It’s the 11th of August, it’s 2005 and it’s my niece’s christening. I’m sat uncomfortably on the cold, hard wood of a pew in a gloomy church listening to a priest indoctrinate the latest addition of my ever-growing family tree. It’s not just the bench realigning the contours of my vertebrae that’s got me feeling uncomfortable though. And it’s not just because I spend a lot of my time feeling awkward and uncomfortable either (although I do). It’s probably the fact that I know an atheist has no business being in a church. But maybe, just maybe it’s because somewhere, some 200 hundred miles away, some lucky people (5000ish) are descending on the beautiful Eastnor Castle Deer Park for The Big Chill’s annual festival and I wish I was there instead.But then again, maybe I was there. Maybe this was some cruel and convoluted hoax designed to dupe you the unsuspecting reader into believing that you’re wasting your time reading the worst festival review in the history of the world. Yes dear reader, I confess I have sinned for I did spend a long weekend in the Malvern Hills instead of attending my niece’s christening (Sorry Sophie). And I did make up that first paragraph but rest assured true believers; this WILL be the worst festival review in the history of the world and there IS a special place reserved in hell for people just like me.
But for those of you who are not like me, those of you who haven’t been to a Big Chill festival I should start out by saying that the Big Chill is unique among festivals. It’s the anti-festival. A festival for people who don’t like festivals. I think it was the Western Daily Press that put it best, and I quote ‘It’s all about de-stressing, kicking back and soaking up a smorgasbord of music from experimental electronica to funk, reggae and acoustic troubadours - as well as sipping rum cocktails, worshipping the sun, having therapeutic massages and fresh fruit skewered on kebab sticks for your breakfast’. All this is true, but then if you are anything like me (God help you) It’s also about smoking too much African style reefer and passing out on the floor of the Media Mix tent watching a live rescoring of Fritz Laing’s classic Metropolis at four in the morning.
My point is this; there aren’t many festivals these days that grant you the freedom to act like an individual, believe me I know. I was there at V98 when James Brown had his power cut after refusing to leave the stage. I was there at the Carling festival when the mighty Maiden returned after a 23 year long absence and I was there when the waiting times were upwards of six hours on the Glastonbury ticket hotline (subsequently I wasn’t there). But generally I was there, along with every other Tom, Dick and Harry. All crammed in together, herded between the corporately sponsored enclosures and set adrift in a sea of disgruntled people pissing in plastic cups.
Yes Ladies and Gentlemen I was a lost soul but then salvation came to me in the form of a book. Well, a page. OK, a web page...
...and that was when I found my true vocation as a Big Chiller.
For me the Big Chill is about dropping out of society for a weekend and mingling with some of the nicest and most colourful individuals you could ever hope to meet; only ordinarily you wouldn’t get the chance. Maybe that’s why the Big Chill has always evoked such a strong sense of community amongst its faithful, whether it be online via the ever popular message boards or out in the middle of a field with the ever popular message boards. There’s always ample room to breathe, talk, and think. And if you’re not a thinker or a talker or a breather (R.I.P) then you can always go and shake yer ass.
Which brings me neatly onto the asses, I mean music. Now I don’t profess to have seen every act at Eastnor in 2005, or even half of them but I never saw the same act twice, if you catch my drift. If you didn’t let me put it this way; DJ Patife showed me how the Brazilian’s do drum and bass, The Bays showed me that live improvisation can sound as polished as any studio album and Fat Freddy’s Drop showed me that bass lines always sound better coming from a big fat guy on a synth. Fact.
There really is something here to tickle everyone’s particular fancy. For some it’s the Art trail that inspires and entertains. For others it’s the Body and Spirit enclosure which soothes and relaxes and for you it’s the Finlandia Cocktail Bar that gets you good and drunk am I right?
I might as well face facts The Big Chill is as close to Heaven as I’m ever likely to get and Hell, at least I can pay my way in.
Amen.
Which brings me neatly onto the asses, I mean music. Now I don’t profess to have seen every act at Eastnor in 2005, or even half of them but I never saw the same act twice, if you catch my drift. If you didn’t let me put it this way; DJ Patife showed me how the Brazilian’s do drum and bass, The Bays showed me that live improvisation can sound as polished as any studio album and Fat Freddy’s Drop showed me that bass lines always sound better coming from a big fat guy on a synth. Fact.
There really is something here to tickle everyone’s particular fancy. For some it’s the Art trail that inspires and entertains. For others it’s the Body and Spirit enclosure which soothes and relaxes and for you it’s the Finlandia Cocktail Bar that gets you good and drunk am I right?
I might as well face facts The Big Chill is as close to Heaven as I’m ever likely to get and Hell, at least I can pay my way in.
Amen.
