Field Day 2016: The Review

Field Day returns for its 10th birthday, and no amount of torrential rain could dampen the occasion. Victoria Park in East London is taken over for 48 hours of performances from cutting-edge electronica, world-class DJs, fiery new punk bands and long-serving musical legends – tied together by Field Day’s homely, village fete feel. It sounds an understatement, but there’s just so much to see: clash-finders become gold dust.

Saturday

After a happy half an hour spent lazing in the sun, extortionately priced Red Stripe tinny in hand, with the eclectic sounds of DJ Koze floating out from the Resident Advisor tent, the time feels right for a scout around the park. Two minutes after stepping foot into the wooden-clad Jägerhaus, the first of the torrential downpours traps a captive audience inside – in happily perfect timing for FEWS’ set. The Canadian post-punkers drown out the rain with a crashing, spun-out set showcasing their recent debut record; a mesmerising, ear-busting start.

Water cascades from the tent’s domed roofs, and the grass is disappearing under mammoth, muddy puddles, but grime’s breakout star Skepta shows total disregard for the weather. He riles up his soggy audience with total ease, leading the main stage (hosted this year by Eat Your Own Ears and The Quietus) through a storming version of Shutdown, colourful brollies bouncing in time. He beams, rightfully triumphant.

Deerhunter, photo: C Faruolo

Next up on the main stage is Deerhunter, and Bradford Cox tears through a furious set with far more aggression than their records suggest. Their set spans five records but gives the biggest nod to last year’s Fading Frontier, which sounds fiery and vital. After a shout-out to Sunday headliner PJ, oldie Helicopter is resplendent.

Sam Shepherd brings the Floating Points live show to the Resident Advisor stage, and the giant tent pulsates with a packed-out, restless crowd. Maybe it’s that the sun’s finally shining outside, or that the punters are rowdy enough without Floating Points’ magical, jazzy beats, but it proves difficult to concentrate on the detail and the set doesn’t quite hit home – even with ethereal, geometric visuals. 

Right across the park, past the sack races and the shiny, screeching fairground rides, Gold Panda’s about to charm another capacity crowd at the Crack tent. He wanders onstage in a fetching ‘Tampax’ shirt, and brings Good Luck and Do Your Best album opener Metal Bird into being. A hushed crowd sways and nods, totally entranced, as Derwin conjures an intricate, beautiful set that culminates with a surprisingly weighty version of this year’s single Time Eater. 

Holly Herndon, photo: C Faruolo

There’s another speedy run across the field to be done, dodging the downpour, to catch the start of Holly Herndon. A rich, theatrical show bolstered by two additional bandmates captures Holly’s world of intense, intellectual imaginings. With visuals akin to an old Microsoft screensaver, we travel through 3D-mapped desks and mashed, distorted keyboards, entering a virtual reality that reflects the chaos and connectivity of her music. Live vocals add an extra warmth, and tracks like Interference are dizzying, fully immersive. A typed tribute to Chelsea Manning feels one of the most radical moments of the festival.  

Just a stone’s throw from the RA tent, Youth Lagoon is performing his last ever show. Trevor Powers storms around the edge of his stage like an emotional bird, vigorously conducting every last chord before kneeling before his keyboard. “This is the last song we’ll play as a band,” he announces to a loving, emotional crowd, and plunges into July. There’s not a dry eye in the house. 

It’s been a big year for home town headliner James Blake, what with Beyoncé writing credits, a new album and the like, and he looks fully poised, perfectly prepared. An impeccable set takes a celebratory lap of Blake’s records and passions, and he reiterates that the show is 100% live, thanks to the craft of long-serving bandmates Rob McAndrews (guitar) and Ben Assiter (drums). Love Me In Whatever Way is packed with woozy, pleading heartbreak, and leads into a cameo appearance from local East Londoner Trim. The grime MC ups the pace with Confidence Boost, a collab track released with Blake back in 2012 – it’s an apt reminder that JB’s genius stretches far further than that Feist cover, and he grins. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

The surprisingly weighty I Hope My Life builds on Trim’s pulse, crashing in waves as red light bathes an audience thrilled by the track’s unnerving heartbeat. After an emotion-soaked run through Retrograde, Blake introduces his final number: “I’m going to end on a song my dad wrote.” The Wilhelm Scream cuts through the night, and Field Day closes in a celebration of understated brilliance.

Sunday

Victoria Park’s punters traipse back through the puddles with plastic bags tied over sandals and preparatory ponchos tied around waists. First up on the main stage are Parquet Courts, showcasing a ton of material from new album Human Performance. The band insert huge jam sessions into set openers One Man, No City and Dust with total disregard for the lateness of their set, and goof around with total joy.

