WHAT WENT DOWN!- Two Twats Take Latitude! (for a day at least)

Aaaah Latitude. That well known favourite festival of the middle-class-mucky is my local and yet until last week, I’d never ever set foot in it. I know, shocking. That all changed as on Friday 26th July, myself and my friend made the hazardous journey down to Henham Park for the day, to watch “our” band, Kasabian, take to the Obelisk Arena. It was an experience and a half, I can tell you that now. So here’s the tea on What Went Down!

Right, ok, so, Latitude. Situated slap bang in the middle of Suffolk or, erm, a short drive from Southwold on the coast, the very snobby seaside town populated by second home owners and dedicated Fat Face and Hunter wellies wearers, this festival’s been going for 18 years now and this year’s edition played host to headliners Kasabian, Keane & London Grammar and- my favourite grandad band- Duran Duran. If it wasn’t for the fact I’ve been a skint student for the past 3 years, I would’ve done the whole weekend. Seriously, the lineup was ace and picking between seeing the loveable Leicester lot and my beloved bygone Brummies was really blimmin difficult. Tickets are well over £300, a bit of a BTEC Glastonbury, I’m sure you will agree. There is countryside. There are pink sheep. There is an overwhelming number of Radio 6 Dads. Some of them wear carhartt beanies,sip hot chai lattes in the height of summer and stay with their families in yurts. And listen to Khruangbin with intense chinrubbery passion. More on them later. 

And so, with my mother as a designated drop-offer, we made the trek from Nodge to a field in the arse end of nowhere and drove round the houses trying to find the yellow car park. Eventually, when we arrived, we then had to go on an expedition to the main festival grounds, which took what felt like an hour in the scorching heat. In fact, it probably was.  Our route had us passing by the campsites, including rec-re-hational vee-hick-uls (or..erm…campervans) and fancy campers in their yurts, before trudging through past the humble poly tents where gangs of guys and gals huddled around cooking baked beans in little portable stoves, looking like they were hanging out their arses from the night before. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from festivals, it's that they’re a great way to get your steps in, as I’m sure you’ll agree. 

They’re also blimmin expensive. We went to Victorious last year for the day to see, you guessed it, the mighty ‘Sabian, and our day ticket to that was half of what we paid for Latitude. We didn’t even bother with the bars and instead survived off a ration of a bo’ ol o’ woh ‘er (bottle of water) n asked security to fill it up for us every now and again. In case you haven’t already guessed, we ended up setting up camp outside the front barrier. All day. And I know what you’re thinking. How the bloody hell did you manage it? What if you needed to go t’bogs? Did you sit down at all? Your poor little legs! (or erm, long ones if you’re me). Trust me, I’ve heard it all before. It’s just a case of surviving, thriving and hoping and praying no one nicks your spot that your friend (and new pals you meet along the way who you never see again after the festival ends) have saved for you when you do end up needing a piss after downing litres of security water. We did end up sharing a pizza though (it bloody well should have been at £13.50) which I made sure we got earlier in the day before the bigger acts came on and the crowds became more crushy. Even security approved of our motives as I barged through back to the barrier with our source of sustenance. 

The first act we saw was WITCH, which I later learned stood for We Intend To Cause Havoc. Very clever trevor. We’d arrived halfway through their set and as soon as two barrier spots became available we legged it over and did the classic  “smash your ribs in” move, known to fangirls only, which involves speed walking or sprinting with your hands in front and pulling yourself in and letting out some kind of inhumane noise, which luckily (at least I don’t think so) wasn't heard over the booming Zamrock beats. Believe it or not, this lot have been going since the 70s and yet their set still felt fresh n funky as ever. Not my usual cuppa tea, it's the sort of stuff you’d see on Jools Holland and wonder where the bloody hell they came from. Still good though. 

psst spot the ginger lass n the gal in the leopard print bucket hat

The Norfolk/Suffolk divide is something long studied by East Anglians n the rest of England and at Le ‘Tude, its existence was even more apparent. Not only by the fact I was surrounded by “idiots” in Ipswich shirts (note: I’m sure they were lovely, but you know how things are), with the occasional homely yellow and green making an appearance every now and again, but the artists themselves. “Let’s see if you can do better than Norwich last night!” Frank Turner teased the crowd as him & The Sleeping Souls stepped out on stage for the first set of ‘ver afternoon. We were well and truly rockin and rollin, as Turner flitted from tracks from his Folky roots like “Recovery” to new un’s like the do do do do do-ing “Do One” and ended up creating chaos within the crowd as he surfed over us, slapping my mate on the arm afterwards. Cheers Frank. 

Waxahatchee was another act on the lineup I had no blimmin’ clue about. In true country bumpkin style, her music is sent straight from the south of ‘MURICA, soft n singer songwritery with a bitta banjo and lyrics about luuuuurve n life in a lil town in the arse end of nowhere. No wonder she was playing to us lot in the East ‘o England. Country music is something I’ve never been into, never been my bag, my cuppa, y’know. The easiest thing to compare her to was a hipster’s version of a debut era Taylor Swift, y’know, cos “you wouldn’t know her”. Now you do.

