THE GLORY OF THE GREEN MAN FESTIVAL
*(Let Wales Shake!)
The Green Man Festival - situated in the beautifully bucolic Brecon Beacons in South Wales - first took place in 2003, and after being held for a couple of years at Baskerville Hall near Hay-On-Wye, it was moved to the nearby Glanusk Estate near Crickhowell. One of the largest privately owned estates in Wales, Glanusk has been owned by the same family since 1826 and can be hired out throughout the year for all kinds of events - The Green Man being just one. The estate covers thousands of acres of stunning countryside including the breathtaking Sugar Loaf Mountain - at the foot of which sits the centerpiece of the festival, The Mountain Stage. The festival itself was brought into being in 2003 by former musicians Daniel and Josephine Hagan who then partnered up with Fiona Stewart in 2005. Since 2011, Stewart and her own company have been in sole charge of running the festival. Over the years, the organisers have been lucky enough to have had a huge range of stupendous artists gracing their stages such as Robert Plant, The Flaming Lips, Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, Wilco, Jose Gonzalez, Van Morrison, The National, Super Furry Animals, Battles, F*** Buttons, Richard Thompson, Grizzly Bear, Animal Collective, Bat For Lashes, Mogwai, Band Of Horses, Patti Smith, Leftfield, Midlake, Mercury Rev, The Waterboys, St Vincent, Television, Belle And Sebastian, John Cale, Warpaint, Laura Marling and Grandaddy. And, but of course, many, many more. This year's event was The Green Man's 15th birthday and, as you would expect, the Festival team had pulled out all the stops in regard to their line-up - finally managing to bag PJ Harvey for the Sunday night headline slot, who was someone they'd been trying to get since the GM's inception. Verily, this was going to be a wondrous weekend.
This was my 6th Green Man, but due to a varying confluence of trials and tribulations, I hadn't managed to attend for a few years, so the anticipation as myself and my two companions drove down to the site on the Thursday was huge. Upon arrival there was a rather lengthy and tortuous trawl through the far-reaches of the site to get to a suitable camping spot. Since our last visit, the capacity for the festival has risen to 20,000 so the camping areas are now much, much larger and the journey there is far, far longer. By the time we'd finally set up tents and collapsed into our camp chairs, it certainly felt like it. However, beers were bought and quickly consumed and just like that - we were at the races. First up, a tour of the site itself. The festival is made up of an ever-increasing number of stages, not all of them music-based. The Mountain Stage is where the larger acts ply their trade across the four days, but there is also the Far Out Tent and Walled Garden for the majority of the rest of the bands and artists performing. The Chia Wallahs tent is a haven for the more jazz, funk and soul orientated aficionados, and then there is the usual set of stages devoted to comedy, literature and talks. Green Man also dedicates a large section of it's site to science, spiritual pursuits and workshops with the Eintsein's Garden, Nature/Nurture and Fortune Falls areas. Plus, of course, there's a massive area for the kids - Little Folk - and a cinema tent. Indeed, if music isn't your thing, you could feasibly spend the entire four days not watching any bands at all and still not feel short-changed by the price of the ticket. And, in the middle of the site, is The Green Man himself. A giant man-made structure of every flammable substance you can name, his appearance changes from year to year and he watches over proceedings like a gargantuan, grass-covered Colossus Of Rhodes - before being burnt to a crisp at midnight on the Sunday night. Poor fella.
As fantastic as all the extra activities were, I was mainly here for the music and - as befitting a big birthday celebration - the acts on offer were top drawer and of the highest quality. Sifting through my GM programme and figuring out stage times and potential clashes was a morning ritual, and unfortunately did bring up some unavoidable conflicts. The problem with such a strong line-up I guess. So, with a heavy heart, this meant I missed out on acts like Pictish Trail, Yorkston/Thorne/Khan, Michael Kiwanuka, The Shins, St Etienne, Conor Oberst and - most distressingly of all - Saturday night's headliner Ryan Adams. Such is the way of festivals though, and I can't complain at all about the bands I did get to see and the tremendous fare they offered.
