The Green Man Festival, Glanusk Park

Green Man Festival

August 21-23, 2009

We sent a couple of writers down to Glanusk Park for the Green Man festival and thought it’d be interesting to compare their takes. We tried to restrain them bt oh, no, they had many words. Many, many words. Here’re Rory and Sam’s opinions on the three-dayer…

By Rory Gibb:
It seems to have become a stock phrase in the broadsheets over the last few years, but I’ve always despised the term ‘boutique festival’. It seems to have become a by-word for child friendly, but its use implies the sort of sanitisation and corporate cleanliness that you’d associate with V Festival, rather than the anarchic feel and staunchly independent ethos of events like Green Man. It certainly doesn’t suggest that you’d end up with a line-up as diverse, fantastic and often bizarre as the one they managed to assemble this year.

Glanusk Park has to be the most appropriately chosen site of any festival I’ve ever been to. The mist over the Brecon Beacons in the background and sudden changes in weather form a starkly dramatic backdrop for a weekend that includes (amongst many, many other things) a giant ritual burning, copious pints of cider, games of Scrabble and a line-up that veers rapidly from twee to towering. It certainly makes for a foreboding Thursday afternoon as we set up our tents in this giant wind tunnel of a valley, battered by sporadic sheets of rain.

Still, all’s looking pretty good by Friday evening, after a day spent lazing in the sun, when Gang Gang Dance take the stage. The last year or so of relentless touring after the release of Saint Dymphna has turned the group, always tight live performers, into a well-oiled machine – today they launch into space immediately with ‘Vacuum’, its hazy guitar drift gradually submitting to deeper and deeper washes of cymbal noise. With the line-up expanded, for this show at least, the addition of a bassist lends their percussive workouts a directness and rhythmic fire appropriate for a Friday evening festival show. After rattling through ‘House Jam’ and a particularly gorgeous new(ish) one, which blends a humid tropical vibe with razor sharp synth stabs, there’s not a single person within view stood still.

In an alternate universe, Gang Gang Dance could have been headlining. To be honest, they probably should have: Animal Collective’s headline slot should have been a righteous affirmation of everything that’s seen them capture the hearts of so many since their inception. Whilst never a band to merely mimic the exact dimensions of their recorded material in the live arena, tonight they strip away all the layers of sound and mood that made Merriweather Post Pavilion such a glorious experience, leaving a mere skeleton behind. To be truthful, it’s not a whole lot different to many of the shows they’ve played for years and it’s refreshing to see a group still so strongly in touch with their experimental roots, but for a Friday night it’s a curiously muted end. ‘My Girls’ in particular feels like a loss, as its glassy arpeggios and Panda Bear and Avey Tare’s yelping drift over a mere ghost of the recorded version’s churning rhythm section. The set ends on a giddy nitrous high with ‘Brothersport’, but as a whole it certainly isn’t the triumph it could have been.

Animal Collective

Saturday starts with one of the surprise highlights of the weekend – an impromptu and defiantly unofficial unplugged set from Men Diamler. Over the course of its forty-five minute length the growing crowd is moved from location to location around the grounds, following pied piper Diamler’s quite incredible voice. There’s a touch of peculiarly British eccentricity about his demeanour, dressed for the occasion and accompanied by his battered old nylon-string guitar. He finishes, sat on a camping chair, with a singalong and a Jacques Brel cover in a style that ties his performance firmly to our folk-song-as-storytelling heritage. It’s pretty inspiring that an artist this exciting can just turn up, perform and compel just as much as most of the booked acts.

A great volume of sundried tomato olives (honestly, the best thing about the entire weekend) and more basking later, we’re at the Green Man Pub stage for Blue Roses. Laura Groves has a truly remarkable voice, both muscular in its delivery and almost frighteningly fragile. It’s her voice that instantly silences the field surrounding the tiny Green Man Pub stage, allowing the subtler but no less attractive aspects of her band’s music to soak into the groups and families assembled like a congregation. Their set is frustratingly short at only half an hour, but what it lacks in length it more than makes up for in intensity. ‘I Am Leaving’ is truly spine chilling, as her words leap and bubble through octaves, smooth and sweet as a mountain spring.

Blue Roses

Due to a general inability to get a large group mobilised after cheap instant noodles we manage to miss half of Beach House in the Far Out Tent, which turns out to be an unfortunate move as they turn in one of the most stirring efforts of a weekend packed with memorable performances. The new songs they perform are faster and more direct than the delicious, delerious narcolepsy of their last record Devotion, but lack none of its summertime shimmer. Victoria Legrand’s understated stage presence softens the atmosphere in the late afternoon and as they traipse offstage we head for the sunset explorations of Grizzly Bear, whom Legrand joins onstage for a stunning version of ‘Two Weeks’.

