Latitude 2013: Reviewed

FRIDAY

‘Phwoar, what a scorcher’ goes the usual tabloid headline, but today it’s allowed. Suffolk temperatures are almost hitting thirty degrees and obviously creating delirium as we rather enjoyed the summery sounds of The Leisure Society in the sunshine despite being told by everyone else that they were ‘rubbish’. Ah well. No one could dispute the quality of London’s Luke Sital-Singh on the Lake Stage, however. A talented young man with a stunning voice, it’s a simple guitar and voice set up, but he’s definitely one to watch.

Willy Mason has done it all before, he’s just looking a bit older and a bit fatter. Still a fine troubadour, Oxygen and We Can Be Strong are the first big singalongs of the weekend and he turns out to be a genuine highlight, despite looking like an uninspiring booking at first. It turns out to be an afternoon of singer-songwriters as old Caledonian favourite Malcolm Middleton is over at the iArena. We’re All Going To Die was – and probably will remain – the peak of his nationwide profile but he’s well received with A Brighter Beat and Blue Plastic Bags greeted like old friends. There’s a strong wit to new songs, albeit of an increasingly self deprecating manner – there’s a few mutters of “miserable bastard” as we troop away, but that’s probably exactly what he wants.

Something’s eating at John Grant. The audience can’t really tell the difference, but the frustrated gestures offered by Grant and his band shows dissatisfaction with the sound set up, the same problem which led to a ten minute delay. While the beats on the likes of Black Belt sound huge and Marz holds the same beauty as on record, there’s an abrupt finish and Grant’s demeanour detracts from the performance.

There are no such hassles back on the main stage as US alternative legends Yo La Tengo slouch through a full hour of music. As with their records, there’s a schizophrenic feel to the set, veering from light near-balladry to big wig outs, with Fade’s opener Ohm standing out. But nothing can prepare the crowd for the kraut-y Pass the Hatchet, I’m Think I’m Godkind from 2006’s excellent I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass. It’s outrageously heavy with Ira Kaplan mauling his guitar throughout. Many in the crowd are left somewhat terrified, or at least yearning for some earplugs.

In the same spot, Cat Power‘s looking ready for action with a beached blonde barnet, but a re-arranged version of The Greatest (it’s almost unrecognisable) isn’t the best start. The charm of the original has been sucked right out of it, and it’s as close as we get to its classic parent album. Older material more generally is in short supply as the most recent Sun album becomes the focus. It’s a really decent album but leaning on it so heavily is a misjudgement. A closing Ruin providing the set with one of its few rousing moments.

Playing it a little more canny are Villagers in the 6 Music Arena. This year’s {Awayland} provides most of the material but monster single Becoming A Jackal offers a wonderful moment for the healthy crowd. As Conor O’Brien notes it feels like they’ve been here every year, but in truth, the songs from the new album have taken them forward. If they can keep producing numbers on a level with The Bell and Judgement Call they’ll always be welcome.

The Maccabees have drawn an enormous crowd, and to our ears they sound not too shabby with Pelican getting some big singalong action. But it’s Bloc Party who are tonight’s biggest draw. Rumours have been circling that this could be ‘it’ for them (again). It’s certainly their last show for some time and drummer Matt Tonge has stepped aside to be replaced by Sarah Jones of New Young Pony Club who does a hell of a lot more than just keep time. It’s a fine performance and Kele Okereke is skilled in dealing with a crowd of this size – hits old and new are thundered out accompanied by some tremendous lights.

Banquet and Positive Tension are massive nostalgia trips and Octopus from the most recent Four comfortably shows they’ve still got it. Adapting some godawful Rihanna (apparently) song to roll into Flux is best forgotten, but new single Ratchet is a stormy, funk-laden number that should help give them the impetus to keep going.

