Latitude 2006: In Music

United Kingdom | by Vicky Addinall16 July 2006

You know how it is on festival Friday. You can leave before dawn and you still won't get there until a pink-tinged dusk is settling in for the evening. Fortunately we get to Latitude just in time for the worst case scenario, the start of The Lemonheads. Having not witnessed Evan Dando gently rocking his mop and murmuring into a microphone since 1994, this is a much self-hyped treat. And it doesn't disappoint. Embracing a bizarre paradox whereby their folk-tinged pop sounds dated and timeless in equal measure, The Lemonheads succeed in taking you on a nostalgia trip into the swathes of grunge at its most gentle. Dando has not aged one bit. His voice, clearly put on this earth to sing 'Big Gay Heart', still sounds like a teenager on his death bed and the Aussie singer's still wearing that striped long-sleeved shirt of old. The new band may lack the impact of old, but the likes of 'Into Your Arms', 'Drug Buddy' and closer 'Rudderless' take you back to more innocent times when artists were real about being a bit fucked up, and therefore meant so much more. 

Saul Williams is the nearest we've got to that these days. However rather than being gnarled up by narcotics, his skin-shedding anger is driven from things that are out of his control. For the first of his two performances on Friday, the mohican-striped slam poet/rapper blasts his way through tracks from his latest self-titled album. Rarely pausing for breath in between favorites such as 'List Of Demands' and 'Surrender (A Second To Think)', he does stop to elucidate on the background and his choice of language in tracks such as 'Telegram' and 'African Student Movement'. A little too early for the dark-but-dance-floor hip hop, he does giggle at his own question as to whether everyone is 'ready to party?'. Later, for his slot on the poetry stage, he's visibly less comfortable, dressed discreetly in velvet blazer and scarf. In between nervous speeches and explanations of his work, once into his reading he mesmerises the audience, managing to hold their attention for several long, lavish poems including a breathtaking 15 minute poem.

Wandering aimlessly in a happy, hung over daze on Saturday, opening band The Hot Puppies present a polished, excitable set of swirling new wave, Welsh-style. The minor key vocals of siren Becky Newman are far more intriguing than the hoard of similar backwards-glancing, scuffed-stiletto wearing singers out there at the moment. Fueled less by synth and more by organ than you'd expect, recent single 'The Girl Who Was Too Beautiful' is a swooning pop number that sees Newman lose herself completely in the crescendo.

Shuffling into the Uncut Tent, the melodious tones of new Scottish songsters Unkle Bob draw a handful of intrigued festival goers out of the midday heat. While the audience frantically consult their guide books to see just who the hell they’re listening to, the band play on cheerfully playing their inoffensive folk pop for the noughties with a hint of Cat Stevens lyricism. Nice and all, but it’s really just far too sunny outside to hang around in a dark tent all afternoon.

Perfectly pitched for such a sunny afternoon, Sunderland's Field Music jump straight in with single 'You're Not Supposed To'. Coyly admitting they have little idea of where they are, 'just somewhere down South', the Macam brothers ignite their shimmering folk pop with plenty of gusto live. In between playing a new track from the forthcoming album due out in January and stomping through their harmony-led songs, stand out track has to be the bewitching love song (and seemingly an ode to the festival itself) 'You're So Pretty'.

The heat of the late afternoon haze burns on and the sound of 50’s brass riffs and rolling drum beats holler out from Latitude’s main arena. No, it isn’t a learn 'how to swing dance' lesson, much to the disappointment of the grey beard contingent, but the sound of Trangressive’s new signing The Rumble Strips. With their sweet melodies, pounding keys and flurries of sax and trumpet they bring back a dose of 50’s rock n roll glamour to indie pop. Singer, Charlie Waller, has the sultry looks and James Dean swagger that will inevitably make girls swoon. And new single, ‘Hate Me You Do’ has the audience toe tapping as restless punters look around wondering whether it's too early to break into a mid-afternoon jump about. The Rumbles may be on a different musical wavelength to most of their contemporaries, at times they could fit into a 'wella wella wella..' musical scene from Grease, but it’s an incredibly fun one.

Next up, in massive contrast, are the cliff-soaring Guillemots. Hotly tipped as ‘the next big thing’ by industry big wigs this quartet of musical misfits have caused enough of a stir in recent months to draw a fair collection of Latitude observers to see what all the fuss is about. Guillemot’s are not your regular popsters that’s for sure. No lollipop sweet commercial drivel here, their songs are architectural compositions and their peformance could almost be called a recital rather than a gig with just as much over the top pomp and gusto as you'd find at an Eastern European opera. Lead singer Fyfe Dangerfield, sits like a wine-swilling anti-hero at his keyboard, head shaking his hay-stack hair in a typhoon rage, his knees wobbling neurotically as he warbles on. Guillemots take you on a soaring musical adventure that, performed live, has a raw and electric edge. Today they finish with ‘Sao Paolo’ – a fearless ten minutes of sound that encompasses several sections, broken rhythms and clashing chords that all layer up to form Guillemots' kaleidoscopic musical world. The audience stand dumbstruck, because it shouldn’t work - but somehow it does.

