Latitude Diary Day 3: Fromage Fray

At some point between the blistering Mars Volta set and the 2am Buzzcocks gig we stumbled off into the woods. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Like pack-a-mac clad moths to a flame we were drawn to the gaudy disco lights of the Club de Fromage. This, as the name suggests, was an open air Bacchanalian knees-up dedicated to synth-soaked, drum machine-drenched music of a Cheddary nature. With its heavy rotation of retro floor-fillers, it put me in mind of one of those god-awful 80s theme bar chains like Reflex, except it was good. For one thing, it was packed full of trees: from my experience these tend to be in short supply at your average 80s theme bar. Of course, a conspicuous lack of trunks, leaves and branches has never stopped the average Reflex patron from getting spectacularly out of their tree. That's what I call a testament to human ingenuity.

Besides the verdant ambiance, Club De Fromage was also packed full of nice people having a good time. From my experience, these tend to be in short supply at your average city centre 80s theme bar, too. I for one welcomed the noticeable lack of pinch-faced, dead-eyed, manic aggressive, "Don't-do-It-Mate, She's-Not-Worth It" types. Who knows? Maybe they were knocking back the red sambucas and getting into fights over at the poetry tent.

As Dolly Parton belted out "9-to-5", I leaned against a tree and endeavoured to be witty and articulate. but fatigue was taking hold. Clare, however, was on top form: "They should call it Treeflex," she said.

Wish I'd thought of that.

Latitude Diary, Day 3: Another Music in a Different Tent

Buzzcocks, in the wee small hours of 20th July (approx 3am, can't be sure), courtesy of some YouTube and some good natured soul with a camcorder. Clare rather unkindly said that they looked like a pub darts team. I reckon they played like a force of nature.





Brother Younger and I were taking care of business in the mosh pit. It may be undignified, but it's fun. If you see someone in the crowd jumping up and down in a mad pork pie hat it's probably him.

Latitude Diary, Day 3

On Latitude Saturday (otherwise known as 19th July), Sigur Rós were the headlines. They were good, but I don't like them as much as I feel I ought too. There's something about that finely-crafted, Icelandic, plinky-plonky minimalism that makes me feel as though I've stepped into a mobile phone commercial. I guess I can only take minimalism in small doses.

It was just after the Sigur Rós set that we encountered the Parachute Man. We were sitting on the field when some guy tripped over my foot, flew through the air and landed on a patch of grass nearby, face first. He remained motionless for quite some time and I was torn between genuine concern for his well-being and genuine concern for mine. He was wearing a rucksack, which led my brother to blurt out the line: "Maybe his parachute didn't open."

Eventually, he got up and stumbled off. He seemed confused; I felt relieved.

Other stuff I saw (or partially saw) that day included:

11.00 Marcus Brigstock's Early Edition. Now Show regular Brigstock was on fine form. Like Newsnight's review of the papers, but with dick jokes.
15.00 Bill Bailey. A similar set to lat year's. Just as funny.
15.40 Captain. Breezy.
17.00 Jeremy Hardy. Reassuring.
18.15 Rich Hall. Genius. His Buckingham Palace anecdote and musings on the phrase "At the end of the day" made me laugh so hard I nearly burst my appendix.
19.30 Guillemots. I'm not convinced. Neither is Clare. We'll leave it at that.
20.45 Mars Volta. Fucking awesome. They rock.
(?) Club de Fromage DJs. More late-night cheese.
02.05 Buzzcocks. A highlight of the weekend.

Stuff I missed (or wish I'd seen more of) include:Kategoes, Kabeedies, Seasick Steve & Mark Thomas.

Maybe next year...

Latitude Diary: Day 2, Part 2

Friday highlights included:

12.35 Robin Ince at the Comedy Arena. Very funny. Here he is at one of his Latitude Book Clubs, having an impromptu "Peel-Off" with Ross Noble:


15.00 Micah P. Hinson. Throaty Americana music. Good shit.
15.45 Bearsuit. Say it after me: "Jupiter FORCE! Jupiter FORCE!" Fucking awesome. More about them later.
20.00 Death Cab For Cutie. Clare's a fan. I'm being won over. They were good.

Here you go, Clare:


21.30 Franz Ferdinand
(?) Guilty Pleasures: late night cheese. No wonder I couldn't get to sleep.

Stuff I missed:

My old pal Nicky arrived on Friday so I helped her unpack, pitch her tent and lose her car. As a result I missed Ross Noble, British Sea Power and Julian Cope.

These things happen.

Latitude Diary: Day 2, Part 1 - Just a Bloody Minute

• 09.45 Emerge from sleeping bag.
• 10.20 Emerge from tent.
• 10.30 Make way from camping area to catch 12 .30pm recording of legendary Radio 4 panel game 'Just a Minute'.
• 10.45 Arrive at arena. Wake up.
  
• 10.50 Discover the Just a Minute queue is already about sixty-three miles long. The irony is not lost on me.
  
