day 3 overview

Put your underpants outside your trousers efestivals because you, yes you, were the superhero of the literary tent on Sunday, stepping in to save the day when all looked lost. The gathered throng watched on anxiously as the host of the Vox n Roll Pop Quiz realised that he didn’t have any paper for the teams to write their answers on. A panicked visit backstage and a call to ‘production’ couldn’t solve the problem and the whole thing looked in jeopardy until your representative, all chiselled good looks, swooped into his bag with calm authority and ripped ample pages from his notepad before striding manfully to the stage and thrusting the paper into the hands of the grateful quizmaster. Women swooned and men asked ‘who was that guy’. That’s how I recall it anyway, and any rumours of me looking ‘a bit freaky’ after an over-application of sun cream, and me tripping over a cushion on my way forward are pure hearsay. By the way, if I had had my underpants outside my trousers, I’d have been carted off to the cabaret tent – they liked that sort of thing in there.

Anyway, for the record I came joint second, on my own. A morale victory of sorts given the other teams had at least four members. Question 17 - For five points, can you you name 5 No 1 hits of the 60’s that had a birds name in the title?

My first sounds of the day were Captain who have provoked comparisons with ‘Swoon’ era Prefab Sprout because that’s what they sound like, with a slightly flat male vocal complemented with a wistful female singer. It’s no bad thing though as this harmony makes a wonderful sound, and singles old and new – ‘Frontline’ and ‘Glorious’ can act like ruby slippers and transport you to a safer place.

At the Lake stage it’s Jim Eldon. Jim is a proper folk singer – he hasn’t got his finger in his ear but nevertheless you know it’s folk as his voice makes the tune with only occasional fiddle for accompaniment. I’ve never heard any songs about Framlington Lighthouse before, nor about fishing in Bridlington, but Jim’s songs are marvellous, an authentic toe dip into waters your ‘cool’ wouldn’t let you bathe in. He even throws in a cover of ‘Something Else’ for good measure and his set is an unexpected pleasure.

Girls playing electric guitars are invariably sexy and I’m in love with Giant Drag’s Annie Hardy before I even see her. They are a minute into the set as I approach and already I can hear her Pixies sound and rasping vocal. Desire is even stronger when you hear her talk like Alyson Hannigan in American Pie about opening a restaurant in the UK selling “Burritos, Tacos and flambéed dead babies”.

The noise they make is made all the more extraordinary by the fact that there are only two of them, the drummer playing the synth in spare moments. He is clearly a talent too, but his beard means I concentrate on Hardy. Ironically, the brooding ‘Swansong’ is there penultimate number before ‘Kevin is Gay’ completes the set and Hardy tells us they are departing these shores. She tales a piece of my heart with her.

I approach Tom Verlaine with trepidation, as I would with any act labelled a ‘guitar legend’. For instance, Bernard Butler is possibly the best guitarist of his generation but as he has shown, it’s no good if you don’t play it on any decent tunes. The dragged out slide guitar intro to his first song and grumpy complaints about dry ice don’t fill me with confidence.

Verlaine and friend Johnny Rep are the only two on stage and both play guitar with Verlaine singing. Unlike Jim Eldon earlier there are no quirks to entertain, no hints that here is a thoroughly nice chap, yet we are supposed to worship at his feet because he can play a bit. By 90 seconds into the introduction of the 3rd song I’m casting envious glances at the young kids playing football. He didn’t play Marquee Moon of course, the miserable old sod.

Every time I’ve dipped into the Lake Stage so far I’ve come across an unusual unexpected gem, but I was pushing my luck with Mugstar. These instrumentalists play what only can be termed as ‘metal jazz’, having honed a style that makes it look as though they are making it up as they go along. It does, however, serve as a timely reminder as to why I’ve no interest in watching Mogwai later on.

Everybody knows one fact about the Mystery Jets, and band member’s Dad Henry Hall is here, looking slightly camp if truth be told, in a cravat and chess board shirt. He seems to lead the band, dictating timings and sound crew, and the multi instrumentalists are clearly well rehearsed with their four part harmonies.

They have a honed a style of troubadour chic, with their beaten up instruments, and the sound the part too. ‘You Can’t Fool Me Dennis’ and ‘Alas Agnes’ are tremendous songs and they go down a treat, apart from the one bloke who came in one entrance, gave the band the ‘wanker’ sign whilst walking, then disappears through the opposite end of the tent. The bad karma didn’t last though as seconds later a couple came through the exact same entrance, merrily waltzing all the way, which I make a victory to the Jets.

Finally it’s the lovely Regina Spektor, who claims to have hundreds of songs in her head that she just hasn’t written down yet. We get just 15 tonight but each one is a gem, lyrically as apt for the poetry tent as they are for the Uncut Stage, each one a short story that Lydia Lunch would have been pleased to read. Her wicked grin as she sings ‘someone next door is fucking to one of my songs’ as a refrain could be a reflection of her piano keys, whilst the remainder is utterly charming and sweet. There couldn’t be a more perfect ending to my music at this festival, so I was off to see if I could get another game of giant Boggle.

This was a wonderful festival. A terrifically chilled atmosphere led to a grown up festival full of respect, but not tainting the enjoyment. If there are any improvements to be made, then they should look either extending the poetry tent, or at least setting up a pa outside for the bigger acts. There was room for more people in the fields – numbers are reputed to have been about 12000 per day - and the main tent always had plenty of space to rattle around in. I wouldn’t want it too big though – its compactness was part of the charm, making it safe for families and giving the ability to walk between tents and dip into something briefly to see how it felt. It also meant that access to and from the site was a doddle. All in all, Latitude is highly recommended, I hope it sticks around.

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