SATURDAY

There’s a frustrating amount of drizzle in the air and it’s a darn sight colder too. Typically, Henham Park seems to be the only corner of the UK not still baking in a heatwave. Still, Friday was so oppressive, rain is almost a relief. It just about stays dry for Steve Mason on the Main Stage. With a late start, his promise to rein in the political rants isn’t kept and he’s on angry form. After a mix of new and old songs, Fight Them Back is a powerful statement to end a set of jaunty indie funk with strong anarchistic leanings. We don’t manage to catch all of Joanna Gruesome on the Lake Stage but the young five-piece set ears ringing with an upturned lip of a set – guitars were set to ‘vicious’.

Our last visit to the iArena of the weekend (we practically camped at the place last year) comes in the familiar guise of King Creosote, this time with a mere three-piece backing band compared to the usual 10+. There’s a braw crowd too, and Kenny’s grinning from ear to ear. Those expecting to hear Diamond Mine may have been surprised by the original arrangement for John Taylor’s Month Away, let alone the footstomping “wha-oh, wha-oh, wha-oh” refrain of Doubles Underneath. Here’s hoping they were pleasantly surprised, too. Before KC we had Wave Machines – a good band to sit and read a magazine to, as it turned out.

The crowd for Daughter in the 6 Music Arena is such that two minutes in, no one’s getting near it. Hundreds are left outside, some with a glimpse of the screens, to simply listen to highlights from If You Leave. The band seem genuinely overwhelmed by the response. It’s a bit quieter for Everything Everything (perhaps surprisingly so) but they’re on splendid form adding weight to the songs on Arc which were a little lightweight compared to debut Man Alive.

Three stark Ys on the background signal the arrival of Karen O and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on the main stage, and perhaps the first real superstar of the weekend. The throb of Zero builds things to fever pitch before O thrashes round the stage to a crushing Gold Lion. New material off the decidedly iffy Mosquito is dispensed with fairly early on, before Maps and Pin pull back the mood to 2003; true oldie Miles Away slays the crowd before a particularly raucous Date With the Night brings things to a close all too soon. One of the bands of the weekend.

Hot Chip have always struggled to produce a truly coherent album, but there’s no doubting their worth as a festival act, stuffing their hour with singles, including recent addition Dark and Stormy. We also get Over and Over, Ready for the Floor and One Life Stand, all powered by a live drummer, last seen pounding the skins for Bloc Party last night – “no big deal” as Joe Goddard cheerily mutters. Always fun, and still relevant after ten years of fine songs.

It always felt like the were the starter for Kraftwerk though. Visible across a number of festival bills this year, their live shows are still a novelty experience, especially when billed as being in 3D. A field full of people all wearing white card glasses must have been quite a sight, and at times – like a robot arm sweeping across the crowd during the opening We Are The Robots or multiple cycle wheels on Tour de France – the effects were well worth the effort.

Not everything works as well though, but while hardcore fans at Latitude were probably at a minimum, there’s enough familiar songs to keep everyone – the tweens that troop off to see Alt-J aside – happy. The Model unsurprisingly gets a fantastic reception, Autobahn was awesome and Trans Europe Express was just huge. Some moans at their stage demeanour – yes, they really were just four men behind desks – were probably missing the point, but we kind of got what they meant. All Ralf Hutter offered at the end was an “Auf Weidersehen” but it’s a sight we’re unlikely to see again, so no complaints from these quarters.

SUNDAY

Sunday brings a rare event for the Tidal Wave of Indifference – a day camped out by the main stage. Sunday afternoon always brings a supposed special guest to the lunchtime revellers and this year Latitude got it right with the booking of soul legend Bobby Womack, whose career has taken a massive turn for the better with the Damon Albarn-produced The Bravest Man in the Universe.

So Latitude got it right, but did Bobby? After an uplifting Across 110th Street, what could have been a weekend highlight slips into tepid indulgence as the red leather-clad Womack breaks down just about every song to ensure every member (bar the bongo player, strangely) of his enormous, professional band get a moment to shine through a solo or belting out a few lines of vocal. The nadir is the title track from the otherwise sadly neglected Bravest Man, stretched out over nearly 15 minutes.