• 10.52 Reluctantly join queue. Have never seen so many Radio 4 listeners in one place. Am reminded about those movie legends about The Wizard of Oz: during filming, the Munchkin actors were said to be so overwhelmed by the unprecedented availability of like-sized people they lost all inhibitions and indulged in lust-fuelled, gin-soaked orgies and "dwarf sex parties". Remind myself that these are Radio 4 listeners: if they lose their inhibitions they'll probably indulge themselves in a slightly-loopy, slightly-tipsy, letter-writing binge and hit the coconut macaroons like there's no tomorrow.
  
• 10.52 Remind myself that I, too, am a Radio 4 listener.
• 11.00 Starting to get restless. I didn't come all the way to Suffolk to queue in a field. Maybe I should contact You and Yours?
• 11.05 Clare, Brother Younger and Chris arrive. They can't believe I've come all the way to Suffolk to queue in a field. so I can watch a radio show. I can't believe I'm trying to justify myself.
  
• 11.15 Chris finds out that all the Just a Minute tickets have gone. Understandably enough, the queue is heard to grumble. This is done without repetition, deviation or hesitation.

Latitude Diary: Day 1 - Thursday, 17th July 2008

Clare and I arrive at the campsite early in the evening. Brother Younger and his pal Chris have already arrived and set up the tents so we inflate the inflatable beds. To me, this seems like a reasonably civilised and mutually beneficial division of tasks, but Brother Younger thinks otherwise. This will become a recurring theme over the weekend: experience has taught me that when Brother Younger thinks, he invariably thinks otherwise.

10.15pm In the arena now, sitting on the grass with Clare and drinking cider. We've already lost Brother Younger and Chris. In the distance, there's a full orchestra providing a live soundtrack to E.A. Dupont's 1928 silent film Moulin Rouge. After the festival we'll be off to Paris and staying in Montmartre, so the choice of film seems like a good omen.

After a few more ciders, it stops being a good omen and evolves into a fully resonant symbol. Getting pissed in a field while an orchestra plays a live soundtrack to a silent movie - doesn't that simple image capture the very essence of the Latitude Festival? Isn't that what it's all about? Isn't that why we're here?

Oh, there's Rob & Chris. "Hi Rob & Chris!"

I share my observations with Brother Younger. He thinks otherwise.

5am Go to bed. Less said the better.

The Holiday is Over

Well, I'm back.

Over the last week and a half I've driven from Birmingham to Kent, from Kent to Sussex and then back to Kent again. I've taken the Eurostar to and from Paris and, today, have driven from Kent back to Birmingham.

At the Latitude Festival I've seen performances by (amongst others) Grinderman, Breeders, Bearsuit, Death Cab For Cutie, Franz Ferdinand, Noah and the Whale, Sigur Ros and Micah P. Hinson, I've partially caught performances by The Mars Volta, Blondie and Eli 'Paperboy' Reed & The True Loves and have seen stand-up acts by (amongst others) Rich Hall (and Otis Lee Crenshaw), Bill Bailey, Jeremy Hardy and Stewart Lee.

I've moshed to the Buzzcocks at 2am, saw the first ten minutes of Guillemots doing a live soundtrack to David Lynch's Eraserhead, listened to David Soul reading some blackly humorous crime noir and saw a fight break out halfway up the Eiffel Tower.

Oh, and I saw Tom Waits in Paris.

I'll be writing reviews and suchlike over the coming days. In the meantime, will you please just give me some time to process it all...

Longing for Latitude

I'll be going to the Latitude Festival on Thursday where I plan to see, hear and experience Grinderman, Breeders, Foals, Franz Ferdinand, Bill Bailey, Death Cab For Cutie, Julian Cope, Guillemots, Rich Hall, Jeremy Hardy, The Coral, Patrick Marber, Seasick Steve, Interpol, Simon Armitage, Joanna Newsom, The Mars Volta, 'Just a Minute' with Nicholas Parsons, Stewart Lee, Mark Thomas, Mark Steel, Blondie, Buzzcocks, Michael Nyman, 'Broadcasting House', Tindersticks, Micah P Hinson, Catherine O'Flynn and Irvine Welsh.

That's assuming they don't all clash.

More Julian Cope...

Quite looking forward to seeing St Julian at Latitude in July. I like him loads, have never seen him live and over the years have heard great things about his gigs. In the meantime, I've got this to look forward to:



The Birmingham Town Hall website says this about it:

Cope will present one of his infamous lectures, based on his years of study of the occult, mythology and Britain’s pre-history. Followed by a screening of cult film Haxan (1922 dir: Benjamin Christensen)-an other worldly vision of grave robbing, torture, possessed nuns, baby sacrifices and satanic Sabbath, with a live soundtrack by art house electronix outfit Bronnt Industries Kapital.

Which sounds reassuringly mental. To me, at least. If only History lectures at Uni were more like that then I might have turned up to more of 'em.

I've been trying to talk Brother Younger into going along with me. This sort of thing is right up his street.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Birmingham Carling Academy, 5th May 2008

There's cool, there's uber-cool and then there's Nick Cave. Australia's finest export - the Black Crow King himself - was on particularly fine form as he performed in front of a sell-out crowd at the apparently soon-to-be demolished Academy on Monday night.

