The dress-up theme was outer space. Miles upon miles of Bacofoil had been sacrificed to make alien heads, shields, thigh boots, robot masks… you could get snow blindness from all the flashing silver and LED’s on show. A large number of people wore colanders on their heads. One bloke had made a jaw-droppingly spectacular replica of the yellow digger that Ripley fights the monsters with in Alien.

Musically, Bestival was a mixed experience sound-wise. The main stage was newly positioned at the top of a slope, meaning that not only did we have to stand leaning backwards craning our necks to see the acts (ouch) but the sound travelled right over our heads. Thankfully, the sound was ramped up on the main stage for the Saturday night headliners: Kraftwerk. Their set was nothing short of inspirational, their trademark monotone voices and crystal clear synths still sounding so current. Their Bauhaus-style visuals (featuring lots of trains, power stations and radio masts) flowed seamlessly alongside their sparse sound, and the band’s obsession with technology married perfectly with the event’s space theme. For one of the penultimate songs they had robots onstage ‘performing’ the songs. Wunderbar!

Boy-8-Bit was also brilliant, tearing up the dancefloor with electroclash and infectious spacey bleeps. And a special mention has to go to the busking spaceman Sonic Manipulator who played a one-man band show dressed in an LED-festooned spacesuit, rapping and throwing bleeps out to the universe with his home-crafted beat box gadgets and theramin-loaded light sabre. We salute you! There was even a cheesy wedding-style disco next to a massive inflatable blow-up church complete with guest DJs spinning the naffest of platters – how good is that?

And what weather we had: non-stop sunshine! While the event was so packed it felt as though it was going to burst at the seams, you can’t deny the festival’s good intentions and all-inclusive stance. There’s something for everyone from all walks of life: there’s nothing stuck up about any of it and a vibe  of well-meaning mischief pervades. Bestival is friendly, good old fashioned party fun for all: just don’t come along if you plan on sitting down!

(Anne Richardson)

 (Alex VP, an undergrad from Dorset!)

Review coming soon…

To assimilate myself fully as member of the People’s Republic of Shambala I went for the whole four night, five day extravaganza. Less than 12 hours in, I’d already lost my programme, torn my trousers and forgotten that a world existed outside my new Shambalife.

Luckily for me, sans programme, Shambala is a little world that you really ought to just get stuck into and explore for yourself anyway. With every journey around the enchanting site you were sure to stumble upon some new discovery, be it The Roots Yard, or the secret tent that lurked just beyond the Shambala Stage… Surprises were abound and every fancy tickled by the array of workshops, events, music and roaming entertainment.

Somewhere along the way, I got caught up in what an unbelievably enthusiastic lady told me was a Shambala first: A flash mob dancing fandango led by a portable cart kitted out with an immense sound system – in a one-tune-only dance frenzy we were encouraged to let loose with our limbs and dance like we just discovered it, followed by a nonchalant walk away as if nothing had happened.  Of course, there was no shortage of willing movers and shakers.

Shambala scored major points for commitment to participation. It seemed that every workshop, every show, every performance was eagerly attended and yet somehow, there was always space to dance and always room for just one more; the magic of the festival at work? The Wilderness Woodland truly epitomized this bewitching world with its lights and sculptural installations and on Saturday night, the eve of the carnival procession, there was no limit to the innovation and creativity that took hold of the whole site; a veritable feast for the eyes where every visual path presented not one, but a plentitude of jaw-dropping costume theatrics.

If I remember correctly the programme promoted the buying of drinks in the onsite bars to help keep the festie in pocket. Obviously eagerly in support of this, the well-lubricated punters at The Wonky Cock Country Pub had managed to drink it dry by Sunday night. That’s dedication for you. Sunday early evening, when the rains came, a band on the Shambala Stage acknowledged this defiant spirit, congratulating the committed folk dancing in the rain for their resolute stamina.

I was bowled over by many other contributory efforts, particularly in Wandering Word when Undercover Hippy took to the stage for an impromptu freestyle set, plucking words from the audience and transforming them into funky grooves to keep us titillated between billed acts.  The Carnival Collective also deserve praise for drawing in the crowds and making the earth move with their foot-stomping, invigorating beats – they sent us soaring into the dizzy heights of Sunday night.

