“Where the fuck are you going? Where the fuck are you fucking going?” Jason Williamson’s demented barking stops a departing crowd in its tracks. It’s the last night of Barcelona’s long-established Primavera Sound festival, and the Sleaford Mods frontman and his bandmate Andrew Fearn have just reappeared for an unexpected encore, determined to keep their audience.
Their fans don’t take much persuading, surging back towards the band as they fire up ‘6 Horsemen (The Brixtons)’. The Mods are playing one of the smallest and most picturesque stages at the Parc Del Fòrum, and their foul-mouthed rave-up makes this pretty seaside enclave feel like a Midlands nightclub terrace, with fag-huffing punters bopping to the noise coming from the pissed-looking blokes in front of them. With the stage lights glinting on the waves, the Nottingham duo’s set peaks with the three-pronged attack of ‘Tiswas’, ‘Tied Up In Notts’ and a frothing ‘Jobseeker’, during which the perspiring Williamson violently scratches the back of his head and mimes masturbating while delivering the line, “I’ve been sat around the house wanking”. It’s a disgustingly brilliant moment, and proof there’s a corner of Primavera’s oddly beautiful setting to suit everyone.
Stages are dotted between sky-scraping solar panels and vast concrete walls, with rock-strewn bays in between. Thursday’s opening night is quietest, and wandering between noisy dinnertime shows from The Thurston Moore Band and Canadian post-punks Ought – who play three untitled new songs – offers an uninterrupted view of the surroundings. As darkness falls, Jungle pull an eager crowd to the Ray-Ban stage, a spectacular amphitheatre with tiered seating that occupies the heart of the site. The Londoners’ first festival gig of the year showcases the melodic jerk of ‘Time’ and ‘Busy Earnin’, but their set lacks spark, despite the flashing lights behind them. James Blake suffers similarly, maudlin Feist cover ‘Limit To Your Love’ and ‘I Never Learnt To Share’ overcoming the peppier likes of ‘CMYK’. Headliners The Black Keys have no such problem, and their first outing since drummer Pat Carney dislocated his shoulder in January is loud and heavy, which is exactly what the headbangers want.
Roaming around the site as the night creeps to a 6am close, you realise this is where the soul of Primavera lurks: after the main headliners have finished, when gabbling, unshackled hordes maraud at will. It’s there in the hours after Run The Jewels and Jon Hopkins close the ATP stage on Friday. El-P and Killer Mike – whose arm is hoisted in a sling following an injury at SXSW – declare themselves “the best rap group in the motherfucking world” after ‘A Christmas Fucking Miracle’. Hopkins – joined by dancers wielding flashing neon hula-hoops – shakes the ground underneath him with the relentless pound of ‘Open Eye Signal’, before the crowd invade the grassy banks by the Ray-Ban stage. There, they roll around, hooting as they tumble down the hill.
Those watching Patti Smith earlier are hardly more restrained. Smith walks onstage and screams “C’mon motherfuckers!” before performing her 40-year-old debut album ‘Horses’ in full. An electric ‘Free Money’ has her seething, “I don’t feel bad!” with more energy than many of her younger counterparts have been able to muster so far. Much quieter and without the support of a band, Tobias Jesso Jr guzzles red wine and plinks piano ballads that prompt teary reactions on the Pitchfork stage, before consecutive sets from a flamboyant Perfume Genius and the slinky Shabazz Palaces prove two of the weekend’s most exciting.
Primavera saves the best ‘til last, and its final – and hottest – day, starts with former Woods bassist Kevin Morby gunning for Kurt Vile’s blissed-out crown. Diiv are next, unleashing eight seismic new songs including ‘Waste Of Breath’ and ‘Dust’ that eclipse the indelible melody of ‘How Long Have You Known’, one of only three old tracks the New York quintet play. Mac DeMarco’s Heineken stage slot is one of the day’s biggest draws. Alongside covers of Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’ and ‘Over And Done With’ by The Proclaimers – both utterly ridiculous – the Canadian busts out hits including ‘Blue Boy’ and ‘Freakin’ Out The Neighbourhood’, but – as usual – it’s his immensely personable crowdsurfing that plonks a cherry atop yet another outrageously good show.
At Atlanta’s recent Shaky Knees festival, DeMarco charged onstage to hug The Strokes. He doesn’t repeat the trick here, leaving the New Yorkers to cruise on near-wordless autopilot through a setlist including a razor-sharp ‘Juicebox’, played for the first time since 2011. Julian Casablancas’ red-and-yellow-streaked mullet and neon Barcelona football shirt – which look just as silly as they sound – might be weird, but these songs sound colossal, particularly a closing ‘New York City Cops’.
Yet again it’s the small hours that absorb most. Thee Oh Sees bring out two drummers for their 2am psych cacophony, before Caribou packs out the Ray-Ban stage. As random foliage bobs in the crowd, Dan Snaith and his band conjure euphoria that seems to define the sultry, good-time vibes of this festival. After the traditional closing indie-disco from Barcelona’s DJ Coco, stewards growl into megaphones to herd the droves out, as the dreamy Sunday morning sun lights up Primavera 2015 for one last time.