From Country we go to Caity Baser, who, after Waxahatchee, attracted a sudden rush of teenage girls to the barrier. Myself and my pal (Lue, her name is Lue, see Lue, you do get a namecheck in the end) were already experiencing stiff leg syndrome a few hours in to our shift and to save our bones, decided to sit down in front of the barrier, which was covered in orangey brown sand that looked a bit like a less appetising accident at a Biscoff factory. Mmm Yummy. BUT NOT FOR LONG- because as soon as we hit the floor, our spots were being stalked by the Southampton singers' stans. It was at that point, we knew we fucked up and quickly shot back up to save our stance. From her set, I understood why they were mad on her. Baser’s set was a bubblegum pop breath of fun n fresh air from some of the other acts that had took to the stage that day. Like a Lily Allen for the Brat generation. Perhaps my highlight of her set was the pisstake, but absolute TUNE, that is “DILF”. A song about falling in love with yer boyfriends dad. If you know me, you know I bloody love a poppy pisstakey song and this is quite possibly the best ‘un I’ve heard in YONKS. Big thumbs up for the Baser (with bonus points for the moonboots, I want a pair x) 

Oh, and then, we had The Vaccines. Long on my lists of bands to see, I LURRRVED their set. The sun was shining, the swarms were singin’ and overall the vibes were just great. The stuff off festival fantasy. A collection of pink carnations behind ‘em, in reference to their brand-spankin- new album “Pick-Up Full Of Pink Carnations”, Ver Vac’s worked their way through a career spanning set, from “Heartbreak Kid” to “Headphones Baby” to  Indie classics “If You Wanna” and “I Can’t Quit”. Frontman Justin Hayward Young has an air of ver Brandon Flowers about him, he stands up on front of the stage n feeds the fans with rock n roll recklessness with a hint of sophistication. Oh, and just to add- and to make things even better- we spotted a wild Sergio Pizz on the side of the stage and had to act like we didn’t know he was there the whole time. There’s no escaping that man, honestly. He is just always THERE. 

You’d think the artist on after a set as vibrant as The Vaccines and before the crowd-fillers that are my beloved Kasabian would be a real party starter. Unfortunately, they were more of a pooper. Look, Khruangbin are a talented bunch, I’ll admit that. They’re pretty funky n jazzy but my god were they boring. Like being stuck in a lift for an hour. And yes, it went on for an hour. As the sun was setting by the main stage, we were stood, sighing and snapchatting. I’m not an advocate for people getting on their phones during gigs, in fact, I think it’s pretty piss poor behaviour as a music fan, as bad as people having conversations during the slow songs of a set- but what were we supposed to do when the band on stage were barely hyping anyone up? My opinion- shoulda been on earlier in the day, or on a stage for those who fancy standing n massaging their mentum (or erm…chin rubbing). 

At last, after 9 hours stood in the sunshiiiiine (a hazard if you’re ginger), sippin security water and swapping my bucket hat between sets, our beloved Kasabian hit the headline slot. Having seen them 3 times in the past month, we knew everything that was coming. Well, almost everything, as you’ll soon find out. We even had a bop to their intro music, a swinging 60s stomper “I Will Follow Him” by Peggy March. It all seems very nice and wholesome until the band comes on stage, the music stops, the fizz and static starts and you’re hit with the intensity of the intro to Club Foot. Hearing Club Foot live, for anyone who hasn’t had the experience of seeing Kasabian live, is a bit like being beaten up, in the best way- if that’s even possible. Like, one song in, you’ll already be battered n bruised from being pushed about, barricade or no barricade, but you’ll feel good about it? 

Sergio Pizz is just as springy as ever, bouncing about (convinced he’ll be doing it when he’s 80, Mick Jagger style) and storming that stage like he owns the place. The perfect frontman. And whilst the crowd wasn’t the most chaotic Kasabian crowd I’ve ever been in (I told the mother of the children behind me I was fearing for their lives and I needn’t have worried) there was love for the Leicester lot- and a lot of love from the Leicester lot to a little lad in a Leicester shirt, what a legend. They dedicated Call to him, the debut single off their latest record Happenings. Hippy-hoppy and well and truly...ahem...happenin’, it’s even better live than it is in t’studio.

Expecting the bog standard Kasabian festival set, the hits n of course, the Happenings, we had no idea that they’d stick The Doberman on the end of Stevie, the Ennio inspired ending track off their 2nd effort, 2006’s Empire. Myself and Lue stood open mouthed, tears in our eyes, much like we had at Victoria Park earlier in the month when they stuck it in as a surprise. They NEVER stick this one on anymore, or at least they hadn’t done for nearly 10 years. And when Serge teased the opening lines as the track drew to a close, we sang every word even when he didn’t. Perhaps the thing that hits harder with this track is that when I was interviewed on the radio back in December after Vicky Park had been announced, this was the track I said I’d love to make a reappearance back on the setlist. And what a blimmin good choice I made too. 

We also got another surprise when we were handed the setlist after smash hit singalong LSF. It was this song that Serge surfed on the shoulders of his security guard and  launched himself over the barrier, sitting on shoulders and shouting the LAAAA LAAA LAAAA refrain alongside us and repeatedly told us "I SEE YOU" after we lost our shit with the setlist fiasco. Kasabian are well and truly a band of the people, perhaps the reason I love them the most is their music has always attracted and spoke to complete and utter weirdos like myself- they make us feel seen and heard, whether that’s with the swirly synthy stuff or strange song words.  When, in new ‘un, the anthemic Algorithms, Serge sings “this one’s for the weirdos”- it's about us lot that follow ‘em around the country. And whilst I came away from the gig happy I’d seen them again, I also felt pure post gig depression straight after. I would see this band every night if I could. Which is…erm…what I’ll be doing in November when I see them on every date of the UK tour and well and truly fulfilling my teenage dreams. Some might say there’s only so many times you can see someone live, but with Kasabian, well, I’ll never get bored, even when I come away clutching my throat from the pain of screeching or splattered with barricade battle scars on my ribs. And I suppose it's the same with any other gig. There is nothing that brings people together than going mad in a field to a bitta live music. I might be biased, but Kasabian are well and truly the ultimate festival band.

And that was it. That was Latitude in a nutshell x

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