We bit the bullet and headed off to the Green Man festival for the first time this year. A great line-up in the rolling Brecon hills in glorious August. What could possibly go wrong?
Our girls, not at all happy that the ‘rents were gate-crashing their festival, needed to be sorted out first so I dropped them off on the Wednesday.
The weather was not looking too promising. In fact, as they say in France, “Il pleut comme vache qui pisse“.
We headed up on the Thursday and the rain had eased off a bit even giving us a rainbow – a sign? Or false hope for dry weather?
We rented ourselves a trolley named James (a trolley with a name – how middle class is that? My school mates would kick lumps out of me) and bundled our gear into the glamping tents provided (at eye watering cost) by Hotel Bell Tent.
We hit the food stalls and had a fab tartiflet and sausage washed down with an american IPA and a german wheatbeer from the beer festival tent
As we wandered past the Rough Trade tent the sounds of Scritti Politti on vinyl drew us in and we spent an enjoyable hour browsing the records and books of that and the other sales tents
Later that evening we caught Leftfield in Far Out tent – they struck me at first as very Kraftwerk-lite but as the set moved on I realised they were so much more than that – a brilliant set full of dub trance reggae.
After the brilliant Leftfield party we gathered outside around a huge wood fire
and checked out the wishes posted by the giant Green Man sculpture, soaking up the festival vibes
My favorite wish: “I wish James would behave better” “I wish you’d shut up”
Suitably chilled we dropped into the Chai-Wallah tent to indulge in a couple of whiskey coffees and refuelled, we danced till the early hours
Totally knackered we got a surprisingly good night’s sleep in our little bell tent. All in all a pretty brilliant start to the weekend.
Even though this glamping lark sounds posh it’s still just sleeping in a tent so we were up with the dawn to the smell of muddy grass and had a quick trot across the wet field to the showers (luxury!) Human again after a hot shower we set off in search of breakfast and discovered bacon and chorizo baps, churros and fabulous coffee. Heaven!
Later in the day reinforcements arrived in the shape of my browd and his missus and we collected their wristbands from Steve Buscemi (I’m sure it was him)
Then we found a spot and sat sipping Bloody Marys and smuggled Vodka and Tonics. Even the cheapest smuggled Vodka tastes like Grey Goose. We kicked back and watched the Zephyr Wolves on the main stage.
We bought hats and headresses (almost) and spotted the daughters wandering about looking glitterified and fab.
Later we scarfed some excellent wood fired pizzas (as recommended by our friends at Ffwrnes Pizza) and handmade by genuine Neapolitan Italians in a huge oven mounted inside a landrover (“if you find this Landie please return to Naples”) then we headed off to watch the lovely lovely Rozi Plain play in the Walled Garden.
Did I mention how lovely she is? Lovely.
In the Walled Garden it felt like every one else was smoking weed and whatever – while our group was mainlining Ibuprofen. Old age and bad connections are a bitch. I’m waiting for my man. Or a delivery from Boots.
Every festival throws up at least one unexpected pleasure and this time it was Tom Robinson band – his new stuff is bloody excellent corruscating rock – doing the job god put him here for!
War Baby is such an outstanding song
and we all joined in on the chorus of Glad to be Gay
And bless him we were all in tears at the end – not just him
Best set of the day I think went to the wonderful Villagers (the tight walk rope walking fool) accompanied by Brecon thunder and glowering skies. There’s a moment in “So Naive” when the voice, trumpet and keyboard hit the same note that is truly transcendental. Or the fragrant smoke wafting around may have affected my thinking. Whatever – it was a moment.
The weather turned nasty and the rain came in with a vengeance
The headliners Hot Chip produced a fab set finishing off with a cover of Brooce’s “Dancing in the Dark” together with giant bouncing balloons and we headed off to out tents blissed out and loved up
Saturday arrived, the sun came out for a while and it all became a blur, Colorama did a set, this guy was wandering around:
Greg Davis segued into Marika Hackman segued into Markie Mark. Wait… I mean Mark E Smith.
I caught the interview with the Fallmeister in the “Spoken Word” tent and he was just as funny, caustic, abrasive and difficult as expected
Treading a fine line between truth and friction. Stewart Lee’s celebrity question about writing postcards as Edward Bear pushed him over the edge and he walked out, mercifully cutting the interview short. Then there was rain, rain and more rain
We caught some bluegrass and a set from the Bat for Lashes and Toy collaboration called….. not Sex BaBomb but Sex Witch in the Far Out tent who created a good loud shoe-gazey noise
Then it was back to the Mountain Stage for Charles Bradley who was totally irresistible and got me up and dancing to his infectious James Brownesque chunes
A quick change for dry clothes and it was back out to watch Television doing the whole Mark E Smith album – err I mean Marquee Moon album. As we watched, smoke filled bubbles drifted over the Mountain Stage recreating our blissed out experience of seeing the same live set at Primavera in Barcelona just over a year ago – the weather was a bit shinier there though.
It was wild wet and windy by the time Super Furry Animals came on for the headline set. As Gruff sang the words “Hello Sunshine” I swear the heavens responded with a flash of lightening and a crack of thunder. Mother Nature was having none of it and the rain came down heavier and heavier. The Furrys were as wonderful as ever performing a giant set in front of an adoring home crowd
At the end of the set we trudged off to find some after hours fun but it was so muddy the Chai Wallah tent was almost impossible to get in to – especially in my dancing shoes.
The light-weights with me all went back to their respective tents but I plowed on, catching the James Blake DJ set in the Far Out tent where I had one of the funniest moment of the weekend as I spotted my daughters in the crowd. The initial friendly wave from them followed by the look of horror as they thought I was about to join them was priceless. Remember Dad – don’t cramp our style!
Soaked to the bone I made it back to the tent at about 2:30am only to be woken again at 5am by the rain deciding to dial it up to eleven. To call it torrential doesn’t even come close.
Sunday morning came and more rain and we decided that was enough fun for one weekend so loaded up the car and – with apologies to our co-campers we decided to make a run for it back to Cardiff
A few hours in a centrally-heated house, a warm shower and a hot meal later we realised what a schoolboy error we had made. Sunday evening was the night for Matthew E White, Father John Misty and St Vincent! What in the name of holy God had we done. Suddenly starkly aware we had committed the crime of cowardice on the face of a bit of wet weather we jumped back into the car and headed back into the storm.
The sun came out briefly for the wonderful Matthew E White.
But it was Father John Misty we were there for. And then, to the strains of J’Taime and the scent of sex in the air Father John was on stage. Larger than life, bantering with the crowd and every inch the love-God both the female and male fans hoped he would be, he was magnificent. I can honestly say it was one of the best sets I have ever seen. Charismatic, charming, funny, brilliant lyrics, great voice. Just awesome. To think the world almost only knew him as a folk drummer. A stark and sobering thought
And that was that. We never made St Vincent but by all accounts she was brilliant. And picking the girls up the following day was like extracting the troops from ‘nam
But Jim Morrissey was wrong – we did make it out alive
Eat see hear Cardiff 