LATITUDE FESTIVAL (CLASH BLOGGER)
Henham Park, Suffolk, 17/07/2008 - 20/07/2008
Review by Sarah Link
My memories of the weekend went a little something like this: (feel free to draw breath at anytime).
Friday: Arrive at Henman Park, Suffolk, after three busses, four hours and two smoked salmon bagels. Set up camp. Try to pitch tent. Mess tent-pitching up. Try again. Success. Venture around campsite checking all the essentials. Toilet. Check. Shower. Check. VIP Bar. Check. Most importantly: food at an accessible distance from tent. Check. Make way down to arena to peruse the festival’s offerings. On the wooded walk from VIP to music zone, I couldn’t help but wonder: Why is there pink spray-painted sheep everywhere? Why are some of the ground staff dressed up as fairies? The mind boggles.
Now, due to the lack of printable timetable on the Latitude website, I have no chance of knowing who is playing when and where. Arrive at arena to find out a program is a whopping £8. Steal a glance at a fellow festival goer’s program to realise I have missed one of my favourite acts: Micah. P. Hinson. Many a night has been spent with just me, a bottle of Bombay and Micah wailing about despair and heartbreak and my nodding in agreeance. I am brutally disappointed to have missed him. But as any festival trooper knows, the key is to press on. Try to head into the comedy tent but it’s totally rammed. Big sigh. Head back to Main Stage to check out The Go! Team. Fun. But why do they have an exclamation point in the middle of their name? It’s! weird. British Sea Power. Cool. Death Cab for Cutie. Superb. Franz Ferdinand round out the day’s music with a fun, energy-packed set. They look almost happy to be there, playing all their hits – ‘Matinee’, ‘Take me Out’ and closing the night with ‘This Fire’. Fabulous. Cruise back to the VIP Bar, and call it a night.
Saturday. Get up after a semi-decent tent sleep. Devour a fry-up in record time and pull my Wellies on for the day’s adventures. Venture back to comedy tent once more to check out Bill Bailey. Rammed again. No hope of getting anywhere near the tent let alone within earshot. This becomes the comedic situation the entire weekend. Although it’s not really funny. Catch the end of White Lies to ease my lack-of-comedy blow. Head to the Uncut Arena to see what’s happening and find the delightful Beth Rowley wow-ing the crowd. The French representative at this year’s Eurovision Song Contest- Sebastien Tellier-follows up and was quite the treat. Although I must confess the only reason I went to see him were due to his Eurovision ties. Call me crazy but that’s just the way I roll. Wander up the hill to watch Seasick Steve and find myself witness to what I like to call ‘Crowd-participation-gone-bad.’ Steve invites a young lass on stage to sing a little tune to her, while she looks mortified. Highly entertaining for everyone but her. As the sun starts to set I join the masses in the Uncut Arena to watch the Guillemots play to a packed house, followed by the self-indulgent ‘I’ll play a song for 45 minutes if I want to simply because I can’ spectacular that is the Mars Volta.
Back to Main Stage to watch Elbow. Amazed by geezers who know every lyric. Watch grown men almost cry while they rock out ‘On a Day Like This’. Surprisingly enjoy all that Elbow has to offer. Stand around in the rain. Saturday’s headliners, Sigur Ros, appear. They open with my favourite track: ‘Svefn-g-englar’ and continue the mesmerizing tunes. Shiver in the cold. Watch set, entranced by Birgisson’s falsetto abilities. Stick it out but towards the end start secretly wishing I was back in the tent playing cards in my sleeping bag. Decide it’s time for a dance at ‘Club Di Fromage’: The outdoor club in the woods. What an absolute treat. A dance party, well, in the woods. Doesn’t get much better than that. Tracks come in thick and fast. Vanilla Ice. Blondie. Michael Jackson. Dolly Parton. Stagger up the path to the VIP Camping area and crawl into my freezing tent for some sleep. Awoken at 4am to the sound of someone vomiting outside my tent. Glorious.
