Field Day, London Victoria Park
hudson mohawke
July 31, 2010
I get off the bus early, mindlessly following some scenesters on the assumption they are Field Day bound. My assumption is misplaced, adding half an hour to my journey, but not misguided. Field Day annually entertains a few thousand hipsters with an enviable line up of musical innovators, vanguard pop and fairground rides. However, with the last three years blighted by sound issues, ridiculous queues and the unforgiving weather – murmurs of style over substance have been rippling through Victoria Park.
My first port of call is the Blogger’s Delight tent for London/Brighton experimentalists Mount Kimbie. As the duo wander on, my friend turns to me and says “I love bands that appear to have stepped straight out of their bedroom and onto the stage.”A valid observation. Yet behind their charmingly humble demeanour rumble bone-shaking beats. Unashamedly emotive, Mount Kimbie layer haunting textures and glacial, glitchy complexity onto their two step skeleton. Add a blistering death metal guitar solo, a cymbal and a live snare and you have whimsical dub-step for the post-step generation.
Stumbling out into the summer sun (fourth time lucky on the weather front then) I blink my way to the main stage for The Fall. Last time I saw the Mancunians, I was in the photographers’ pit, sans ear plugs, and narrowly avoided Mark E Smith stepping off the stage and onto my head. Incredible as it was, my ears were ringing for three days and this time I decid to keep a safe distance. However this highlighted the common Field Day criticism: although the quality of sound has improved, the outside stages are still not loud enough. The shambolic musings of the post-punk pioneer simply do not carry at such low frequencies. The conversation soon turns to whether or not Mark E Smith shops at M and S and I decide to stick to the tents.
Intending to look in on Warp’s golden boy on the way to Caribou, I linger on the fringes of Hudson Mohawke for the first few genre hopping minutes. A proponent of Glasgow’s Aquacrunk scene, Hud Mo’s fractured bleeps soon draw me in. By Ooops, a track which de-constructs Tweet’s Oops (Oh My) and reassembles it over a bass line filthier than the lyrics of the original, my thoughts of moving on are forgotten. It’s always nice to have a choice of rhythms to dance to and this audience is dancing on every pivot going.
My final destination is the Bugged Out stage for electronic trio Moderat. After a seven year hiatus Modeselektor and Apparat are collaborating again. Under the monocle of Moderat, the Berliners synergise the former’s aggressive beats with the latter’s immersive ambience, to epic effect. Their tumultuous, all encompassing sound unite a good-natured audience in delirious appreciation. The vast improvements in sound from previous years are palpable as thumps and glitches ricochet within swathes of glorious sound. As the head-liners draw to an intoxicating close I receive the text : “plano awrtfrward? Can you meet me behind the black trimelap?”. Evidently I am not the only one overcome by the heady combination. Field Day’s style has now found it’s substance.
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