Things pick up towards the end – it’s almost as if someone has pointed out to Womack that he only has an hour to play – with a few classics rapidly belted out, getting the crowd on their feet, but it’s not the ‘moment’ it could otherwise have been.

The crowd disperses for Junip, José González’ current vehicle. There’s no sign of the Swede’s solo output; instead a full band adds texture to his lush vocals. It’s a bit of a struggle to engage the crowd though, and the lack of chat doesn’t help much. Far better with the gab is fellow Swede Kristian Matsson, a.k.a. The Tallest Man On Earth. Armed only with his guitar and striking, yet laconic, voice, he charms the swelling masses with a beautiful set, even sprinkling over some of Paul Simon’s Graceland.

The main stage seemed to be the place to be for strong male vocalists – next up was blubstep king James Blake. The man has taken the bass-y wobble of dubstep and made it palatable for more casual music fans and here, accompanied by a live drummer and additional synth player, he managed to not only add volume to the quieter numbers he kept the more traditional numbers listenable. Latest single Retrograde wrapped things up but ubiquitous Feist cover Limit to Your Love got the biggest cheer. Older numbers also showed that there’s a lot more to the man than his wet blanket persona.

Plonking Local Natives so high on the main stage was always a gamble for a band still building their profile but they pulled a respectable crowd for their multi-layered harmonies and battering percussion. First album Gorilla Manor figured just as highly as their latest, the gorgeous Hummingbird, but their were no lines drawn in the quality. Having played just about every festival going, next year should bring bigger crowds, if not even higher slots on the bill.

Similar but different, Grizzly Bear deal in such fare without the same lightness of touch. Shields may not be as good as Veckatimest, but it’s a more aggressive affair, dealing in bombast where their 2009 classic relied on subtle menace. Suitably, Sleeping Ute and Yet Again are powered out with all four members adding vocals throughout; Veckatimest fans can also walk away happy with an airing of While You Wait for the Others and a Victoria Legrand-assisted Two Weeks. Anyone expecting older material didn’t get it, though.

And so to close the festival in dusk, came Foals. Any debate on whether they were ready to headline an event of this stature was promptly swept away as the ominous chords of Holy Fire’s instrumental intro built up to a blistering Total Life Forever. Radio hits My Number and Bad Habit were lobbed out nice and early and as darkness fell, Spanish Sahara and the introduction of some well timed lights upped the sense that this was a true ‘event’ we were watching.

As Yannis struggling to keep out of the crowd, the main set was wrapped by a ferocious Providence with an enormous extended, guitar outro – more false endings than The Return of the King, but thankfully not as painful. Inhaler brought things back up before Two Steps Twice pretty much annihilated everyone who wasn’t already floored. Latitude has a strong record of rewarding band that they keep close their hearts, Foals – and the sizeable crowd – are the latest beneficiaries.

Best Albums of 2010 – 20-16

Before I crack on, it’s worth giving an honourable mention to acts who’s records I’ve only recently got my mits on, and therefore been unable to consider properly, as good and they’ve sounded from an initial listen.

– Jenny Lewis finally delivered something to live up to Rabbit Fur Coat with the Jenny & Johnny album I’m Having Fun Now.

– I can put up with Sleater Kinney’s ‘hiatus’ charade if the Corin Tucker Band can produce an album as good as 1,000 Years.

– Why, why, why did I not pick up the John Grant album Queen of Denmark sooner??

– Engineers have had a tough time of late but the Ulrich Schnauss-assisted In Praise of More sounds really promising.

– Having seen them play as Brother Louis Collective and really liked them, I don’t understand why it took me till late November to buy Boots Met My Face by Admiral Fallow.

– Apparently Ital Tek are classed as dubstep. On the strength of their Midnight Colour album, I think I need to revise my sweeping opinion of that genre.

– Losing Sleep by Edwyn Collins is another one I should have pounced on a bit quicker. Tremendous comeback by a Scottish leg-end.

– Shetlander Thirty Pounds of Bone sound like he drank a bucket of whisky before recording Method. This is a good thing.

