Estrella Damm Primavera Sound 2009

Posted on June 4, 2009 by Adam Lacey

 

Barcelona – Campeone Europa. Merda.

As a Manchester United fan, my timing for arriving in Barcelona on that particular Wednesday evening was about as clever as mooning two Gardai on a public street in Galway (true story, untrue story if my parents are reading this).After a depressing bus journey from Gerona (Catalan spelling, don’t you know?..) to l’Estacio de l’Autobusos, and a quick Metro trip (all punctuated by Barca fans going mental), myself and herself arrive at our incredibly plush hotel, which is nicely situated across the road from the concrete sprawl of the Parc Del Forum; the park where tomorrow, Barcelona’s annual indier-than-thou muso-fest, is to begin proper.

A ratty check-in with a po-faced porter eventually frees us up to make a sizeable dent in the minibar, and frees me up to run around the room in Superman underpants proclaiming my love for it and for Barcelona itself while guzzling cans of Estrella at 3 quid a pop. 

Following the sleep of the Gods, I awake early with nothing but our wristbands, music and beer on my mind – two of which I wake up thinking about most mornings anyway. I can hear bands sound checking across the road and after some lazing-time by the rooftop pool, we venture out the door and into the site itself. With press pass and tickets snaffled in no time (getting there early is advisable to miss the growing queues). It’s into the frying-pan-hot arena as the sun beats down on us like a bastard Christian Brother. Jesus, it’s seriously hot.

It’s into the frying-pan-hot arena as the sun beats down on us like a bastard Christian Brother. Jesus, it’s seriously hot.

 

The festival site is broken up into five stages (Pitchfork, Estrella Damm, Rockdelux, ATP and Ray Ban/Vice) and one magnificent auditorium, all of which are within easy walking distance of each other. Bang in the middle is the ‘food court’ – a plethora of Estrella Damm-sponsored patio furniture surrounded by stalls hocking burgers, chips, coffees, nachos, burritos, crepes and the like, all of which I sampled at some stage, and all of which were a cut above the usual excrement I have received at some festivals – I remain scarred by one particular Irish festival food stall a few years back that served me 8 quid noodles that looked like Sadako’s hair immersed in dishwater and tasted like oily cardboard.

First up, and with the sun proving relentless, is Magik Markers, whose sound is the epitome of – to pinch a delicious Sean O’Hagan phrase – narcotic languor. Their particular blend of spacey fuzz and experimentalism does not sit well with an expectant crowd at 7pm, in this sunshine, and the set is too unfocused and noodley for an early festival slot. I’d prefer to have seen them in a smaller, darker venue but nevertheless guitarist/vocalist Elisa Ambrogio does try to give it a little welly.

I really want to catch a bit of Wavves and, in a now-infamous performance, it’s clear he is out of his bin

The Vaselines are up next and I find their twee, jangly pop numbers thoroughly enjoyable as we sit, filling up on beers and slow-roasting like swine on a spit. They probably could have played anything and I would have been happy but as it happens, they crank out their three Cobain-approved numbers (Son Of A Gun, Molly’s Lips and Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam) along with a smattering of other ditties that get most people bopping along and that gives me a proper sloppy grin.

The Bowerbirds are next up and are in fine fettle with Phil Moore’s voice proving to be the perfect digestif as the sun sets and the balmy night begins. Quickly, however, it’s Jesus Lizard o’clock and we must begone to the ATP Stage.

Holy shit! David Yow wastes no time as he nears half a century. He’s topless and in the crowd when we arrive and the band are tighter than ever as he squirms and roars, provokes and rages – young ‘uns take note, this is punkrock in its purest form.

We need to catch a smidgen of My Bloody Valentine

Back at the Pitchfork stage, the solitary figure of The Bug ambles on to the sounds of police sirens and bowel-trembling bass. He cranks out a sublime feast of dubstep, that has the missus cranking out some dance moves I haven’t seen for some time, and he is joined halfway through by an MC expert at geeing up a crowd. Unfortunately it’s all going too well and when they run over time, they get mercilessly unplugged, much to their, and the crowd’s, chagrin.

At the Ray Ban/Vice stage, Jay Reatard is shaking his mane all over the place and getting his rock on, whilst complaining bitterly about the distracting lights clearly annoying the bejesus out of him. We stay for a few songs but dash off again.

We need to catch a smidgen of My Bloody Valentine. Shields and company are uncompromisingly loud (we skip the following evening’s auditorium performance thanks to the lady’s ears still not being fully recovered from Stradbally) and a few songs is enough to realise they are as good as they had been in the Electric Arena a year ago.

We stroll over towards hordes of people gathering for Aphex Twin, who proceeds to deliver a mesmerising trip through his back catalogue and DJ works, starting with some pulsating ambient, building to techno tempos and then jamming out a bit of drum ‘n’ bass. It’s all flawless and I’m just glad Mr James didn’t decide to turn up with a piece of sandpaper or a single The Specials 7” record.

