Primavera Sound 2013: 10 Reasons We Went

Savages (Pitchfork Stage, Thursday)
Despite being one of the first bands to grace the festival, London’s Savages commanded one of the most impressive crowds the Pitchfork stage saw all weekend, stretching right back to the beach. With Silence Yourself only just on the shelves, it was clearly business time as they got their heads down to show the Spaniards – and judging by the number of pasty complexions, a fair number of Brits too – what the fuss is about. From Shut Up’s barbed, juddering introduction to an extended redux of Strife – which ended in an entrancing, reverb-drenched jam – it’s still early single Flight to Berlin that truly seduces, coming on like a straight-faced take on Romeo Void’s Never Say Never. 

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METZ (Pitchfork Stage, Thursday)
“This is the best day of our life, for real,” said METZ bassist Chris Slorach, still fighting the stigma attached to their name by a discontinued Alcopop by levelling European cities one stage at a time. With a tireless work ethic, you’ve got to applaud the Canadian trio’s zero BS approach to delivering bludgeoning, cathartic punk rock this long after the gold rush. Although the music press continues to take the tired road of holding them up next to Nirvana, they’re equally indebted to the more manic moments of The Cramps or Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Wasted – which, granted, sounds uncannily like Kurt’s boys on ‘roids – was the indisputable highlight, coaxing the most visible reaction from a crowd that otherwise looked like a steamroller just ran through it. Proof, if it were needed, that the past’s future in abrasive guitar rock is assured. Also, check the sex face.

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Dinosaur Jr. (Primavera Stage, Thursday)
With Harvey Milk’s Kyle Spence sitting in for Murph and a sedate rendition of Thumb easing them on gently, Dinosaur Jr dispelled any fears that they might be on half a tank by putting their temporary drummer to the test with and reaching deep into the vault. There were a few surprise treats – a rare appearance of their sole MTV ‘hit’ Feel the Pain and a reprisal of their hardcore roots with a cover of Deep Wound’s Training Ground. But that’s not all – Damian ‘Pink Eyes’ Marley from Fucked Up joins in to sign off with a short sharp war cry in tribute to cult Boston hardcore crew Last Rites.  Musically, Dinosaur Jr were all over the map, which is probably why – despite their monosyllabic tendencies as reluctant hosts – they were such fun to behold. Like Adam Franklin once wrote in these pages: what a mess, what a band.

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Dope Body (Vice Stage, Friday)
"I'm surprised anyone's here, if five of you turned up I’d have been amazed," remarked a startled Andrew Laumann mid-set, perhaps unaware that Sub Pop honcho Jonathan Poneman and rising country soul maverick Matthew E White were standing in the wings. Laumann’s unhinged, stage-diving persona and guttural vocals – both of which evoke Brainiac’s Tim Taylor or The Jesus Lizard’s David Yow – made a compelling front for the quartet’s chaotic fusion of noise and punk rock with the dubbiest of breakdowns, best distilled in opening track, Leather Head.

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Deerhunter (Ray Ban Stage, Thursday)
With AC/DC blaring over the PA and the likes of Savages’ Jehnny Beth spotted mulling around the crowd, there was a palpable buzz as Deerhunter took to the horrendously named Ray Ban stage. Bradford Cox emerged in his finest frock with a face smothered in whiteout for a glorious take on Cover Me (Slowly) and Agoraphobia, the former playing out like the grandiose theme to some cosmic coronation. And then they left Microcastle in the rear view mirror with a set which otherwise lent on Halcyon Digest’s 60s psych-pop obsession (Don’t Cry, Revival, Desire Lines) and latest LP Monomania’s more direct garage rock mentality. In a set so varied, ambient guitar lines, Cox’s melodic drawl and grinning faces everywhere were the only common denominators. It’s no surprise Deerhunter were asked to go again when Band of Horses’ flight was grounded by the Oklahoma Hurricane on closing night.