– If only Laeto had held on to III until the New Year. Silly boys…

– The first Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan album was great; the second was lacklustre. Hawk sounds like a return to form.

So where was I?

20.       Oceansize

The Manchester prog-metallers recaptured their mojo with this, their fourth album. This sounded absolutely enormous and was everything that you’d want an epic rock album to be. Mike Vennart, who I interviewed in September, delivered some of his finest lyrics and vocals to date and the album comfortably mixed experimental arrangements and commerciality across eleven snarling tracks.

19.       Grinderman

Raucous and filthy, this was a natural successor to the first Grinderman album. Again an outlet for Nick Cave’s garage rock fetish, it wasn’t for the faint-hearted as my original review testified.

18.       Tunng 

Pastoral English folk with a twist. They’ve been plugging away for years to moderate levels of recognition but this album, which I reviewed earlier in the year, feels like a career high. Hustle and Sashimi twinkled with pop nous and snaking Fairport Convention-style guitars crackled throughout. I thought they were custom-built for Latitude but it didn’t happen :-(. 

17.       LCD Soundsystem

If this truly is to be LCD’s last album, then they’ve certainly gone out on a high. Not everything worked, but from the point where Dance Yrself Clean went supernova to the final bars of Pow Pow, it’s classic James Murphy. The influence of Bowie was massive but this was an homage rather than a pastiche and aside from two humdrum closing tracks, scintillating throughout. Full review’s here.

16.       Blood Red Shoes – Fire Like This

A vulgar display of power from the Brighton duo, at least the equal of 2007’s debut effort. Light It Up was punch the air rawk and Colours Fade a blinding drone of an outro. Great stuff.

The Latitude Round-up

I hate to start talking about such a fantastic event with a whinge, but hey, Latitude organisers! Yes, you Festival Republic! Great idea to open up the arena for early arrivers on the Thursday night, but next year, could you actually have stuff on please?  

Aside from a handful of events in the smaller arts arenas, there was very little going on, so it was surely no surprise that everyone would try to push their way into Tom Jones‘ intimate performance in the woods. The fact that the randy old goat ignored shouts of ‘Sex Bomb!’ for an hour to play his awful new album is irrelevant, there were thousands of people milling about with nothing to do.  

Right that’ll be the negative comments just about done with I think.  

Friday  

I hadn’t been to a festival that wasn’t 95% focused on music before, so it was refreshing to find such an emphasis placed on comedy at Latitude. First up was the worryingly-titled Phill Jupitus Improv Show. For me, improv comedy can go either way, but thankfully Buzzcocks’ chief fatty was joined by a number of seasoned pros from the days of Whose Line Is It Anyway for some audience-fuelled capers including Richard Vranch-On-The-Piano, who it turns out is pretty bloody funny as well as a talented musician. Hairy Canadian Craig Campbell and comedy rapper Doc Brown (not half as bad as that sounds – he’s toured with De la Soul) keep the laughs coming, but finally it’s time for some music.  

The Kissaway Trail are a Danish six piece who probably wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Arcade Fire. They’re a pleasant enough listen, but, like their most recent album, are a little one-paced and my attention has wandered towards the end.  

Much better are Here We Go Magic, strangely playing the main stage to an unsurprisingly tiny crowd. They cheerily go about their business, regardless and Casual and Collector from their new album are particularly easy on the ear. Luke Temple just looks delighted to be here.  

Here We Go Magic's Luke Temple

Back in the Word Arena, there are beards and riffs aplenty for Black Mountain‘s appearance. They draw heavily from last album In the Future and fans of that record shouldn’t be disappointed by how new material sounds, i.e. lots of widdly guitars and funereal vocals.  

Spoon, while huge in the States, have had little impact here, so again the main stage feels like odd place to plonk them, but at least they manage to get some of the crowd of middle class families to their feet. Got Nuffin from latest album Transference has been heard in telly spy caper Chuck and gets a rousing reception, but you suspect Britt Daniel is used to a bit more from festival audiences. “Thank you for that polite response” is about as good as his chat gets.  