Having thoroughly enjoyed the Whelan’s gig, I really want to catch a bit of Wavves and, in a now-infamous performance, it’s clear he is out of his bin. It’s woefully bad, even though I remain patient, and as we eventually start to leave, he is singing to the crowd that he is on ecstasy…turns out he was also on valium and xanax. Bit early in the career to be cancelling shows, eh Nathan?

The following Spiritualized performance sees Jason Pierce flanked to his right by a a pair of gospel singers and bringing the soul and..ahem..spirit to proceedings

Too much sun and beer by the pool the next day means we are wrecked arriving in after 6 to catch the opening of Crystal Stilts. They are as detached as ever but still attract a cooler-than-you crowd and even elicit a few arse-boogies form the moustachioed, Wayfarer-sporting hipsterati.

Magnolia Electric Co. fit their early slot well and the few songs we hear are croaky and alt. country enough to pleasantly grab my attention for a wee while, then it’s over to the edible Natasha Khan and Bat for Lashes on the main Estrella Damm stage.

Khan’s voice soars in the evening sky, shooting over everyone like a firework and exploding on the minions below – it’s clear she is destined for even greater things. I want to catch Vivian Girls so Natasha and co. are ditched and it’s back to the Pitchfork stage again. I love Vivian Girls and they don’t disappoint, clanging through their songs with aplomb and introducing a funky tambourine player to boot. They joke amongst each other – and with the crowd – and seem cutely nervous, but when the drums kick in there’s no mistaking their glorious din. The following Spiritualized performance sees Jason Pierce flanked to his right by a a pair of gospel singers and bringing the soul and..ahem..spirit to proceedings.

After a beautiful set we head back to the hotel to chill out for a bit before coming back after midnight for the unbelievable Fucked Up. Singer Pink Eyes immediately opens his usual wound on the head and gets stuck into the crowd, bleeding and sweating on anyone who’ll have him, his hairy back mushing into people’s faces and his hirsute mug dripping with beer and blood. This band is truly awesome live and I can’t see myself ever passing up the opportunity to see them.

Young is incredible -he must be pushing 120 years of age but he looks only 80

This second night, for us, concludes with Shellac. I have not seen them since 1995 in the Temple Bar Music Centre, when I was 17, and I am relishing the prospect of seeing them again. They sound fantastic, the industrial crank of Albini’s guitar, and the percussion, both as punishing as I remember as a teenager. My Black Ass is probably one of my favourite songs of all time and thank Christ they do it. Finishing with The End Of Radio, it’s time for the hotel again….

Day three was always going to be the tough one and it couldn’t have been better arranged, if you’ll pardon the term. Michael Nyman, pianist and soundtrack maestro, is performing with a string and brass section in the auditorium so it means seats and appreciation. It is sublime and hypnotic. Punters are slumped in their seats, hands over mouths, agog at the beauty of some of the music coming out of the speakers, crystal clear and mesmerising. The knowledgeable crowd applaud loudly, with delight, and after nearly every song Nyman leads the musicians in a formal bow, something one just cannot imagine in the mud and drunken stupor of other festivals.

Then it’s off to Neil Young and it’s time to start boozing again. Young is incredible -he must be pushing 120 years of age but he looks only 80. He cranks out hit after hit, to a gigantic crowd and as one Euro fodder punter succinctly puts it to me: ‘Neeeeyal Yooooong yes!’

Deerhunter next but we are too far back to really get into it and can’t get near the front. They seem to manage perfectly on this large stage in front of thousands and no doubt they will be back to our shores soon, where I’ll make up for missing out on a proper experience here.

Eschewing Sonic Youth, since we’ve seen them before, we head over to Ghostface Killah. Live hip-hop has, for me, often been massively disappointing thanks to dodgy sound and disinterested performers. Not Ghostface though. Along with two MCs and a DJ, he pumps out ODB, Wu Tang, Method Man and Gza tracks along with his own material while working the crowd up into frenzy with his constant banter. At the end of one of the best gigs of the weekend, he says he will sign whatever we buy at the merch stall – C.R.E.A.M. is truly the motto here.

Last up for us is DJ/Rupture, whose recent album has become a morning regular en route to work, but alas at this stage we are in a state and it’s time to pack it in and get some kip. Maybe a cheeky beer before bed.

Estrella Goddamm it’s been a great weekend. I’ll certainly be back next year. Viva Catalunya.

Adam Lacey runs There Will Be Blog

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Tags: ATP, barcelona, Estrella Damm, estrella damm primavera sound 2009, jason peirce, Jesus Don’t Want Me For A Sunbeam, l’Estacio de l’Autobusos, Magik Markers, Molly’s Lips, my bloody valentine, neil young, Parc Del Forum, Pitchfork, primavera, primavera 2009, Ray Ban/Vice, Rockdelux, Sadako, shellac, Son Of A Gun, spiritualized, The Vaselines, there will be blog