I fear I cannot encapsulate all the music, magic and mayhem that was Shambala, even utilising 20 hours a day I couldn’t fit it all in. Though the location itself was not massive, the world within knew no boundaries. Perhaps the best way to describe it is a heady mix of Sunrise Celebrations and Secret Garden Party, with elements of each combining to create a wholly unique other.

(Cassidie Alder)

The pervasive sense of calm on site did not however divert from the severity of the context – promoting sustainability. If anything, the laid-back social/economic interaction provided a tangible sense of the beauty of the way things can be; the way things should be.

When a distraught lady lost her son on Saturday, everyone within earshot offered assistance and within minutes, seconds even, mother and child were reunited. Amidst the exceptionally relaxed vibe, this condensed traumatic episode appeared in stark contrast. If you’re going to lose your kid, Sunrise Off-Grid is pretty much the safest place you could wish to lose them – they’d probably toddle back half an hour later, grinning, wielding a raw chocolate brownie and fully versed in the ways of Neolithic pottery.

Sunrise Off-Grid does what it says on the tin. The site is 100% off-grid i.e. completely powered by renewable energy sources and in support of its ethos of empowering individuals and encouraging a transition to sustainable communities, the whole site is testament to the cause – it’s one living, breathing manifestation of it’s own ideal.

Any inefficiency in other areas, such as poor public speaking skills and technical difficulties, did not detract from the prevailing message. Everyone was there with the same thing in mind: to teach, to learn, to share. And it’s amazing how resonant this was –context and place alter one’s perception and engagement levels and here the result was an engrossed and captive audience – not afraid to question, and not afraid to listen to the answers.

That said, some were obviously very comfortable with their place up front. John Harris held the attentive gazes of a tent full of people for what must’ve been at least a couple of hours of discussion on ‘lawful rebellion’, punctuating his servings of “truth” with a winning grin and a whole heap of readily- acknowledged cockiness. Fergus Drennan proved himself to be a charming guide as he led us around the edges of the field, delving into hedgerows to teach us the art of foraging and the unbelievable scope of variety it can bring to a diet. The man toys with a stinging nettle like it’s not out to get him, has been living off purely wild and foraged food for 6 weeks (46 left to go) and strongly champions leaf curd – ‘leaf curd is the future’. Fact.

One of the concepts highlighted throughout the festival was that of disconnection – from our environment, from natural cycles, from each other, from the results of our actions. The solution? re-connect with the Earth by taking off our shoes and going barefoot for at least 30 minutes a day – and no, standing unshod whilst having a shower doesn’t count! This, and many of the other ideas expressed this weekend will not be everyone’s cup of green lentil chai, but the underlying principles are such that we can all relate to them. You don’t need to define yourself as a hippy or new age spiritualist to come away from this festival with a refreshed perspective.

For me, the point of the whole experience was really brought home during a solar powered screening of (rather appropriately) ‘Home’.  As poignant questions were posed in the narrative the projector wobbled and the screen seemed to nod in agreement. When the film drew to a close, the word ‘together’ lingered on screen, and somewhere in the background, a voice carried across to us singing ‘one love’. In that moment, huddled in that tent surrounded by people united in mental and physical space, I felt overwhelmingly positive for the future.

(Cassidie Alder)

Big Chill 2009 – first impressions were it had a bigger crowd, lots more youth, more kids, and more proper grown ups. But best of all, the beautiful people were back. The Big Chill is over a decade old now and although the British summer is crowded with boutique festivals, this one seems to have kept in step. It’s about time it outgrew its exclusivity and got a bit more kickingly mental as the big scale established event it now is. A bullish programme of big established headliners Basement Jaxx, Orbital and David Byrne were just the ticket.

Friday warmed up with a Chris Cunningham audio visual show that was as dark as it was ethereal. Mixed feelings about this, on the one hand the indulgence was engaging, on the other its dark images were disturbing.

Headliners Basement Jaxx drew a massive, expectant audience, before launching into the thundering opener ‘Good Luck’. The crowd partied hard to hits ‘Jump ‘n’ Shout’, ‘Oh My Gosh’, recent release ‘Raindrops’ and the encore, ‘Bingo Bango’. There were a few unexpected moments too such as a breakdown version of Kings of Leon’s hit ‘Sex on Fire’ and a few bars of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ before crashing into ‘Where’s Your Head At?’  They also previewed their new single ‘Feeling’s Gone’, which had tones of Stock, Aitken & Waterman. But it was a good moment – for half the audience at least. As always the band’s stunning vocalists and dancers added drama and theatrics – someone called it histrionics – but a big crowd pleasing dance act with a huge light show had been missing from Big Chill Friday night line-up for a long time, and it felt good to party.

