Latitude

17-20 July | Southwold, Suffolk

It’s Thursday night and Inspector Norse is being blasted through the sound system of a £60 per head restaurant in a Suffolk field. We’ve arrived at Latitude. A unique meeting of worlds where top names in contemporary alternative music are dropped amongst a line-up that caters to all families and all generations. You know the sort, like their steak medium rare but want to lose their shit to Todd Terje after dessert. Rather than gawping at this yearly meeting of worlds, we decided to get as stuck in as possible and attempt to embrace the broad-based experience that Latitude is designed to be.

South African outfit John Wizards began our friday with a buoyant dose of their clipped South African stylings. The joy that runs through their recorded music was clearly present in the iArena tent, yet the same can’t be said for the quality of their performed sound, which struggled to communicate the fullness of their self-titled album. Then came a showing from Swedish worldbeat acid rockers Goat, who affirmed their status as one of the best live acts in the world. Their cataclysmic live show features masks, tassels and an animalistic energy which we found impossible to take our eyes off. Their stint on the 6Music stage seemed to finish as promptly as it started, but as is the way with any amorphous force of energy – you’re always left wanting more. Son Lux, now accompanied by a guitarist and drummer, is confidently constructing his live presence. Subverting the intimate nature of his studio albums, his live set at times verged on smothering nuance with an all consuming energy. However the set found dazzling clarity during closing track Lost it to Trying, which raised Son Lux’s performance potential to new and brilliant heights.

We then returned to the 6Music tent for a headlining turn from Mogwai. The Glaswegian post rock giants opened with White Noise and went on to provide a string of rumbling, stirring crescendos that only a band of their level and experience can achieve. With Lily Allen stepping in to headline the main stage at the same time, it was hard not to wonder why this band still play second stages. Nearly 20 years of gigging under their belt and it shows in the best way imaginable. Seasoned but spirited, experienced but enduringly exciting.

On Saturday the deep cultural malaise that is British stand-up comedy became manifest and walked on stage in the form of Rob Beckett. Recognisable as an 8 Out Of 10 Cats panelist, his set consisted of a jokes about glasses of squash, his mum getting his name wrong and a really acerbic swipe at “posh people”. The saddest thing was that many docile crowd members have grown so used to watching DAVE that they instinctively laughed at this banal shit with glazed eyes. Fortunately for us, Simon Amstell arrived to showcase a rough version of his new show To Be Free, for which he explored the concept of autonomy through God complexes, archaic traditions and his signature style of vulnerable frankness. As we left a girl said to her friend, “I liked the Never Mind The Buzzcocks comedy but… he’s changed”. We wouldn’t have it any other way – a breath of fresh air in a growingly monotonous climate.

Hall & Oates offered Latitude’s equivalent of Glastonbury’s now established ‘legends slot’. Under a scorching sun, what felt like most of the festival was packed into the tent to sway, sweat and sing along to Maneater and eventually You Make My Dreams Come True. Whilst not earth-shattering, the set was a communal confirmation of a well-loved act and their brilliant songs. As the sun grew we disappeared through a woodland clearing and found the theatre. Waiting for us inside was the brilliance of Tim Key’s Single White Slut, a comedic performance of poetry, dance and musings on everything from Gandhi to Muesli that can truly stake it’s claim to Crack’s highlight of the weekend. We then returned to the main stage for the headline set from Damon Albarn where a mammoth set of solo material, Gorillaz work and Blur output got underway with Lonely Press Play and a guest appearance from Graham Coxon for a performance of Tender. A victory for one of the country’s hardest working songwriters.

Our Sunday morning began with some Orwellian dystopia in the cinema tent, as Teeth of the Sea performed a soundtrack to a heavily edited, looped version of Michael Radford’s 1984. The visuals were arresting and the music visceral, yet this dynamic rarely relented leaving the piece to feel one note and slightly crude in execution. With heaped anticipation we then crossed to the Obelisk Arena stage for Atomic Bomb! This super-group performed jubilant cuts from the career of mysterious Nigerian musician William Onyeabor. For such an early slot the full band, featuring members of Hot Chip, LCD Soundsystem and Beastie Boys collaborator Money Mark, managed to unite their audience in a charged and involving celebration of a neglected musical icon.

We then headed to the iArena to seek closure on one of the most buzz-building bands of the moment. Content in pretending that none of them have Netflix accounts or postcodes, Fat White Family bundled on stage and brought their ramshackle debauchery to the festival equivalent of the Waitrose deli counter. Opener Is It Raining In Your Mouth? had their legion of former-Libertines fanboys clambering on top of one another and pretty much waiting for front man Lias Saoudi to get his dick out. Eventually he did, via a bizarre self-wedgie, and their mission statement was fulfilled once again. Still galvanised by their post-Letterman popularity boost, Future Islands’ set offered a satisfying dose of Samuel Herring’s wild impassioned performance style, without ever feeling artificial. During A Song for Out Grandfathers, Herring’s outstretched arm and longing eyes screamed of something real beneath the YouTube hits, offering up the spectacle and the visceral.

Tame Impala then ambled on to the Obelisk Arena with fitting nonchalance as they proceeded to wax lyrical about the beautiful festival that was hosting the final show of their current tour. Loosening into tracks from both Innerspeaker and Lonerism, the band confidently owned their growing status, delicately treading the balance between sprawling psychedelic jams and catchy pop choruses. The Black Keys came after and fell fairly flat on the Sunday audience. For a band that continue to get such high profile bookings, they seemed to lack any of the fuzzy ballsiness that runs through their early records.

Saying that a major festival isn’t “just about the music” makes us feel a bit like old blokes drinking craft ales and shopping at GoOutdoors, but Latitude really does offer a lot. For all the disappointing musical offerings, there was always an opportunity to see something we’d truly never seen before. It’s one of the few UK events where you can leave a Hall and Oates gig and realise you’ve missed a talk from Vivienne Westwood. It provides a unique cross-section of the arts and manages to avoid making you feel stupid if something flies over your head. Yes there are artisan breads available and yes some families were put out about having their tapenade taken off them on the door, but Latitude really is out on it’s own. Long may it continue.

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Words: Duncan Harrison & Angus Harrison

Photos: Jen O’Neil