Latitude 2009 : 4or The Record Review

Straight away it was obvious that the selection of The Pet Shop Boys, Grace Jones and Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds had meant that the bulk of the Latitude faithful would be over 40. Latitude typically contains it's fair share of elders anyway, along with hundreds of families, gaggles of kids thinking they're 'Cool' that will annoy and even more middle class people, who will equally annoy (especially when you hear someone who was probably in his 20's declare to a friend “I want to go see Little Boots and shout 'You're fit.'”  It sounds a strange thing to say anyway, but the posh accent topped it off.). If the middle-class tag fitted to Latitude was always tied on strong, it was well and truly tightened this year.

Kurran and the Wolfnotes had the difficult task of curing a hangover of a sleep deprived stormy night and three people in a two-man tent, a problem that could easily have been solved by the tent occupying my cupboard. Their dusty Americana passed the test, and cleared my regret of ignoring Wednesday's text that read “It could be a squeeze in the tent.” Then it was off across the bridge, past the painted sheep to catch a belated, harshly funny Lee Mack.

After paying Miike Snow's cacophony of noise a flying visit in the Uncut Arena, it was off to the main stage, The Obelisk. The Broken Family Band were the target as their dry wit both in song and stage banter never fails to entertain. The funnies continued into the Uncut, where Neil Hannon from The Divine Comedy's newest project, The Duckworth Lewis Method were playing their tales of cricket. If you don't know anything about cricket the lyrics will go straight over your head, if you do, they are absolute genius.

New Zealander Ladyhawke was up next on the Obelisk so the short hop across was made, only to be disappointed and then rue missing Lykke Li. The Pretenders then drew the mums and dads to the front before Regina Spektor played the exact same set she did at Glastonbury three weeks before. Not that it mattered, her voice and eccentricities were still captivating, even if she did forget the small matter of how to play guitar during 'That Time'.

It was first headliner time and after the novelty of The Pet Shop Boys' dancers with boxes on their heads and songs like Go West, Always On My Mind and West End Girls had worn off, it dawned that I'm actually glad I was born at the end of the 80's and didn't have to remember PSB as the band of my childhood.  So, at least one good thing came from it. Oh and there was a strange, strange Viva La Vida cover dropped in there, surreal should just about do it.

Luckily, Turin Brakes offered the chance to forget what had gone before, proving how special a band they can be by playing an acoustic set in the Music And Film Arena. Showcasing new songs alongside the likes of golden oldies Underdog and Painkiller.

After a tent reshuffle, (which had since gained a giant neighbour housing only two people- which was rightfully met with envious eyes) Dear Reader began day two with something of an anti-climax. Their final song, Great White Bear was about to embark into its brilliant crescendo, only for them to realise a misplaced capo was about to send them into catastrophe. Still, they impressed. Embarking on the trip back across the bridge again, David Ford was found to be playing a secret set at the lake edge meaning Wildbirds and Peacedrums were missed, but for a very good reason. A difficult midday consisted of a comedian so bad wasp-baiting was the centre of our attention. It inevitably turned nasty, but luckily The Uncut offered the safety of St Vincent's cinematic folk.

It picked back up again when Broken Records showed they're more than Arcade Fire wannabes, taking on Scottish folk with massive results. Although in fact still very Arcade Fire. Scott Matthews - after Dave Gorman had been slightly disappointing - regained my belief in him after the disappointing second album Elsewhere, with a stripped down acoustic set in the Uncut. Elusive and Passing Stranger are extra spine-tingling when it's just his Buckley-esque voice and his acoustic.

Instead of staying to watch Camera Obscura, it was decided upon to head to the Obelisk for White Lies, a mistake. The bar they'd set themselves wasn't even threatened, so it was up to Doves to save the day. A mixture of old songs and new, capped of by There Goes The Fear more than did the trick. There was a tinge of regret though, watching Doves meant missing Passion Pit for the second time in a month, firstly at Glastonbury and now at Latitude. Just as we arrived at a tent so hot glasses steamed up if you even looked at it, The Reeling was about to kick in and close the set. Bullseye's Jim Bowen was on hand to tell me “Here's what you could have won.” Still, Doves were just about worth it, opportunities to see Passion Pit will come up again, Doves maybe not.

Steak and onion baguettes and Robin Ince declaring his hatred for the national press sounded more appealing than 80's fruitcake Grace Jones, and rightly so. Danny Wallace reading from his latest book Friends Like These was up next, but as he was about to start to read, it dawned that we in fact could read ourselves so we didn't really need to see him do it. Dancing the night away to classic cheesy music in the Guilty Pleasures came a-calling.

Sunday morning brought what most had been waiting for, the Thom Yorke special solo slot. Going through a smattering of Radiohead songs including Weird Fishes/Arpeggi, rarities and songs from The Eraser, he showed how good he really is and the weather stayed baking for it. Going from piano to guitar to bass to synths and back again, he towers over the likes of Albarn and co. He's a funny chap too with it. Although it did now mean that everything from then on was going to come up a little short in comparison.

iLiKETRAINS was our next port of call in the Uncut, and they had a valiant effort at matching him. The epic soundscapes sounded huge, Interpol-esque. The dulcet tones of Alela Diane then offered the perfect shelter from the weather before braving the monsoon for our very own Alela Diane, Lisa Hannigan on the Obelisk. It completely pissed it down, but Lisa Hannigan magicked the sun back out during I Don't Know. Damien Rice is definitely missing something without her.

Manchester Orchestra's intense emo-tinged indie was a no-brainer of a decision back in the Uncut, despite clashing with Sky Larkin and The Rumble Strips. Brand New's best mates exploded through new material and old, more than matching Brand New's Glastonbury performance. A weird choice of festival for them but a good one. Then, The Gaslight Anthem produced one of the performances of the weekend, showing why The Boss loves them. '59 Sound is one of the best songs of the past couple of years without doubt, gravelly and emotive, they shined.

Back at the main stage, it was one of the first outings for Editors' new material in their support headline slot, it is definitely a departure but it's still somehow very Editors. They made missing 65daysofstatic worth it, and stole The Gaslight Anthem's thunder. As singer Tom Smith was at his distinctive and eccentric best,  Fingers In The Factories, Bullets and Bones stood out. They're a no nonsense band and wouldn't have been out of place closing the festivities.

Instead, that was to be an encore-less Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds, and after the scores of kids dispersed from the front, they certainly showed they are still fucking crazy. Seriously crazy. Again the middle aged were out in force, loving every bark that he sprayed out. I can't help but think Slow Club on the BBC introducing stage would have been a much better choice, though.

The line-up might not have been as strong as past years but it still threw up some fine, fine showings. It's still growing too, although thankfully not in attendants – Melvin Benn wants to hold onto the magic - so next year should hopefully have headliners that are a bit more relevant. It's a special festival, there's a glint in its eye. If you go once, you'll become a lifer.

Words: Jack Phillips

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