Big Chill 2009

Big Chill 2009

18 August, 2009
by: SpecialK

'Shut up you c****s!' cried a disgruntled zombie as we arrived noisily at the Big Chill, 5am on Friday morning.  After shouting back a few salutations of our own, we set up camp around an Argos gazebo with some bottles of Buckfast and a soundtrack of Womack and Womack just in time to watch the sunrise over the incredibly idyllic Eastnor Castle Deer Park.  Considering that a few hours earlier, a last minute dash in to Central London for wellies had unfolded into an apocalyptic nightmare of commuters running for cover from the Amazonian style rain shower, there was something almost biblical about the parting of the clouds and the founding of our promised land in Green Camping.

Like the birthday party of a spoilt Steiner school hippie child with aging rock star parents, The Big Chill Festival is lavish, restrainedly debauched and really good fun.  It was of course, the Big Chill’s 15th birthday and not a Steiner school hippie child's, but I imagine there would be a close similarity between these events.  There were Capoeira workshops, drum circles and enough live music to satisfy the eclectic tastes of a crowd priding themselves on being cultured, open minded and well travelled.  No one likes hippies, or their smelly, trustafarian offspring, but they're better than chavs and congregate at the Big Chill to have a good time, pick up their litter and be really pleasant to each other.  Hard to knock it, so I wont.

Having procured a programme (£8!) from a Big Issue seller with a golden ticket, I realised that I probably wouldn't get to do and see everything so I promised myself not to panic or get too over excited; nothing worse than a festival militant. Unfortunately I am; arriving at the main bar I was told by one of the po-faced teenagers behind it that they weren't serving alcohol until 12(pm).  Unsurprisingly by four, with all aspirations of dignity vanished into the bubble and balloon dotted sky I was shocking out to Paul White and Bullion at The Frisky Bison, then Biggabush at The Sailor Jerry Rum Bar than back to the Bison for Floating Points.  The whole thing was a sensory overload; from all corners of the rolling green hills there was something exciting to look at; circus tents and totem poles, a Ferris wheel, a helter skelter protruding from the lake, an octogenarian couple in matching 'I heart churros' T-shirts, a pirate on a pink bicycle galleon and a little boy called Hashy who taught me how to play Diablo.

When you can roll out of a tent in blazing sunshine, have a hot outdoor shower, get a smoothie and then lie in a field while Pharaoh Sanders serenades you with his saxophone, everything becomes a lot clearer; the answer to life is somewhere between benefit fraud and working for 'the man', something to do with sunshine, lying in fields and listening to good music with a really cold cider. Over the rest of the festival I saw Lamb, David Byrne, Norman Jay, made some new friends, sat on a hill and watched the sunset, got lost looking for The Disco Shed, had an incredible Thai Curry and an even better Jerk chicken, fell in love a few times, had lunch with an ex while watching Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, saw a film in a car, played on a Victorian fun fare, danced to Kode9 in The Coop with my best mate, reminiscing about how we used to go to Fabric, raved to Toddla T and laughed at his MC who sounded like Sebastian the Crab, wandered through the Enchanted Garden, sang karaoke, saw another sunrise and although the weather looked about to break on Monday morning, I still really didn't want to leave.

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SpecialK