LANDED FESTIVAL | LIVE REVIEW
Llandrindod Wells, Powys, Fri 29 Apr-Sun 1 May
Landed pays tribute to Beltane, one of four Gaelic seasonal festivals, and in the true spirit of pagan celebration, there was a wild, elemental magic in the air. Inches of snow on Friday night, radiant sunshine throughout Saturday and heavy lashings of rain on Sunday. But while the weather was extreme, the festival was a more laid back affair in a fertile paddock by the strong, rain-fed flow of the River Wye.
There was a lot of wild energy where it counted, though, and not only in the music tents. Everywhere you looked you were confronted by the little people – children, that is, not fairies – although at times you weren’t sure. They too seemed to be filled with strange power, perhaps due to this auspicious date on the calendar, as they careened around the festival site with diverse forms of locomotion. Kids stumbled around on stilts, bounced into the sky on a tree-fixed bungee, and were carted around in wheelbarrows, three at a time.
After an icy beginning to the weekend, the next day was gloriously sunny, and Saturday night blew off hot, cider-fuelled energy in the big top as stagefuls of singing and string-strumming, beats and brass-blowing. Breaks were taken by the communal bonfire, where everyone gathered in an atmosphere of friendly mutual warmth, the like of which you don’t encounter at larger festivals. Make no mistake about it, Landed is tiny, and all the better for it – you feel more like you’re at a wild, Welsh free party, but without any of the dodgy vibes.
In the new dance tent, the core crew of another mid-Wales festival, Freerotation, take over the dance tent. Steevio, with a resplendent mane of silver dreadlocks, played deep, warm modular techno that spun shapes in the brain, and after an hour of eyes-closed, zoned-out rhythmic movement we felt ready for some sustenance. We headed to Himalien Om, where we found rich, sharp lentil curry, the perfect potion of spicy warmth and sharp tang, which we consumed happily while fellow stallholder Sandy regaled us with tales of 90s party debauchery. Rishi sent us off with a tiny vessel of his hot sauce and we headed to bed with stinging tongues.
Sunday morning’s cool drizzle soothed the woozy heads, and the festival very gradually reawakened. Stumbling back into the arena, we brought ourselves back to life with hot coffee, but our limbs were only really brought back to life by the night, with the rambunctious dynamics of west Wales’ conscious reggae-rap collective, Regime, and the similarly sparky Fjokra, a Dublin multi-instrumentalist who plays with catchy and hyperactive effects. This was a homely little festival spanning relaxed family fun and dreadlock-shaking, pogo-jumping chaos, with friendly smiles everywhere you looked.
words GWYN THOMAS DE CHROUSTCHOFF
