Showing posts with label psychedelia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychedelia. Show all posts
Sunday 20 March 2022
Sunday 12 October 2014
Sunday 14 September 2014
Saturday 26 July 2014
Latitude 2014 - the neo-psychedelia begins here
Good morning campers! It's rise and shine to a sun-kissed Friday morn and time to brave the legendary Shower Tent.
Wash-out
Clearly a number of us have set off early to beat the rush, creating the pyjama-clad pedestrian equivalent of a good old-fashioned M6 traffic jam. I'm left to flounder in the Mr Slow-lane as more lithe festivalists cut a mean jig past the Oxfam shop in search of early morning ablutions.
They needn't have bothered. On arrival we're greeted by little more than a desultory dribble that skirts perilously close to Trades Descriptions territory, but there's little choice but to strip off and make the most of it. It does a least give me the opportunity to flaunt my illicit M&S glass-bottled after-shave. Forget the magic-mushroomed, ketamine'n'weed dealers, this is my moment of glory!
The joy of slow cooking
On the return route I slope off to visit one of the many fast-food emporiums that litter the site. The lure of a freshly grilled bacon and egg bap proves irresistible. I have not, of course, anticipated the performance art of John, our Germanic camp cook.
I should have known as soon as I step up to the counter. There are but three of us queuing and I choose the wrong line. John, clad in black, and elegantly bequiffed, smiles knowingly and proceeds to crack open a brace of eggs with the look of one about to embark single-handed on major open-heart surgery. Clearly he takes the matter of egg-frierage seriously, so much so there is almost a Kraftwerkian attention to detail in it.
Twenty minutes later I set out for Veronica the camper-van clutching the most immaculately fried eggs one might wish for secreted amidst two mixed baps. Regrettably, the bacon is by now stone cold and to add insult to injury the yolks burst en route adding bright yellow detail to my newly donned cream slacks. Nevertheless, dear mrs electrofried is suitably impressed with my hunter-gatherer efforts and accepts with good grace the curdled remains of the breakfast feast I proffer to her.
Suitably refreshed for the day we set off in search of some culture.
Silent movies
For the first session I return to the Film and Music Arena, now dusted down after the electro swing frolics of the previous night, for a showing of the cult sci-fi silent film, 'La Antena'. It concerns a city whose inhabitants have had their voices stolen and there's a live accompaniment by a band called Esben and the Witch.
I've not heard them play before but they provide a superb and sensitive musical score to the events on screen. I love soundtrack music and Esben and the Witch excel, definitely a band to watch out for in the future.
An hour and a half later I emerge blinking into the sunlight and straight into a maelstrom of pollen kicked up from the dusty and now well-trodden grass of the festival fields. It takes a further thirty minutes and a restorative shot or two of festival cider before I can see clearly enough to make my way across to the BBC Radio 6 Stage.
Let the music begin
We last caught up with Jimi Goodwin (erstwhile lead vocalist with the Doves) when he supported Elbow on their recent UK tour. He puts on a similarly spirited set here to an appreciative audience. It's then but a hop and skip across to the Obelisk Arena for Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott, mrs electrofried's Festival Highlight. Their poignant and beautifully observed take on life in modern Britain is like a well-kept wine.
They're followed by Billy Bragg, but two of his overly earnest urban folk-songs prove more than sufficient, thank you very much, so its off in search of refreshment before a return visit to the Radio 6 tent. Temples, the first of today's neo-psychedelists treat us to a tour de force culminating in something that at times takes on the appearance of a mawkish kid brother to Pink Floyd's, 'Interstellar Overdrive.'
In a similar vein Goat are next up and who could possibly resist a Swedish experimentalist troupe clad in shimmering baco-foil robes and carnival masks. I've been looking forward for some time to seeing this lot live and they don't disappoint. Tribal drums, chiming guitars and yet more psychedelia mixed in with Afro-beat and loose jazz. They leave stage with the mosh-pit still performing a strange variant of some obscure Scandinavian voodoo shuffle.
Anna Calvi is somewhat of a let down after the excitement of the neo-psychedelists. I'm sure in the right place and at the right time her introspective music will work, but set jarringly against the high-energy that precedes her set the contrast is just too much. It does at least provide the opportunity to link-up with dear mrs electrofried and our winsome daughter, teenygoth for a few rounds with Editors. They look in good shape despite the loss of one of their founder members.
However, there's no time to catch the full session as the recently reformed Slowdive are about to play in the Radio 6 tent. Missing in action for nearly two decades they put in a sterling performance of surprisingly muscular shoe-gaze which sets us up perfectly for a climactic conclusion to the day. At 9.48 precisely Mogwai take to the stage and transport us all to a place of smokey drones, buzz-saw guitar interchanges and wave after wave of reverberating feedback. A stellar set that earns them top marks and a rapturous response from their deafened audience.
