Again, this was originally published on the now dead 21st Century Music site.
Latitude is a bit like Glastonbury. Except there’s no mud. And no rain. And you can walk around easily from stage to stage in minutes. Except the line-up hasn’t descended into a mostly indie-rock snorefest like most other festivals. And you can get out of the site at the end in just a few minutes. And best of all, there’s no rain or mud. However, it is exceedingly posh, full of families with their incredibly middle-class art school kids who are probably just dying to see Kate Nash. I feel hugely out of place. But still, determined to have a good time I soldier on, looking forward to the exciting prospect of Arcade Fire closing the festival.
Showing posts with label Latitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Latitude. Show all posts
Monday, 15 June 2009
Latitude 2007 review: Saturday
Saturday’s music line-up is not to my tastes, so the early afternoon is spent in the comedy tent and walking around aimlessly until The Hold Steady’s tea-time main stage slot. There’s something deeply rooted in my brain that tells me it’s wrong to like The Hold Steady because of their age. But like The Magic Numbers yesterday, they really encapsulate the mood of the festival, and despite myself, I enjoy their energetic set.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah are quite similar sonically but lose out on points due to Alec Ounsworth’s whiny voice. The crowd are happy though, boosted by increased day-ticket punters, and many of them, including me, nip down to the Lake stage for a bit of Friendly Fires, the perfect warm-up for the world’s best party band, CSS. The band obviously believe in audience participation and above all else, having a good time, and they justify their surprisingly lofty perch on the bill with ease. Lovefoxx is as charming as ever with her three outfits and regular sojourns into the crowd. The climax is the now ubiquitous Let’s Make Love.. and Latitude nu-raves away deliriously.
Sometimes things just work perfectly at festivals, and I charge down the hill to catch the end of Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip’s headlining set on the Lake stage. I only see two songs, but they’re clearly on top of their game. The perfect pastiche of indiedom that is Thou Shalt Always Kill is tremendous live as is their new single, which closes their set.
The Good, The Bad & The Queen are not everyone’s idea of an ideal festival headliner. But there’s no denying the talent of Damon Albarn, the man with the Midas touch. Tonight GBQ are ethereal, haunting and simply marvellous. Their excellence is wasted on a bemused audience to be honest, who clearly don’t know or appreciate the songs. There are murmurings that Albarn should have played some Blur hits for the crowd, but this is a different band with a different sound. For a band to headline a festival to fifteen thousand people on the strength of one album is remarkable. However, Albarn is nothing if not a showman and he loves a challenge. Tonight his band are resplendent in top hats and clad all in black, even the string section. It all looks like something out of an old black-and-white film, and the music suits, transporting Latitude’s rolling Suffolk countryside to a London of old.
The day is rounded off superbly with a tentative trip to the Poetry tent to see some more of the talented Scroobius Pip. Daft name, amazing rhymes. Look up his poems, they are fantastic.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah are quite similar sonically but lose out on points due to Alec Ounsworth’s whiny voice. The crowd are happy though, boosted by increased day-ticket punters, and many of them, including me, nip down to the Lake stage for a bit of Friendly Fires, the perfect warm-up for the world’s best party band, CSS. The band obviously believe in audience participation and above all else, having a good time, and they justify their surprisingly lofty perch on the bill with ease. Lovefoxx is as charming as ever with her three outfits and regular sojourns into the crowd. The climax is the now ubiquitous Let’s Make Love.. and Latitude nu-raves away deliriously.
Sometimes things just work perfectly at festivals, and I charge down the hill to catch the end of Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip’s headlining set on the Lake stage. I only see two songs, but they’re clearly on top of their game. The perfect pastiche of indiedom that is Thou Shalt Always Kill is tremendous live as is their new single, which closes their set.
The Good, The Bad & The Queen are not everyone’s idea of an ideal festival headliner. But there’s no denying the talent of Damon Albarn, the man with the Midas touch. Tonight GBQ are ethereal, haunting and simply marvellous. Their excellence is wasted on a bemused audience to be honest, who clearly don’t know or appreciate the songs. There are murmurings that Albarn should have played some Blur hits for the crowd, but this is a different band with a different sound. For a band to headline a festival to fifteen thousand people on the strength of one album is remarkable. However, Albarn is nothing if not a showman and he loves a challenge. Tonight his band are resplendent in top hats and clad all in black, even the string section. It all looks like something out of an old black-and-white film, and the music suits, transporting Latitude’s rolling Suffolk countryside to a London of old.