Thursday evening kicked off with a superb set from Canadian jazz/electronica enthusiasts BadBadNotGood, who whipped the Far Out Tent's crowd into a frenzy with their heady stew of bleeps, beats and saxophones. But the big draw on Thursday were Ride who were basking in the praise bestowed upon their first album in 20 years - the really rather wonderful 'Weather Diaries'. Looking very much at home having reformed and buried hatchets, the Oxfordian shoegaze specialists put in a solid shift, mixing tracks from the new album with indie disco classics like Taste, Leave Them All Behind and the frankly magisterial Vapour Trail. What a start! To the bar, then.....
Friday began badly - a Welsh cider inflicted hangover. Fortunately, there's enough food options at Green Man to take the edge off. I plumped for a breakfast of veggie-based paella and felt all the better for it afterward. Across the weekend, the staggering array of edibles had my mouth salivating and my wallet weeping. My Saturday pie and mash was outstanding whilst my Sunday rotisserie chicken and potatoes was enough to make me want to bow down to the god of fowl. However, as it had been so many times before, my favourite foodstuff port of call was the tremendous Tea And Toast van. Doing exactly what it says on the tin, this fabulous little four-wheeler stayed open pretty much 24/7 and did me proud with it's vast array of hot beverages and bread-based scran, The cheesy Marmite baps in particular were an absolute godsend. As for booze, the world was your oyster. Beers and ciders aplenty of course - including an entire bar given over to local ales and scrumpy. Only for the brave to be honest. I instead plumped for Monkey Shoulder Bourbon and I don't really remember making such an inspired decision. Gorgeous stuff.
Back to the music though and Friday's highlights included some sparky and sprightly indie from gigglesome Spanish quartet Hinds, skyscraping psychedelic Americana from Lift To Experience and full-blown electronic stadium pop from headliners Future Islands - replete with frontman Sam Herring's unique 'death-metal dad dancing'. An acquired taste certainly, but one would have to have a hard heart indeed to begrudge this very odd little band their moment in the sun. Friday was all about Angel Olsen for me though - and as regular readers of this blog will know by now, I'm a huge fan. Her album from last year - 'My Woman' - was a thing of absolute wonder, and this year's festival circuit marks the last leg of Olsen and her band's touring schedule before she heads back home to - hopefully - start work on her next record. Her Friday night slot in the Far Out tent was another showcase for her sterling songcraft, compelling stage presence and brilliant vocal ability. All my faves were present and correct - Not Gonna Kill You, Shut Up And Kiss Me, Sister and Woman - and by the end of their allotted hour, it was obvious that Olsen and her gang were having a whale of a time. Magnificent.
Onto Saturday then and - fingers crossed and wood being knocked - the usual mixed-up micro climate of the Brecons had thus far kept us quite dry and warm. There were furrowed brows and portents of doom from some who insisted that at some point across the Saturday night/Sunday morning there would be a storm of biblical proportions, but by Saturday lunch-time those predictions were looking foolhardy. This in turn meant that the general vibe of the festival was one of extremely good cheer. Kids gamboled, teens frolicked and oldies plonked their arses in garden chairs and didn't move all weekend. What's up with that? Leave the chairs at home and have a wander around at least...
