News / / 26.09.13

FESTIVAL NUMBER 6

Portmeirion, North Wales | 13th-15th September

Entering the main arena at Festival No. 6, you might wonder what all the fuss was about. Yes, the drive here was stunning, and the food stands do seem particularly impressive; but can this assembly of tents in a field really be the most important addition to the UK festival circuit of recent years? 

That’s not an impression which lasts. While this is where we’ll witness the festival’s big-hitters, this is where the monster sound systems are and where the singalongs will be; this is not where the true magic of Festival Number 6 lies. Because if you take a turn to the right, toward the pastel-coloured buildings flanking a walkway rather than heading straight through the hefty blue arch bearing the festival logo, that’s where you’ll find the manmade wonderland which makes this such a very, very special event.

Portmeirion is a stunning and surreal Mediterranean-inspired village set in a cliff-top overlooking Cardigan Bay, North Wales. The brainchild of Sir Clough Williams (for whom a stage at the festival, dedicated to Welsh music, is named), his lofty vision became realised at various points across the 20th century. It’s difficult to summarise the sensory assault upon investigating its endless trails and passages, where ornate decoration defines every sight, and at the end of each little adventure you find another serene view across the estuary. This is more than a quirky anomaly or an inexplicable anachronism. It’s an ambitious, ingenious, eccentric individual’s fantasy come to life. And rather than being simply eye-candy, the succinct arrangement of buildings actually provides a hugely effective function as a collection of venues.

NO 6 village

See the grandiose Central Plaza, where we spend our first evening in the company of the Brythoniaid Welsh Male Voice Choir, who seem to emerge from the cliff face and deliver a beguiling performances which balances Welsh standards with superb arrangements of contemporary songs, such as Manic Street Preachers’ Design For Life. Call it a wave of patriotic poigniancy, but the sound of the choir soaring into six separate vocal parts is as powerful as it gets. It’s also there we enjoy John Cooper Clark at his brash and brilliant, ranting best, and having been rearranged due to Sunday’s howling wind and rain, see Submarine and Wild Abandon author Joe Dunthorne deliver a captivating and intense reading from his upcoming third novel.

choir

Away from that central focal point, each diversion around the village yields further surprises. The tiny Town Hall sees the No 6 Ensemble delivering an array of performances, with the expert guidance of resident arranger and conductor Joe Duddell. Each afternoon they offer a performance of a Steve Reich piece (ingeniously titled Steve Reich in the Afternoon), while later performing stunningly rearranged pieces alongside established acts, notably a wonderful appearance with Daughter on Saturday evening.

Descending the slopes you arrive at the low-lying Estuary Stage, which welcomes a typically intense Friday night shift from Clinic, though its precarious position also means it’s hardest hit by Sunday’s weather, with acts moved to alternative venues. There’s also Tim Peak’s Cafe, a sanctuary for spoken word and lectures, including a storytelling session from Tim Burgess, and Simon Price delivering his party-piece Manics biography in anticipation of their Sunday night headline slot. It’s seldom possible to negotiate the winding staircase to Tim Peak’s, such is the demand for its offerings. A highlight comes on Sunday as the carnival works its way around each nook before gathering at the heart of the village with spectators observing from the overlooking platforms – though the procession has a ratio of around half genuine, wild-eyed carnies clubbing their toms, to slightly disconcerted-looking middle-class families who’ve been roped into something they can’t quite escape from.

Beyond its boundaries, the village dissipates into acre upon acre of luscious woodland, which the organisers have also seen fit to transform into an expanse of parties and stages. Having exited the centralised bustle, you can embark on an hour-long pastoral trail punctuated by pockets of vibrant action, or take a shortcut through the heart of the woods, following sounds until you either come to muddy dead end, or an unexpected gathering, or one of the main music areas dotted throughout. Saturday’s Moshi Moshi showcase on the delightfully handmade-looking Lost In The Woods stage and several Woodland Raves drew us beneath the canopies to revel in a decidedly different, more rough-and-ready atmosphere.

But despite its gorgeous, idiosyncratic appeal, this is, at its core, a music festival, and had that element of the programme failed to live up to its lofty billing, it couldn’t have been considered a complete success. As it transpired, a lovingly curated line-up spanning the esoteric to the crowd-pleasing delivered in spades.

The first attraction to tear us from the idyllic village to the cavernous Number 6 tent comes from Neon Neon, who eschew the lauded live theatre crossover of their recent Praxis Makes Perfect shows with a triumphant, stripped back set of greatest hits. While Gruff Rhys may alienate a fair portion of the crowd by refusing to interact in anything other than Welsh, it hits home just how impeccable a catalogue of retro-powered bio-pop they’ve built up across two albums; from Doctor Zhivago to I Told Her on Alderaan.

blake

Later, James Blake rises to the challenge of a main stage headline set, straddling the twin disciplines of his more emotive, mainstream yearnings with surprisingly tough deviations into up-front electronica. Having been perfectly warmed up by Bristol house institution Futureboogie’s flurry of immaculate house and disco, we make our way to the intimate Studio 6 tent for Friday’s impeccable highlight. In the first of a glut appearances across the weekend, spanning various sets across venues and approaches, Andrew Weatherall lives up to his long-standing billing as one of the most diverse, intelligent and discerning selectors in the country. Across three hours, he grows from engrossing Balearic disco into bubbling techno, then delivers his stunning Fuck Buttons remix in its entirety before degenerating into an hour of celebratory boogie.