Sunday. Wake up slightly sore. Not sure if it was the Absolut Citron or the semi-deflated mattress which has caused said pain. Venture about for some food. Stomach happy, head to Main Stage where Joanna Newsom is playing a special performance at noon. The audience spills out on the grass under the sunshine. Out she comes, accompanied only by her harp. Audience is silently in awe from start to finish of her set. Fair enough. Newsom forgets lyrics half-way through set. Most of crowd thinks that’s adorable. I think it’s more likely to be the result of her ‘cult-like status’.
Head down to Sunday Scrabble and beat Scrabble-counterpart with a stellar triple word score. Feel elated for about thirty seconds before realising I am in face an adult and should probably be seeking bigger achievements in life. Nevertheless, small mercies. Go in search of a curry to celebrate my win. Instead of curry end up at the Pimm’s bus by the lake. Sip Pimm’s and watch the passing parade go by. Parade is reminiscent of Chinese New Year but have no idea why or where it came from. Embrace it nonetheless. Stroll down to the kids area and soon realise this is where the fun is really happening. Arts, crafts, Hula-Hoop classes, and the best café at the festival. Amazing home-made sandwiches for only two pounds. I buy a couple to stuff in my bag for later when the afternoon munchies hit. They turn out to be a god-send.
One of the greatest things about Latitude was the plethora of activities on offer. Literature, poetry, comedy, cabaret, speed dating, mass weddings…you name it, it’s probably mentioned somewhere in the over-priced program. Kids are well catered for (as mentioned) but to be honest, got a little draining towards the end when I found yourself censoring conversations in case a youngster may overhear, or worse yet, a parent. I’m not going to whine about the toilet/shower/general personal hygiene issues that go hand-in-hand with festivals. However, let it be said I lost a little bit of my soul everytime I ventured into those tin ‘environmental’ toilets.
Sunday night and the highlight of my weekend was finally upon me: that being, Grinderman. Fronted by one of my favourite men in music-Nick Cave-Grinderman was, for me, the clear standout act of the weekend. Despite the imminent rain, I manage to squeeze myself to the front of the crowd (well, second front) and realise that the only thing standing between my fantasy (that being, Mr. Cave) and I, was a bunch of twelve year olds. Now, I am all for ‘parents who want to believe they’re still hip by going to festivals, decking their kids out in a Ramones Tee and a pair of Converse and dragging them along’, but Grinderman? Come on. Taking your kids to Joanna Newsom: fair enough. Elbow: fair play, but not Grinderman. That is pure blasphemy. That aside, the audience (and myself) ate every rocking minute up, not even the pouring rain dampening our spirits (pun intended).
Night falls and it’s time for the last act of the festival: Interpol. Bad idea if you ask me. But no-one really did ask me. Or Interpol wouldn’t have been closing the festival. Lead singer Paul Banks: amazing. Appears to be channelling ‘The Exorcist’ in themed coat, hat, glasses and creepy ‘mood’ lighting behind him. Barely acknowledging the audience between songs results in a rather staunch performance, the band looking almost pained as they go through the motions. I wangle myself into the front row. Not sure why – don’t even really like Interpol enough but front row is still front row, semi-crappy band or not. Due to the monotony that is Interpol, I begin to count the number of crowd surfers pulled over the railings by security and sent back into the masses. By the end of the set, I’ve counted 43. Is that possible? At an Interpol gig? Suffice to say I found myself more enthralled with the crowd surfers than Interpol. To be honest, doesn’t say a lot about the band. Rain starts to pour but in true festival spirit I stick around for a rather anti-climatic ending to the weekend.
Would I go back next year? Yeah, I think I would. It was a totally relaxed weekend with lots to see and do, but to be brutally honestly I think it lacked, well, vibe. You know, that “we’re all young and fabulous and witnessing something truly special together” feeling you get at a truly great concert or festival. Granted, I think punters (including yours truly) expect smaller, more boutique festivals to have a bill comparable to the likes of Glastonbury or Reading, but in reality it’s just not possible. All said, Latitude was definitely a good time. So we packed up the tent in the early hours of Monday, and headed back to London town: tired, but with (mostly) dignity intact.
Review by Sarah Link 06/08/2008
