Primavera Sound (4) 2007
Barcelona
30-05-07 to 02-06-07
Part Four: My last clean dirty shirt (02-06-07)
Little did I know when I awoke on Saturday that I would not sleep again until past midnight on Sunday (technically Monday). The plan, as it stood in its original form, was to sleep as late as possible, allowing me to recharge my batteries to sufficient level and give me energy to watch Klaxons when they appeared at 3.30am. I'll be honest, I wasn't all that fussed about watching Klaxons (although I bought Myths of the Near Future yesterday, and it is nearly as good as the singles would lead you to believe), but figured that as they were effectively closing the festival, I should stick around for them.
The Klaxons issue was (admittedly) mainly a diversion from the main talking point of the Primavera crowd: Sonic Youth or Battles? Scheduled at roughly the same time, the old guard of art rock performing their masterpiece album live in full, or the new school of alt. rock flaunting a hip line in electronics? For me, as sorry as I would be to miss out on Battles' robot-rocking, Daydream Nation wins every time. It's one of the best albums ever made (Number Two on my Top Five Albums Ever, after Funhouse by The Stooges), certainly the best made in my lifetime, and I don't think I'll get a chance to see it performed again.
Luckily (kind of) when I arrived at The Forum site for the last time, I was greeted with notices to the effect that Klaxons had cancelled, and their 3.30 slot on the main stage was being filled by the newly-promoted Battles. Problem solved. It seemed I would be having my cake and eating it too, and I really like cake.
First band of the early evening were The Long Blondes who fulfilled a similar role to The Rakes yesterday. With Barcelona's Metro system and the crowd here full of Kate Jackson clones, the band's status as style icons was never in doubt. Unfortunately, as good as they look; they don't really have anything in the way of songs to back them up. Quite forgettable, truth be told. On the ATP stage, Vini Reilly and The Durutti Column did a similar job with some very pleasant (but very forgettable) atmospheric jazzy rock. You can't help thinking that if he could have found himself a band early in his career like say, The Stone Roses or The Smiths, then Vini would be a megastar now instead of being a cult footnote to the Factory Records story. The Durutti Column did the trick when the sun was shining, but I can't imagine wanting to listen at home. Back on the Rockdelux arena, Architecture In Helsinki are clearly having a great time. There are loads of them dancing and playing bouncy party music. I think I would have joined them if they didn't seem so swamped by the vast space they'd be asked to fill. This is no criticism of them, just an unfortunate circumstance of having to bring the party to a giant arena. On a smaller stage they'd have been awesome, no questions asked. Pelican played some dull stoner instrumentals on a smaller stage and were not awesome at all. As formulaic and generically post-Isis stoner as those post-Mogwai post-rock bands were generically post-rock, they lacked impact as much as they apparently lacked focus.
Impact and focus seemed lacking from a lot of acts today. Maybe I'm just too young to really understand the impact Patti Smith had 25 years ago, but I never really got Horses and struggle to see the appeal. Her set tonight mainly consists of songs from that album, along with a handful of (played straight-as-a-die) covers from her new record. Watching an old woman singing her own songs from years ago (‘Horses' and the-one-song-I-like ‘Free Money') and covers from years ago (‘Gloria') along with some classic songs even older than that (‘Hey Joe') and interspersing them with some old-hippy "Fuck War! Yeah!" platitudes is not my idea of a show. Nothing was attempted in terms of reinvention, Patti and her band strapped on their instruments and ploughed through the same songs and the same sentiments in the same style they did years ago.
Damon Albarn's newest project The Good, The Bad and The Queen are pitched in the press as being a merging of British and African music, featuring as they do, afro-beat legend Tony Allen, The Clash's Paul Simmonon and The Verve's Simon Tong. And as much respect to Damon for not saying those things himself, and trying to focus on the music, you can tell he's as smug as he's been for years that anyone could say that. And for a man as smug as Damon Albarn, that's pretty smug. The new project sounds a bit like Blur did before when Graham Coxon wasn't helping write the songs. It's a bit Brit-pop, but with some interesting drums. And as Albarn and Simmonon strut about the stage like the knobs I've always known they would be, I'm reminded of Noel Gallagher's comment about there being no bandwagon the man wouldn't hop onto. On Sunday as I left Barcelona, The Good, The Bad and The Queen stood in an Easyjet queue next to me. I stood behind Albarn in the line for the metal detector, and smirked as he was made to unpack what appeared to be the entire warehouse stock of Currys (the British electronic good store) from his hand luggage. Although he still managed to look smug.
While I had prepared myself for Isis being, much in the same vein as Pelican, dull generic stoner, I had certainly not prepared myself for how good they were. I find Isis very dull on record, but live they're a different prospect. Textured post-metal done with just enough interest in keeping the audience interested, and keeping the band happy. Light and shade as the sky did exactly the same, their 10.30 time slot suited them as perfectly as Comets On Fire's did two days ago.
