For Your Entertainment: Primavera Sound Porto 2023

Don’t ask me why, but ever since I started attending music festivals over half a lifetime ago, I suffer from first day nerves. Strange, but true; it just happens.

Today there’s good reason to be nervous. Aboard the Metro from Porto’s wonderful city on route to Primavera’s spiritual home, the Parque da Cidade do Porto, and the clouds are rolling in to dispense their own version of hell.

While Wednesday is more of a curtain raiser for the festival, with Georgia, Alison Goldfrapp and The Comet is Coming all featuring, it’s Kendrick Lamar who the majority are here to see. And while that majority may have gone away satisfied, Mother Nature had ideas for the rest of us, with a storm of biblical proportions opening up and making the Parque da Cidade do Porto faux Butlins water park. Other than a soggy serving of Macaroni and Cheese, not a note is heard on this night. Train back to the city centre. Piss wet through and festival stamina severely questioned…

Much of Thursday is the same, as camping shops across the city are ravaged by scrambling festival goers for waterproof boots, raincoats, and ponchos. With good reason, as once again the train journey to the Parque da Cidade do Porto feels ominous; the storm failing to recede as rain clouds hover over the venue for another dose.

Not all is lost, however, for today day there is music to enjoy. Firstly from the leafy climes of the Super Bock stage where the breezy indie pop combo of The Beths and Alvvays do their best to ease the collective mind of the elements above. The latter in particular drawing one of the biggest cheers after their hit Marry Me Archie which is wedged between a bulk of material from their latest acclaimed LP, Blue Rev.

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In between these performances, on the Vodafone stage Shellac were, well… Shellac. Loud, tight, no nonsense, as several new tracks set to feature on their new record (which most thought would have already dropped) are belted out. That razor-wire sound bounding up the hill, and no matter how many Shellac shows you’ve been to, the Albini/ Weston/ Trainer alliance never grows old.

Which leads us to The Mars Volta. A band emerging from the ruins, on the back of one of the great reset albums of our time in last year’s The Mars Volta, with a new line-up this is a band reinvigorated and truly mesmerising. Starting with old favourite, Roulette Dares (The Haunt Of). And from here the hits keep rolling out like the Super Bock from the beer taps. Cedric Bixler-Zavala and Omar Rodriguez-López lead the band through a set littered with De-Loused in the Comatorium material that sounds as awe-inspiring as it did all those years ago.

Despite the howling rain coming in at right angles, without trying to sound trite, it feels like one of those Radiohead at Glastonbury 1997 moments. For a grizzled soul on the cusp of 40 who is underwhelmed by live music on a regular basis, consider me well and truly floored. To the point where this day can’t get better, so it’s lights out…

Friday starts with Asheville, North Carolina country rockers, Wednesday, who seem to be one of the few surviving young ‘van bands’. Eight weeks into their tour, and there’s little doubt their circumstances are made possible due to their latest and quite possible best LP yet in Rat Saw Good (the band’s fifth long-player in six years). The Karly Hartzman-led outfit take us through the album extensively lighting up the the Vodaphone stage which is bathed in sun; the deluge of the preceding two nights now a distant memory.

And speaking of memories, like The Mars Volta, it’s a delight to be reacquainted with My Morning Jacket. It’s not difficult for the Louisville stalwarts to steal our hearts when they open with Gideon (for this writer, one of the best songs written since the turn of the century). And from here Jim James and Co. take us for a trip down memory lane with a Z-heavy set that reaffirms the MMJ’s position as one of the most accomplished modern day acts. Tears are shed, strangers embrace in ecstasy. Let the good times roll.

Which is a wonderful lead-in to the Pet Shop Boys. An act seemingly immune from failure, it really all has been said, hasn’t it? The euphoria around the Porto stage is rife. Again, strangers singing in unison, this time to Go West with loose friendships forged shortly thereafter. Ultimately, it’s what festivals are about, and the Pet Shop Bous feel like that bridge to new possibilities. The quintessential festival act.

