I imagine it was how Glastonbury started out at the beginning. Families, bare feet, small scale, culture beyond music. Life affirming performances, shady woodland and well managed recycling schemes. New bands, old favourites, and pop legends. In fact Latitude’s slogan is ‘More Than Just a Music Festival’, and with all day poetry, theatre, cabaret, comedy and activities for children to partake in, it really lives up to the promise.
I was prepared for a hearty British weekend of facing the rain and braving the cold. Instead we were blessed with blue skies and t shirt wearable afternoons, with only a couple of brief downpours worthy of mention. I’ve even returned with a bit of upper back sunburn peeling, which for such a dismally forecast weekend ain’t bad going. What distinguishes Latitude from it’s festival brothers and sisters is that the most of the camping and arena ground is fortified with sand, and so what would ordinarily be slushy shoe ruining post-drizzly bog, is within hours dry again. Result!
Latitude is just the right size for tight city limbs to be gently stretched and new areas to be found, explored and adored, but not so big that making arrangements to meet up with fellow festival goers was necessary; everyone I knew was going to be there, I saw at some point over the weekend, either crossing the bridge, swaying at the sunrise stage, or purchasing the first fair trade coffee of the morning from one of the various ethical food stalls.
Arriving mid afternoon on Friday allowed enough time for the ritual of finding a happy camper to borrow a mallet from for putting up the tent, pumping and re-pumping up the air bed with the valve actually in the second time round, and changing into the traditional wellies, cut off jeans and band t shirt before picking up a site map and making a make shift schedule plan of who not to miss.
The first band of the weekend I caught were the wonderful Of Montreal, on the main stage playing to serene afternoon sun seekers lazing dozily on the grass. Leaping and prancing on stage in vaguely animal related sequined and feathered costumes. The evening set in and sets from Local Natives on the intimate Sunrise stage, Fever Ray, the great Danes Mew , and the gorgeous Bat for Lashes saw us through into the early hours.
Saturday was an exploration day, and at Latitude there is plenty going on that caught our interest. Manned by several young friendly assistants dressed in Victoriana get up was ‘The Tree of Lost Things’, on which anyone was welcome to take a luggage tag shaped piece of card and write on it something they lost, be it literal or figurative, and tie it to the branches. There were several ‘umbrellas’ and ‘torches’, but also more poignant notes like ‘my Gran’, or the ever amusing ‘my mind’ and ‘my virginity’. In the same vain there was also a project in a small tent which invited people to share ‘something special’. It was surprising and heart-warming reading what people treasure; simple things like ‘the first bath after a festival’ or ‘waking up next to the woman I love’, as well as some which were purely pictorial or cryptic in their reference.
Music wise, Saturday was somewhat epic. Just as the sun made it’s lazy journey to the horizon and turned everything a shade of golden on it’s way, Edinburgh’s retro lovers Camera Obscura played melodic head-nodding pop tunes to a swinging and swaying tent of appreciative fans. We heard the set from Brooklyn sweetheart St Vincent too, who sounded like a countrified Feist singing as she did about Paris, pearls and Jesus. Upping the tempo and causing the kids to surf the crowd were the band of the moment Passion Pit, who were every bit as energetic and exciting as I was promised. Old timers Doves didn’t disappoint, but my heart was holding out for the absolutely show stealing Grace Jones . No shrinking violet, Miss Jones performed to thousands of cheering idolisers braving the pouring rain, wearing very little but doing rather a lot of pole dancing. She may be in her 60s but she has the body and the energy to rival any of her younger contemporaries, and musically is still as talented and creative as ever.
Talking of all powerful iconic females, the other high point of the day was catching the talk by national treasure Vivienne Westwood for which hundreds packed into a humid badly sound managed tent to see. It seemed from a rather frustrated Westwood that miscommunication had resulted in free copies of her ‘Cultural Manifesto’ destined for the audience (on which the talk was based and read aloud from) had gone missing, which meant her oration was in points a little hard to follow.
Unusual scheduling saw Thom Yorke playing first slot of the day on Sunday, for which mellowed out couples, families and revellers made it out of their tents in time for. Playing a mixture of songs from his Radiohead lead singer days as well as music he has written and produced since, he provided the perfect start to a Sunday of good vibes. A pair of duos, newish pair of Scots Sugar Crisis and the not so newish pair of Sheffieldites Slow Club, were my day’s highlights.
Over in the Gaymer’s Cider Tent they put on a very popular rock-aoke, which for those who aren’t familiar with the concept consists of a stack of LPs and a ready to rock and roll backing group who will play your chosen tune on drums, base and guitar while you sing (badly) over the top. As much fun to watch as it looked to join in. After some fun face painting with the Oxfam representatives, whose witty but effective message was to ‘talk about issues until you are blue in the face’, we hopped on board a bus of art, more specifically Peter Blake’s art, of Lonely Hearts Club Band cover design fame. The man himself was aboard, and his distinctive style of collage and multimedia was a pleasure to peruse during the brief afternoon downpour. Only a stone’s throw from the double-decker was a Brazilian couple hell-bent on teaching a group of festival goers to dance the samba on the same spot I noted the day before was sheltering a similarly sized throng wanting to perfect their howdy cowboy line dancing technique.
Sadly as is the case with festivals, great acts overlapped and catching both the Gossip and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds meant missing some of each. The timetabling, I thought, would divide the crowd, if not by generation then by individual taste, but whether it was curiosity of the unknown or purely a chancing of mood that led people into whichever arena they enjoyed, I found both audiences to be a blend of teenagers, parents, dancing divas and mellowed out giggers, side by side and cheeringly contagiously.
After hours we paid a visit to the cabaret stage, home of all things risky and naughty, for some nipple-tassle-tastic burlesque courtesy of the Whoopee club and some provocative comedy from cabaret veteran David Hoyle. It was the perfect decadent end to a cultural feast of a weekend.
All Photos by Rachel Bevis
Tags:
Electro, Festival, Folk, Indie, Latitude, Review, Rock, Summer, Vivienne Westwood