The music has delivered in spades.
Wash-out
Clearly a number of us have set off early to beat the rush, creating the pyjama-clad pedestrian equivalent of a good old-fashioned M6 traffic jam. I'm left to flounder in the Mr Slow-lane as more lithe festivalists cut a mean jig past the Oxfam shop in search of early morning ablutions.
They needn't have bothered. On arrival we're greeted by little more than a desultory dribble that skirts perilously close to Trades Descriptions territory, but there's little choice but to strip off and make the most of it. It does a least give me the opportunity to flaunt my illicit M&S glass-bottled after-shave. Forget the magic-mushroomed, ketamine'n'weed dealers, this is my moment of glory!
The joy of slow cooking
On the return route I slope off to visit one of the many fast-food emporiums that litter the site. The lure of a freshly grilled bacon and egg bap proves irresistible. I have not, of course, anticipated the performance art of John, our Germanic camp cook.
I should have known as soon as I step up to the counter. There are but three of us queuing and I choose the wrong line. John, clad in black, and elegantly bequiffed, smiles knowingly and proceeds to crack open a brace of eggs with the look of one about to embark single-handed on major open-heart surgery. Clearly he takes the matter of egg-frierage seriously, so much so there is almost a Kraftwerkian attention to detail in it.
Twenty minutes later I set out for Veronica the camper-van clutching the most immaculately fried eggs one might wish for secreted amidst two mixed baps. Regrettably, the bacon is by now stone cold and to add insult to injury the yolks burst en route adding bright yellow detail to my newly donned cream slacks. Nevertheless, dear mrs electrofried is suitably impressed with my hunter-gatherer efforts and accepts with good grace the curdled remains of the breakfast feast I proffer to her.
Suitably refreshed for the day we set off in search of some culture.
Silent movies
For the first session I return to the Film and Music Arena, now dusted down after the electro swing frolics of the previous night, for a showing of the cult sci-fi silent film, 'La Antena'. It concerns a city whose inhabitants have had their voices stolen and there's a live accompaniment by a band called Esben and the Witch.
I've not heard them play before but they provide a superb and sensitive musical score to the events on screen. I love soundtrack music and Esben and the Witch excel, definitely a band to watch out for in the future.
An hour and a half later I emerge blinking into the sunlight and straight into a maelstrom of pollen kicked up from the dusty and now well-trodden grass of the festival fields. It takes a further thirty minutes and a restorative shot or two of festival cider before I can see clearly enough to make my way across to the BBC Radio 6 Stage.
Let the music begin
We last caught up with Jimi Goodwin (erstwhile lead vocalist with the Doves) when he supported Elbow on their recent UK tour. He puts on a similarly spirited set here to an appreciative audience. It's then but a hop and skip across to the Obelisk Arena for Paul Heaton and Jacqui Abbott, mrs electrofried's Festival Highlight. Their poignant and beautifully observed take on life in modern Britain is like a well-kept wine.
They're followed by Billy Bragg, but two of his overly earnest urban folk-songs prove more than sufficient, thank you very much, so its off in search of refreshment before a return visit to the Radio 6 tent. Temples, the first of today's neo-psychedelists treat us to a tour de force culminating in something that at times takes on the appearance of a mawkish kid brother to Pink Floyd's, 'Interstellar Overdrive.'
In a similar vein Goat are next up and who could possibly resist a Swedish experimentalist troupe clad in shimmering baco-foil robes and carnival masks. I've been looking forward for some time to seeing this lot live and they don't disappoint. Tribal drums, chiming guitars and yet more psychedelia mixed in with Afro-beat and loose jazz. They leave stage with the mosh-pit still performing a strange variant of some obscure Scandinavian voodoo shuffle.
Anna Calvi is somewhat of a let down after the excitement of the neo-psychedelists. I'm sure in the right place and at the right time her introspective music will work, but set jarringly against the high-energy that precedes her set the contrast is just too much. It does at least provide the opportunity to link-up with dear mrs electrofried and our winsome daughter, teenygoth for a few rounds with Editors. They look in good shape despite the loss of one of their founder members.
However, there's no time to catch the full session as the recently reformed Slowdive are about to play in the Radio 6 tent. Missing in action for nearly two decades they put in a sterling performance of surprisingly muscular shoe-gaze which sets us up perfectly for a climactic conclusion to the day. At 9.48 precisely Mogwai take to the stage and transport us all to a place of smokey drones, buzz-saw guitar interchanges and wave after wave of reverberating feedback. A stellar set that earns them top marks and a rapturous response from their deafened audience.
The music has delivered in spades.
Tuesday 13 May 2014
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