Field Day 08 had addressed a lot of these concerns but suffered from torrential rain and what had to be the coldest temperatures the capitol had ever experienced during August.
It's for these reasons that the approach of the 09 festival filled me with apprehension , rather than excitement.
First Aid Kit kick things off. The Swedish folk siblings play a harmonious set, with a cover of Fleet Foxes (Tiger Mountain Peasant Song) thrown in for good measure, which is quite apt as they are the first act to come to mind whilst listening to the sisters do their thing. Signed to Rabid Records (owned by The Knife), expect to hear a lot more about them when the album lands in the new year.The main stage is already running late. Fanfarlo are supposed to be on, but there is no sign of them at all. I witness the last two tunes of a shambolic East London female choir (Gaggle), before stumbling across who i assume is King Charles (set times seem to already be a very rough estimate). Looking like a Mighty Boosh character who didn't make the final cut, King Charles is a sonic delight. Playing slide guitar with a mobile phone, he injects some badly needed energy into proceedings. We even get a Billy Joel cover for good measure. I am now officially awake.
Fanfarlo have finally decided to grace us with an appearance. There is some kind of apology about having to break into their rehersal space to get their instruments, but the wait has been worth it. We are treated to a fairly faultless set of highlights from the debut album, Reservoir. It's the perfect soundtrack to the summer, and seems to be holding off the rain - for now.
After a swift visit to the bar (warm Red Stripe - yummy!), it's back to the main stage to check out the electronic tinkering of Errors. It's a solid set and my focus is such that it's not until they finish that I become fully conscious of the rain falling around me. At least it's fairly light, for now. Plugs fill the gap until Final Fantasy make it out on to the main stage. What was one of my most anticipated acts turned out to be a low key affair, with a set mainly featuring new material. Maybe it wasn't the perfect environment, but it did not hold my interest at all.
The XX are about to make an appearance in the excruciatingly tiny Bloggers Delight tent, so i head over there to see what all the hype is about. Their set is an uninspiring offering. The stage sound is so low that the band members are struggling to be heard over the chattering scenesters crammed inside the tarpaulin. You can hear some resemblance of tunes, but bad sound and a charisma free performance last the whole set long. Maybe the rain is not just dampening the grass, as things go from bad to worse. Micachu fails to impress, Juana Molina seems more interested in finding a way to kill the guy doing her stage sound, Little Boots is just as soulless and contrived as you would imagine and The Big Pink destroy any positives from their energetic performance by not really having the tunes to back it up.
I catch a few minutes of a lively and well received Mumford And Sons set before heading back into the quagmire that has become the main stage, where Santigold fianlly adds some professionalism to the wet afternoon. Arriving on stage just as the rain finally dies off (or as they call it, technical difficulties), we are treated to all the songs that made her debut album such a pleasure last summer, as well as a rather fine rendition of Killing An Arab by The Cure.
James Yorkston helps keep things back on track with a solid set, in spite of the heavy drinking of his band, and it's only fair that another Scot gets me warmed up nicely for the main event.
The sun has set, the rain has stopped and Mogwai have arrived to deliver a collection of tunes that totally underlines the reason why they are headlining this festival. Ignored by the Mercury awards panel, The Hawk Is Howling may not be their best album, but it's still miles ahead of anything on this years shortlist. It's time to show all the new pretenders here today how it's done. Epic instrumentals fill Victoria Park and make the warm beer and cold mud worth it. Witnessing something this brilliant feels like a reward for perseverance.
The XX are about to make an appearance in the excruciatingly tiny Bloggers Delight tent, so i head over there to see what all the hype is about. Their set is an uninspiring offering. The stage sound is so low that the band members are struggling to be heard over the chattering scenesters crammed inside the tarpaulin. You can hear some resemblance of tunes, but bad sound and a charisma free performance last the whole set long. Maybe the rain is not just dampening the grass, as things go from bad to worse. Micachu fails to impress, Juana Molina seems more interested in finding a way to kill the guy doing her stage sound, Little Boots is just as soulless and contrived as you would imagine and The Big Pink destroy any positives from their energetic performance by not really having the tunes to back it up.
I catch a few minutes of a lively and well received Mumford And Sons set before heading back into the quagmire that has become the main stage, where Santigold fianlly adds some professionalism to the wet afternoon. Arriving on stage just as the rain finally dies off (or as they call it, technical difficulties), we are treated to all the songs that made her debut album such a pleasure last summer, as well as a rather fine rendition of Killing An Arab by The Cure.
James Yorkston helps keep things back on track with a solid set, in spite of the heavy drinking of his band, and it's only fair that another Scot gets me warmed up nicely for the main event.
The sun has set, the rain has stopped and Mogwai have arrived to deliver a collection of tunes that totally underlines the reason why they are headlining this festival. Ignored by the Mercury awards panel, The Hawk Is Howling may not be their best album, but it's still miles ahead of anything on this years shortlist. It's time to show all the new pretenders here today how it's done. Epic instrumentals fill Victoria Park and make the warm beer and cold mud worth it. Witnessing something this brilliant feels like a reward for perseverance.
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