Noisily does it... Alex McKenzie reports from the countryside.
Rolling down the Leicestershire countryside, Constable-esque landscapes, one after another glisten in the sun - who has his hat well and truly on. Finally the first festival of the summer, made tinglingly exciting by a touch of the unknown, it being the inaugural Noisily Festival.
On approaching our chosen destination for glory, birdsong phases out and booming bass locks in. Paradoxical sights of gin-tainted trancers, techno trampers and Hackney-on-tour reverberate against haywain halcyon, flora and fauna. It’s an undoubtedly English picture: rinsing party meets glorious nature.
A vista of sun seekers, day after the night beforers, grassy knolls dotted with yurts, teepees and hastily-erected houses for the night all lead like a spiral staircase down to the forest. Best go down it then Alice.
Solar-shooting rays cascade through the trees in an all out attack. Rumbling, interwoven sounds, bodies, boozers and bacchanalia all make up the scene. Exploration is always how it begins. Shirtless youths, broad grins abound, bounce around the bar to Reggae. The sound of the summer, psssschewww in the air, goodness NO(s) what that is.
The Treehouse Stage is a sight to behold. Eyes gaze down at you from the sky. It is rammed with deep house, pretty people and a DJ booth which towers above, freshly-carpentered fittings in this woodsman’s clearing. Make no mistake this is a woodland rave.
Day turns to night and techno is the evening feast: The Noisily Hall the setting. This stage is different, at the end of a long tunnel through the trees with a cool breeze so welcoming. It brings freedom, space, a sense of the shackles well and truly off.
Spektre back to back and live are smashing it. Torsos resonating, bodies writhing to a sound so enriching. he breakdowns bring euphoria, energy exudes and shapeshifters are everywhere.
New Minus recruit Matador follows, his red cape so resplendent. Driving bass, tweeks, illicit noises. This is raw, pure and downright dirty techno at its finest. Ans ensues, Glade festival stalwart and absolutely rock solid, his head bobbing above and below the parapet. Faces flash by, turning, twisting, a cacophony of hoots, cackles and wails.
Saturday becomes psy trance Sunday and the hulas are out. More pleasures for sure with the heat truly on. Personalities are changing, guises, garbs too. Three-day mad dogs and Englishmen with cider and bacon rolls. A moment of reflection, exactly what happened?
Service resumes and back to the tree house. Bare-footed beauties intermixed with contortions to a basketball rhythm. It’s quieter but no less atmospheric. The people are all here, waiting for their musical staple.
Liquid Ross sounds refreshing. A familiar style like Sundays should be hitting the spots, feeding the soul. A groove is indeed hit, and the rollercoaster returns. Flip Flop, more former than latter regale. They are right on the edge, pushing the boundaries as they always do, melodic, beautiful, familiar and loud.
You understand why it’s called trance yet again. So much fun, such a beautiful day, so hard to leave. I wrench myself away, a limpet stuck to a rock no more. Until the next time.
This festival is the latest in line to step up to the plate and find its place in the electronic festival calendar. The vibe was relaxed, the people bold and beautiful and plentiful enough for a great atmosphere.
It will be interesting to see the progression. The fine line between commercial success and all it brings may need to be addressed but balancing this with the hugely important intimacy they produced is also a must. This was a fantastic start. The bar set so excellently high. The bigger brother The Glade might eventually have an equal.
Try it next year.
By Alex McKenzie.
Pictures by the best partner in crime in town, Luke Cody.
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