He certainly looked the part. Dressed in a black, open-top silk shirt and sporting a horseshoe moustache, he put one in mind of a Latin American Revolutionary Hero with Goth-inclinations. For over two hours' he had the audience eating out of his hand. Granted, this may have something to do with the fact that few rock stars have fans who are quite as obsessive as Cave's (although, unlike the last time I saw him, I didn't spot any obvious 'Nick Clones' in the audience), but then again, few rock stars can match his charisma as a live performer.

With a two hour-plus set comprising of tracks from his new album Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! and some generous portions of from his not inconsiderable back catalogue, Cave and his long-time cohorts The Bad Seeds kept both new fans and decrepit old farts (like me) more than happy for more than two hours. This welcome trawl through the archives went as far back as 1986's deliciously-titled Your Funeral, My Trial (surely a contender for the quintessential murder ballad title) and included the perennial crowd-pleaser and movie soundtrack tart Red Right Hand. Other highlights of the evening included a stunning rendition of one of my favourite Cave tracks, Tupelo, from 1985's The Firstborn is Dead. It sounded every bit as menacing and magnificent as when I first heard it as a teenager.

Cave, though, saved the best for last. Before an impromptu and unrehearsed encore performance of the Abattoir Blues' opener Get Ready for Love, Cave warned the audience to prepare themselves for a disaster. The performance proved to be anything but: the Bad Seeds played mean and tight and the performance was electrifying. The night ended with The Lyre of Orpheus, which Cave transformed into a full audience-participation, call-and-response anthem.

I'll be seeing him again at the Latitude Festival this year in his incarnation as lead singer of Grinderman. That makes me an exceptionally lucky bastard.



Thanks to DinosauriaWe on YouTube for the following:

O Brother, Why Art Thou?

The following is a transcript of a text message exchange that took place yesterday between me and my younger brother, Rob (AKA Brother Younger):

ME: Julian Cope is playing at Latitude... :)

ROB: Great! Who's Julian Cope?

ME: Philistine!

ROB: I'm not sure who they are, either

ME: You're saying you haven't heard of Phil S. Stein?

ROB: Any relation to Phyllis Stein?


That's how things are between Rob and me.

Latitude

It's early days yet, but the line-up for this year's Latitude Festival is already shaping up rather nicely.

As I've probably mentioned before, Latitude 2007 was one of my favourite festivals ever (and that includes Glastonbury '97). A great location, a brilliant atmosphere, a nice mix of people, a relatively intimate scale, a welcome lack of corporate presence and a veritable smorgasbord of odd, mad and interesting stuff all contributed to the mix, but I think it was the shonky handmade signs that really made the difference. It gave the weekend a nice, old-school homemade feel and I've always had a weakness for shonky handmade signs.

On the music front the main headliners this year will Franz Ferdinand, Sigur Rós and Interpol. I've got mixed feelings about this. Franz Ferdinand will be fun to see live, I like Sigur Rós a lot but I'm not sure of their big(ish)-ass festival headliner potential, and I haven't heard enough by Interpol to care one way or the other. None of them have the same must-go appeal as, say, Arcade Fire, who stole the show last year. Having said that, I enjoyed Latitude 2007 so much that I'd have probably still turned up this year if the headliners were Adamski, Bucks Fizz and The James Last Orchestra.

In any case, like any good festival it's not really about the headliners: there's lots of other good music lined up, too. Grinderman, The Breeders, Buzzcocks, Elbow and Seasick Steve are currently residing in the archive file-box marked Stuff I Like Lots, while Death Cab For Cutie, The Mars Volta, M.I.A. and Amadou et Mariam are in a neighbouring folder marked Stuff I'm Planning To Listen To Soon. There's a time-honoured migration path in my head in which the contents of the second folder often end up being shuffled into the Stuff I Like boxes. Sadly, I've had to put the process on hold as I'm currently experiencing an administrative backlog.

There's lots of other stuff going on at Latitude besides the music. Last year my brother and I accidentally disrupted a woodland performance of Shakespeare's The Tempest (as opposed to, say, Jacqueline Susann's The Tempest) when my brother loudly barked "Arsenal!" in the style of Eric Morcambe. You don't get stuff like that at a V festival.

The comedy at Latitude is top notch, too. Stand-up standouts last year include Bill Bailey, Dylan Moran and Jeremy Hardy (I missed Stewart Lee, Dammit!). Already, this year's comedy line-up is looking pret-ty, pret-ty good: Bill Bailey and Stewart Lee are back, along with Rich Hall (and Otis Lee Crenshaw...), Lucy Porter, Ross Noble, Omid Djalili, Dave Gorman and the mighty Mark Thomas. More significantly, though, Nicholas Parsons and his cohorts will be recording an edition of Just a Minute from the festival. As a lifelong Radio 4 junky I can think of no better hangover remedy.

Anyhow, if - like me - you're Uncut Magazine-reading Radio 4 listener who's into eclectic music, good comedy and inadvertent acts of theatre disruption, then I encourage - nay, urge you to get your arse to Henham Park in Suffolk between the 17th - 20th July.

I mentioned the shonky handmade signs, didn't I?