Perhaps the most an anticipated act of the day is Gomez. Having sailed from these shores to find solice in a more receptive US audience while throwaway NME bands momentarily stole the limelight in fickle Blighty, the boys from Southport have stripped things down and returned with new album ‘How We Operate’. And as the loudest crowd of the festival so far prove, real people in the know never stopped loving them. You can hear the influence that Gomez’ stint in the US has had on their new material both lyrically and musically. Gone are the days of singing about nights out in Manchester, now it’s everywhere from Chicago to Memphis and the occasional strum of a banjo suggests a bit of country and western has been added to their string of influences. That’s not to say that the Gomez we all hold in our hearts have moved on completely. Songs such as ‘See The World’ with it’s sha la la’s and guitar strumming ditties strike the old feel good chord, and Ben Ottwell’s raspy vocals are as rousing as ever. Realising that their Latitude audience may not be quite up to speed with the new material, the boys throw in a few old favourites to keep us all happy, ‘Get Myself Arrested’ and ‘Whippin’ Piccadilly’ end their set familiarly and are greeted with warm cheers. So Gomez are back, and they certainly rekindle their old flame at Latitude.

On the Obelisk Stage, British Sea Power have been holding the faithful branch wavers in their misty reach of weirdom, setting the stage for Patti Smith and guitarist Lenny Kaye to remind the Guardian readers of her gritty realism. Both set the stage for Antony and the Johnsons, who are right at the heart of Latitude according to festival organiser Melvin Benn - and he clearly know’s his audience well. The majority of the festival crams into the main arena to catch a glimpse of the Mercury Prize winner, shrouded as much in his own attire as he is in the darkness of the stage. Modestly perched at his piano to the far left of the stage he looks and sounds just as you’d expect; his voice echoing eerily through the air. Album favourites ‘Hope There’s Someone’ and ‘You Are My Sister’ spiral out beautifully as Latitude stands obediently transfixed. There's some truth in claims that it's too late in the day for the band's delicate and sublime overtures, especially judging by some of the drunken staggering and ignorant banter that interupt the performance, but you can't helped be entranced by the understated power of 'That Voice'. 

Sunday and it's over to one of the darkest and most confusingly advertised stages on the site, the Music & Film Arena. The melodic folktronica of Absentee is creating a small sonic daydream as the band perform beneath reruns of classic Wylie Coyote cartoons. The combination of Dan Michaelson's deep, bassy vocals with the keyboard and percussionist's sweet harmonies is captivating. Playing to mostly a curious, uninitiated crowd, they hold their own working through playful Americana tinged tracks from their debut album 'Schmotime'.

Nicky Wire has always been a leading light of the theory that bassists are the oddest member of any band, but his foray into a solo career has to be one of the strangest decisions he's made yet. Eagerly awaited by a gaggle of hardcore Manics fans, he struts on stage wingeing incoherently about his questionable success in comparison to James Dean Bradfield's efforts. From there on he caterwauls through some cod-rock nonsense before murdering classics, such as The Who's 'Substitute'. In a rare flicker of self abasement he does recognise his failings with the statement, 'at least you've seen the death of a Manic Street Preacher' before feigning drunkenness, flaying about on the floor and finishing. This was a rare treat, if only as a chance to see how bad a gig can be when an egocentric, usually tied in with a band, is given a free rein.

White Rose Movement are usually found barking their tracks out of a dark corner in a sweaty indie club, so they do look a little out of place in the light environs of the Sunrise Arena. Taking it in their stride, they set to work, pumping up their intelligent 1980s electro homages from album 'Kick' - apart from single 'Girls In The Back', which sounds flat without the production and almost in the wrong key. Although picking it up after this disappointment, singer Finn Vine announces he is losing his voice and gets two members of the audience on stage to help him out. In what could've been a dangerous karaoke crash and burn, the two lads remember the words and their harmonies impressively help Vine's flattering voice. Although keyboard player Taxxi looked a little less impressed.

Coyishly entering the lone pool of light on the dark stage, Regina Spektor looks genuinely surprised to see such a good turn out. Starting with an a cappella track, her voice fills and silences the area. Moving between the piano and guitar, she plays tracks from recent album 'Maryann Meets The Gravediggers' and a few from Soviet Kitsch, including a glistening rendition of 'Us'. Gratefully thanking the frequent shout outs of 'I love yous', she frequently encourages people to singalong and has everyone joining in for 'Uhs' in new song 'Uhmerica'.