Warped Time, All Scream

An ominous weather forecast throughout the week with the tail end of american hurricanes promising gales, rain and hail. And a bit of brimstone just for those hedonistic festival goers. Slightly daunted Debs and I drive down to the coast and board the ferry. Having survived the crossing we feel better on dry land and within an hour have parked our tent in between a load of teenage dirt bags’ tents and next to Colin and Clint and all their friendly gang. Missing the Palmer clans but will have to make do with young trendy Londoners. After chilling for a while me and Debs follow the others to the Pure Pies meeting point for Brian Wilson. Not my usual cup of tea but he and band were tight enough and threw out a succession of classics we could dance to. Meandering we pass a great brass band playing dance and then a blue grass type troupe at the Swamp Shack – the little oddities that make a good festival. First must see band we get to the last part of Public Enemy’s set – hard and uncompromising they were just as expected. No more no less. Good ending pity we didn’t see more (a theme this year). Then up to see Patrick Wolf who delivers again as expected. No complaints tho. After that Debs and I spend a long while wandering up the main drag popping in and out of various old haunts like Bollywood (and their cocktail bar) until getting to the end at the Black Dahlia with first half of 20th century music when we wander back to meet with friends again for a bit of Pendulum before awandering again then to bed. A good start but expectant of greater things…

After being woken by the teenagers at 6.30 chatting crap a yard from our heads Debs shouts for them to shut up and we have whispering until 7am. Serves us right for camping in the middle of them I guess. They turn out to be a fairly good bunch with a Mum and Dad popping in and out. After breakfast made by the fabulous Clint me and Debs head out for Seaman Jerry’s and meet up with Jason for a bit of early morning stoner rock shoe gazing with Yuck. Nicely set up with grunge next on the chronological rock timeframe we somehow slip into a time warp and meeting up with the crew and others to dance about to the surprisingly good and not at all dated Village People. Remember my age and being a teenager in the west country of England these were the cheesy bands that punk blew away… Struggling to get back into the 21st century, or at least the 1980s, Debs and I wander again through the ages passing through Paloma Faith back to the tent to ready ourselves for the evening. Coming back into the festival we pop into the Pyschedelic Worm to check out the very fresh and modern Frankie and the Heartstrings but don’t last the whole set as we’ll be seeing them twice before Xmas. We catch the last of Mercury winner PJ Harvey who was OK (I was never a big fan) and meeting up with the whole gang we meander down front stage left to see the incredible Cure. OK, so I did first see them in the 80’s so not really getting modern but the man’s never wavered from producing excellent music. We jump about and rock out for a good while - I’d forgotten just how good A Forest was especially delivered by the master proto indie goth rock shoe gazer. Elated we decide our lives are too short (or Bestival Saturday night is) to last the whole 2 and half hour set and head off for a mix of old school with a modern twist. Krafty Kuts is someone I’ve not seen before but the mix of hip hop breaks with a great interspersing of rock samples we are all jumping around with hands in the air. Colin’s bulk buy of glow sticks comes into it’s own and adorned like psychedelic cops come back from the dead attempting to apprehend an ageing Bay City Roller and a wig less Dusty (me and Debs) we dance til Krafty finishes his set and are left screaming for more. Just to explain – this year’s fancy dress is Divas and Rock Stars so I’m a Roller (the others in the band didn’t turn up or dress up!) and Debs is Dusty Springfield. Colin & gang are amazingly good looking zombies who flash mob any passing Michael Jacksons and follow them with the Thriller dance. Mostly taken extremely well with only one MJ getting too weirded out. We push over to the Big Top which is heaving inside and we listen and jig about to Andy Weatherall before moving inside for the headliner where most of us lose each other. So onto the spiritual experience that is Primal Scream presenting Screamadelica. Another time warp but this was well justified with a few more recent tunes thrown in. The place was jumping and Primal moved everyone up through the gears before hitting a massive high with everyone in the tent hugging smiling and nodding knowing “this is truly great” at each other with a lot of gratuitous high fiving going on. Oh, a lot of screaming for more. Having a 19 year old in a sailor hat tell me “don’t take offense but I hope I’m like you when older” also helped raise my mood. Hmm, maybe it was a coded message to not carry on dad dancing at festivals. Ah well, I enjoyed it all immensely. Unable to think of anything to better that Debs and I wander off home taking in a few side shows as we do.

Bit of rain in the night and a windy but it’s by no means as bad as forecast. After Clint’s breakfast Debs and I leave the zombies to come back to life and wander through the site and through the (now Ambient for some reason) forest. Taking in the world’s tallest standing tree carving we reach the WI cafes at the top and eat more. After relaxing with the papers and folkish rock by the bandstand we wander down to see The Drums linking up with our mob. Great New York sound they wake us up. All the happy campers then wander up the hill taking in a few pairs of Pants (to Poverty). Taking over a long bench we chat away sharing drinks until Debs leads us back to the big carved tree – a pleasant detour before spilling back out into the main arena. We sort of head home with me and Debs catching Katzenhammer who impressed me and Malc at Live at Leeds. Debs take is competent pantomime band who happen to be good looking lasses (and I thought it was authentic Scandinavian folk music!) A quick snooze and we get back for the last leg. Starting off with Robyn (another making a come back) Debs and I soon bore and wander off towards Bollywood and Fat Boy Slim. Catch the start of a very uninspiring local Ska’d for Life band (as it says on the tin) and try to see Fat Boy. Much too rammed in the tent so instead see some modern stuff with the wonderful Secret Rivals playing to about 50 people but who were an enthusiastic audience as befitted such an enthusiastic set to that very sparse audience. Again, the stuff of festivals – dancing with a few others to an obscure band. Most of the festival were either in FBS or Bjork. We wander past her but don’t stop to listen to the dirge with the memory of how I lost my sole walking past her set at Glastonbury a few years ago. We find the elusive Rizlab and get some vegan nosh. Then surrounded by weird balloon foetus like stilts we watch an oversize balloon batch be distributed popped let go and clutched onto like watching kids. The massive firework display impresses and Debs and I wander back to find the others. Hanging around outside the Big Top we sort of see DJ Shadow and given the throng we decline to wedge ourselves between man-in-tutu and man-as-bear whilst trying to watch Fat Boy Slim (thwarted again!) Debs Colin Clint and me wander back taking in a surprising empty Arcadia until the rain starts. Just as we say goodnight the heavens open and it’s a windy old night. Debs and I pack early in a light shower and trudge back up the hill. The trip back uneventful but meeting on the ferry a few of an amazing Indian acrobat troupe that we’d seen at some point with Jason. So, not the most bands per buck but a great time was had meeting friends old and new. Weather was kind and Saturday night was one of the best which is only appropriate for Bestival.