The Primavera Sound Diaries 2011

08 June 2011, 08:00 | Written by Emily Mules

(Live)

An awful lot has already been said about the farce that was getting into the festival site and lack of beer once in. I’ll sum it up in the wise words of our photographer, Cory – “last year it was analogue and it worked. This year it’s digital and it doesn’t.”

Day 1

Thankfully a two hour queue and the necessary consumption on a can of JD and coke is pretty much the only low point one of the best festivals I’ve ever been to. It’s all about the line up, and boy, it’s strong.

I make it in time and to watch P.I.L. on the Llevant stage with my overpriced drink in hand. It probably matches the set, which to be fair is only really impressive when the hits are wheeled out at the end and you remember how influential and relevant P.I.L. were. John Lydon is as snotty as ever, shouting “this is shit, I need some audience participation” before being one of few over the weekend to mention football, claiming – since his team are no longer involved – we can unite and call ourselves ‘Arselona’. Such a charmer.

Grinderman, start off gloriously but there’s something about watching a grown man gyrate over his own guitar singing “no pussy blues” that compels you to see who else is playing. I go against the Caribou/Suicide grain and head to check out Interpol back at the Llevant stage: a controlled and at times subdued set but hypnotic and sexy as fuck throughout. The crowd respond most to tracks from the Antics album and when I review my photos later on, I seem to be responding to the magnified guitarist crotch shots that appeared on the big screens. Oh dear.

Heading back towards the main area, I stop off to see Salem, who unfortunately sound a little less than impressive, so it’s on to the Pitchfork stage in its stunning new location on the sea. Playing under a hauntingly cold blue light show, Gold Panda is delightfully dark. He would have benefited from a later set for a livelier crowd (2am is early for Primavera) but relative sobriety allows for an appreciation of the tricks, blips and complexities of his sound.

The Flaming Lips

I nipp up the flight of death steps that lead back into the main area for Flaming Lips on the San Miguel stage, who play ‘Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots’ (which was glorious) and then it’s back down the steps for more blue-lit boy charm the form of Baths. He bounces his way through a geeks-dream of a set, understanding the art of deconstruction without losing direction or the attention of a transient festival crowd. For all his shiny fun, there is an edge and a challenge to his sound and it’s the first set of the night to really make an impression.

Around now, I take an unexpected musical intermission to attend the ambulance station and help out a friend with an ankle injury that leads to her early exit from festivities (hers would not be the last). After much taxi misery – and re-entry woe for others – I make it back in to catch the second half of Suuns‘s entrancing set. They sound superb and look like rock stars, lit by yet more blue lights (clearly the gel of choice for the late/early morning night sets).

Gold Panda

Final boost of the night to the Llevant stage, which seems to move further away each time, to catch the second half of Girl Talk. The beauty of Girl Talk’s set is that you hear a shit load of tracks for just long enough to go wild for at 5am when you’ve been on the homemade jaegerbombs and have the attention span of an overexcited cocker spaniel pup.

Taxi.
Photos on statues (apologies residents of Passeig de Gracia)
Sleep.

Day 2

Sufjan Stevens is playing two sets this festival, both on the Rockdelux stage beside the main site in the Auditori. I’m completely fortunate to get in even though I arrive a little late thanks to a ridiculous situation involving a lost passport/wallet/phone so I enter the vast spaceship like concert auditorium in almost complete darkness. Guided only by a few blue floor lights and the shadow of the Wichita Records men (also on my flight, taxi queue, bar and practically everywhere I go), I am treated to 30 minutes of pure heaven. In the now well documented scifi/robot/UV outfits, Sufjan sashays his way through song and story after tale and tune. I never realised it before, but Sufjan can move. He references this – apologising that he seems to have “got his groove on” playing all his “boogie music”. The staging is glorious, the set sounds divine, but it’s when Sufjan talks about his music that I feel most drawn in.

Heading into the main festival site, I try not to lose all my friends by talking about Sufjan and instead take my cheshire-cat-grin to see Avi Buffalo. Such a good time slot, with all the shredding, big open chords and sunshine – it feels like a pint-sized Woodstock moment minus the smell of hemp. This is the first time I see the way Avi can really command the audience, finding his form during (arguably) one of the biggest sets of their career thus far.

There is no question that the next band I see would be Male Bonding who are debuting a new album and a new member (guitarist Nathan Hewitt) on the Pitchfork stage. They rip through new and old tracks with an intensity, tightness and edge that I’ve never seen them play with before. The addition of the extra guitar allows the sound to be as full and persuasive as it is on record. Hewitt also gives balance, adding a new-found confidence to a band who have recorded a follow up album that sounds every bit as addictive as their first. They close the set with six minutes of pure beauty in the form of new track ‘Bones.’ Kevin from Male Bonding also wins the prize for best shout out of the weekend, pointing into the crowd and screaming “Scott Walker.” More than a couple of confused faces follow, with whispers of celebrity fans in attendance, and the blushes of Scott Walker (Kasms).

