Green Man Festival 2012 : Review

This review (a shortened version of it) appeared in the Daily Post on August 24. The photos I took aren't great. They were taken on a 300 year old camera phone... The much better videos were by the excellent Folly of Youth -- on their site you can also read a much more in depth and, basically, better review of Green Man Festival 2012. So you should probably just go there now.

GREEN Man Festival is in the middle of nowhere. Well, not nowhere, people live there. It is a beautiful place smack at the foot of the Sugar Loaf. A babbling brook here, a old oak tree there.
The latter of those, situated by a glistening pond, proved a wonderful Hot Toddy Rum Ting-influenced sleeping spot while fellow campers orchestrated a 500 person strong synchronised dance routine near the Walled Garden stage.
But beyond taking a long time to get to, the festival’s proximity to anything else is outstripped by the difference in atmosphere from almost any other event.

Mowb-a-hoop.

It was a feeling brought home with a bang when confronted with footage of the shirtless, sunburnt revellers at V Festival. Or the state thousands of sun worshippers left Brighton beach in over the same weekend.
Sure, there were shirtless people. When it wasn’t raining it was baking hot. But more often than not they were pushing a pram. Around 72% of the time they had a ponytail rather than a shaved head.
The mix of good people, beautiful surrounds and activities was one of the event’s finest assets. Testament to that is making it around 200 words through a review without mentioning music. Which was, frankly, incredible.

Brooding.

Celebrating its tenth year in ineffable style, Green Man 2012 let you in gently with the charming Greta Isaac. Who, at 16, was accompanied by a confidence usually reserved for the more battle-weary of singer songwriters.
Just as confident and almost equally as young, Penmachno’s Sen Segur then let us down the road of delightful reeled in psych and prog, making stops at Brian Jonestown Massacre and Gorky’s along the way.
Their last song has a bugle in it, which was great. Also, Mr Huw was playing with them -- he sat down a lot and played a maraca, like a tired Bez/Joel Gion type.

Sen Segur.

Unfortunately for Wrexham’s Mowbird, the worst rain of the weekend was reserved for their 45 minute slot. Fortunately for those who braved the conditions they were treated to a gloriously trashy set of jilted surf punk.

Mowbird.

A lightening fast rendition of labelmates Sex Hands’ Way No Way was enough to give you blisters. A nearby bar which provided shelter from the storm was as busy as any spot on the site all weekend. Ace.

Joanna Gruesome later did something of a similar ilk, but blessed with much kinder weather. The results sent a few more pining looks to the halcyon days of 1992 and was considerably more indebted to the past that Mowbird. Still, they were very young and very (very) fun, it is just difficult to imagine them putting any foot forward when both legs seem so rooted in the 90s.
To close the first night, Cate Le Bon shimmered, flattening the Nico, Velvets and Fall records that formed her and then folding them into the most wonderful noise, the ghost of Syd Barrett smiling with approval at her shoulder. Equal parts hypnotic and haunting, the Penboyr-born songstress provided the best thing – myself, at least – would see that weekend. Probably all year.
It left me frothing at the mouth. Flapping in the mud like a still-live fish that had fallen off a passing truck.

The worst photo taken of a Cate Le Bon gig ever.

Later, during Mr Scruff, dancing in the mud proved a step to far for weary legs.

An early Saturday morning provided the Colwyn Bay-raised Sweet Baboo. A full band including brass section blasted cobwebs away in joyful pop blasts. The vocals were cracked and charming drawing an impressive crowd for such and early set (11.30).

Sweet Baboo.

The multi-instrumental Yann Tiersen later unleashed a psychedelic barrage of synths and strings. Set apart from the Parisian folk of the Amilie soundtrack the audience may have been used to. It was joyfully loud and accomplished. If not brash, it was powerful and kinetic.

[For some reason the site will only allow one Youtube video per post. But you can see Cate Le Bon playing Green Man in impeccable style here]

The second night was closed by Metronomy for an appropriate festival singalong. The Bay and The Look proved more than accepatable for the willing audience. You Could Easily Have me, a pogo causing peice of wonder.
Biggest, or most packed, crowd of the weekend was reserved for Alt-J. But where ths Cambridge foursome fell ever so slightly flat Cardiff’s Iselt destroyed. Unashamedly avant-garde This Fortune and A Bear On His Own battered and brised their way through a mid-afternoon lull. The performance culminated in what was the only acceptable way with one of their number perfectly executing a Klinsmann dive through the mud at the feet of the audience.
Jonathan Richman performed as only he knows how. A crowd pleasing set including Let Her Go Into The Darkness and Old World from one of music’s real and most untranished of gems.
Often funny and unabashedly lovable he is unafraid of the most simple of sentiments. His confidence was infectious and in a way summed up a weekend in the Black Mountains. Great music, good times and hardly an idiot in sight.
I very much want to go back. Now.