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Dads. There’s no escaping them at Latitude, which over its 18-year history has become known for having the biggest father contingent of all the festivals. This year, they’ve got their sequinned daughters bouncing on their shoulders to disco legends Nile Rodgers & Chic. The Radio 6 dudes are over watching Houston chillers Khruangbin in their bucket hats, grooving to the simmering, soulful “Texas Sun”. And there are more of them guzzling Somersby cider at indie quartet Keane. They’re all loving it. And the rest of us are, too.
It’s little surprise families are drawn to the festival. The beautiful Henham Park in Suffolk, with a lake at its centre flanked by a fern-filled forest, is perfect for popping down a picnic blanket and trundling along kids in fairy-lit trailers. The lineup, too, is certainly aimed at those who remember the debut album of Duran Duran. But Latitude isn’t exclusively for dads of course – I’m 30 and find the festival glorious. And, looking around, I can see that it seems to be a rite-of-passage festival for local teens.
Kasabian, the rambunctious lad rockers who came crashing onto the indie scene in the mid-Noughties, all skinny jeans, winklepickers and swaggering machismo, are Friday’s headliners. As you’d expect, their set is frenetic and cacophonous, climaxing with their 2009 hit “Fire”. But the Future Islands show over on the Second Stage is the place to be. Samuel T Herring, the Baltimore band’s frontman, went viral in 2014 with an ecstatic performance on the US talk show Letterman, and he brings the same energy to Latitude. On stage, he’s more creature than man, growling and gyrating his way through synthy hits from “The Tower” to “A Dream of You and Me”. A sweat-drenched, disco-loving vaudevillean showman, he contorts in a manner reminiscent of Daniel Craig in that recent vodka advert. Emerging from a Future Islands set unmoved is nigh on impossible.
There is one act whose electricity just about tops that of Future Islands – and it’s CMAT. The Dublin sensation, with a high-camp set of witty, country-pop bangers, is a riot – and not at all cowed by the fatphobic abuse she’s endured this year. She’s headbanging. High-kicking. Thrusting in the mirror. Spanking her guitarist. Shaking a banana. No wonder she’s having so much fun – she’s just had an awards nod for her single “Whatever’s Inconvenient”. “For now, if you don’t mind,” she declares with a toss of the head, “I’d like to sing a Mercury-nominated song.” CMAT nearly didn’t play, in protest over links between Barclays (a main sponsor), and Israel. But when Latitude and the bank cut ties, CMAT rejoined the lineup. And it’s a political set. Her top is emblazoned with the Palestine flag and she holds up a “F*** Barclays” sign. She finishes with her heart-wrenching ballad “Stay for Something”, kicking off her boots and stripping down to leopard-print knickers for the occasion.
Keane are a different beast altogether. It’s 20 years since they released their 2004 debut album Hopes and Fears, sweeping the charts with epic singles such as “Somewhere Only We Know” and “Bedshaped”. For some, theirs was a benign, anodyne brand of indie. For others, though, they were always better than the critics made out, capable of conveying real feeling in their lyrics and layered piano chords. And no one could say frontman Tom Chaplin’s voice hasn’t been consistently brilliant: plaintive and agile. He is still note-perfect now. Fans lie down and soak up the loveliness. I see a couple of toddlers attacking their dad’s ear with felt-tips. Chaplin has a Keir Starmer feel to him – sweet, sensitive, bit of a dweeb. More atmospheric are London Grammar, with Hannah Reid’s voice a phenomenal balm, bathing us in its soothing glow on “Wasting My Young Years”. They finish with the odd decision to hand over their haunting hit “Strong” to a fan. Reid’s singing is so addictive that it feels like a stolen moment.
Festival veterans Nile Rodgers & Chic, on the other hand, keep things strictly professional. Rodgers has written and produced work for countless artists throughout his career, selling more than 500 million albums – and he likes to talk about it. His set is peppered with anecdotes about the making of songs such as “Like a Virgin” with Madonna and “Let’s Dance” with Bowie. That’s before you even get onto the Chic back catalogue: “Lost in Music”, “I Want Your Love” – the list goes on. He expertly whips the glittering crowd into, as he calls it, “maximum funkosity”.
Away from the music, the weekend has absurdist comedy from Sam Campbell and a cosy podcast recording from Adam Buxton. His voice is great for a hangover. After the bands have finished each evening, it’s off to the forest for a party soundtracked by DJs from Bristolian Manami to French producer Kousto. Some of the dads have gone to bed by then. But not all of them. It would be a terrible waste of a fantastic dad-dancing opportunity, after all.
