Green Man Sunday Review: Sly slander and secret sets
Last night I saw the Green Man burn.
Sunday at Green Man Festival, tucked pleasantly into Wales’ Brecon Beacons, can be anything you want it to be. Partied too hard? Let the end of the weekend pull you into its restful current, think of nothing but one foot in front of another. Still searching for something to do? Race from stage to stage, attempt to crowdsurf, try overpriced cocktail slushies, jump obsessively for a cameo on the big screen, dance a little, dance some more.
For me, it was a day of discovery. I came across endless new bands, the happy aftermath of both the Green Man rising fund (when I saw that the Orchestra for Now, one of my current favourites, had benefitted from the very fund, I knew the festival organisers had their heads screwed on) and the fact that music is getting better.
Cruel Sister, the project of a Dublin-based “evil witch”, laced glitchy emo sensibilities with impressive post-rock. Morn closed out the Rising Stage with an intimidatingly cool set, bringing movement and motion to the forefront of a bold performance. Being Dead proved that their playful, bold 2024 offering Eels was only the start of what their shared spirit can do.
We meandered, soaking in the lavish Sunday vibes, where barefoot teens read books under trees and snacked on onion bhajis the size of mini mountains. I ordered a “conscious coffee” to be served by baristas wearing elf-ears. Having now understood and accepted the Green Man culture, I didn’t say a thing. They poured on, speaking in elfish cadence.
Soon, the always ethereal and mostly effervescent Folk Bitch Trio played a heartfelt set after flying in from Chicago not 24 hours before. The crowd was humongous and feverishly involved. Interest did drop off dramatically for Been Stellar a little later, though I cut over to catch Divorce to escape the oppressive sun.
I had the pleasure of chatting to Divorce’s Felix a week or so before the festival began; he explained to me then the impressive candour and care behind the festival’s curation, which had us both gushing about the upcoming weekend. We touched on everything in our chat, but nothing could’ve predicted the sheer size and volume of the crowd that showed up ready to support their Green Man debut.
Divorce perfectly balance poetic, profound lyricism with catchy riffs, intricate structure and indie-pop goodness. If that, along with their adorable humility at the moment, wasn’t enough, for their last song, vocalist Tiger called an audience member up to the stage. “I saw him dancing on Thursday night at the Kneecap gig,” they explained, “and I’d like to invite him to the stage now”.
The child, named Leo, acted as a “hype man like you’ve never seen before” for their final song, ‘Hangman’. The room lit up with smiles, bubbles, and an unbroken “Leo! Leo! Leo!” chant.
Changing the pace entirely, next up was Beth Gibbons on the Mountain Stage, who played her entire solo album front-to-back, before soaring through huge Portishead tunes that all but defined the 1990s. Gibbons, graceful as always, proved my point: at Green Man, we look forward. There’s always more to come.
I’ve always been a fan of Nilüfer Yanya; nobody quite sounds like her with her shifting melodies, scratchy guitar, and deep, wet vocals. But I’ve never wanted to see her live—it’s music for looking in the mirror, tracking what’s nestled within, noting what arises.
Something in my reluctance was right; she played a shy set, leaving five minutes early as a result of her breathless pace. Were it not for her punky rendition of 2022’s ‘Stabilise’, I’d reiterate that Yanya is best recorded. But the crowd, in one of the biggest displays of the weekend, clambered onto shoulders and shrieked along. The same goes double for her final song, ‘Midnight Sun’, though mainly for her emboldened backdrop: “More action, more noise, less fear, free Palestine”.
Barely contained within the confines of the walled garden, Big Special closed out my weekend with a show to remember, one inevitably overflowing with charm and wit. “I might throw a bit of a paddy like Wunderhorse,” Joe Hicklin joked at one point, referencing their Friday support slot for Wet Leg, which I similarly branded “lazy indie-rock for white guys”. Hicklin added, “Not a bit of me that. Have a laugh! Their album is class though”.
What ensued was a set containing the right amounts of grit, emotion, and chaos; they had the entire place bouncing. Getdown Services even appeared on stage for their song ‘Shit House’after having already played a sweaty, sparky secret set earlier in the day that was hailed as “one of the best of the band weekend” through twitterings I overheard between stages. Nothing would surprise me less.
Throughout the day, I realised I’d watched more multi-vocalist acts than not: Divorce, Being Dead, Folk Bitch Trio, the list goes on. What is it about the intermingling of voices that resonates now, more than before?
Perhaps it is the isolation crisis at the heart of our digital age: we all have a specifically curated feed, a world which is only ever ours. We must work, increasingly remotely, often in spaces that require an exchange—usually monetary—for our inclusion. Ideas are polarised, differences are shunned, black and white have become fact, not evidence of grey. Increasing austerity levels make the idiom “every man for himself” seem child’s play. Two, three voices, responding thoughtfully, like new punctuation, remind us we exist together. We are better together.
When the Green Man burned at midnight, mine was just another voice joining in on the chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as sparks and embers rained upon us, family, friends, lovers, me. Green Man brings the best out of music, and the best out of us: we must hold onto it, and learn from it before it is too late.
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