Primavera 2010: The Greatest
Cortesía: Primavera Sound
Magnetised by a simply spectacular line-up, a perfect balance between nostalgia and modernity, a hundred thousand music fans invaded, this weekend, the Parc of the Forum during the most multitudinous edition of this classic Barcelona festival. They are fans not only of music, it is true, but also of fashion and beer, as it was difficult to see a face free from the ubiquitous retro-style sunglasses or a hand not holding a cold and foaming glass, which leads me to suspect that the main sponsors of the event must be more than satisfied. If sponsorship involves the ability to organise this kind of line-up, you are welcome, you monsters of market research.
240 performances, 10 stages, a 100,000-strong crowd. The numbers are overwhelming. The fact that the biggest complaint we can make about this kind of event is the inevitable (yet still painful) overlapping of bands, should give readers an idea of the quantity and quality of this sweet anniversary. The accumulated pain of those of us who tried to be Usain Bolt for three days did not stop us from suffering from the post-traumatic stress caused by having made the wrong, or less right, choice, after hearing passionate reviews of the performances by Low and Van Dyke Parks in the Auditori, for example. However, I will try to focus on the parts which were engraved on my retina. The moments of sonic ecstasy and collective communion, of which there were many.
Friday night opened with one of the surprises of the year, The XX, four incredibly young British musicians who defend an electronic minimalism not suited to a macro-stage under the rain, but to clubs with smoke cannons and artificial lights. Nonetheless, Crystallized is one of the songs of the year, and it was a wonderful moment, welcomed by a somewhat lukewarm crowd. Shortly before that, Monotonix, the most outrageous live band of the moment, left those of us who did not know them speechless at their apology of nudism and transgression, while we rocked to the sound of their powerful retro riffs. Superchunk was another story, one of those groups which travelled through the 1990s without overwhelming success, and which, on Thursday night, brought out their lively, classic-influenced pop-rock songbook, extracted from the basic (female) bass-guitars-drums band model. Although it is true that Mac McCaughan does not rip up his vocal chords as he once did, his more than 20 years of experience left the audience with a smile on their faces. It is worth mentioning a Primavera classic, the frontman of Les Savy Fav, a true spectacle on the stage.
Once the Tortoise versus Broken Social Scene dilemma was overcome, I was able to enjoy the sound of the latter, a multitudinous band, which has long since left behind the label of “Feist’s former band”, and which offered a careful and virtuous rock, with metric and harmonic elements stolen from jazz, filling the air with its oscillation between multi-instrumental epics and the most intimate half beats. Additionally, John McEntire, the producer of the last album by Broken and the drummer of Tortoise, challenged time and space, appearing almost at the end, to perform with his Canadian colleagues.
I am tired of hearing that former glories must be suspended forever in time. In theory, this makes sense, but in practice, seeing a band like Pavement causes us to forget any prior judgement. I will never understand that thing about them being the best worst band. Their classic songs were as good as those by The Pixies and Wilco, and those of us who listened to their prodigious first albums on our walkman/Discman will be eternally grateful for having had the chance to witness the live performance of these songs, which defined our musical and sentimental education.
On Friday, the journey back to the 1990s was rounded off with two of the names at the top of the line-up: Wilco and The Pixies. They both played hits for which a better adjective than “great” should exist, although in the case of the band from Chicago, they also played their last album, making it clear, for anyone who has not yet had the chance to witness them, that they have a crystalline, moving and masterful sound to which few (perhaps none) can aspire. Wilco are not just a retro band. The Band never “destroyed and raped” a classic structure like Jeff Tweedy and his band do in Via Chicago, my favourite moment of many.
I am not greatly concerned about whether The Pixies had come only for the money. Both their successful recreations of the past (with Neil Young and The Jesus and Mary Chain covers) and their dozens of hits (recently compiled in a box set for collectors at a prohibitive price, which one day shall be mine), the sweet backing vocals of Kim Deal, the barking of Frank Black, the insane notes of the guitar of Joey Santiago (spectacular in Vamos) shone on the beautiful Barcelona night. I am not particularly objective about the band which taught me how to love music, but even those who are not their biggest fans were moved by Where is my mind, sung by fifty thousand throats under the moonlight, in what was a much more beautiful image than the final scene of Fight Club. It is worth mentioning The New Pornographers as well, pop song masters who have overcome the departure of their star-vocalist, Neko Case, and the surprising The Bloody Beetroots, a perfect example of what, in my opinion, electronic music should sound like, and whose live show left the masked band exhausted and moved by the enthusiastic response of an audience which wanted more than just to party.
The organisers of the event deserve a new paragraph, as they have helped to popularise in our country the best band from the neighbouring continent in this early part of the century: Beach House. The voice of Victoria Legrand (the niece of the author of Les parapluies de Cherbourg) seduced an audience for whom the ATP stage (which boasts excellent acoustics and the sea only a few metres away) seemed way too small.
Electronic music and synthesisers are the essential emblem of the Pet Shop Boys, who closed the festival. However, although I’ve been told they offered a great show beyond their obvious skill at creating choruses and inciting people to dance, I prefer to express my admiration for the delicate and brilliant performance by one of the best bands to have come from the always prolific New York underground scene (Grizzly Bear); the fun and effective return to their version of the Sex Pistols, dressed in whatever they found in the outfit box of a kindergarten (The Slits); the surprising Florence + The Machine and her powerful, multi-register vocals; the DIY-loving drum-keyboard duo Matt & Kim; and, finally, the impressive Sunny Day Real Estate, which marked for many the best moment in a wonderfully heterogeneous last day of the festival.
The body is exhausted, the ears plead for mercy, but all of those who went back to being fifteen years old this weekend are grateful for the music and for those who have made this unique event possible. Happy birthday, Primavera.
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