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Green Man 2017

Green Man 2017
Martin Longley By

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Green Man
Glanusk Park
Brecon Beacons
Wales
August 17-20, 2017

Like the now deceased Big Chill festival, the Green Man weekender languishes in an ideal location, set within the rolling Brecon Beacons in south Wales, verdant and misty, its main Mountain Stage stretching across a natural amphitheatre, its other stages close enough for easy walking, but not too near to suffer overwhelming sonic bleed. Just about the only drawback is a tendency for these hills to suffer from unstable, heavy rainfall. Sometimes the 15-year-old Green Man is lucky to avoid such a downpour, but not this year, although there was still a good deal of sun in evidence, for much of the time. The worst sluice-patch arrived on the last of its four days, not so much heavy, but just doggedly persistent, for several hours, forcing most non-crazy folks to watch outdoor acts from within the perimeter-edging drinks tents. It was a dreary Sunday afternoon indeed, stuck inside the cider tent at The Walled Garden stage, espying a run of performers, vaguely visible in the far distance. The other fortunate factor is that, unlike Charlton Park, for the previous month's WOMAD festival, Glanusk Park isn't particularly prone to mud accumulation, given the torrents that periodically spread over this long weekend.

Whereas last year's festival featured an extensive day of Krautrock-inspired (or actual Krautrock) artists in the Far Out tent, this year saw no such themed action, aside from a general preponderance of high quality artists with more adventurous inclinations. Some of the best sets happened here in Far Out, their power sometimes heightened by swollen crowds, sheltering from the rain. Angel Olsen and Thee Oh Sees could arguably have coped with main stage exposure. The outsider's outsider Richard Dawson probably played to his largest crowd so far, and the Japanese psychedelic combo Kikagaku Moyo doubtless converted a fresh horde of followers, when they offered one of the weekend's first great sets. Most of the more-than-usual-number of jazz outfits appeared in the cosier Chai Wallahs tent, but drummer Moses Boyd and his Exodus gave a strong Saturday afternoon performance, essentially being an expansion of the much higher profile Binker Golding duo.

Tokyo's Kikagaku Moyo (translated as Geometric Patterns) descend themselves from the heaviest Black Sabbath sludge-riffing, but also possess an amusing penchant for folk elements, much like their countrymen Acid Mothers Temple. Long, straight (or slightly wavy) tresses abound, and the fuzz is enlarged into repeated solo climaxing (including electric sitar!), facilitating the only afternoon headbanging outbreak of the weekend. They are genuinely transported from 1972, intact in their hallucinatory state. Few artists managed to top their power in the days to come, so this was an early Friday pinnacle.

Later that day, singer-guitarist Angel Olsen appeared with an expanded band, garbed in matching suits, and coming across like some updated incarnation of Bob Dylan's Rolling Thunder Revue, alternating between opalescent ballads and invigorating rockers. Olsen is turning herself into a starrier figure nowadays, also benefitting from being flanked by striking co-vocalist, keyboardist and tambourine-shaker Heather McEntire. Then, the next night boasted a similarly potent set from Thee Oh Sees, with double drums, pumping bass, and an intensely riffing John Dwyer on guitar. The foursome's relationship is devoted to the ultimate rockaboogie trundle, a speeding garage band rollercoaster, with the sticksmen deliberately playing quite similar parts, heightening the general, unstoppable momentum. Dwyer screams and whoops, and his obsessional acolytes fill the marquee with an electrified charge. Sunday's winning Far Out show came from singer-guitarist Richard Dawson, himself (for now) shunning solo performance for an expanded band set-up, including Welsh improvising harpist Rhodri Davies, and his teddy bear mascot, sat at stage-front, microphoned up in case he has any ursine observations to make. The newer material lacks the confrontational, warped power of Dawson's solo ditties, but it's great that he's probing unfamiliar zones, even if we, the audience, might be lagging behind in our appreciation. Maybe we just need more time for the newer songs to sink in, as when Dawson reveals "The Vile Stuff" in its full-combo form, it still retains its monumental, visceral immediacy and unusualness, re-bedded in a broader anti-symphonic form.

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