I don’t think any of us imagined we’d spend the Saturday night of Green Man going nuts to incredibly odd tropical-tinged American folk, but that was probably the main reason Dent May (and his magnificent ukelele) was such a welcome surprise. There were probably only around fifty people at the Green Man Pub stage – the rest of the festival, it seemed, had gone to watch Jarvis Cocker, who still has the moves even if not the tunes – but those who made the effort were treated to a late gem.

“We’ve rebaptised ourselves. We’re called Sexy Worm, yeah?” Zun Zun Egui take no prisoners, providing a much needed early Sunday adrenaline shot of a hangover cure. After a late Saturday night, some truly terrible heckling at the comedy tent and Rage Against The Machine at three in the morning in a Welsh courtyard, Sunday seemed like a slow starter. After five minutes of this, the idea seems laughable. In the year or so since I last saw them, they appear to have spontaneously combusted into something louder, weirder and fiendishly energetic for such an early point in the day. The initially small crowd – made up of a fair few recognisable faces from Bristol, plus Men Diamler bringing some serious dance moves to the table – swells sizeably by the end of their allotted time. It’s not even worth attempting to define their sound, but they’re a stick of dynamite in a sweet shop and quite possibly the best thing of the entire weekend.

Zun Zun Egui

Or they would be if it weren’t for Warren Ellis, Jim White and Mick Turner. Last year’s Dirty Three performance at End Of The Road was one of the most astonishing live shows I’ve ever witnessed. As the light drizzle begins to fall when they walk onto the main stage and launch into ‘Some Summers They Drop Like Flies’ it’s clear tonight’s performance is going to easily match that high water mark. Ellis, ever the showman, provides a perfect visual focal point for the band’s nocturnal explorations, emphasising sweeps of his violin bow and washes of Turner’s echo-drenched guitar with the occasional punctuated yell and graceful high-kicks. The secret lies in each player’s total comfort with and knowledge of their instrument – the scratchy, roughly scrawled calligraphy of Ellis’ violin effortlessly finds its own level, and White’s sparse, jazzy drumming suddenly bursts to life during ‘The Zither Player’. It’s one of the most heartrending instrumental performances I’ve ever witnessed and a fitting end to a very special weekend.

By Sam Cleeve:

“Wow. You people are really, really nice”, admits a visibly humbled Peter Broderick, mid-song, to a packed tent of overjoyed onlookers during his Saturday afternoon set. Right here, within his amiable modesty, he’s assessed what makes the annual Green Man Festival quite so spectacular. It’s the ease and goodwill with which everyone, from performers to attendees to employees, approaches the weekend.

Apart from the remarkably innovative and varied line-up, there’s one other marked difference that sets Green Man apart from any other of our summer festivals – the setting. Beneath the sweeping mountainsides, Glanusk Park Estate sits at the bottom of the valley, and the organisers behind the event have milked every fragment of the exquisite site for all it’s worth. During the day, the arena area weaves its way through historic buildings, picturesque garden areas and even past a small pond, while a nearby shop keeps a steady flow of bubbles floating past the main stage. By nightfall an abundance of lights sparkle across the festival, and the all-night bonfire is lit, creating more of an otherworldly and mystical feel. There’s such a feeling of intrigue about the place that by time Thursday evening is upon us, we’ve spent so long exploring the many quirks the site has to offer that we’ve all but forgotten we’ve even at a music festival.

Broken Records

However, the sound of the main stage is soon echoing off the hillsides, and our first port of call for the Friday afternoon is a set from Edinburgh-based Broken Records. Making the effort to see them after catching their encouraging performance supporting The National in London, their Green Man set was nearly an exact replica of their offering at the Royal Festival Hall a couple of weeks ago. This isn’t something that should be held against them, for their music thrives in the outdoor setting where it got lost in the cavernous venue in which I had previously seen them. The band is clean and professional, their swift execution never letting the flow falter. The stadium-sized grandeur of songs such as ‘Slow Parade’ and ‘Nearly Home’ reverberate around the valley, while the gypsy-folk persuasions of ‘Lies’ raise even the most reserved onlooker to their feet.

Putting Friday’s proceedings in perspective, Four Tet’s headlining slot at the Far Out Stage reigns triumphant. Hunched over an impressive array of electronics, Keiran’s face is lit only by the glare of his laptop for the majority – rather a semblance of eeriness, especially when these conditions are placed upon a man who doesn’t seem to blink all that much. Still, this doesn’t stop the much touted good-nature of the Green Man crowd from prevailing once more, with screams of “you’re a hero!” and so forth, thrown around the tent from the offset. As with any Four Tet appearance, it has more the air of a DJ set than that of a live performance, so the emphasis is weighted towards dancing rather than an attention to the stage. The music itself however, is constantly engaging, with an endless supply of clicks and whirrs adding vital nuances to the otherwise monotonous beats. The mood was heightened more upon the entry of four silhouetted LED-laden hula-hoop girls. Flamboyant? Perhaps, but a charming and welcome addition nonetheless.

