The Bodega’s a small venue, so it’s surprising to find it more or less empty as we walk in.  Feeling a bit guilty about missing the support act Climbing Boys, we grab a drink and stake out a spot in the barren space in front of the stage.

The nice thing about a venue like The Bodega is that it’s cosy; when the Howling Bells come out we’re close enough to them that we could reach out and touch front woman Juanita Stein, should we get the urge (we manage to restrain ourselves).  Odd though, that there’s no fanfare to the start of the performance.  There’s no applause as the quartet assemble themselves on stage – not even a cheer.  The lights remain off until their instruments are in hand and they open with ‘Paris’.

The band is out to promote their new album Heartstrings, which comes out the next day.  A fan from the band’s early days, I must admit I don’t own their last album and haven’t heard much from the new one, so I’m expecting to drift through the gig without knowing much – but only two songs in and familiar songs come in the way of ‘Blessed Night’ and ‘Ballad For The Bleeding Hearts’, amongst others.

It’s always nice to get a bit of chat from the band at a gig, but this is lacking tonight.  We’re about half an hour in before Juanita finally addresses us, and as the room falls silent someone from the back of the room – which has filled up somewhat – shouts, “You’re awesome!” With a bashful smile, Juanita replies, “Well thank you,” before introducing a track from the new record.  It gets a good reaction from the audience who are nodding along to the music, which is similar to their early stuff, if a little rockier.

The rest of the gig showcases songs old and new; there’s a beautiful, stripped back version of ‘Paper Heart’, and ‘Setting Sun’ gets the room excited – it’s by far the most popular track of the night.  Sometimes slower songs in a set become a bit dull when you’re used to the pacier ones, but tonight everything is enthralling.  Juanita sways and writhes around whilst strumming her guitar and the rest of the band is equally lost in the music.  Instead of looking at our watch or phone, we find ourselves getting just as involved, and as we look around the room, it seems we’re not alone – and the cheers and whoops get louder as the night goes on.

Before we know it though, Howling Bells bring the gig to a close.  “I’d be an awful singer if I didn’t promote the record,” Juanita smirks as the band end with new song ‘Reverie’, full of thumping, thrashing drums driving things forward.  With that, they’re gone.

In the shortest encore we’ve ever seen, we’re treated to ‘Broken Bones’, before the four-piece disappear off again – just as the audience seems to be getting going.  It’s been a good night; a great gig full of wonderfully dreamy vocals, heartfelt lyrics and moody music.  Howling Bells are back, and they’re on form.

Thunderstorms are predicted to arrive around 6 and 8 in the evening, but thankfully, none actually make it to the party. A welcome change to these past few days (though I understand I sound like your boring great aunt Babette talking about the weather so much, but please understand, for a festival, not so trivial at all).

Spoon is playing one of the main stages, and the Americans are gearing up for the release of their new album. The last one, Transference, kind of gets the cold shoulder, with the set heavily drawing from Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, Gimme Fiction and Kill the Moonlight. That doesn’t mean they weren’t planning to play more than just the guitar heavy ‘Got Nuffin’’, as with it being only about their seventh show since their little break they kind of mismanaged the time. Daniel graciously accepts the blame after jokingly having put it on his guitar technician who, he smilingly says, wants to boot them off stage.

 The boys are enjoying playing live again though, and they manage to cherry pick all your favourites. You’ve got the booty shaking bass of ‘I Turn My Camera On’, the synth powered ‘The Ghost of You Lingers’, and yet the set seems to be high on “rockers”, with ‘Small Stakes’, ‘Jonathon Fisk’, and ‘Got Nuffin’’ all getting some air time. ‘The Underdog’ gets the audience screaming out the line “That’s why they will not survive!”, while album-mate ‘Don’t Make Me a Target’ gets the audience pleading the title line as well. The new song that appears mid-set is lovely, and sounds like something they haven’t quite done yet, which is a good sign for the new album, I reckon.

 Connan Mockasin, playing the Vice stage on the outskirts of town, draws a sizeable crowd, and it is easy to see why. His voice is such a treat, and a rather rare one at that. It’s not always one hears that sound, not to mention coming from someone who can play a lick of guitar. Near the end, the band has ballooned up to about nine people, including Dev Hynes, and they launch into a jam that can be best described as going nowhere slowly. The blues imbued psychedelia is probably at it's best when Connan doesn’t meander too long in those jam and transition phases, though no doubt some in front of the stage will laud the very fact that he isn’t really about “songs”.

