Welcome to Waitsville. A place where bad jokes are good, Vaudeville never died, and the talk is of smoking monkeys, weasels and the mating habits of the preying mantis.
It’s the moment half way through the set when she arrives, with a swish of the curtain, on stage astride a giant silver skull, wearing a flowing red trouser suit and cap, that we realise we just aren’t in Kansas any more, Toto.
As I’m nearing the main stage, a mournful funeral wail of a riff starts up, soon to be joined by stiff drums and icy synth. If Sigur Ros hadn’t started their set with “Svefn-G-Englar” last night, it would surely be the most doomy headline set opener of the festival. Of course, it's Interpol.
“Given though this is a family affair, we all know someone who’s a meth head or a speed freak,” thus it is that Kim Deal endears herself to the good ladies and gentlemen of Latitude.
Once again, it falls to me to provide the first list of the day, folks. A trememndous day here yesterday, which involved Nicholas Parsons, a brass band and a really interesting millipede. Oh, and some groups. Here we go. . .