Spoon on the Main Stage

Meanwhile, young Scottish comedian Daniel Sloss is having a few problems with hecklers, unimpressed with his delivery but a few sharp ‘your Mum’-style put-downs get a rousing reception and the crowd are quickly back on his side. No such problems for David O’Doherty performing amusing ditties on his miniature keyboard. One such musical anecdote is about accidentally texting the person who the text is about (we’ve all done it, right?) and ends with a verse about him receiving a text that said “I thought David was rubbish tonight, his new material’s shite”. If I had his number I would have accidentally texted him about how genuinely funny he was.  

Folky poppet Laura Marling was clearly born to play Latitude, and fittingly, it’s a huge crowd that turn out to see her in the early evening sunshine. She’s outrageously talented and the last few years have been pretty massive for her, including two Mercury nominations. She could probably have farted the national anthem for half an hour and this crowd would still have loved it, but thankfully she opts to strum out some melodic loveliness instead.  

Latitude’s third stage is stashed away in a forest and, despite the wee walk to get there, is a fantastic setting for music. The serene location contradicts the noise that Tokyo Police Club have brought, however. Running late and having to catch a ferry in an hour, they play a frantic set stuffed full of new songs like Breakneck Speed and Boots of Danger. It’s not all new stuff – early tune Nature of the Experiment whips up a moshpit which doesn’t stop until the closing Your English is Good. Possibly the band of the day so far.  

I rather like the cut of Everything Everything‘s jib and they’re headlining the Lake Stage (for new bands). They’re certainly the biggest name on today, and manage to draw a decent crowd for their off kilter indie pop. They’re going to be huge and I’ll probably hate them in a year, but were pretty good in this relatively intimate setting.  

2010 seems to have been The National‘s year, announced to headline the Word Arena, even before the critically and commercially acclaimed High Violet was released. The set kicks off quietly with Runaway before kicking into a brilliant Mistaken for Strangers and it becomes clear just how many incredible tunes they now have in their canon, with Squalor Victoria and Fake Empire provoking mass singalongs and air punching.  

Matt Berninger is no longer just one of America’s finest lyricists, but now one of its greatest frontmen too. In the two years since I last saw them he’s been transformed into one hell of a performer, rolling round the stage during a deafening Mr November. It’s a stunning set and brings a great day of music to a close.  

Saturday  

As with Friday, the comedy gets started nice and early, and the day kicks off with a stream of up and coming unknown acts, the pick of which, dorky student Ivo Graham and funny-looking Frenchie Eric Lambert, deservedly get the nod from the judges to come back and do it again the following day.  

Ardal O’Hanlon is clearly a much bigger name and I’ve been a massive fan since his days in a dog collar, so it was something of a dream fulfilled to see him do stand-up in the flesh. His patter still has shades of Irish satire (priests!!) but many of his witty tales now revolve around leading an almost-normal life in Ireland including a family meeting to ‘decide what to do about Mammy’. Ardal voted to let her in.  

Josie Long‘s ‘Essex astronaut’ routine was a bit of a slog, so with the music kicking off it was time to see School of Seven Bells in the Word Arena. It’s been a few years since Ben Curtis ducked out of Secret Machines to form this dream-pop outfit with the Dehaza sisters and they seemed to have perfected a faintly Cocteau Twins-y aura. Windstorm stands out amongst the new material, which isn’t a huge departure from Alpinisms but they at least now have a live drummer in tow.  

I knew very little about John Grant ahead of the festival other than a mate’s tip-off that he was decent so I toddled along to catch his main stage set. For the uninitiated, I’d say he’s heavily influenced by Rufus Wainwright with a dash of Bonnie Prince Billy, sharing a lyrical playfulness with both. There was a consistent sense of loss and bitterness woven into his words, so I think his dog may have run off or something.  

Dominic Holland keeps things ticking over in the comedy tent before cheeky Scottish foetus Kevin Bridges takes the stage. He’s not to everyone’s taste but I can’t help but laugh at the guy, at the same time being unnerved by his youth. I could relate to plenty of his tales too, but I’ll refrain from repeating them to spare blushes (mostly mine…).  