 The earlier mentioned Hynes is playing one stage down a bit later in the evening as Blood Orange, and at the midnight hour they sure get the funky into the festival. Their set is absolutely lovely, though just like more bands on the Pitchfork stage they do have a few hiccoughs to overcome. First his vocals are too low, then you can barely hear hers. After about a song they start to hit their stride though, and they show no signs of stopping. They play the album favourites and manage to funk them all up a bit so that the crowd has every opportunity to get some dancing done.

 Not only can the audience have a little dance to it all, Hynes is also an excellent frontman. He is a real smooth singer, can play some guitar, and he isn’t afraid to bust-a-move. The backing band, too, is lovely, with two good female singers, a second guitarist who certainly gets a few riffs in as well, a drummer, and a saxophonist who also hits some high notes as secondary vocalist on one of the songs. Tracks like ‘Always Let U Down’, ‘You’re Not Good Enough’, and ‘It Is What It Is’ are played brilliantly, and the slowed down medley near the end is boogielicious, and even gets a bit of Solange in there. It is an impressive performance all around.

 Chromeo is all about the fun, and not just for the audience. They play their catchy pop tunes quite tongue-in-cheek, though these tunes themselves are actually crafted so well that the creation of the music itself must have been quite the serious affair. And so they get the sizeable crowd up and dancing with tracks that are contagiously fun like ‘Night By Night’ and ‘Sexy Socialite’, all the while pretending they are doing a major rock show (even to the point he throws in an Angus Young guitar walk). And if they play that they are rockstars, who are we to say that they are not?

Closing it all out on the ATP stage is Cut Copy, who are just one of the most fun acts around. Both for people who like their indie rock/synth-pop as well as for those who just want to dance it all out. The people who like the former get their fix when they play (a lot of) their old material, even going back to Bright Like Neon Love. Maybe the numbers prove me wrong, but it seemed that this album, in combination with In Ghost Colours, actually had a bigger slice of the pie than their two most recent albums, Zonoscope and Free Your Mind got. The audience sure jumped their socks off on especially the In Ghost Colours entrées, with ‘Lights and Music’, ‘Hearts on Fire’ and ‘So Haunted’ getting a raucous response.

That they are leaning to dance more than before is, however, already clear from the get go, as a botched up version of the old house staple ‘My House’ by Chuck Roberts gets played to introduce the band. The lads from Australia aren’t letting the audience do all the dancing though, as they go all out themselves as well, and that in turn inspires the public to get moving even more. The older material gets the crowd jumping, though the dancers amongst the fans can do some of that “jackin’” to the Free Your Mind material. Like, for instance, the title song, and the housey ‘Let Me Show You Love’. When the band starts (03:30) it has already become quite chilly, though despite that I am quite confident that a large portion of the crowd will have worked up quite the sweat by the time the band plays their final note.

I imagine that those who actually live in Barcelona might have gone down to Daniel Avery to try and really be the last to leave, though the many international visitors might have a check-out time to consider. Our hotel goes easy on us with their 12 o’clock check-out time, though when all the dust has settled that still leaves only about four hours of sleep to get our energy up again. And this after four days (!) of all kinds of ways of enjoying music. Life’s not easy when you try to enjoy it, and Primavera 2014 sure gave everyone lots of opportunities to do just that.

The Spanish lad in front of me suggests that maybe it is the emotion. Could be, or perhaps it is the booze, drugs, or the wet, cold, and nasty weather. Fact is, two rather large blokes faint right in front of us in a timespan of about five minutes. We are at the rather brilliant gig of the long dormant Slowdive however, so who knows whether or not the Spaniard was right (though I’m not sure people actually faint because of music aside from the church choir).

This all happens hours after John Grant, who plays on one of the main stages that day, has managed to summon rain, rain, and then some more of that, his sunglasses an apparent disguise that masks his true intentions. Supported by about five other guys Grant works his way through a set that combines songs from his debut album with that of his more recent Pale Green Ghosts. So on one hand you’ve got songs like ‘GMF’, ‘It Doesn’t Matter To Him’, and others where he really needs the big band, and on the other hand his older work seems to require less assistance. That is, up until the finale of ‘Queen of Denmark’, where they go all out with sudden big bangs to support his outcry of why the heck this guy doesn’t take it out on somebody else.

