Saturday at WOMAD, the sun is out, Angus Watt’s lovely flags flutter in a gentle breeze, small (and some not-so-small) children dash around with glitter-y wings and things are deliciously, gloriously eclectic.
As the crowds rearrange themselves after last night’s wonders, find coffees and stake their patch on the parched grass, The London Bulgarian Choir range themselves across the main stage and tell emotional tales of grandmothers and dreams. Their 30-odd strong ululations and perfect Eastern European rhythms are the ideal way to ease into a day that’s packed with some fantastic music.
Over on the, green energy powered, Charlie Gillett stage Quebecois superstars, Genticorum, are causing an early afternoon outbreak of swing-y-armed dancing. It’s incredible how a standard folk set-up of fiddle, accordion and guitar can sound so different depending upon the bands’ country of origin. Genticorum come from the French-Canadian tradition and, while the instruments, and voices, blend beautifully, it is the tic-a-tac foot percussion that causes the blissful, eyes-to-the-heavens sway creeping across an ever-expanding crowd. It’s incredibly infectious, a high energy bounce propelled by three musicians in perfect step. Pascal Gemme, on fiddle, and Nicholas Williams, on piano accordion, create a knock-kneed frenzy on a set of dance tunes, lifting feet off of the floor, swirling skirts, then pushing it further, the rhythmic patter irresistible. On Le Brandy des Montagnes Noires, taken from their latest album Au Coeur de l’Aube, they are dangerously fast, a sinewy, curving tour through darkening forests, Williams’ choppy flute cutting Yann Falquet’s guitar to ribbons. At other times they waltz, elegantly, until the desire to stomp and sway overtakes them, and us, once again.
One of the best things about WOMAD is that the stages are timed so that very few things overlap, as one act ends, another begins on a different stage. As a consequence, you can, metaphorically, wander from one part of the world to another with ease.
Leaving Quebec behind, the main stage offered one of the most unexpected highlights of the day. Who knew that what was required, in the blazing sunshine, was a bit of 60s inspired, Hammond driven, Vietnamese psych pop? Saigon Soul Revival deliver exactly that and are, simply, awesome. Taking inspiration from the rock n roll scene (a music that was, confusingly, called “soul”) that emerged from Saigon in the mid-60s, this is the most exciting, fun and, goddammit, groovy thing that you could possibly imagine. Wah wah guitars, swirly organs, mellow psychedelic wafts and, in Nguyen Anh Minh, a brilliant front-person. She flings and bounds about, oozing 60s cool and go-go glee while conjuring Vietnam’s own Grace Slick. The gentle ska groove of Đám Cưới Nhà Em has the whole field bouncing while a cheeky slice of the Hawaii 5-0 theme, slipped in right at the end, seems to sum up a joyful 60 minutes. After this, surely, Saigon Soul Revival will go to the top of everyone’s “I must find them on Spotify” list.
From a different continent, but just as exciting, an all-star collaboration under the Ghana Special banner kept the levels of groove seriously high. Clattering percussion and jazzy, exuberant brass comes courtesy of The Kwashibu Area Band while a revolving cast of vocalists paint various hues of Highlife. Of these, Charles Amoah is dizzying. Smoothly soulful, tinged with disco phrasing, he is as bright, as dazzling as the mid-afternoon sun, he brings a skipping, lightness-of-the-heart that’s easy to embrace. A simple question – “Can you dance?” – creates synchro hand waving and unabashed skanking as the horns and drums pulse around and each vocalist takes their turn until, finally, Pat Thomas leads a chant of I Need More and the dancing explodes. It is a beautiful sight.
You might think that, after all of that Ghanaian grooviness, one Welsh harpist might struggle to keep the mood high. In the hands of Cerys Hafana, however, the triple harp becomes a hypnotic, percussive, creative beast. Mixing trad folk with beautiful instrumental moments, Hafana’s set is just right for a moment of post-food contemplation. Hen Garol Haf (Old Summer Carol) is gorgeous, the harp gently melodious, her voice indie-queen sweet, while Child Owlet drips with folk horror menace. Here Hafana plays clarinet and electronics alongside Sam Robinson’s bodhrán, the nastiness of the tale heightened by her tender voice. The Wife of Usher’s Well is beautifully off-kilter while Willie o’Winsbury has storytelling of such clarity that new meanings are uncovered in this old song.
If Saigon Soul Revival were THE revelation of Saturday, then Bala Desejo were not too far behind. Fusing 60s Tropicalia to 70s psychedelia, this Sao Paulo band continued to please the dancers in front of the main stage. From slinky Latin jazz to sparkling Beat Pop, their harmonious grooves floated, multi-coloured, across the site. In Julia Mestre they have a bona fide pop star, a natural focal point. She never stops exhorting the crowd to sing, to clap, to dance, she never stops twirling and her voice is extraordinary. She, however, is not alone as twin vocalist Dora Morelenbaum and guitarist Ze Ibarra join her to sing incredible harmonies; they’re like some sort of a Brazilian Mamas & Papas, with added trumpet. Their latest album, Sim Sim Sim, has been awarded a Latin Grammy and, on this evidence, it’s not hard to see why.
As the sun started to set, so the names started to become a little more familiar. If the theme of Saturday was a “groove”, then Alison Goldfrapp was able to fit right in. With a set of absolutely cast-iron pop bangers, she had the Siam Tent in raptures from early on and, if she seemed a little unsure of playing in front of a crowd of “world music” fans, then her audience held no such qualms. Her career spanning set saw hands in the air and shapes thrown with gay abandon. Starting with Love Invention, from her latest solo album, stopping off at classic Goldfrapp moments – Ride a White Horse fizzed with a lustful energy – and throwing in a fantastic Royksopp cover, in Impossible, she proved herself the high-priestess of high energy, high camp synth pop. The utter pop perfection of Rocket, followed by a delirious Ooh La La, were as fantastic as anything all day.
Which just left Gogol Bordello to bring the main stages to a close, they delivered fierce folk punk to an increasingly raucous, increasingly delirious crowd. Performed in front of a clenched fist, declaring “solidaritine” with Ukraine, they were unapologetically savage, a buzzing, wheezing, accordion driven, rock and roll machine. Eugene Hutz seemed liable to launch himself into the throng at any minute, a spider-y, super-villain armed with a guitar and the thrill of a street-corner evangelist. He may be, both, an Immigrant Punk and a Wonderlust King, they may be fans of Fugazi and the Angelic Upstarts but it is when they celebrate those that Start Wearing Purple that WOMAD falls hopelessly, messily in love. A joyous end to a wonderful day.
And so Saturday at WOMAD comes to an end, easily as eclectic as promised. Bands that you’ve never heard of immediately become the best band that you’ve ever seen, folk standards are transformed and pop stars are formed. You have to wonder what Sunday has in store.
Gavin McNamara
TallFolk 