Beautiful sunshine bathed Eastnor on Saturday and while listening to Helios’s ambient swooshiness everyone around us started slapping on the sun-block. Jazz legend Pharoah Sanders was amazing. At first he seemed a little intricate and demanding, but the fluency and prowess of his band had a mostly sedentary Big Chill on its feet cheering by the end.

Saturday night began with a reunited Lamb who had played at The Big Chill at the Larmer Tree Gardens a decade ago. The bass laden sound mix became a bit oppressive (unlike Emiliana Torrini‘s pained, exquisite tenderness on the next door Castle Stage, which seemed a bit more cheery). That said fans of the trip hop beats were bouncing like baby lambs, even if Lou Rhodes’s vocals were hard to distinguish at times.

Orbital was the anticipated reunion gig of the festival. Many festival goers had bought tickets just to see them. It was absolutely ram-packed in front of the main stage and anyone seeking an old school rave up courtesy of the Hartnol brothers wasn’t disappointed. People with arms outstretched were doing that monkey climbing a drainpipe/reach for the lasers dance not seen since ‘89. It was good to see these guys again and hear the anthems  ‘Chime’, ‘Lush’, ‘Halcyon’, ‘Satan’ and many more, including a favourite of the night, ‘The Box’. Afterwards it was a short stagger to the Coop tent to hear Horse Meat Disco play out their disco marathon with Teddy Prendergrass’s ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ and Toto’s ‘Africa’.

On Sunday, we were gutted to miss David Byrne (apparently the highlight of the weekend) but still, we had time for Norman Jay before we had to go. His Sunday afternoon session is a stalwart tradition of the Big Chill and whole festival turned up to have a blast in the baking sunshine. In years passed Norman played us samples of Dr. Martin Luther King’s 1963 ‘I Have A Dream’ speech. Poignantly, this year we were treated to President Barack Obama telling us ‘Yes We Can’.

DJs all over the site sounded better than ever this year. Highlights included Justin Robertson’s phenomenal main stage electro mash up, Todd Terje, DJ Format and Slam in the Coop club tent.

As the Guardian wrote in their review, The Big Chill has often been dismissed for being a buggy-wielding kids fest, when it’s more than that (actually, it was the Guardian who used to bang on about that, but never mind). Maybe they noticed a change because the kids’ entertainments had been moved out of the Castle Stage field. Hopefully this will revert to norm next year, the parents missed being on the fringes of live music, as much as the Castle Stage, quiet at times, missed their support.

In essence, The Big Chill is a big social, with lovely live background music, a few pocket raves going off and plenty of pretty spaces to flop down at to properly chill (doing whatever, with whoever, you fancy).

(Conor and Sam)

More good news, the weekend is set to be a hot and sunny one as the festival continues in Herefordshire, after a series of rainy days. Artists and DJs include Orbital, David Byrne, Pharoah Sanders, Chris Cunningham, Lamb, Ursula Rucker, Horse Meat Disco, MJ Cole, The Field, The Unabombers, Hexstatic, Optimo, Chris Duckenfield, Keb Darge, Greco Roman Soundsystem and more.

Not a rave worth spitting at, at all!

I Spit On Your Rave

Poor old Brighton Pride has been victim to bad weather for two years on the trot now, but that doesn’t seem to be a deterrent to the 160,000 revellers who turn up for some spirited celebratory antics. Even if you’re not gay or proud, the event is a damn fine excuse to get colourful and soak up the atmosphere, literally!

Brighton hosts the biggest free pride festival in the UK and as of 2004 has been awarded official charitable status, which all helps to keep those floats afloat. Although the festival takes place over the course of week, Saturday is the ultimate culmination of colour, noise, nudity, music, and pink pleasures.

I ventured down to the Saturday Carnival Parade and Party in Preston Park, after all there’s nothing like a load of half naked men with bulging… muscles…  and pounding dance beats to furnish your face with a smile. If that doesn’t work for you, the spectrums of colour and rainbows that adorn every available surface – be it man, beast, house or machine – just might.  The vibe is all about freedom and acceptance and popular it is, too. The parade fills the streets of Brighton, with folks from all walks of life; leading the procession in a little mobility scooter was ‘the oldest gay in the village’. The picketing anti-homosexuality Christians weren’t as noticeable at the park gates this year, but I did see at least two Christian church floats marching and dancing, along with paramedics and police and bus services – the whole caboodle. The only threatening behaviour to be seen was coming from the sky, which soon turned into a reality.

