Whilst my US colleagues were drinking beer and catching bands in Chicago at the Pitchfork Festival, I headed out into the Suffolk countryside for the second Latitude Festival to drink cider and watch some bands (some things are the same the world over.) Staying in a tent for three days with little or no mobile phone reception meant live updates weren’t going to happen, so I went back to the old skool and took a notebook.
Friday 13th July 5.30 pm
Finally, finally have tent up, having walked for miles across the site to the guest camping area and been made to move tent once by an angry Welsh man in a tractor. He asks another woman to move, who I am convinced is the actress Miranda Richardson.
The festival site, in the grounds of stately home Henham Park, is just gorgeous, one of the best locations, outside of the ever-wonderful Glastonbury, that I’ve seen. There are woods filled with waist-high ferns, random bits of art and an inexplicable Chinese screen. There’s a lake, surrounded by rushes, with deck chairs and multi-coloured sheep grazing on the bank (really, not making this up, the sheep are blue, pink and yellow, although the general consensus is that the yellow ones could have done with a bit more colour.) There are grassy slopes, old-growth trees and it’s small enough to move from stage to stage easily. The programmes however cost eight quid each and are the only way of finding out the line-up. I’m not impressed, but unsurprised: events put on by the aptly named Mean Fiddler Group do tend towards the corporate rip-off side of things.
8.00pm
Have spent the last hour and a half trying to find my friend Julia. I can’t find the Sunrise Stage either and so have missed Emmy the Great and my chances of seeing Les Rita Mitsouko and Bonde de Role are looking slim. Give up and head towards the two main stages, feeling a bit self-conscious at being on my own at the beginning of the festivities. Then:
“Bloody hell Anna! How long’s it been? Come and sit down here darlin’ we’ll see you right!”
This is Stacey, who used to live with a close friend of mine. I’ve been saved. Stace is a party girl and generous beyond belief. Within five minutes I’ve got a drink in my hand and new circle of friends.
9.00pm Patrick Wolf, Uncut Arena
I was uncertain about seeing Patrick Wolf. I hadn’t been bowled over the last time I saw him, three years ago at the Islington Academy. On that occasion, to give him some credit, he was hampered by appalling, muddy sound, but seemed more interested in striking poses than getting his music across. I felt he’d have been better off performing in front of a mirror than an audience. Not this time. His voice is strong and clear – he no longer sounds like a cabaret Anthony of Anthony and the Johnsons. It’s beautiful. Patrick and his band launch into a violin-led stomper and the whole tent begins to dance, whirling and clapping. Stacey, whooping past my ear, sums it up well. “Eat that Gogol Bordello!”
Wrong Patrick Wolf I’m afraid – the one you’re think of doesn’t have an ‘e’ at the end of his name and, more disappointingly, isn’t on Emusic.
My apologies Tom, racing to get the links in leads to mistakes. All fixed now.
After that performance I’d love him to be on eMusic too.