying the band and were merely rowdy, but their blatant disinterest in the band and their disregard for people who might want to enjoy the band leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. I might just have to try and catch them again, they deserve better.

Day 3

Sunday, AKA day of the musical titans, began with a solo performance from Joanna Newsom. Now, I like her, but I don't feel the same hysteria as many others do when her crops up. She looked nervous on her own and smiled sweetly throughout, but the audience was with her all the way. Her set had attracted a large number considering her early slot, and it was with almost complete silence that her performance was gratefully received. Even just the harp and her voice was beautiful and captivating. She often forgot lyrics but this was received with good humour and some good natured heckles. Her stint on the piano wasn't as enjoyable-the songs on the harp carry much more weight, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
There was a bit of a gap in preparation for the marathon of musical majesties (and Foals, ho ho ho), which began with said bands evening set. I like Foals, I enjoyed Antidotes, but they do seem a tad annoying, particularly Yannis. Live they were good, but could have done with a bit less chat. Energetic, intense performance but with restraint, complimenting the catchy, angular songs they play.
I'm not that familiar with The Breeders back catalogue as I should be, but I like the bits I know and they are almost legendary. They were not, as you'd imagine, throwing themselves around the stage, and lacked a bit of muscle and noise, but it was a good set anyhow. The better known songs got the biggest cheers from the crowd, and the sibling banter between the Deal sisters was amusing. I was reminded of an earlier gig at Joy Zipper, where one of the members confessed their love of The Breeders-guess who they based their stage persona on?
Grinderman provided a much needed edge to Latitude-it's almost surprising that they actually played. Nick Cave is a superb frontman- stamping his gangly pinstripe legs everywhere, raisning his arms aloft and shrieking like a wild evangelist preacher. The band, too, look like a ragged bunch of 19th century bandits. The songs were dark and nihilistic, the most electrifying 'No pussy blues'. The explosions of drums and clanging guitars, wild howling abound- a sight and sound not to be missed.
Interpol, my favourite band, are next on stage to headline perhaps their first major festival and surely one of the biggest shows yet. I am standing at the front centre. They are minutes from the stage. And then I realise my bladder filling up. Hilarious. So, I trudge off, leaving some wide eyed young fan to shore up the army at the front, and eventually find myself a mid spot. Interpol crack into 'Pioneer to the falls', and everything is right with the world. In fact, this is the best I've ever seen them. They play confidently, pitch perfcct. Paul's voice soars over the wet masses as the rain thunders down. Daniel glides happily across the stage, and you get the sense that this is his time to shine. They play several songs off the new album, OLTA, some favourites off TOTBL and then round it off with a euphoric, rare play of 'Roland'. An encore follows but I'm already elated. A great end to the festival.

Other highlights:

My triangle-baring cardigan is a hit- 'nice cardigan'- a few blokes,
'nicest cardigan of the festival'- some girl

'Life is beautiful' scrawled on the dingy toilet wall- made me chuckle.

Going to get a rubbish, overpriced pizza and realising I'm standing behind all 4 Arctic Monkeys, who are getting change off of each other.