Way Out West 2014

Way Out West has always been a strange beast. Part music festival, part environmental manifesto, part runway for people wearing clothes that look accidentally expensive. Somewhere between the vegetarian food and carefully curated advert placement, there’s still some concerts hiding beneath it all. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.

I started the day with Neneh Cherry at the Linné stage. I remember listening to her single Buffalo Stance in 1988. Looking around now, I realized most of the audience probably wasn’t even born when it happened. Time has a cruel sense of humor. Last time I saw her was in Stockholm 2007, but that was a club gig which are always a different kind of beast. This time the bass was diabolical. It rattled ribs, bent internal organs and probably shortened the lifespan of nearby squirrels. She looked completely at home.

Stepping outside the tent for air, I was immediately greeted by Motörhead detonating the largest stage. Lemmy looked exactly like Lemmy is contractually obligated to look. Mikkey Dee pounded the drums like they owed him money, and Ace of Spades instantly revived an army of aging denim jackets in front of the stage. Knees that had clearly filed for retirement years ago suddenly found one last mosh pit.

Queens of the Stone Age hammering away.

The National surprised me. I expected polite melancholy. Instead I got a genuinely gripping performance, especially Conversation 16. Darkside followed with their hypnotic blend of psychedelia and electronic repetition before it was finally time for the reason I’d been waiting all day.

Queens of the Stone Age entered the main stage. Josh Homme walked onstage with his usual swagger as the sun disappeared behind the trees, the timing almost suspiciously perfect. The set leaned heavily on Like Clockwork, which suited me just fine. The Vampyre of Time and Memory, with Homme alone at the piano, briefly transformed a noisy Swedish park into something unexpectedly intimate before the amplifiers reminded everyone why they had bought tickets.

Rachel Goswell, Slowdive.

The next morning offered plenty of fashionable distractions, such as Icona Pop, Little Dragon and Outkast. But they were of little concern to me as I already in my mind was awaiting Slowdive.

When the old shoegaze legends broke up in 1995, I assumed that was the end of that story. Thankfully nobody asked me. Rachel Goswell spent most of the concert smiling in disbelief at the reception. Every now and then she’d laugh at the diehards pressed against the barrier, people who had apparently waited twenty years for this exact moment. Machine Gun and Souvlaki Space Station sounded magnificent, dragging old memories out from wherever forgotten songs hide.

Rachel has been through a lot. Losing much of her hearing after a viral infection in 2006, balance problems that forced her off the road with Mojave 3, and raising a son with severe health issues. it was impossible not to enjoy seeing her happy again. Sometimes that’s worth more than a flawless performance.

Here comes the rain again.

Of course, this wouldn’t be Way Out West without rain. Slottskogen has an almost supernatural relationship with bad weather. The forest patiently waits until everyone has lowered their guard before transforming itself into one enormous mud bath. As the first drops landed, I instinctively started humming Here Comes the Rain Again by Eurythmics and headed for the only sensible destination: the Linné tent.

Inside, Elliphant delivered enough volume and humidity to recreate the climate of Southeast Asia. I escaped almost immediately and hid beneath a tree while teenagers in matching Oatly ponchos laughed at me. Revenge, preferably involving mud and their spotless white sneakers, is a dish best served later.

Eventually I wandered past Above & Beyond, who were enthusiastically massacring New Order’s Blue Monday. Some songs should simply be left alone. I should have stayed under the tree.

Outdoor lounge.

Annika Norlin was unsurprisingly excellent, even though the bass bleeding in from the nearby Mos Def set occasionally tried to hijack the performance. Jens Lekman appeared for a couple of songs, which felt like one of those small festival moments you never see on the posters but remember years later.

The festival ended with Röyksopp, joined by Susanne Sundfør and Robyn on stage. The first time I saw Röyksopp they were opening for Moby in 2002 as promising newcomers. Now they closed one of Sweden’s biggest festivals beneath a full moon rising behind the stage. Sometimes careers make perfect sense if you’re patient enough to watch them unfold. It was getting late and the air had turned cold in the forest, but nobody cared.