Not long after the parade had turned its last corner, the first pitter-patters started. Alas, it was not the sound of anyone’s heart pounding with pride. I rode the stream of traffic to the park and once there, I managed to squeeze in a little bit of entertainment before I had to face defeat with the thousand others running for cover from the downpouring. Usually, at a sunny Pride, one can happily while away the hours on a patch of grass, drink in hand, in view of a myriad of intriguing characters. But this year we had to look for some undercover entertainment to escape the rain, and we found it in the Women’s Performance Tent.

Andrea Kenny & The Cavalry know how to belt out a tune. Any dampened spirits were deftly warmed by the billowing vocals of songstress Andrea. With some encouraging words and contagious beats, they had the crowd shaking off their rain-defiance and boogying to jumble sale blues in no time.

Back outside, some enterprising businessmen had the cunning foresight to sell ponchos and umbrellas. I saw one chap with a huge wad of cash in one hand, motioning for people to buy the last of his wares with the other. (Rain-lovers 1, rain-haters 159,999). From a distance, looking across the park, the view was of  a bouncy looking umbrella landscape, bobbing just above head level. It looked like fun. I rather wimpishly rammed myself on a train back to London, leaving behind a world of sodden but resolute celebrations, because (for most) even the rain can’t wash away the spirit of Pride. On the bright side, at least it didn’t rain on my parade!

(Cassidie Alder)

Nestled within the perfect Peak District triangle (Ashbourne, Matlock, Buxton) sits the brilliantly bijoux Y-Not festival. Despite being slap bang in the heart of Derbyshire, straight out of the pages of an Austen novel (and Kiera Knightley’s latest film), the site itself lacked its neighbouring magnificence, but the inspiring line-up made up for that.

The promoters’ commitment to fresh talent is critical to the festival’s success. 2009′s highlights included an enduring acoustic set from vocal range ripper Little Lost David, the raucous Nine Black Alps and ska-stompers The King Blues – and best of all, the sound production was excellent.

Y-Not has grown in just two years from a capacity of 500 to 4,000 in 2009, testament to the appeal of its back-to-basics ethos. Yet the festival still felt small in both scale and mindset, creating a unique house party vibe with a strong midland twang. You’ve pretty much cased the whole joint and said hello to your fellow campers at least once by the first sunset. Facilities wise, the basics were good but with no frills; there were loads of toilets, no queuing (and not at all stinky), with fresh water, recycling bins and very, very friendly stewards and staff.

For such a solidly music orientated festival the relative lack of side-shows and diversions wouldn’t necessarily present a problem… until the rainclouds move in. That’s when the comfort of healthy gourmet grub is needed. But this was burger or bacon sarnie territory, not a salad, falafel or noodles in sight.

It rains an awful lot in the Peaks because of its high altitude. Not as much as in the Lake District, but still quite a lot. Site managers were bringing tractors on site to pull cars out of the mud and frantically laying straw. They need much more ground tracks next year, in case it’s wet again; there were cars abandoned everywhere.

My 16 year old nephew, Jake, is a fantastic drummer so he wanted to check out the skills of the bands. He loved King Blues. He loved the dance tent, too, but that only got going for a few hours after the main stage closed. We both felt there was a massive lack of entertainment during the day and with everything contained within one field it had a goldfish effect on us. But we’d definitely go back and in fact it inspired Jake to be on stage himself one day. He thought that having such a musically cool festival on his doorstep was massively exciting.

Y-Not 2009 was wet but absorbing nevertheless. A full-blooded mid-summer weekender aimed largely at a late-teen/early-20s crowd.

(Shelly Preston)

Flying into Budapest we booked ourselves in for a mineral spa and massage in the city to calm us before the epic rave that was Exit’s 10th anniversary.

After a nine-hour bus journey, mostly spent trying to get over the Serbian border (‘boredom control’ as we called it) we checked in to our hotel. You can camp at Exit but hotel rooms are cheap and taxis to the festival site only cost a few euros. By the time we’d sorted our passes we were too late for Lily Allen and Roots Manuva but in time to see the Arctic Monkeys on the main stage, who were great. We bought these ultra cool beer token coins and without having to queue bought six beers for 8 euros.