The day is rounded off superbly with a tentative trip to the Poetry tent to see some more of the talented Scroobius Pip. Daft name, amazing rhymes. Look up his poems, they are fantastic.
Latitude 2007 review: Friday
Opening up the Huw Stephens curated Lake Stage are nice Welsh boyos Threatmantics, who are interesting at best and a horrible mess at worst. Singer Heddwyn Davies’ ability to play viola and sing at the same time is certainly striking, though.
Thankfully the Obelisk arena openers are far more noteworthy. Danish five-piece The Kissaway Trail play glorious, harmonious pop songs many of the festival’s acts would kill to have in their set. Expect big things from them.
Up next are Hot Club De Paris, who sound like a Scouse version of The Futureheads. Their anthem Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother is the first great song of the festival and their banter is also hilarious.
A first trip to the Uncut arena follows to catch the end of the truly magnificent Fields. The anglo-icelanders are band of the day with their life-affirming emotional building soundscapes. Maps are next and are unfortunate they have to follow Fields, Latitude leaves their electro-rock en masse to catch Bill Bailey in the Comedy tent, who is recycling old material and just about getting away with it, because he’s a genius.
Aqualung follow, a band still most famous for having a song on a car advert years and years ago. And they’ve bizarrely gone rock for their new album, from which they plunder far too much material for a festival show. A disappointment. Matt Hales should stick to what he does best, beautiful, soaring ballads like the inexplicably absent Brighter Than Sunshine.
If Carlsberg did festival bands, they still probably wouldn’t be as perfectly suited as The Magic Numbers. Their solid set complete with a smattering of genuine modern pop classics sends middle-class Latitude uncharacteristically mental. This generation’s Beach Boys? Only time will tell.
The only genuine A-lister on today’s bill is tucked away on the Uncut stage, even below the abomination that is Air Traffic. He is Albert Hammond Jr and his concise pop-rock is tremendous. The Strokes’ loss is Latitude’s gain today.
Headlining the Lake stage tonight are nerdy types I Was A Cub Scout, who are completely overawed at the experience, despite playing to 1000 people maximum. They occasionally make a brilliant racket for just two people, but there is no flow as far too long is taken up between songs. A shame.
A surprise choice for a festival headliner, Damien Rice delivers an extraordinary performance. He is without his regular backing singer and also his regular drummer but he doesn’t let that bother him. In the past he’s looked uncomfortable in the spotlight but tonight he is happy enough, opening up alone on stage bathed in red light with three acoustic tracks, a brave start. The rest of the set veers from terrible to brilliant. He seems unable to finish a song at a suitable moment, choosing to spoil subtle songs with yowling and wailing into a horrendously overused distortion mic leaving the relatively small crowd baffled. But just as Rice is dying a slow painful death on stage he pulls it out of the bag, telling a lengthy story about a man’s chance meeting with a woman as introduction for an enthralling Cheers Darlin’. Rice has the audience in the palm of his hand for the first time, and follows that up by roping in The Magic Numbers for an excellent cover of Bob Dylan’s I Shall Be Released. A triumph then, eventually.
Thankfully the Obelisk arena openers are far more noteworthy. Danish five-piece The Kissaway Trail play glorious, harmonious pop songs many of the festival’s acts would kill to have in their set. Expect big things from them.
Up next are Hot Club De Paris, who sound like a Scouse version of The Futureheads. Their anthem Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother is the first great song of the festival and their banter is also hilarious.
A first trip to the Uncut arena follows to catch the end of the truly magnificent Fields. The anglo-icelanders are band of the day with their life-affirming emotional building soundscapes. Maps are next and are unfortunate they have to follow Fields, Latitude leaves their electro-rock en masse to catch Bill Bailey in the Comedy tent, who is recycling old material and just about getting away with it, because he’s a genius.
Aqualung follow, a band still most famous for having a song on a car advert years and years ago. And they’ve bizarrely gone rock for their new album, from which they plunder far too much material for a festival show. A disappointment. Matt Hales should stick to what he does best, beautiful, soaring ballads like the inexplicably absent Brighter Than Sunshine.
