A little sex
Pop music has always had a close connection with sexuality and eroticism. The body, in video clips as well as in pop performances, becomes an object of desire to be shown, hidden, glimpsed, an impossible desire for an audience that yearns without boundaries for its own unattainable artist. Troye Sivan must have taken this lesson literally: oral and anal sex simulations are repeatedly brought to the stage on the second day of Primavera Sound in which Troye forcefully conquers a role in pop stardom. Having reached the age of 28, the South African pop star who grew up in Australia has officially made the leap and – after repeatedly watching video after video of Madonna’s tours (there is always something to look at the real mother in these cases) – brings to the stage a live performance with a rare erotic charge. First piece and boom, Troye simulates giving oral sex to one of his dancers. A lapdance and more simulated oral sex. Then she gets taken from behind while her changes of clothes slowly undress him. «I love freedom, having sex, dancing; I love dance music”, he declares on stage. The audience (mostly LGBTQ+) goes crazy for the twink of her heart. On the big screens a phone of a member of the public is shown asking: “Does anyone have any poppers?”. Finally someone who understands that pop music is like sex. We all come out wet.
Troye Sivan at Primavera. Photo: Christian Bertrand
A bit of boredom
One of the advantages of such a large festival is the rhythm, the feeling of being part of a musical machine that never stops and in which there is no waiting time. Perhaps on the least interesting day of the three on the programme, Primavera Sound takes a small idle trip in that fundamental space of time between the transition from concerts to more dance sets (where it is necessary to keep that pace high so as not to be attacked by the tiredness of early hours of the night). It certainly doesn’t help that the main artist of the festival – Lana Del Rey – still lost in her idiosyncrasies as an arrogant pop star, decides to go on stage 20 minutes late, creating a series of mix-ups on the line up to follow. On stage Lana also seems lost, she sings little or nothing, she moves in slow motion and in a visually disoriented way, she often leaves the microphone to the audience. It’s a beautiful singing performance: yes, that of her backup singers. This Del Rey in Amy Winehouse mood is not convincing, neither in her manner nor in her performance and it is a great shame given the incredible number of people who flocked here for her. A lot of boredom and little rhythm, as well as the festival’s choice to position the National as headliners which – with all due respect to the American band – is a move that doesn’t pay off and seems out of scale compared to the group. We could have thought better.
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A little politics
While the world (and Gaza in particular) is on fire, a bit of politics is starting to make room within the festival too. The Coachella mood is thus boycotted late at night when a line up finally on track places the live shows of Arca and Sega Bodega in a row which return the future, three-dimensionality and – precisely – politics after a couple of hours of confusion in which the most young people queue up at the dance stages of Boiler Room and Warehouse while the others wander around a little unsure of what to do. Anyone who knows Arca knows that even his presence alone is political. A trans artist who has made her body and her transition a playground for personal rights, Arca brings to the stage a chaotic and over the top live show, from the choice of outfit to the accessories on stage (a rifle that shoots CO2, a ‘sex swing). Mixing deconstructed club, Latin core and avant pop, and also accompanied by sensational visuals, it confirms itself to be the present and future of a certain music that wants to mix pop and avant-garde. In between the time to express her dissent towards the Palestinian genocide, a theme also revived by the other prince of avant pop, Sega Bodega, who emerges from the clouds of stage smoke halfway through the show holding a Palestinian flag to wave. Music is (also) a political thing.
Last Dinner Party at Primavera. Photo: Eric Pamies
What else? Lana Del Rey’s delay made us lose Jessica Pratt (damn you Lana!), Clipse rocked albeit with little audience given the concomitance with Lana’s live (damn you Lana!), Hannah Diamond, the queen of ‘HD, threw a sugary LGBTQ+ party, Tirzah was so minimalist that it distracted us, Last Dinner Party rocked, as did BadBadNotGood. In the end a little rain fell due to the disinterest of the public busy dancing to the Latinisms of the Colombian label TraTraTrax, between clouds of poppers (those who were looking for it found it, we assume) and a bit of healthy perreo. Leave politics and boredom aside, in the end it’s sex that wins.