The reasonably dry weather meant me and my crew were able to chill out and park our bums on the banks of the main arena area and catch a bit of This Is The Kit - peddling a breezy, acoustic-based folk-pop confection - as well as the Grand Dame of British folk music in the form of 82 year old Shirley Collins. Famed for her significant contribution to the UK folk scene across the last 60 years - as well her travels around America in the late 50's recording traditional blues and folk songs with her then husband Alan Lomax - Collins came out of retirement last year and released the lovely Lodestar album. Her afternoon set was a glorious reminder of what music used to sound like in the days of yore, and with only a chair that she sat on throughout her set belying her age, Collins was in fine voice and even 'got down with the kids' by turning up with glitter all over her cheeks. Lambchop were next up on the main stage, but as much as I love them - and as splendid as their recent 'FLOTUS' album is - they were a bit lost in such a large space and even though they gave their all, there was an increasing sense of disenchantment from the audience as song after song blended into one another. A shame. There then followed a quick sprint to the Far Out tent to catch Australian industrial/punk rock kiddie-frighteners Liars - who were extraordinary. With frontman Angus Andrew howling into his mic whilst wearing a spectacularly ill-fitting wedding dress, the songs from excellent new album 'TFCF' were doom-laden and full of menace. Coming across at times like a John Carpenter soundtrack with a gun pointed at it's head, this was stunning stuff. Not just a weekend highlight, but a highlight of all my Green Man experiences. That good. But then Oh Sees turned up and all bets were off. Good lord, WHAT a set. Led by singer and guitarist John Dwyer, this Californian garage band have been churning out increasingly brilliant records for almost 20 years. Their current album - the astonishing 'Orc' - is their 19th, and there has been almost as many name-changes. Last year they were The Oh Sees, and this year they have jettisoned the definitive article. It hasn't made a jot of difference to their sound though - Dwyer and his latest bunch of oddballs have perfected their scuzzy, piledriving garage rock and added sweeping psych textures and motorik drone grooves into the mix as well to startling effect.
I was a tad delicate upon waking on the Sunday morning, but after a hearty breakfast and some hilarious medieval folk from long-lost London based folk weirdos Circulus, I was back on form. Norfolk's Wolf People did their crunchy Jethro Tull meets Led Zep thing to splendid effect as usual and then The Arch-Druid of Rock himself, Julian Cope, turned up with an acoustic guitar, a mellotron and a whole host of hilarious tales of his time at the rock and roll coalface and he was an absolute treat. Mixing recent songs with classics from right across his career - including a couple of Teardrop Explodes tunes - he regaled us with stories ranging from his disdain for former TE manager and KLF nabob Bill Drummond to how bad he still feels about the Teardrops not becoming as huge as they should have done. Great stuff.
Once Sunday afternoon kicked in though, that threatened storm from earlier in the weekend finally showed up and as if by magic, the site turned into a raging swamp. Running for cover into the Far Out, we caught a snatch of discordant art-pop from Field Music as well as bellowing, chest-thumping psych-folk from Richard Dawson. But the big draw was undoubtedly Sleaford Mods. Pulling in a crowd that weren't just sheltering from the rain and which was certainly large enough to have shoved the band up to main stage contenders - I did for a brief minute pity poor Conor Oberst who was down on The Mountain Stage in the swirling tempest and performing to a spartan crowd - the duo from Nottingham arrived on stage and did what they always do. Andrew Fearn opened his laptop, cracked open a bottle of beer and pressed a button on his keyboard. Minimalist electronic beats filled the tent and can't-take-your-eyes-off-him frontman Jason Williamson opened his mouth and spewed forth his latest collection of hilariously embittered diatribes against the government, working-class twats and anyone else who pisses him off quite frankly. They are, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the strangest success stories - not just of recent times - but in the history of the music business. And they are, also, just fantastic.
After the Mods, it was a quick jaunt down to The Mountain Stage to catch West Country polymath and The Queen Of The Mercury Prize, PJ Harvey, bring proceedings to a close with her marvelous band and splendid selection of songs - mainly drawn from her last two albums - and prove that she was well worth all the effort the festival organisers put in to book her. A rambunctious run through 50 Foot Queenie was my personal highlight. A perfect finale.
The rain had eased off by this stage so the amassed throng - bar any early to bed types - made their way up to the Green Man area to watch the ceremonial burning of the big chap. There were druids and pagans and flaming torches and a huge firework display too, and it was all rather lovely. However, I'm not a young man any more and my sleeping bag was calling. Within minutes, I was asleep and - before I knew it - it was Monday lunch-time and we were driving back home. Once again, The Green Man Festival had been a roaring success - full of joy, wonder and bangin' tunes. In my view, it's the best festival out there and I'm overjoyed that it's gone from strength to strength over the years and reached it's fifteenth birthday in fine fettle and ready to push forward to the next stage. Happy Birthday Green Man - see you next year!
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