If Carlsberg did festival bands, they still probably wouldn’t be as perfectly suited as The Magic Numbers. Their solid set complete with a smattering of genuine modern pop classics sends middle-class Latitude uncharacteristically mental. This generation’s Beach Boys? Only time will tell.
The only genuine A-lister on today’s bill is tucked away on the Uncut stage, even below the abomination that is Air Traffic. He is Albert Hammond Jr and his concise pop-rock is tremendous. The Strokes’ loss is Latitude’s gain today.
Headlining the Lake stage tonight are nerdy types I Was A Cub Scout, who are completely overawed at the experience, despite playing to 1000 people maximum. They occasionally make a brilliant racket for just two people, but there is no flow as far too long is taken up between songs. A shame.
A surprise choice for a festival headliner, Damien Rice delivers an extraordinary performance. He is without his regular backing singer and also his regular drummer but he doesn’t let that bother him. In the past he’s looked uncomfortable in the spotlight but tonight he is happy enough, opening up alone on stage bathed in red light with three acoustic tracks, a brave start. The rest of the set veers from terrible to brilliant. He seems unable to finish a song at a suitable moment, choosing to spoil subtle songs with yowling and wailing into a horrendously overused distortion mic leaving the relatively small crowd baffled. But just as Rice is dying a slow painful death on stage he pulls it out of the bag, telling a lengthy story about a man’s chance meeting with a woman as introduction for an enthralling Cheers Darlin’. Rice has the audience in the palm of his hand for the first time, and follows that up by roping in The Magic Numbers for an excellent cover of Bob Dylan’s I Shall Be Released. A triumph then, eventually.
Latitude 2007 review: Sunday
The Hoosiers open the main stage on Sunday and are shockingly bad. They’re so bad it rains. This is a blessing in disguise however, as everyone crams into the Uncut tent for Cherry Ghost. Playing melancholic Elbow-ish soft rock music journeyman Simon Aldred looks to have finally struck gold at the umpteenth time of asking. Mathematics sparkles alongside other classics in waiting. One of the weekend’s biggest success stories.
Andrew Bird is described in the programme notes as being capable of changing the landscape of American music. If that means we hear more of this guff they can keep it, thanks.
The National follow, starting up like a shouty Interpol but getting progressively more cheerful as the set goes on. The singer looks a bit like the gay bloke from Gimme Gimme Gimme too, which amuses me while they’re on. The National have always been a favourite of the critics, maybe new album Boxer will see them crack the mainstream at last.
Mr. Hopkinson’s Computer is a terrific idea. Basically, a computer sat on a chair plays out a backing track and bleepy vocals in a vaguely German accent. Great entertainment.
Charlotte Hatherley is drop-dead gorgeous. Now that my drooling and swooning is out of the way, I can’t help but notice her voice is a tad nasal, and lacking just a wee bit of vocal power to make a top class frontlady. She is however an axe goddess and must have been born with a guitar slung around her neck. One cannot blame her for chancing her arm at a solo career but the nagging doubt remains that Ash are better off with her in the band and she’s better off in Ash.
Cold War Kids disappoint me. Having worked really hard to get into their album Robbers and Cowards I find as a live act something important seems to be missing, maybe a shot of energy. Unless they buck up, they’ll be nearly men I’m afraid.
But never fear, Jarvis is here! The elder statesman of Britpop is here to show these so-called cool kids how to put in a dramatic, energising performance. It’s pure theatre, and Mr. Cocker has not forgotten his way around a clever lyric and a pop hook from his old Pulp days. His chat between songs is always entertaining too. Jarvis closes with the self-explanatory political opus Cunts Are Still Running The World and, I shit you not, a classy rendition of Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger. You couldn’t make it up. Legend.
I would have loved to have caught a bit of Blood Red Shoes down by the lake but I daren’t lose my spot for the best band in the world,
Finally, it is impossible to talk about Arcade Fire without mentioning religion. Religion is ever-changing folks. Some may even say it is dying, becoming ever more unnecessary in the modern world. But having faith is as important as ever. Salvation has arrived in the form of the most important band ever. Arcade Fire will take it from here. They will save us all.
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