Bestival 2008

Bestival 2008

10 September, 2008
by: Lowri

Peering out through the small, grey porthole on the ferry from Portsmouth and resonant chords of regret are striking deep in my heart beneath my damp, decidedly un-waterproof leather jacket. The sea is choppy and swollen, dashed as it has been with rain for the past 24 hours.

'The worst festival weather for years….a month's worth of rain has fallen in one night on the Bestival site…people are leaving the flooded valley….the gates are closed...' The rumours which preceded my voyage to the Isle of Wight were grim. Wiggling my toes in my cold wellies, I sincerely wish I had stayed at home.

Conditions onsite are as bad as reported – but not so bad that you're stranded or in danger (like Glade last year) – merely unpleasant and wet, as British weather tends to be. It rains heavily and fairly relentlessly from Thursday night to Saturday morning. The ground is rendered a heavy soup. But the commitment to the party is strong, and the punters are bravely cracking on and doing their best to remain upbeat. Grinning girls are dragging silvery mermaid tails through knee-deep mud, blinking back tears of rainwater, sailors are shielding their burgers and pints under cagools and lots and lots of people are dancing. They're splashing around, mainly outside the crazy Lost and Found tent (packed all weekend), shouting fuck it and celebrating the fact that they've made it to what has been voted the best medium sized festival in the UK for the last three years. But really, there is no getting around the fact that it's hard to have fun when you're soaked and freezing, with high winds blowing rain under your hood and drips falling from your brolly into your boots. Three words. Motherfucking bastard weather.

It isn't only the mud that makes Bestival a wash out this year. My last trip to Bestival was back in 2004. It was their first event, beautifully disorganized, magically chaotic. The vibe was fresh and amazing, the rules were scarce, the party, 24 hour. There were about 10,000 people on site. Today's Bestival is virtually unrecognizable. 36,000 people all jostling their way from arena to tent, gangways of food stalls, a corporate-cock-sucking Red Bull tent, a stupidly massive dance tent with a techy under strict orders to keep the volume low. The changes in the world of festivals that have occurred over the past 4 years are all reflected in the growth of Bestival. From small, intimate party to massive, money-spinning beast.

That said, Bestival commands possibly the best line-ups of any UK festival – and the music is unparalleled. Erol Alkan on Friday night in the Bollywood is an unstoppable tech house-electro-mash-up whirlwind which has people ignoring the pain of being wedged into another person's armpit, and havin' it with the best of them – even if you can't move your arms. Once hands are in the air, they're there to stay.

This is the problem when you grow so remarkably as a festival – yep they've got excellent music – but is it realistic getting to the front to see your favourite DJ when about 4000 other people want to do the same thing? Sugar Hill Gang was another coup – the bassline of Rapper's Delight beating out and forcing the crowd into the air with complete abandon (again, ignoring the pain) 'I said a hip hop, hip hop the hippie….' but absolute nightmare getting to and from the gig. 808 State close the colossal big top on Saturday, after a disappointing set from Aphex Twin – and on Sunday the sun decides to make an appearance. All those who make it to George Clinton (the man behind Funkadelic and Pariliament) on the main stage can't be disappointed. Two hours of classic funk and soul delivered by a gang of American singers, rappers, dancers and musicians to an enraptured crowd. George Clinton himself still loving it: grey, bearded but full of beans with a voice that is remarkably intact and can still belt out 'Flashlight' convincingly.

Beardyman follows with an incredible performance – ranging from a rendition of Pharoahe Monche's 'Simon Says' to getting the crowd to sing Bon Jovi's 'Living On A Prayer' to Massive Attack's 'Teardrop' - all using samples of his own voice to create a Beardyman army. Underworld are the perfect finisher – huge, epic, slamming - with a stunning laser and firework show to close the main stage.

Undeniably brilliant programming – everyone wants to play at Bestival don't they? – but the problems arise when the music finishes and you want to find a cosy nook to chill out. The Restival is really the only place in this kind of weather - a sumptuous Yurt Village with enough space for a good few hundred in its linked tents.

I learn a lot about human nature this weekend. Mainly how desperate people become when their comfort is threatened. A bit of mud causes complete chaos for the Restival staff. People are running past the door person, ignoring the 'Boots Off' rule, and if wellies are removed, the owner invariably returns to find them stolen - no joke when it's knee deep in mud out there and you have a mile walk back to your tent. On discovering the precious wellies have been nicked, reactions are varied. Some laugh (how???), some cry (completely understandable), some curse and whinge, then nick someone else's. Others threaten to punch the Restival staff. Basically this entire cycle of violence is started by some rogue who steals the first pair of wellies, leading to a never-ending chain of theft and fury. There is no justice. It's chaos, and soon, a large percentage of people are walking round in very odd footwear. One silver boot, one green, one a dainty size six, the other a galloping size ten. One trainer, one flip flop. All the cool kids are doing it - and by Sunday it's all the rage. The only solution is to carry your boots in a bin bag, guarding them with your life whenever you remove them.

So, to conclude my short-lived Bestival relationship: I've seen the best sets of the summer in her fair valley, danced my socks off to amazing musicians, astonishing DJ's. I've had immense, challenging amounts of fun, but we're just not right for each other. So it's with regret that I have to say: it's over Bestival. And I won't be back.


Follow the links to read my review of Secret Garden Party and Shambala.

Lowri