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Swans (Ray Ban Stage, Friday)
Forget whoever else was on the bill this year, Michael Gira – with the look of a murderous evangelist – still fronts one of the heaviest bands you’re likely to find at any festival all summer. Then there are his henchmen – from Chris Pravdica and Phil Puleo’s formidable rhythm section through Christoph Hahn’s eerie pedal steel work and Norman Westberg's bludgeoning guitar attack, to Thor Harris’s deft multi-instrumentalism, conjuring mixed feelings of dread and elation throughout their grinding, slow burning, and at times ecstatic 100 minute set. It’s just good manners that Gira more frequently turned to thank the band for what must have been an emotionally draining performance, rather than the crowd, stood jaw agape, for their adulation. 

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Killer Mike (Pitchfork Stage, Thursday)
 “We’re gonna burn this muthafucka down tonight, Primavera,” Killer Mike threatened, walking onstage with no need for a hype man nor a trusty set of hip-hop golden oldies to warm up the most rabid crowd of the weekend. “School’s in session – let’s go,” he spat, echoing the mantra of last year’s incendiary R.A.P. Music by tearing through its three song opening salvo without pause. When he finally did, it was to publicly confirm that his next album in collaboration with EL-P – titled Run the Jewels – is due for imminent, free release. With so many of the dirty south’s best known MCs seemingly adrift, it’s heartening to see Killer Mike so focused and unreservedly furious at the status quo. And he’s still the most humble, smiliest man in rap.

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Wu-Tang Clan (Primavera Stage, Saturday)
”Wu-Tang is in the building, it's a full moon out there y'all – give us a moshpit." The sense of occasion was not lost on Ghostface Killah, howling himself hoarse as he and his comrades launched into a lively if slightly scattergun attempt at their seminal debut in its 20th year. But it was the solo numbers that earned the crowd’s fervour – from an exhilarating 4th Chamber (complete with theatrical false start) and the pristine delivery of Duel of the Iron Mic, with GZA in uncharacteristically animated form, to an ODB tribute that ended in all out celebration with Got Your Money – it was enough to help overlook Raekwon and Method Man’s absence. “I don’t know if brothers missed their flights or if they had trouble with negotiations,” muttered RZA, shaking his head as they launched into Triumph regardless.

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Hot Snakes (ATP Stage, Thursday)
Now 17 years into their enduring creative partnership, there was barely an inch of light between duelling guitarists John ‘Speedo’ Reis and Rick Froberg during a set which, such was its velocity, bulldogged through various warnings from organisers and went on for 17 songs that spanned all three Hot Snakes records in chronological order. A tight, compact gang onstage, they only paused for a halftime high five when drummer Mario Rubalcaba took over from Jason Kourkounis to play his chunk of the catalogue.  With the band in high spirits and Frobert in youthful voice, their energised take on post-hardcore still sounds unbeatable. We just wish they’d played Hatchet Job.

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Death Grips (ATP Stage, Thursday)
As Seven Nation Army’s tired chords blared over the PA before their set, you realise how long the world’s been waiting for a group like Death Grips. With drummer Zach Hill absent from their current tour, this Primavera debut was a true test of whether they can adapt to the festival format – or the festival format can adapt to them – by breaking out of the clubs and bringing their visceral take on cyberpunk to the masses in an open air setting. Like the Pet Shop Boys of the apocalypse, Andy “Flatlander” Morin cut a menacing but static presence as he manned an effects desk with his hood up on the sidelines, leaving it to Stefan “MC Ride” Burnett and one microphone to fill a stadium-sized stage.. Lurching back and forth with nothing but a dim blue light overhead for the next 45 minutes, front and centre, he bucked and writhed while highlights like Lost Boys, No Love, The Fever (Aye Aye) and Hacker – surely the closest thing they have to an arse-shaking ‘party hit’ – poured from the speakers and hypnotised thousands. Drums or no drums, Death Grips proved they can set phasers to ‘shut the fuck up’ in any configuration.

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