I have seen Sonic Youth once before touring the Murray Street album, and was slightly underwhelmed by them. I remarked to a friend, some months after, that they had come on and played a set consisting of songs, whereas what I'd wanted was for them to play a sprawling mass of arty noise in the vein of Daydream Nation. And that's actually what I saw them do here. And it was awesome. They aren't as young as they used to be, but ‘Teenage Riot' still kicks with pure punk fury. I couldn't begin to imagine what it felt like listening in 1988, but I know how I felt listening in 2007, and it felt good. Thurston Moore later says that this is the first time they've played some of the songs for twenty years, and certainly the first time they've played all thirteen ever. But it doesn't sound to me like they just playing the songs, they're reinventing them, trying to find new places within them. And it's songs that I would formerly have said were the weaker ones that benefit the most. Watching Lee Ronaldo attacking his guitar with drumsticks throughout ‘The Sprawl' and ‘Hey Joni', more than anything else I've heard this weekend, made me want to go back to listen to the album again. ‘Rain King' (my favourite album track) suffers a little from what I would identify as lack of volume, but there were so many peaks, a few troughs could be expected. Highlight of the Daydream Nation set came early on with ‘Cross The Breeze', pushing all the buttons that the record does, but with the added magic of a cool Mediterranean breeze. It was moments like that, many of which were contained within the epic performance, which made me realise exactly how worthwhile the trip had been. Regardless of sunburn; regardless of overdraft; regardless of fatigue, I have fallen in love with Barcelona and fallen back into love with the energy, intelligence and passion of Daydream Nation. As ‘Eliminator Jr' and the thanks of Sonic Youth circa 1988 fade out into the night, I make plans to move, to get food, to exchange not enough beer tokens for more beer and more water. Then Sonic Youth circa 2007 return to the stage, and play four songs from Rather Ripped, their really rather good last album. The new stuff might be slicker than the old, and Kim Gordon might be playing the rock singer now rather than the art-priestess, but the new material (and the modern band) stand up as still being vital and creatively rich. ‘Reena' causes me, bizarrely for I think the first time, to consider exactly how sexy Kim is, go-go dancing in her metallic silver skirt, and there is a sense (certainly from the obvious glee on Lee and Thurston's faces) that Sonic Youth would rather roar through the new stuff than look back through days gone by. Regardless of this, Sonic Youth (1988/ 2007) are a tremendous proposition, no matter where in time you are.
And thus to sandwich stalls, to toilets, to Grizzly Bear who play a very pleasant set of pretty and quite lo-fi laptop indie pop. Perhaps a little over earnest at times, but their sweetness was a lovely contrast to the intensity of SY 88/ 07. On the Rockdelux stage, The Buzzcocks status as punk legends was never in doubt, but their relevance tonight certainly was. A group of old men scissor-kicking their way through a set-list of songs that (surely) nobody in the crowd thinks are as good as ‘Ever Fallen I Love...' I took a seat on the hill for Wilco, who are yet another band whose appeal I struggle to understand. By this stage, I am tired of being on my feet, and sit through most of the set, but my overwhelming impression of Wilco is that they're making music that my dad would really like. Certainly a band that I'd recommend to fans of Dylan and Springsteen (as I'm sure the Rt. Hon. James Ketchell will verify), although unfortunately I'm not much of a fan of either. Over on the ATP stage, Mùm make a fully valid claim for the rest of my evening. Icelandic people (I've decided) are among the loveliest in the world, and Mùm make some lovely floaty electronica, like Arcade Fire if they weren't so intense. I was genuinely sorry that I couldn't see more of them.
Closing my festival for me, are Battles. Still my album of 2007, and now probably gig of the year too. There is nothing about the experience I could criticise, save the pushy druggy Irish boys standing in front of me in the crowd. I'm still a little sad Klaxons dropped out (especially considering the push their new album has made into my Top 2007) but considering that barely two hours before I was watching Sonic Youth, Battles don't so much steal the show as allow John Stanier to kick the door in, and then rough up the show's guardians A Clockwork Orange style. The man is a human metronome, on a stage which more resembles some kind of Aladin's Laboratory. Throughout the show, the non-drumming members are constantly sampling and re-sampling the action, which mean that most of the time they're playing with themselves. It's difficult to work out exactly who's playing what, watching Tyondai Braxton singing into a microphone and then hearing him sing minutes later as he joins in the instrumental collage which the rest of the band are creating. The simple answer is that everyone is playing everything, and the simpler answer still, is "Who cares?" ‘Leytondecker' is turned into a powerful cruiser of a track; ‘Hi-Lo' (from EP C) reinvented as a steamroller, with Stanier's drumkit and its very-high hi-hat providing the torque. Later, back at the hostel, around the time I decided it wasn't going to be worth going to sleep, my Finnish friend declared that she was going to have John's babies, but I have serious doubts as to whether the walls of her uterus could withstand the kicking. The live music event of 2007.
It will doubtless bore you learn that my flight back to Newcastle arrived on time, but kept us waiting on the runway for 45 minutes while they tried to arrange some stairs to allow us off the flight, but I arrived home safe and well.
And at that I bid you adieu. Thanks again to everyone at Primavera: Same time next year?
by Keith Patterson
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