Not only is Saturday jam-packed with acts, but punters too, easily out numbering the first three days. Still, the Porto edition of Primavera is arguably the most relaxed festival on the calendar. Like the city itself, it maintains a calm aura. Neither is there a ounce of rubbish around the grounds, nor any Aggro from pissed up punters one often associates in such environments. No, this is beautiful and a moment to be enjoyed by all and sundry.

Fitting, considering Sparks are the first band of note today. They are almost like the BBC mission statement: inform, educate, entertain. The Mael brothers are all this and more, as they take us through their wonderful new album, The Girl is Crying in Her Latte while guiding us on a tour of their solid back catalogue of hits. The contrasting personas and pop juxtapositions between Russell and Ron are like nothing else in the world of music. Ron: hilariously deadpan; Russell: like the dad you never had. Just beautiful.

And it continues with post-hardcore veterans, Karate. Sundown slowcore that many of us never thought we’d get to hear, but that’s Primavera: keeping the dream alive. And the Boston trio don’t disappoint, dispensing ditties that have quietly echoed around loungerooms for years. It’s quite surreal seeing Geoff Farina in the flesh delivering these songs, which make the beer taste that much sweeter.

It’s a set that surprisingly dwarfs Yves Tumor, who on the night falls short of the usual lofty expectations. Heavy with material from the excellent new album, Praise a Lord Who Chews but Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) something feels a little flat with this performance.

Over at Plentitude, thankfully OFF! kept things aflame with a set that rubs shoulders with the majesty of The Mars Volta. Like a raging hellfire, they rip through their glorious 2002 release Free LSD in its entirety, then a good portion of their back catalogue. Yes, OFF! are fearless, evocative, and everything that Keith Morris has built a legacy on. With the help of Dimitri Coats, Autry Fulbright II and Justin Brown, it’s some of the most exciting music the Circle Jerks leader has been a part of.

If only the same could be said of Blur, who were about as sterile and soulless as they’ve always been. I want to get it, but nope, sorry. 30 years on and still not hearing it. In my opinion, one of the great fallacies of popular music over the past four decades is Damon Albarn lauded as a genius. This is Graham Coxon’s band, no doubt, but even he seems to be going through the motions in a bid to pay off a few bills.

Despite this, the crowd seemed charged up, and on the back of a Blur / New Order one-two, many are seeking refugee around the food vans exchanging notes of the last few hours. Fine, of course, however, there are far more pressing matters ahead.

Like Unwound.

With the recent passing of original bassist Vern Rumsey, I’ll be honest: I was skeptical. It’s always a slog to replicate past glories, even with an original line-up. The key is not to, and Unwound know this all too well, re-tooling with extra layers of sound in the way of guitarist Scott Seckington (The Old Haunts) who joins bassist Jared Warren (Karp, Big Business, Melvins) in a new look beast.

Drummer, Sara Lund, is an absolute force of nature, orchestrating the intensity from behind the kit like no other guitar-based concern, and after the meandering opener, Abstraktions, Justin Trosper launches into the microphone to deliver All Souls Day.

From here, it’s a set that you that time was frozen. Hexenzsene, Usual Dosage Corpse Pose, the scintillating one-two slam to the solar plexus of Go to Dallas and Take a Left and For Your Entertainment. Towering over every other performance of the weekend, Unwound deliver something almost unthinkable. The machine-gun intensity. The blade-sharp musicianship. It almost defies belief.

There have been a number of reformations over the years – many of them very good – but none have captured the burning power of Unwound. Modern day habits may have killed the magic, but Unwound have never received the memo. The term amazing is an absolute throw-away these days, but to capture the full meaning of the term, tonight Unwound actually did. They gave us cynics some hope with a performance for the ages. Unwound? Unreal.

Which is the perfect way to draw the curtain on four days that have had it all. Thank you, Porto. You were majestic. Same time, same place next year?