Four Tet

Saturday really began with the appearance from the aforementioned Peter Broderick. The sun blazing down outside, I wandered into the tent as much for the shade as I did for the music. It wasn’t long however, before the abundant crowd was stunned into submission – partly by his masterful control of a loop pedal, and his skills as a multi-instrumentalist, but primarily by the shear beauty of his compositions. The crowning moment came during ‘Not At Home’ where, ensuing an instrumental bridge, that saw Peter loop his guitar, and then loop again to further build the texture to climax on violin, the assembled audience responded rapturously to the re-admission of his vocals. It was here that he had to stop and admire the prevailing geniality of the crowd. A truly sublime, original and simply beautiful performance. A definite weekend highlight.

After a an extensive sound check that saw Daniel Rossen perform a fantastically impromptu snippet of The Doobie Brother’s ‘What A Fool Believes’ on his Rhodes piano, Grizzly Bear take to the stage. Often when a band reaches the point where their reputation precedes them, there are apprehensions as to whether they can deliver. Fortunately, Grizzly Bear are on form as ever. Their tight-knit harmonies, compelling instrumentation and innovative song writing amalgamate into a band that manage to strike that most elusive of balances between intelligence and enchantment. Their orchestral pop masterpiece Veckatimest translates flawlessly into a live setting; the band spaced equally across the stage, recreating the subtle textures and sensibilities of the record with ease. Glancing momentarily to the side of the stage, I spy Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon rocking emphatically back and forth, banging the occasional air drum where appropriate. Ringing endorsement if ever I saw it.

Following this, I abandon my fellow festival-goers already waiting in the crowd for Bon Iver’s hugely anticipated appearance in favour of Andrew Bird’s set at the top of the bill on the Far Out Stage. As I chat with others who had chosen to eschew emotionally wrought cabin dweller over classically trained virtuoso, it seems to be a clash that has torn camps right across the festival. I was fully aware of the fantastic show put on by each, and my decision to go with Andrew was based nearly entirely on the somewhat trivial point that my previous live encounters with him had all been sans band, while this was an opportunity to see him with silly-talented drummer/keyboardist Martin Dosh and co. Opener ‘Fiery Crash’, however, is enough to put the anxieties of myself and fellow front-row Bird enthusiasts at bay. The remainder of the show proceeds as the wondrously refreshing act that I had anticipated. Relying on extremely complex loops created by both Andrew and Martin as the foundation for each of the songs, it’s an enthralling experience watching everything click into place.

Andrew Bird

Sunday evening rolls round, and as the first rain clouds of the entire weekend drift overhead, Dirty Three take to the stage, and I’m sure you’d be hard pressed to find a member of that audience who would have had it any other way. Peering through the misty rain, the ever-charismatic Warren Ellis can be seen thrusting and launching himself across the stage, throwing the occasional high-flung kick, passionately sawing away at his violin. The music so perfectly suits the threatening weather that the band’s performance comes across almost as transcendent. Although all three members are undoubtedly comfortable with their instruments and incredibly talented musicians, it’s Warren who constantly steals the show. His renowned between-song banter is often funnier than a large proportion of the late night acts witnessed in the festival’s solitary comedy tent, and he’s easily the most charming musician to take the stage over the course of the weekend.

The last slot of the festival, and I choose to split my time between the smallest and largest stages, catching both well-spoken newcomer James Yuill on the Green Man Pub stage, and international giants Wilco on the main stage. Both are impressive, and both more than worth my time. Going simply on a recommendation rather than any actual encounter of my own, the point of reference that immediately hits me on hearing James’ opening track is The Postal Service, although perhaps with a slightly heavier lean towards dance music than the glitch-y electronica of Jimmy Tamborello. There are a considerable number of passionate fans before him, something that James duly comments on. However, it’s not long before the dance-heavy music has tired my festival wearied legs, and I head over to the main stage. To my delight, I make it there just moments before Wilco settle into classic track and personal favourite ‘Jesus Etc.’. The band are obviously seasoned professionals, and put on exactly the sort of well-oiled does-what-it-says-on-the-tin type performance that you’d expect. And while there’s nothing here to make hairs stand on end, it acts as a wonderful conclusion to a spectacularly memorable weekend.

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