We just missed The Herbaliser on the Fusion stage but were in time to watch the beginning of a Croatian band called Majke, an interesting rock band with a lead singer who reminded us of Pete Doherty. There were 11 other stages, but seeing the dance arena blew our minds. Walking past the main stage we walked up a makeshift staircase then followed one of the arrows down into the moat where perhaps 80,000 people were dancing to Sasha and Digweed. Never had we seen such a breath-taking venue for a rave. With the boys going back-to-back, busting out the phattest tunes, streamers and confetti exploded from the stage alongside fire dancers, as dressed up dudes in PVC outfits rubbed angle grinders onto metal, sending sparks flying everywhere. We just danced in amazement taking it all in until the sun showed its face in the morning.

Exit is a night time festival that starts at 8pm and finishes around 6am. During the day you can cruise over to The Strand, a beach on the river Danu. Sort of similar to Ibiza’s Bora Bora, beach bars play electro house for people still grooving or recovering from the night before.

On Saturday night we arrived just in time to watch German electronica pioneers Kraftwerk, who looked and sounded astounding, wearing UV-lit body suits, standing on platforms in front of laptops with digital visuals projected behind them. They played Numbers, Computer Love, and Das Model. For We Are The Robots the curtain fell before opening to reveal four naked dummy robots standing place of the band. Everyone went wild then the curtain went down and up again, and there were two (hu)men on stage, for the classic Tour De France – it was MDMAzing!

Rolling out more legends, Grandmaster Flash played a dynamic set next. He couldn’t stop screaming “Serbia, I can’t hear you!!” He whipped out classics like White Lines, Woop! Woop! That’s The Sound Of Da Police!, some Beyonce and a little electro house. But it was Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit that sent the crazy Serbian crowd truly wild. At the same time our friends were watching Etienne de Crecy Live play in the dance arena, in the middle of a bunch of cubes that lit up in different colours. Apparently it was spectacular.

Representing Sweden, Steve Angello b2b with Sebastian Ingrosso kept me wiggling my bits to great electro tracks. We stayed until the last tune when they started jumping together arm in arm, wishing Exit a happy birthday and proclaiming their Swedish love as the sun rose. Before leaving I caught the end of Fabio and Grooverider, who were storming the main stage with energetic MC Jakes flying all over the place.

The final night in this fortress of unrest saw the hard-hitting Prodigy light up the main stage. For Voodoo People they made the whole crowd crouch down then shone a floodlight on us. Then, when the track exploded, so did everyone. I later heard that my mates got pretty crushed in the madness and were pretty shook up about it. And as we were chilling on the beanbags watching Moby on the main stage on an LCD screen, we were told that a lot people had got crushed quite badly there, too.

The most amazing thing about Exit was the last set of the weekend by Carl Cox back-to-back with Green Velvet – it was the best rave I’ve ever had. We thought it was going to last an hour but it turned into a 5-hour marathon. It was such a mega hot morning I had to take my jeans off just to dance. On stage there were loads of stilted characters, one all dressed in PVC with an oxygen mask, one in a white mod suit with a computer head doing ecstatic robot moves and best of all, a gorilla in a tracksuit. He busted a few comical electro moves and did a duet with a Michael Jackson look-a-like to a tech-house remix of I Want To Rock With You… giving MJ a blowjob before moonwalking out of there. It had us all in bits then, and it still does now.

Chicago’s Green Velvet sang his classic La La Land through his headphones live. Just when I was thinking that Carl Cox had saved my life, he came out from behind the decks wearing a t-shirt saying “The dance arena at Exit saved my life”. They were having just as much fun as us and kept screaming “happy birthday Exit – 10 years!” At this point I’d felt I’d been there for a month and wasn’t sure if it was ever going to end. Finally they played a Tim Deluxe remix he said he hadn’t played in four years and we all went mad, then they said their goodbyes.

Exit is the champion festival of dance music – the dance arena was unbelievable and off the hook, we’re still feeling gobsmacked after our time there. Costing just £72 for four days with Budapest and the islands in Croatia on your doorstep, a trip to this festival is an experience that should not be missed in this lifetime.

(Tania Casotti)

Cool Camping Guide to Festivals – out now (as seen in front window displays of Waterstones, central London)