Keeping up the Caledonian theme, Food From Argyll have pitched up hundreds of miles from home, conveniently right beside the Word Arena where one of Scotland’s other finest exports are playing – Frightened Rabbit. They’ve had quite a year and while some have grumbled about the quality of The Winter of Mixed Drinks compared to The Midnight Organ Fight, there are still plenty of great songs on the album. They’re on top form today and Scott Hutchison is visibly chuffed that none of the youngsters dancing down the front are Scottish, although a little worried that some of their songs may not be suitable for young ears. Unsure why? Then you haven’t been listening to Keep Yourself Warm properly. Fantastic as ever.

Frabbits!

Sketch troupe Idiots of Ants (think the name’s odd? Put the emphasis on different syllables) have been playing the Edinburgh Fringe for years and it only takes a few minutes in the Cabaret Arena to work out why they’re so enduringly popular. Quickfire, vaguely rude and very, very funny.  

Back in the Word Arena, Noah and the Whale have pulled a sizeable crowd in. Last year’s The First Days of Spring was a critical and commercial success and they’ve taken giant steps as performers since they underwhelmed the Connect crowd in 2008. Granted, back then they only had one half decent song and Five Years Time does get an airing tonight, but it feels like the weak link in a set which opens with the majestic Blue Skies.  

The Horrors are next and while I loved their Primary Colours album from last year they’re somewhat lacking in stage presence. The power and volume of the songs just about carries them through and Sea Within a Sea is a work of genius.  

The Horrors

Closing down procedings in the Word Arena are the xx, another London band, freshly – and deservedly – nominated for the Mercury prize earlier this week. They open with the ghostly, spidery Intro (as you do) and roll out most of the songs from their debut with Crystalised and Islands following quickly. They can certainly carry it off live and Romy Madley-Croft and Oliver Sim trade sensual vocals throughout. However, with a single album under their belt, it does feel like the gig is too much too soon, not unlike tiresome harpie Florence and the Machine headlining the main stage on Friday night. It was a gamble by the organisers to put the xx on this pedestal but the band certainly gave their all. 

But wait… there’s more! Taking to the Lake Stage, hours after any other band playing there had finished was Gaggle. “Who?” I hear you ask. Who indeed. Gaggle are a stunningly dressed , ahem,  ‘gaggle ‘ of young women performing classy pop – with 18 lead vocalists. Yes, it’s gimicky, yes listening to them on record would be missing the point, but they provided a mesmerizing focal point for late night entertainment before the stage turned into the indie disco of your wildest dreams.  

Some of the Gaggle girls at work.

Sunday  

Once again, the day started on an amusing note with The Early Edition hosted by Marcus Brigstocke and Andre Vincent. Regulars at the Edinburgh Fringe, much of the slot was taken up with baiting the right wing press (Rod Liddle in particular) aided by Jupitus, a just-up Rufus Hound and Carrie Quinlan. With the whole hour based around five comics riffing off each other, it occasionally felt a little strained, but much merriment was found in trying to summon local resident Geoff Hoon by impersonating vuvuzelas. Altogether, now: “Hoooooooooooooooooooooooon………”  

Yesterday’s best new acts then returned and Ivo Graham played up to the muso crowd by comparing safe sex to compiling a Massive Attack compilation (you always need a bit of Protection) and has some acute observations on the music line-up, not least one-album acts at the top of the bill spreading themselves thinly over a 90 minute set. It certainly sounds like Flo’s 10 minute version of Dog Days Are Over was one to avoid.  

Cutie Holly Walsh is a fine addition to any line-up but again, the music was beckoning. First up: The Antlers. Word of mouth clearly still works as a means of getting music fans interested in a band. With next to no press and limited record company funds at their disposal, they still draw a big crowd, suggesting that overwhelmingly positive reviews for last year’s Hospice album have done them plenty of favours. Bafflingly, no Sylvia in the set but Two sounds as mighty as ever.