Queue run towards home, a shower, change of clothes, after which I find myself wrapping my shoes in toilet paper to save whatever is to be saved of these suede covered sneakers (well that was dumb, wasn’t it? In my defense, when I checked that afternoon, that shower wasn’t predicted. I still believe, in that case, the rain doesn’t really count).

And then back in time for Slowdive.

Slowdive is a shoegaze band that made three albums in the 90s, and since haven’t really been heard from. Our loss, apparently, because they are definitely multiple shades of brilliance. The soundscapes they create are magnificent, and both the male and female vocals are deliciously dreamy and such a perfect accompaniment to the sounds they create. They actually have to cut a song because they have run over, for which they excuse themselves and shyly say that they “Haven’t done this for a while”. All is forgiven by the time ‘Golden Hair’ rolls around to end what must be one of the surefire highlights of the festival.

The most amazing moments are the ones where they build up that whole wall of guitar, and then through that dark haze project this shimmer of light courtesy of the second guitar player on stage (not to mention that sometimes they have three guitars out there, not even counting the bass). Those moments are amazing. To me, it is the ultimate proof of how expertly they have crafted their songs. So yeah, maybe those two guys did faint because of all this, though still, I seriously doubt it.

On the same stage it's The National’s turn to shine about two hours later. These guys have become massive in recent years, Boxer pole vaulted them from (relative) obscurity to critically acclaimed niche rockers, with the two albums since seeing them skyrocket to stardom. As such, there's lots of folk in attendance, and though people like to label them as gloomy bastards, here, today, they are bona fide rockstars. The pandemonium that takes place during the last string of songs, as Matt Berninger starts to run around everywhere to absolutely nowhere, is something today’s A-list rock/punk bands would certainly sign up for.

Going to The National is kind of like opening a booster pack of a card collecting game. You’ve got your commons (singles ranging from Boxer up to the new Trouble Will Find Me), but you’ve also got some uncommons and rares in there that do not always appear in the set. Given their rise in popularity in recent years they give the audience a healthy dose of work from their latest LP, though for me there is nothing quite like ‘Squalor Victoria’ or other “older” material. They really vamped that one up for the live shows, with a huge finale which starts after Berninger pathetically (in a good, theater way) delivers lines like “Out of my league, I’ve got birds in my sleeves, and I wanna rush in with the fools”. Those vignettes, those captured moments of the tragic everyman hero, those are the ones that hit home.

One of my favorite tracks is the “uncommon” ‘About Today’, a song from their Wasp Nest EP that they play live on occasion, though never when I’m around. My hopes of hearing that one live have faded and faded as, with more and more songs to their back catalogue, statistically I wasn’t doing so hot anymore. And then, suddenly, they start to play those guitar chords, and that was such a thrill right there. Talking about moments captured, that verse of “hey, are you awake?” is brilliantly small, tragic, and heartfelt in all its insecurity and angst. After that, the band invites members of The Walkmen on the stage (Justin Vernon already got invited on earlier) to go big in the finale, with the heavy hitters ‘Mr. November’ and ‘Terrible Love’. That ending sees both the fans as well as Berninger scream and shout it all out. Not just for gloomy people who are curled up in the corners of their minds anymore, I think.

The Pitchfork stage has been running late the whole day, and even with the hard work of all involved, it’s still about fifteen minutes behind schedule that the trio of Factory Floor appear on stage. They slide in the beats effortlessly, though it is a more adventurous form of “dance” music then you normally get. The beat and drums allow you to dance, but the noise and all kinds of other additions (like guitar and distorted vocals) are all very much ingrained into the sound. There are moments that you’d wish they would transition to the next phase a tad faster, sometimes meandering a bit in their own noisy soundscapes. Though as closing band (the talented dj/musician Pional will take the stage after) they seem to fit nicely on this strange, eventful, and rocky day that certainly wouldn’t have been done justice by a “cleaner” party band.

After the rain, inevitably, comes the sun (little darlin’), and so on the second day of Primavera Sound in Barcelona we can actually see things like the impressive view one has from the festival site. In the sunshine it is all quite breathtaking, especially from the top of the staircase that leads you to the Vice and Pitchfork stages.

