The national park in which it takes place has changed name to Bannau Brycheiniog, but 21 years in, most else about Green Man remains reassuringly the same. Subtle evolution, not revolution, has been the steady success of this 25,000 capacity all-ages celebration of musical eclecticism and reverence in nature: it’s practically as much a part of the Powys landscape as the soaring mountains that wrap the site in their misty embrace.
Green Man tickets sold out almost immediately this year before any artists were even announced – no mean feat in tight economic times. There’s no denying that prices have crept upwards sharply (£6.50 a pint of Growler). Yet Green Man’s core values hold strong. Sponsorship is eschewed. Sustainability, inclusivity (the lineup is gender balanced; two of the three main-stage headliners are female) and laid-back good vibes reign. Emerging artists, zeitgeisty heavy hitters and heritage heroes alike are platformed to often much bigger crowds than they would typically reach, and usually seize their moment.
However, on Friday night, not ponchos, nor 6 Music Dad caps nor the homemade versions of headliners Devo’s trademark energy dome hats can defy the lashing rain. Akron, Ohio’s boiler-suited Spudboys are on a goodbye tour and prove ideal for Green Man with their litany of jittery, improbable post-punk hits including Whip It and a wickedly shredded cover of the Rolling Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction. In what may lend credence to Devo’s pet theory about of the devolution of mankind, humans dance madly in the muck. Earlier on the same stage, in a Friday of farewells, psychedelic jazz explorers the Comet is Coming played one of their last ever shows, sending the crowd into similarly soggy raptures.
American alt-folk singer-songwriter Julie Byrne’s magnificent new album The Greater Wings is a triumph of grace and hope against the odds. The sun makes its immaculately timed entrance on Saturday as she begins to sing her exquisite synth-dappled hymns of love and loss. Later, Arizonan Americana heartbreaker Courtney Marie Andrews holds a hushed crowd in the palm of her hand, in spite of her and her band being forced to busk it on borrowed instruments after losing their gear in a frantic dash to Wales. “I’ve been wearing the same clothes for 72 hours!” Andrews admits. The slow drama of sunset is matched by Irish folk radicals Lankum’s droning Celt-goth waves of dread and bliss.
“I’m going to go away for a year to do new things, ta ra!” announces power-suited Rebecca Lucy Taylor AKA Self Esteem, as she brings down the curtain on her breakout era as Britain’s most righteous new pop superstar. How apt that it should end here, where touring for her acclaimed second album Prioritise Pleasure began with a bang in 2021 in the Far Out tent. Taylor’s connection with the festival goes back much further still, to her previous band Slow Club. To see her elevated to main stage Saturday night headliner, leading ecstatic dances and howling, cathartic singalongs, is an all-time Green Man high.
Just as Self Esteem’s career took root here so too might that of others to appear on smaller stages across the weekend. Homegrown up-and-comers from the musical hotbed of Monmouthshire the Bug Club are a fizzing reminder of how much fun rock’n’roll can be when you keep it funny and simple, dummy. The intriguingly named Uh clash dreamy electronic textures with acid house squelch and blasts of punky dissonance. Indie buzz band most likely to “do a Wet Leg”, the Last Dinner Party, pull probably the biggest crowd the rising stage has ever seen (evidence suggests they have already risen).
By Sunday, the trees have become shelter from the beating sun, not the rain. An inspired back-to-back pairing in the packed Far Out stage starts with LA’s Sudan Archives. All tartan trews and underboob, fiddling rapper Brittney Denise Parks licks the microphone, wields her bow like a sword and proclaims a love of Irish jigs. Her horny and mildly bonkers energy is completely uncategorisable. Ditto Edinburgh’s Young Fathers. One of the most unique and thrilling live bands of their era keep ratcheting up the excitement and the tension, their complement now at seven members who stomp and weave among one another on a theatrically up-lit stage, dead-eying the crowd as synths blare like warning sirens.
A straighter but equally fitting finale on the Mountain Stage are Swedish country-pop sisters First Aid Kit. Rhinestone cowgirl Johanna Söderberg’s outfit glitters in the lights, as she and sibling Klara sing the eternally lovely Emmylou – voices blended in perfection, drifting prettily to the moon as soon shall the green man’s embers.
