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. Although her facial contortions really put me off. Start wondering if she isn’t perhaps the product of a polygamist sect. Start building evidence in my head regarding this idea. Long, virgin-esque hair. Check. Strange face. Check. Cultish attire. Check. 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’ (pun intended).
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. 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.
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. Five of the little suckers to be exact, and their Mum. 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 (again, 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. Thankfully the children who hampered my Grinderman experience have headed back to their tents with Mum for a bedtime story and 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 (were they the same twelve year olds who were meant to be tucked up on their inflatable mattresses?) 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, slightly violated, but with (mostly) dignity intact.
Part of our Tuborg Festival Blogger series!
