day 2 overview

Latitude wakes up to another glorious day, ready for the early start of The Hot Puppies on the Sunrise stage – being the first band on seems to have boosted their crowd without alternatives.

Singer Becky Newman enters to the sound of a Theremin – unique to my knowledge – and immediately showcases a voice that packs a punch and belies her slightly weedy tone during inter-song chat. She’s also read the manual of power poses, frequently statuesque for the audience to bask in her glory but my attention was drawn by what was going to be the clear winner of the ‘Gurning Drummer of the Week’ award. Good for him that the wind had dropped or his face would stay like that (according to our mums).

But, as the strap line tells us, this festival is about “more than just the music”, so I spend an hour or two checking out the other arenas just to give a flavour of what’s going on.

In the Poetry Tent I hear an ode to Jamie Cook, the attacking midfield player who took Stevenage Borough from Conference to Premiership in the composer’s game of relationship breaking computer game Championship Manager, before cruelly asking for a transfer.

In the Literary Tent, Alexander Masters is reading from his fascinating sounding book Stuart: A Life Backwards. Later in the same tent I play a giant game of Boggle, the audience versus performer and World Boggle Championship runner up Josie Long. She is trounced, of course.

In the Cabaret Tent there is a dance class going on, around 50 people learning how to Charleston, from which I abstain and wander to the Kid’s Field where there seems to be a raft of activity for pre teens. That’s a good thing too because if this festival has been anything, it’s been a huge draw for families. It adds to the relaxed atmosphere and kids entertaining themselves can be entertainment itself. Frequently I find myself wishing my 8 year old were there so she could take in some of the festival treats I know she’d enjoy.

The Music and Film tent is showing a movie about a man who played his instruments randomly and out of tune. Vox pops proclaim his genius and I assume it’s a spoof, but no-one is laughing.

At the Comedy Tent Michael McIntyre performs. His Public School voice may not be the one you’d immediately connect with your funny bone but he is the act of the weekend in this tent and proves clichés become so because they are true – tears were rolling down the cheeks.

Back to the music and you can tell how hotly tipped Polytechnic are by the number of photographers who go out of their way to come and snap them. They have a clean guitar sound, not dissimilar to Clap Your Hand Say Yeah, a comparison you can aim at the vocals too.

The songs are driven by dominating bass lines and some Spartan drumming, prime example being new single ‘Pep’. Manchester may have produced another one.

The Lake Stage, curated by Radio One’s Huw Stephens, hasn’t thrown up any names that draw you to it, so it was a stroke of look that I strolled past at the start of Das Wanderlust’s set. Thrashed guitars, cheesy keyboards, vocals with the delivery of a shouty Janet Street Porter and frequent bouts of laugh out loud humour make for a delicious set. It’s utterly non-commercial but totally magnificent, the regular cock-ups making them all the more endearing.

I’d seen the Guillemots earlier in the year and hated them. Paradoxically, I love their records, so I felt duty bound to see them again and work out whether the problem was theirs or mine.

It’s the former. I last just 3 songs, departing after ‘Who Left The Lights Out Baby?’. It’s a mess, seemingly structure less. The contradiction is solved – live they have no control and descend into some sort of freeform jazz act. Not even Melvin Benn and his diversity policy would deliberately book that, and I’m off to see I Am Kloot.

John Bramwell has spent more years than I imagine he cares to remember in music, previously as Johnny Dangerously, and now in this criminally underrated band – and I was as guilty as anyone until now.

He throws away the fabulous ‘Over My Shoulder’ as the opener and immediately shows the Guillemots how it is done - the song is the star, not the band. Bramwell doesn’t particularly engage his audience as frontman but his Mancunian Gallagher style delivery is as clear as day and captivating.

Alongside him the band’s bassist is seated, hunched over his instrument, never without a tobacco fix on hand. His gaunt figure seems at death’s door and when Bramwell shakes his hand at the end of ‘To You’ you think he may be congratulating him on getting through the song without keeling over.

The crowd welcome British Sea Power by waving leafy branches. The stage is full of greenery too so its unlikely foliage has been adopted at the Latitude equivalent of those annoying big flags you see at major festivals. But if anyone can explain, I’d be keen to know what it is all about.

Anyway, the start of the act suggests we are in for sine Guillemots style improve as violin and trumpet join the mesh of guitars making random interjections, but when that’s dealt with we see the most intense and powerful performance of the weekend so far.

‘Remember Me’ packs an Amir Khan type punch, knocking out the afternoon sun lethargy and signalling the evening has now begun. ‘Please Stand Up’ is another highlight before we end in a shambolic fashion. The guitarist, now finished, is picked up by singer Hamilton before being body-slammed to the floor. His victim returns the complement by slinging Hamilton over his shoulder so that he spends a couple of minutes singing upside down before being dropped. As a finale the guitarist stands 12 feet up on the amps, showering his colleagues with water. Blimey!

Ex-Gorky’s man Richard James is showcasing his solo material at the Lake Stage. It’s lovely, but unspectacular, the songs as shy and retiring as their author – each smattering of applause is met with a meek ‘cheers ta’.

The Uncut arena must be the only one in the UK, temporary or otherwise, with a camber away from the stage, meaning you stand lower than the person on front. It’s not been a problem so far, but it becomes one for Gomez, who are enjoying something of a renaissance.

Opening ‘Get Miles’ highlights one of the most distinctive vocals in British music today, and the world record head bobbing attempt gets underway – it’s not quite music to dance to but you want to move something.

The songs are shared among 3 band members, each with their own style. The set serves as a reminder of why they won that Mercury Music prize and the sublime ‘Get Myself Arrested’ and sped up closing song ‘Whippin Piccadilly’ finally provokes movement of feet along with the neck.

Melvin Benn says that if Antony and the Johnsons had not agreed to play, he would have questioned whether or not he wanted to put on Latitude at all, so integral were they in what he wanted the festival to be. No pressure on Antony then!

For a man who imposed some draconian photo restrictions, such is his apparent shyness, Antony seems to be enjoying it, tagging on an extra couple of choruses to ‘Sister’ just for the hell of it and chatting happily to the crowd. But I wasn’t convinced that this is the arena for them; it’s too vast and not full which means a lot of casual observers chatting. The songs are not going to turn their heads, especially when they’ve been drinking in the sun all day. I felt that intimate songs like these need intimate surroundings until, suddenly, it ends and I realise that I’ve been mesmerised, The Johnsons carefully and surreptitiously removing my Northern cynicism and drawing me in. One:Nil to them and Melvin Benn.

So to the after hours fayre on offer. The Literature, Cabaret and Poetry tents continue until 3am, the latter’s tiny canvas not nearly enough to house all those wanting to see John Cooper Clarke at midnight.

Out of earshot, I decide to wander and catch Lydia Lunch, reading short stories of filth and depravity. It’s great!

Meanwhile, the Comedy tent is now home to the Guilty Pleasures club night - the only place where you can sing along to ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’ and other cheesy tunes without being looked upon with total disdain. I knew all the words, as did many others. I blame the parents.

Latest Updates