Our brilliant guest blogger, Britt Lundborg, attended the Swedish gathering and offers a full report! If over-turned porta-potties, bio-hazardous mud and mildewing sleeping bags are not your idea of an epic festival time, then buy yourself a ticket to Way Out West 2010. The Way Out West Festival held in the Slottsskogen Park in Gothenberg, Sweden for the past three years is well-organized and clean, sort of exactly what one thinks of Sweden and its people. In fact, it would seem as though the Way Out West organizers believe in the health-benefits of a good summer’s jam and actually want to improve your health. No zeppoles or deep-fried Oreos here – you can purchase fresh fruit, trail mix, Thai stir-fry, or sushi as a nosh and then finish your meal off with a cappuccino. Of course, there’s beer to be bought (on par with US festival prices at 50 kronor a pint, about 7 bucks), but also wine and cider. The beer gardens are exactly that – grassy expanses dotted with tall oak trees (useful protection during flash down-pours) and picnic tables. There was even a little stream rolling through one and festival-goers killed time between sets feeding the ducks that paddled in it. Who knew ducks enjoyed alt-rock? Who cares about ducks – what about the music?
Read the rest of her review (+ photos) AFTER THE JUMP…
Brit influence placed a heavy hand on the bill with Arctic Monkeys and Lily Allen co-headlining, plus Basement Jaxx, Echo & The Bunnymen, Florence & The Machine, Glasvegas, My Bloody Valentine and Patrick Wolf rounding out the Anglo corner. Call it Glasto Lite. But no neglecting the Americas and our personal brand of cleverly-orchestrated pop – Andrew Bird, Anthony & The Johnsons, Band Of Horses, Beirut, Bon Iver, Calexico, Grizzly Bear, Vampire Weekend and Wilco all played to huge crowds. Hip-hop heavy Nas and The Dead Prez provided some New York beats. No East Coast Way Out West Coast rivalry here! Obviously, this being Sweden, Scandinavians took up some real estate on the list, but not as much as one would have thought. This included pop blitzkreig Robyn, Fever Ray, Royksopp, Teddybears, Jenny Wilson, El Perro Del Mar and Loney Dear.
But even this is merely a partial list and being that I have not yet ripped my own personal hole in the time-space continuum, I could not see every band I wished to. Below are a few anecdotes and pictures, just a nibble of the full delight that was Way Out West.
- Arctic Monkeys opened with “My Propeller”, a new track off Humbug. This seemed to throw the audience a mite, since they were so pumped to mosh and so few of them had heard the leak. Never ones to pander to audience pleasure, the Monkeys went straight into an unconvincing up-tempo cover of Nick Cave’s “Red Right Hand”. The song can be a terrifying thrill, but Alex Turner’s reedy voice and the galloping beat scattered its power. “Crying Lightening” caused the necessary commotion and the crowd lept and surged for the rest of the set. At one point, Turner actually said to the adoring crowd, “You’re a dazzling audience, really”. Could be the droll, Sheffield-accent, but he sounded incredibly disingenuous. He needn’t try so hard at the ‘tude! He and his Monkeys are “fookin” bonafide now – a little good humor and audience banter wouldn’t hurt. I will say this though – when they caved in and played “IBYLGOTD”, the air shook.
- Nas brought it, full stop. He played on Day Two in the heavy rain and pummeled us with hits taken mostly from his past two albums. With a full five-piece band, including a trumpeter, drummer, two guitarists and a bongo player at his back, he roamed the stage for an hour set. At the outset, he called out, “I pledge my allegiance to this audience…” and fulfilled on that promise. It must be weird though, for Nas, to play to a giant crowd of flaxen-haired Scandinavians who know every word. I mean, the audience fist-pumped even as sheets of rain poured down from the tent lip. They were incorrigible. Who cares if Lauryn Hill’s gone AWOL – every single poncho-clad person sang the chorus to “If I Ruled the World” and it felt like it.
- Not many festival line-ups have space enough for both hip-hop stars and pop’s most delicate flower Anthony of Anthony & The Johnsons, but Way Out West caters to every musical taste. Anthony, swathed in his ubiquitous black outfit, stood alone at the stage’s edge since he was being supported by the Gothenberg Symphony Orchestra. Having no piano to hide behind clearly made him nervous and he said so, even as the ocean of people in front of him screamed and swooned. The Swedes love Anthony – his songs capture a melancholic sweetness that is the national psychic state. (I can say this with certainty, since I am half Swedish). A newspaper here declared his performance akin to watching a nervous eight-year old girl’s recital and it was meant as a compliment. Anyway, his anxiety wore off by his third song “Epilepsy Is Dancing” and, at the end of it, he did a celebratory stomp to the beat that revealed his little red ankle socks.