James Blake is one of the biggest crowd draws of the festival and could easily have played on a larger stage – but there’s an intimacy to the Pitchfork stage that lends itself to a set which I find surprisingly charasmatic and warm. There may be a sea of people as far as the eye can see, but this doesn’t faze him at all.

I catch a couple of Belle and Sebastian songs, but it’s too quiet for my liking, one of only two sound grumbles of the weekend (PJ Harvey could have also been cranked up a notch or two). After what can only be described as a ‘burger of joy’ I tackle one of the biggest clashes of the day: Field Music/Shellac/Deerhunter/Explosions in the Sky. I see about two songs of each, the walks between stages spent drunkenly musing the ‘Mogwai effect’ and the eternal greatness of the Optimo brand. Can you tell I’m with a former Drum n Bass producer with a penchant for all things Scottish? Out of these acts I think Deerhunter maybe just about steal it for me, but it’s seriously hard to call.

Cults

And then there is Pulp.

Losing all your friends has its benefits. It means you can work your way to the front of the crowd – and by crowd I mean the entire Primavera population. I feel sorry for anybody on stage at the same time – this is Pulp’s time. The tantalizing teasing illumination of “Is this a hoax?” streams across the thin curtain layer – all that separates us from the stage and what’s about to happen.

The opening, unmistakable sounds of ‘Do you Remember the First Time’ ring out, the curtain is swept away and there is Pulp in all their glory, standing under a giant blue and pink neon ‘Pulp’ sign. My fear that the comeback gig could turn into some sort of pantomime, a pastiche performance of their former selves,. leaves within minutes. This is a band who care, are out to impress and relishing their large show together in 15 years. They stick to their word and play the hits: ‘Babies’, ‘Pink Glove’ and ‘F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E.’, in my top three.

Jarvis deftly addresses the situation in the city’s Plaça de Cataluña where 99 unarmed protesters are hospitalised earlier in the day after police had attacked, firing rubber bullets. I’m standing only metres from the banner held up by protesters in the crowd that says “Spanish Revolution: Sing Along With the Common People”. Acknowledging the banner, Jarvis delivers a measured and thoughtful statement about the event and dedicates ‘Common People’ to “the people of Barcelona – the Common people”, which causes a charge of emotion that swells and stirs the crowd around me.

Yuck

Day 3

Arriving on site this evening, I see the biggest crowd ever at the ATP stage for Yuck. Later, I find out from the Yuck roadies how happy and surprised the band are at the turn out: they had fully expected to play to no-one. The early set works out well for once.

I meet up with our photographer Cory and his beautiful wife who tell me the heritage to my ‘Gilroy Garlic’ muscle t-shirt and together we head to see Tune Yards.

Arriving back from the interview I catch the last three tracks of Album Leaf‘s set. On paper this appears like an odd programming choice: the advert style ambiguity of the sound doesn’t really fit with the rest of the bolder headline-grabbing line up, but there is a decent and certainly appreciative crowd, and as the sun sets, this glimmer of light relief is spot on.

After the second Barca goal goes in I head out to see the end of Kurt Vile (all hair and glory) and PJ Harvey with a gorgeous and brave set choice which adds an understated eloquence and elegance to the night.

Elegant Swans are not, but legends they certainly are and sitting on the giant concrete seats of the Ray Ban stage surrounded by friends who admit they are in bands themselves because of acts like Swans, I prepare for an education. One of several festival moments where I realise the record shops of London are going to love me a little more when I arrive home armed with a fresh list of must-have albums.

Following Swans it’s time for another lesson in hardcore – from Pissed Jeans. Seducing with killer shoulders, shrieks and simulations of sex with a microphone, singer Matt Korvette lures us through a sweaty, filthy, not-calling-in-the-morning kind of a show. Hot as fuck.

I wanted to see DJ Shadow next but the cheesy classics DJ Coco start blasting out were too hard to resist. It’s amazing how quickly a crowd full of hardcore fans can transform into something akin to evening guests at a wedding disco.

At this stage I’m not going to lie: it all gets a little messy as we go to Kode 9 and dance in puddles of piss. Yup, looking back, it hadn’t rained all day, so that actually was the toilets overflowing onto the concrete floor of the Pitchfork stage. Grim.

tUnE-yArDs

Day 4

Sunday is all about one band: Mercury Rev. And being a token Barca fan for the day watching the trophy parade.

Playing in the most exquisite of settings - Poble Espanyol – and following a brilliantly chipper BMX Bandits, Mercury Rev come on to perform Deserter’s Songs. There’s no point trying to describe the ease and beauty with which the songs are delivered, the sheer delight to have the lyrics of songs you’ve not listened to for years come flooding back out of your beaming mouth nor the collective happiness and love exuding from the crowd – I’m sure a thousand journalists will do that more prosaically for you – but I will say how lucky I feel to be here, and when Jason Russo et al are in the UK this summer, I’ll be sure to tell them so.