The Antlers - they're very deer to me, etc...

Steve Mason playing the Film Arena didn’t make any sense at all until he ambled on stage and announced that after playing a few acoustic tracks he would be showing a film about the 1980s miners strike. With the penny having firmly dropped, he and a musical chum strummed out a couple of numbers including the beautiful title track from this year’s Boys Outside album. The film was an amateurly shot piece called Only Doing Their Job which illustrates the poor treatment of striking miners and their tense relationship with the police. Poignant stuff.  

I really ought to hate Mumford and Sons. They’re extraordinarily popular for a start, demonstrated by the fact that approximately 98% of the festival have turned out to see them play an early main stage slot. But I just can’t help but love them – they’ve brought the banjo and double bass back to the charts for the first time since around 1958 and gloriously sunny tracks like Sign No More and Little Lion Man are perfect for the scorching weather.  

And from one extreme to the other, it’s back to the Lake Stage where up and coming young Scots Mitchell Museum play to a tiny but appreciative crowd. Lead singer Cammy McFarlane ensures the audience are crystal clear about who they’re watching, announcing on several occasions that they are not the Mitchell Library, the Michelin Man or Joni Mitchell but “MITCHELL MUSEUM!!!” A vinyl copy of their album is waved around enthusiastically and I resist a cry of “‘mon the Mitchell Library!” in fear that it might end up somewhere painful. Musically there’s whiff of psychedelic pop about them and they’ve plenty of energy. Top album tracks Warning Bells and Tiger Heartbeat are played with gusto and a straight-faced cover of MIA’s Paper Planes lures in a few more passing punters.  

Mitchell Library?

It’s a short walk to the Word Arena for NYC Afro-synth-poppers Yeasayer who cram a lot into their short slot, keeping chat to a minimum. The electro direction on this year’s Odd Blood has rubbed off on older material with fresh arrangements for 2080 and Wait for the Summer taking them to a new level. We could have done without some of the cod-rock posturing though. 

Yeasayer blind the Word Arena

With the limbs starting to tire it was a trek to the forest-set Sunrise Arena for Jack Barnett’s These New Puritans. As strong live as they clearly are, and a woodwind duo now very much part of the band, they come across just a little bit too po-faced and chilly for such a lovely outdoor setting. Much more appropriate were The Pains of Being Pure At Heart who have managed to bang out a hell of lot of material in the last year. Their debut album was a near-masterpiece in fuzzy three minute pop songs about teenage lust and tonight’s new tunes demonstrated absolutely zero progression. But to coin a phrase, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

Sigur Rós frontman Jonsí was never a must-see for me, not having heard his solo album and (correctly) predicting that nary a note of Victory Rose music would be aired. Defying my expectations, however, he’s awesome. The last time I saw Sigur Rós play they stared at their shoes for the whole gig but the wee fella truly came alive here, clad in a bizarre get-up that at one point included an Indian headdress. His voice is still amazing and that solo album now merits investigation.  

Finally – and at this point the weekend has started to feel really long – it’s time for Grizzly Bear in the Suffolk twilight. Their beautifully arranged songs are faultlessly executed and the crowd reception is rapturous. They announce that it’s their “last show for a long time” and here’s hoping that the follow-up to Veckatimest is on their minds. For now though they send weary campers back to their tents with While You Wait for the Others floating round their ears.  

Overall, Latitude is a triumph. The crowd are light years away from T in their attitude, and aside from a couple of unsavoury, well-publicised assaults (completely out of character for the event) it’s a safe haven for music fans. I mean, how many festivals have you heard of, where you have to fight your way through rows of buggies to escape Belle and Sebastian?   

If I had a complaint, it would be that a lot of the main stage acts lacked in pulling power, if not necessarily quality. I’m also far from convinced that Florence and Vampire Weekend are big enough or experienced enough to headline even a medium-sized festival, not that I went to see either, right enough.  

But I’m seriously considering a return trip next year and I’d urge you to join me.