YOU know you are at a festival of a more genteel persuasion, when the wine bar has run out of champagne by Saturday night, swiftly followed by a similar shortage of butternut squash pies and a drought on the Earl Grey tea front. But what else did one
expect of a festival sponsored by Pimm's?
According to Stewart Lee (one of several big names on the comedy bill), Latitude – affectionately dubbed Latte-tude – is a festival for people who don't like going to festivals anymore. Actually, it's a festival for people who expect more from their summer diet than lukewarm lager and the same old indie bands.
Latitude's musical bill did feature some of the same old indie bands, including Interpol, Guillemots and Elbow, but there were always far more interesting things to witness around the beautifully decorated site, such as a semi-naked lady suspended from a floodlit tree by hooks in her back in the cabaret arena, or the Royal Shakespeare Company fusing EastEnders and Night Of The Living Dead in the theatre tent, or Mark Thomas and Simon Armitage addressing rapt crowds in the literary marquee, or Sadlers Wells performing three short dance pieces on a floating platform by the lake, or an al fresco Hamlet in the woods, or a bunch of space-age weirdos playing in an incense-perfumed glade, or a gorgeous, nocturnal light and water show en route back to the campsite.
Even a confirmed festival cynic would be hard pushed to criticise the effort which has gone into making Latitude a more stimulating experience than your average festival. It wasn't just about consumption either – although the Caribbean soul food stall certainly helped in that department.
In addition to the dazzling diversity of entertainment on offer, there were sundry activities for kids and bigger kids. A piano under a gazebo carried the message "please play me".
There was a lunchtime yoga class by the lake. Over by the Pimm's bus, a posh umpire officiated over a tug-of-war bout. Even the laziest festivalgoer was not excluded – they could just slump in a deckchair and contemplate the flock of brightly dyed sheep grazing by the water.
However, the musical line-up remained the biggest draw. On Friday night, headliners Franz Ferdinand demonstrated that Take Me Out can still send large crowds of revellers wild. Later in the weekend, young pretenders Glasvegas were a more tentative proposition on the second stage, while Thecocknbullkid was a highlight of the BBC Introducing line-up on the Lake Stage.
The Mars Volta swept all before them, as is their routine, with a crazed, titanic set on Saturday night which – according to anecdotal evidence – blew some minds for the first time.
The only other act who could compete with their frenzy was Grinderman, aka Mr Nick Cave and various bearded members of The Bad Seeds in full-on blues howler mode, who made Sunday on the main stage an electric place to be.
In a bizarre scheduling choice, Blondie were simultaneously cranking out all the evergreen hits in a tent which was always going to be far too small to accommodate all who wished to worship at the feet of the freshly peroxide-bobbed Debbie Harry – an uncharacteristic blip in a festival which has otherwise got it all covered.
The full article contains 561 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
