Field Day

You have to hand it to the organisers of Field Day 2012, they assembled a line up to appeal to catholic tastes. Followers of world internet dance as represented by Sleigh Bells et al are well catered for. For me however it's off to sneak a listen to Peaking Lights stalker paced US dubtronica before Aussie's Pond melt my eyeballs into puddles of pure punk prog mercury. Django Django's 'Waveforms' sounds refreshingly crisp from a dark tent but Fennesz has the MBV recalling sound of confusion to match a Jagermeister induced state. Erasing the tapes  of your mind with a bogglingly simple mix of delay pedal, mimimal classically inspired guitar and a little valve opening he still unleashes an avalanche of noise which could unwittingly encase you in God's own weep drop.

Apropos of new 4AD signing Grimes, who packs a huge tent to bursting with folk singing back her songs, there's a strand of music I like called hauntological music. Suggesting that the past inhabits the present in ghostly traces, it appeals to me because it suggests a partial escape pod from modernity. Performed by group's named thing like Belbury Poly who use evocative, analogue sounds, it's time capsule music which channels past idealism to sometimes bittersweet effect.


Similarly Grimes brings massive rave generation shapes but with an everyday magic, kitchen sink atmosphere recalling not only 4AD label shimmer but also 80's Cherry Red artists. I'm surprised people old enough to remember prefab housing are often so blindly against retro - Grimes recontextualises old sounds with such artistry, it's like hearing snippets of old songs unexpectedly in Skins, her anthemic songs sounding groundingly familiar.


With brings us to the Village Mentality tent, whose name suggests more hauntology, presented to us by The Quietus. A play on the modern global village or a nostalgic throwback? Who knows - bypassing any reputation for chin stroking, Tortoise make you pinch yourself and get some of the festival's most sincere applause. Often dual drummered and with much swapping of instruments, they shimmy past tricky free jazz for bebop which sounds authentically classic. Mazzy Star then offer the man in the moon a smoke with their lapping, narcotic, lunar blues. That Hope Sandoval's honeyed vocals get caught in a sonic fug kind of adds to this Lynch mob's effect.


The only drawback is that the bar nearby sells beer at £ 4 70 a pint, suggesting that the mythical village may be somewhere in the Hampshire stockbroker belt.