On that Pitchfork stage Glasser struts her stuff. She released her second album, named Interiors, last year, but live she mixes it up with older material as well. The stage is almost bare. There’s a guy behind a laptop, and then there’s Cameron Mesirow, who looks as intriguing as she sounds. On stage she is at times seductive, at times skipping about as if in a bad Mozart comedy (including la-la lines), and at times theatrical. Which is a good thing, for she is the only thing on stage to look at, and one does so willingly.

She is basically as intriguing as her music. At times there is a little beat to dance to, but more often are the completely divergent soundscapes that range from the interesting to, sometimes perhaps a bit estranging. Nonetheless, with Cameron at the helm, there is always something to it. Very impressive is the control she has over her voice. From almost operatic interludes to genuine emotional singing, there’s a command in her vocals that cannot be denied.

On the same stage, Majical Cloudz is up a bit later, and that, too, is an interesting act. The stage is just as bare as with Glasser moments earlier, with Devon Welsh at the center and Matthew Otto behind all the electro gadgetry at the side. Where Glasser commanded the stage by doing, Welsh does this by not doing, and, in that, magnifying the nakedness and vulnerability of it all. Otto doesn’t come with beats or the like, but he almost mimics the vocals of Welsh, and together they form a unity with just that one thing to focus on. The songs lay bare the troubles of his mind, which fits in perfectly with the minimal form of the act.

How “honest” and “naked” Majical Cloudz is, how purposely theatrical and artificial St. Vincent performs. The act she has crafted seems like the Rise and Fall of the Bionic Woman. Her motions are android like, and while being Mrs. Roboto she still manages to hit all the notes with an almost automatic precision. Her performance is close to a stage show, and not because of all kinds of antics and extra characters on the podium, but because she convincingly plays the part she herself has written for no one but her.

Between all the “acting” there is not much that is lost in terms of musical performance. Her singing is inch perfect, and her guitar playing shows she is definitely a musician, not just a stage artist. The new songs sound incredibly powerful, with ‘Digital Witness’ being the second thing she plays. This is a woman who is really making a statement. Her album received great acclaim, her musical ability live is impeccable, and the stage act she has built around all her talents makes for a great performance. She has really become an artist, and one who has shown to belong on the greater stages at that.

Arcade Fire close out the Sony main stage, and if you want to actually see them you have to be there early. People are queuing up from the very moment St. Vincent finishes her set, which means there’s a 1 1/2 hour waiting period for this lot. And apparently, waiting and wanting to see a band you get emotional about equals frustration on some parts, with people trying to get as good a position as they possibly can. So annoyance a plenty here (though the impromptu ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ sing-a-long by some of those waiting is a welcome diversion to all that). Luckily, when the music starts, everything else is long gone and forgotten.

So suddenly, instead of frustration, there seems to be only sheer joy on people’s faces. From young, lanky boys singing along passionately with every word to big bearded blokes doing “oe-oe” chorus lines in as good a high pitched voice as they can manage. And the girl behind them is smiling -- and not annoyed -- when the aforementioned boys start jumping up and down to some of the more indie rock songs, and probably land on her toes at least a couple of times whilst doing so. Good vibes are suddenly all around. And Arcade Fire are the cause of all this.

The band start their show with some of the deliciously catchy songs off of their new album, such as ‘Reflektor’, which gets everyone in either a dancing or a jumping mood. Both the start and the end feature some tracks off of their most recent album, with ‘Be Exist’ positioned somewhere in the middle. And though the outfits scream “disco” (and those things are certainly screaming in every other way as well), the middle of the set has a lot of indie rock from Funeral and Neon Bible to it as well.

They not only treat the audience to some good music, but the robotic sculpture a bit off from the stage, the people with the big heads that at one point come walking on the stage, and the confetti at the end: they certainly want to give away a good show out there. The euphoria at the end (when the confetti comes down) certainly is indicative of how this band manage to touch all these people standing on this massive field. There are people dancing, jumping, singing, and emotionally responding to what certainly has to be a rightful headliner this festival.

Julio Bashmore certainly has a bit more trouble getting such a good response, at least at the start of his set. Not really his fault, mind you, but the late start due to technical difficulties in combination with the lingering effects of said difficulties make it, well, difficult for him to get out of the gates. Due to the time slot we make the executive decision to not see him undoubtedly redeem himself, but get some shut eye for the upcoming days of the festival.