Parquet Courts, photo: C Faruolo

Heavier numbers like Paraphrase, the oddball I Was Just Here and half-rapped Captive of the Sun hold a marked maturity over their older material, although when the band rattle through fan-fave Master of My Craft it still sounds just as fresh. Parquet Courts are tight, brittle and on top of their game; before a crashing finale with Light Up Gold, Brown peels off his braces and untucks his shirt – “I’m not in the fucking Libertines, I don’t need to wear these to impress you."

There’s no let up for those with hangovers in the Shacklewell Arms tent. Relocated after an impending watery doom, it’s grown in capacity – and thank goodness, because the crowd for the Fat White Family are packed in shoulder to shoulder. The band waste zero time in firing up their politicised rabble-rousing punk and the front rows go nuts. Three songs in, Lias Saoudi’s already down to his pants, having ripped off his decorative jacket and plunged face first into the pit. An expectedly sleazy rendition of Touch The Leather rounds off a sweaty, sweaty set.

There’s just time for a quick lunch break before Dan Snaith sets up the decks in a sunny spot behind the Field Day bandstand. After headlining last year’s fest as Caribou, Snaith’s returned to Victoria Park with his clubland moniker Daphni, and entertains delighted revelers with nostalgic disco hits and spontaneous selections. He makes it look so simple, and a chance burst of sunshine sees punters ditch the brollies and take to splashing in puddles instead. 

Next up, it’s the long-awaited return of Aussie electro gang The Avalanches. They manifest in DJ set form (their ‘live’ billing apparently falling apart due to visa issues) but the rammed crowd don’t seem to mind as they’re whirled through Bowie, The Beatles and Nina Simone and teased with snippets of the band’s own material. One woman mutters, “I just wanna hear that song,” but the dancing bodies seem to outweigh the voices of dissent. It has all the makings of a cracking set… but with Field Day offering a world of choices, we sneak out to catch the end of John Grant’s main stage extravaganza.

Arriving just in time to watch a snappily dressed Grant lead a theatrical sing-along to Queen of Denmark, it feels a totally different universe. He lets out a monumental roar, flings his arms in the air, and his band fall in with gusto. Beaming out from the stage like a charismatic man-bear, he appears genuinely touched by his adoring audience. “This one’s for all of you,” Grant yells, addressing his congregation, and the band strikes up for GMF. The crowd bellow back, delighted, as he serenades them; “So go ahead and love me…” 

The night’s not over yet, and Beach House are due in the Shacklewell tent. An excitable, semi-drunk crowd falls silent as Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally, accompanied by their band, step out under sparkling lights. Legrand swirls a glittering black cape like a true dream-goth witch, and conjures magical, magical sounds with a little extra bite; drums thunder in on Take Care and the spinning, swaying crowd whoop with joy. Newer songs like last year’s PPP sound glorious, and Sparks played out over a burning red sunset makes for one of those truly goose-bumpy festival moments. It’s all over too soon, though. “Don’t we have six more minutes?” questions Legrand… but it’s too late, and Beach House vanish. 

There’s no time for heartbreak, though, because Polly Jean Harvey is due on Field Day’s main stage. A quick sprint sees her 11-piece band file out on stage, with rolling drums heralding PJ’s own entrance. Covered in shiny black feathers like a magnificent raven, she dives straight into Chain of Keys, from this year’s The Hope Six Demolition Project. Filmed in black and white, against a vast, architectural backdrop, Harvey’s show has the aesthetic of a solemn, stylish 1940s film… with a bitingly political, contemporary soundtrack. It’s an eerie, riveting start, and she continues with new material – The Ministry of Defence feels even more powerful backed up by a full band of choral voices and The Community of Hope’s 'they’re gunna build a Walmart here' is oddly, hugely affecting.

PJ Harvey, photo: C Faruolo

The volume’s quiet, though – perhaps given the Sunday curfew – and there’s a fair amount of jostling as people rearrange themselves behind speaker stacks. Just in time, too, because Harvey begins her second chapter, revisiting the Mercurial Let England Shake. The Words That Maketh Murder and The Glorious Land still carry every pound of weight that they did in 2011, and Harvey is a captivating, obviously consummate performer; she reaches to her audience with outstretched arms, and manages to make it feel utterly personal. Dramatic flashes of lightning crack across the sky as if she’d personally requested it. 

The set’s closing half looks back to Harvey’s grungier incarnation, and she swaps flawlessly from big-band oomph to stripped back, sticky riffs. 50ft Queenie is enormous, as is Down by the Water… but the double encore of 90s hits Working for the Man and A Perfect Day Elise confirms her queenly status. 'Don’t you know yet / Who I am?' she sang in 1995. 20 years on, who doesn’t want to be PJ Harvey when they grow up?