MUSIC FESTIVALS

really genuine or have they intentionally brought us all here together so they could put more money in their pockets? And who the hell is this chap playing now? I thought I came to see Jimmy Eat World.

I’ve been to my fair share of festivals, some in the UK and some abroad. My first festival experience was as an outsider – literally. There’s this music festival in my hometown in Spain called Festival Internacional de Benicàssim (FIB). Even though, for some, the line-up has arguably got less and less interesting in the last few years, FIB has been going strong since 1995. My first experience was the last year Bob Dylan played and I did what those who couldn’t afford the tickets did: watching from a small hill right outside the fences. (Reminiscing of early Glasto, anyone?) I’m not doing anyone a disservice by unveiling this, because the organisers have known for years that people gather on top of the hill with cans of beers and jamón and tortilla sandwiches to watch their favourite bands for free. In fact, there were some clandestine vendors selling mojitos and ice-cold beer in the dusty and scorching evening that brought us all the rustic glamour of our own Coachella. And there I was too, smoking fag after fag, getting tipsy, watching the rest of the cheeky fans dancing (some swaying) along and – I must admit – kind of worrying that Dylan didn’t sound like he used to probably because of the nicotine, too. The big screens didn’t show close-ups of him for some reason, but that’s for another day.

Long story short, that hill had the same spirit 1969’s Woodstock probably had: total freedom and a community spirit instead of paying for fancy toilets, resting areas, or glamping. In fact, some people would end up sleeping on the beach. The weather favoured the early morning naps and the festival started late in the day, so the ones who stayed up banging their heads to techno, probably high as a kite, could be rested enough for another session when the sun starts to go down. But of course, let’s not romanticise FIB and their VIP areas with dirty kiddie pools and, even less, the idea of Woodstock. What in 1999 kicked off with a rousing call to enjoy three days of “peace, love, and music” culminated with stages literally in flames, sound towers reduced to rubble, decimated tents, press and artists scarpering like the devil, and promoters holed up in their offices as well as hordes of wasted and knackered youths wallowing in a stream of faecal muck – a trainwreck, like Netflix called it in its documentary. Jamie Crawford’s autopsy of the chaotic event would make anyone shut up about the complaints about music being “too fancy” now.

Simon Pope works in freelance marketing, PR and product development for Technics and Burmester. During his time working in music publishing, he attended festivals both as a paying customer and as a VIP guest with backstage passes. Although his VIP experiences were before “the age of selling and ‘enhanced experience’”, he admits it gave him “a taste of privilege that was a world away from the tent-in-a-boggy field and nasty latrine horrors” that he’d previously experienced.

“The current trend of offering different levels of packages has undoubtedly made festivals one, more expensive, and two, more financially divided and less inclusive. Paying extra for better toilets is something one should never have to do, and in my experience these VIP experiences rarely offer something significantly different, unless it’s accommodation in a yurt or a portable eco-shed! At least in my day it was either you paid and stood with everyone else or got a free ‘comp’ ticket. They were the only ‘levels’!” he says. “Modern UK festivals are now commonplace everywhere and quite a few of them cater for people who would have attended festivals when they were younger and now have families. There’s nothing wrong with that per se, but quite often these festivals are overpriced and do not have great line-ups. The experience is diluted musically.”

Whilst there’s something inherently good about how festivals are organised, being more inclusive, when things become too corporate they just lose the spark. People become more demanding, and at some point we have someone complaining that the toilets are dirty (see beginning of the article) because the standards are simply not met. Something needs to be always happening. The waiting times with a pint in hand; kicking your trainers off and laying down under the sun seem to be less and less enjoyable. People talk about inclusion, diversity, and political statements from organisers and musicians alike. Now we want IPAs, lagers, Diet Cokes and Fantas, Sprites and shots, burgers, gyozas, kebabs, tacos, noodles, fish and chips and pasta food trucks and make all the demands without blinking twice. “Most things that start off in the ‘underground’ end up becoming mainstream when business oriented people see the potential to make a profit. The saturation of corporate music festivals these days doesn’t seem to be slowing down, so there’s obviously plenty of interest and money to be made,” says Andy Burden.

Even if it makes us roll our eyes when we have to pay £5.50 for a soft drink, we would be the first ones to complain it’s not cold enough even if we’re in the middle of the dessert or laying on the grass next to a river. We now care about looking clean and good for the Instagram picture and we even buy special outfits for festivals to be in the loop.

“When I was younger, we would try and look good for the start,” says Polly Arrowsmith, who has a lot of concert and festival experience under her belt including seeing the Sex Pistols and Fleetwood Mac in 1984. “But there was no doubt that you looked much worse at the end of the festival than at the start! Seeing people get on public transport or the same bus as you, in a messy state, was part of the fun. We listened to each other’s horror stories and talked about it.”