weatherall

Despite remaining at the front of the tent until close, we eagerly drag ourselves up for Saturday’s first band, Hookworms. A huge disappointment, then, that their set has been cancelled with no explanation. We placate ourselves awhile before returning to the i stage for Melt Yourself Down, who are a joyous explosion of exuberance. With the insatiable ball of life Kushal Gaya spending twice as much time on the floor, howling into spectators’ faces, as he does onstage, they pluck liberally from their self-titled, should-have-been-Mercury-nominated debut album, and the whole thing is over far too soon.

Before taking to the Town Hall for their specially adapted set, Daughter draw a huge crowd to the main stage, where they produce a gorgeously measured and emotive performance, with the majestic Human amongst the most glowing moments of the whole weekend. We’re left cold by Tricky’s half-soaked attempt at a ‘rock’ sound, which genuinely, actually includes a cover of Ace of Spades, before Mount Kimbie take to their second stage headline slot. They cut silhouettes against stark white lighting and billowing smoke, depthy atmospherics resounding through the tent as live instrumentation melds into thudding analogue rhythms. It all meanders along beautifully, but never quite erupts. Lucky, then, that the act which follows is one, long, spectacular eruption.

daughter1

My Bloody Valentine’s boldly-booked headline set is utterly phenomenal. It would be great to be able to describe the performance without mentioning its volume, but it would also be disingenuous. The tent’s soaring populace sways druggily to the physically affecting swathes of vicious yet soothing volume seeping from Kevin Shields’ vast stack of amps. Expectedly euphoric are the likes of Only Shallow, over 20 years old and as vital as ever, while tracks from this year’s mbv like the swooning only tomorrow are equally astounding.

And, of course, to the notorious ‘holocaust’ at the core of closer You Made Me Realise. This relatively demure audience is spared none of its ferocity, though maybe some of its length. The section’s five minute duration is as divisive, as literally painful, and as roaringly powerful as it’s intended to be, as heads descend to knees and become wrapped in jumpers, faces turn from staring reverently at the stage to grimacing backwards; a crowd who thought they’d done a pretty good job of absorbing the worst MBV had to throw at them are sent careering from the line of fire by the audacious, piercing dirge. And surging from the gaping chasm of noise, the main riff reemerges triumphant, fists are thrust into the air, and the set is over. Devastating, and utterly masterful.

no6 view

As mentioned, Sunday saw the weather take its toll. Awaking to wailing, swirling wind and rain, it seems the festival was as unprepared to cope with the fluctuating conditions as we were. Venues were rapidly closed or switched around, particularly those in vulnerable locations, while the opening of the central arena was delayed, meaning we subsequently missed Islet’s set, perturbed by the swelling and impatient queues. But the weather eventually cleared, and we had an evening of legends laid out before us.

Having put his band-swapping aside for now, Johnny Marr has settled on an arrangement with his achievements very much at the forefront. His voice is far from his greatest asset, and he probably lacks the authority to effectively front a band in this way, but his guitar work is as sparkling as ever, and Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before, Bigmouth Strikes Again, How Soon is Now? and There Is a Light That Never Goes Out have the room as vocal and rapt as you’d expect. He elongates middle sections and drops into the odd singalong breakdown which may seem a little corny, but he’s Johnny Marr, he wrote these songs, and he can do what he likes.

heliosphere2

The rise and rise of These New Puritans continues apace as they deliver a slow-burning set which, at its best, is sublime. Fragment Two, in particular, takes an age to burst into life, but the pay-off is totally stunning. It’s then a rush back over to the main stage, to join the biggest crowd of the weekend for Chic’s perfectly polished karaoke set. If you haven’t seen Chic this summer you haven’t been looking hard enough, and their show delivers exactly what it has at almost every major UK festival this year: glittering disco brilliance aplenty.

The weekend’s culmination comes from an elated and rejuvenated Manic Street Preachers. They dominate with a combination of intriguing glimpses of new album Rewind The Film along with classics from their past, all littered with Nicky Wire’s impassioned between-song monologues and James Dean Bradfield’s finest rock star twirling. The set peaks with a glorious Your Love Alone Is Not Enough, a guest appearance from Richard Hawley for a heart-wrenchingly poignant Rewind The Film, and, of course, that ultimate bleary-eyed anthem, Design For Life, bringing our weekend to a wonderfully cyclical close.

It’s hard to imagine Festival Number 6 doing anything other than continue to flourish. While it has positioned itself as an approachable festival for the discerning late-20s/early 30s festival goer, the bookings thus far show a willingness to challenge more than pander. Its varied array of entertainment across a range of media also gently encourages you to indulge in more unorthodox pursuits than the usual festival fare. And with that incredible village as a shining, unrivalled beacon, it has something which will always set it apart. For the array of competitors who offer a collection of bands in a field, they just can’t compete with that.

 

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festivalnumber6.com

Words: Geraint Davies

Photos: Charlie Kearley + Geraint Davies

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