Daughter
Green Man 2014 sticks with the formula used for the previous twelve years: place a shedload of assorted music in a very stunning setting (the Glanusk Estate in mid-Wales), surround it with a bound of comedy, arts, theatre, and over-priced food stalls, so let the punters shlep around searching for fun. the most effective issue concerning inexperienced Man is that you’re ne'er terribly faraway from any of the stages, and if you’re not enjoying this performers, well, there’s continually another one simply over there.
I must have uncomprehensible the note concerning Sun Kil Moon. I’d had them suggested to American state by a minimum of 3 individuals, however once looking this performance I couldn’t for the lifetime of American state total why these individuals told American state I ought to see this band. I checked on Twitter once the event, and it looks i need to be {in a|during a|in an exceedingly|in a terribly} very tiny minority of individuals WHO don’t assume Sun Kil Moon’s weekday afternoon performance on the most stage was one amongst the highlights of the complete competition.
Toy
For starters, their fragile sound doesn’t really manage to occupy the space they’ve been given. The sound is poorly mixed, and seems to get swallowed up by the hills that ring the festival site. And then there’s Mark Kozelek: a man who so obviously doesn’t want to be giving this performance that it would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that this betrays a contempt for the audience that is pretty unappealing in a man being paid a lot of money to perform. Kozelek shuffles around the stage, one hand in his pocket, staring at his shoes and singing to the floor, with all the enthusiasm of a petulant child being forced to perform an impromptu violin recital for relatives at Christmas, and I half wondered whether his mother was standing in the wings waiting to give him an enthusiastic thumbs up every time he glanced in her direction.
Much better by far are Polica, who play to a half-full Far Out tent, though they certainly deserve a wider audience. Channy Leaneagh’s icy vocals soar over submerged basslines and tricky beats creating a somnambulistic r’n’b sound, like a half-remembered dream.
Cardiff’s own Instructions headline the Green Man Rising stage. Instructions make music that wouldn’t sound of place on a 1970s American FM station. Closing number Prince Charles Was Right manages to sound Steely Dan, Supertramp and ELO, all at the same time.
Beirut
Beirut headline the main stage on Friday night. Their exuberant world folk goes down a storm. Zach Condon’s voice soars over the audience, and the band somehow manage to pull off a tuba and ukulele duet without the whole stage disappearing into a twee-shaped hole.
Dressed all in white, Caribou are the anti-Kraftwerk, creating impassioned electronic music filled with thrillingly human glitches. Caribou make glorious Technicolor psychedelia filtered through retro-futuristic electronica: there are flashes of deep house, sounds that could have come from the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, and even hints of Jean Michel Jarre. Jamelia, the emotional centrepiece of 2010’s Swim, here becomes a swirling rush of joy, and Sun breaks free of the limits imposed on it on record to become a monster that threatens to devour the audience. On this stage Caribou make a noise that could soundtrack the end of the world, if the world ends as a giant, joyful party.
On Saturday afternoon the weather is fine, and if the sun can’t be said to be beating down, then it’s at least warm enough to take off the bulkiest layers of clothing. Neko Case brings a relaxed sensibility to the main stage. Her soft, country-inflected crooning, charms the audience into a languid mood. At one point, pleasantly lulled by a steel guitar and Case’s lovely but unremarkable voice, I have to shake myself awake.
Hamilton Leithauser
Hamilton Leithauser breezes through his latest album, Black Hours, with a cheery aplomb, and makes a good eye-opener after Case’s set. Recent single Alexandra manages to get at least a few of the crowd moving. And, for a song about the nighttime, 11 O’Clock Friday Night (which features probably the best use of a marimba in a pop song of the last few years) makes a surprisingly apt soundtrack for a late summer afternoon in Wales.
I owe Mercury Rev an apology. In the Green Man preview piece for this publication I insinuated that they were a less than interesting proposition. Having seen their headline set on the main stage on the Saturday evening, I am more than happy to recant of that opinion. They perform the entirety of 1998’s Deserter’s Songs with an energy that carries everyone along with them. Jonathan Donahue is clearly enjoying himself, and when, at the end of the set, he dedicates a cover of Sparklehorse’s Sea of Teeth to Mark Linkous he does so in a spirit of celebration.
On the Far Out stage Panda Bear is noodling away, making the sort of proto-chillwave that is his stock-in-trade, and which seems to baffle the majority of the people in the audience. Personally, I like this kind of thing, but there’s a feeling that this type of music is better suited to an indoor venue, as by now the temperature is starting to drop, and standing around nodding along to soporific and blissed-out electronica is the last thing on most of the crowd members’ mind.
Crowd at Green Man
Nick Helm is a comic whose shtick is being baffled and angry by any interaction with another human being. It’s a well-worn comedy trope, but he does it well, and now that the music has finished, he brings in a respectable crowd. The next morning I will hear a man discussing this performance with his friend, and completely missing the point of Helm’s act. This is almost as funny as the set itself.
One of the best things about seeing various comedy nights in Cardiff over the last few years has been watching Jordan Brooks and Ted Shiress hone their acts, and tonight they are both on top form. Brooks has gone from being a nervous and insecure performer, seemingly on the verge of an onstage mental collapse, to a successful and confident performer, seemingly on the verge of an onstage mental collapse. Tonight he has the audience eating out of the palm of his hand as he talks about landing his dream job in the world of footwear retail. Ted Shiress is as foul-mouthed and lewd as ever, and this is what makes his act so enjoyable.
On Sunday afternoon
The Gentle Good play to a goodly-sized crowd in the Walled Garden. Their undemanding folk music is particularly suited to a lazy Sunday afternoon. At one point I notice Caitlin Moran walking through the audience, and am mildly surprised to discover that her face looks like that in real life as well.
First Aid Kit
“This has all the hallmarks of being a classic show”, says Bill Callahan in a detached voice. He narrows his eyes as he says this, looking out at the audience as if surveying the troops before a last-ditch attempt at breaking the enemy’s western flank. I don’t know the criteria by which Bill Callahan defines a classic show, but my benchmark is the performance he gave on this stage at his first Green Man performance in 2007, and that was one of the highlights of that year’s festival. He doesn’t disappoint this year.
Callahan gives us America: a song that heads into the hitherto unexplored nexus between disco and country, listing famous singers who served in the army, before ruefully noting “I never served my country”. He ends his set withDrover, a song about driving cattle in the vast Midwest interior of the USA. The stage he’s playing on could hardly be further from the song’s setting, but it’s a great song.
The festival ends with the now-traditional burning of the Green Man. Inevitably this begs comparison with the ending The Wicker Man, but that was an altogether more sombre affair involving a murder and fewer fireworks. Everyone “oohs” and “ahs” as the flames engulf the sculpture and fireworks spit out of the effigy’s face. Over on the Far Out stage Kurt Vile And The Violators are playing the closing set of the main festival, but it’s late and I’m tired, so I head off to bed.