- Florence looks like a star already. The firey, Kate Bush-esque singer strutted on stage in sequined hot-pants, a transparent cape and six-inch heels and sang the fuck out of her set. Opening with “Between Two Lungs”, she deceptively sung the first verse quietly, picking her way carefully through the words, as a wind-machine softly blew back her hair and cape. As the song accelerated, her voice grew stronger and stronger until she was in marvelous full force. Her voice sounds just as strong live as it does recorded and she clearly loves performing. She capered about wildly on her filly’s legs, flung her red mane in the air, and beat a big flower-adorned drum that stood at her side. Her Machine appears to love playing and they sound good too, though it’s hard to take your eyes off her. Exhilarating.
- Bon Iver played early (2:30pm) on the first day of the Festival, but was a huge draw. He asked the crowd to supply the beseeching chorus “What might have been lost…” during “The Wolves (Act 1 and 2)” and the crowd screamingly obliged. One gentleman lost his shirt and someone further into the audience waved an American flag. Always the gentleman, Justin Vernon thanked the audience profusely and obliged them with a still-untattered version of “Skinny Love”.
- Grizzly Bear took the stage after Bon Iver and quite a thorough sound check. Competing with Beirut clearly stole some of their audience, but still the crowd went wild for “Two Weeks” and “Ready, Able”. Justin Vernon bopped his head to the beat while drinking a beer backstage. Nice when critical darlings support one another, donchathink.
- I’m not that familiar with Calexico’s trans-national merengue rock, but the band members look like hot, middle-aged dads. I mean, the lead singer wore a cardigan over a plaid collared shirt and has a soul patch. Total DILF. “Just Dads Havin’ A Jam” should be their motto. They provided nice laid-back harmonies that would not be out of place on a Summer Road Trip compilation. Something Dads having a carpool instead of a jam would be comfortable picking up at Starbucks. After a few of their tunes, I mosied over to the Flamingo Stage to get a good spot for Vampire Weekend.
- Vampire Weekend does not disappoint. Ezra Koenig played his preppy part very well, sporting his Ray Bans, Polo shirt, and horrible grey Nike Airs. This was Day Two, the day of epic rain, and their sunny little songs metaphorically broke the clouds. And even when it was really pissing it down, Koenig introduced “A-Punk” by saying, “This one’s really good to dance to in raincoats!”. The crowd went crazy supplying the chorus: “Look outside at the raincoats coming say, ‘OH!’, EH-EH-EH!’. Hearing them live re-invigorated their LP, which I’d laid to rest after many listens. But now I’m looking forward to see what heights they’re going to aside from Washington Heights.
- Band Of Horses’ music sounds exactly as it always does, like grown-up lullabies. I listened from a beer garden and heard nothing new, even as they proclaimed the tracks come from their new album. If it ain’t broke, I guess.
- Glasvegas put on the gravest of rock shows. This is a grim business. Clad in black leather, smoking as he leaned into the mic, just dripping pathos, James Allan wielded his wounded tunes like a true romantic. Overall, they sounded just as plodding as they always have. But even I will admit that “Geraldine” surges beautifully, built like a true arena rock ballad. When the nicest thing you can say about a band is that they sound like second-rate U2, I guess you need lots of light and noise to distract from the tunes.
- Wolfmother slipped a leaf from Led Zeppelin’s book and never returned it. And AC/DC and Deep Purple and any other hard rocking 70′s band. The lead vocalist sounds like a precise hybrid of Robert Plant and Axl Rose, and there’s nothing wrong with that. They filled the Linne tent with smoke and pushed their amps up to 11 and created a Guitar Hero’s wet dream. Sweden is filled with super hot guys whose hotness is decimated by their love of not only air guitaring in public places, but air drumming, air trumpeting, air anything. Everyone lept and thrashed during their big hit “Woman” and someone even blew up a condom, tied it off and the crowd kept it aloft through the next few songs. It was that kind of party, what can I say.
