in AW(M)E...

I'm in my bed with PFD (post festival depression) even a fancy dinner at Coda tonight wasn't able to revive my dampened demeanor.  Its a serious combination of crashes, excitement, adrenalin, champagne, late nights, early mornings, sugar and fantastically mesmerising loud music. The past four days have been an overload on the senses, its difficult to take stock of everything I've seen, heard and felt. I wandered around freely with my Media pass (Hi, my names Media, whats your name?) booze brimming networking events where the fizzy white and rock oysters appeared about my person, rubbing shoulders with Programme Directors from Glastonbury, Roskilde, Fuji Rocks (to name but a few). Lounging on plush seats in the Arts Centre as the intoxicating sounds of 70s golden age Ethiopia wash over me, Mulatu Astatke working his magic. Skanking away to Mad Professor as Irration Steppas get involved in the DJ booth. Being utterly blown away by the majestic voices of The Congos as they perform Heart of the Congos their seminal album produced by Lee Scratch Perry, this is their first time in Australia and I'm back stage saying hello in a cloud of Jah inspired smoke.  In short my life is wonderful but nothing I can do right now is going to top the last 96 hours of my life. AWME thank you very much indeed, it was a pleasure working with you, working for you, running around, tweeting, blogging, facebooking, editing, uploading and of course schmoozing. I am going to watch a film now, perhaps Wah Do Dem?



Photograph © Tajette O'Halloran - Mornington Island Dancers

Photograph © Tajette O'Halloran - Noriko Tandano

Photograph © Marie Muggivan - Graveyard Train

Photograph © James Henry - Mad Professor

Photograph © James Henry - Public Opinion Afro Orchestra

Photograph © James Henry - Lotek

Photograph © James Henry 

Photograph © Marie Muggivan

Carnivale time @ Edinburgh Gardens

 
Two carnival leftovers from The Village

Edinburgh Gardens in North Fitzroy is the epicentre of Melbourne park life, I guess I would dare refer to it as the London Fields of Melbourne. It has the drinking, bike flexing, costume wearing elements, yet with less aggro and more sunshine, plus the toilets are safe and just about clean enough to use. I have already spent several sunny days lazing on a picnic blanket consuming alcohol and various chips and dips. Last weekend it was home to The Village a wonderful carnival, gypsy style with polka bands with many a waistcoat and moustache on display. I look forward to more impromptu events and gatherings ahead.

Harvest time

Off to the Gathering in Werribee Park today, along with the rest of Melbourne, its a joyous day with a clear skies and sunshine forecast, I felt the twinge of home when I gazed at the line up, Portishead are headliners, Bristol massive. Other performers include TV on the Radio, Clap Hands Say Yeah, Trojan Soundsystem, Hypnotic Brass Ensemble and The Flaming Lips...

Sydney Road Street Party

Sydney Road festival clears the streets of cars and trams and offers the community a chance to wander around freely on the otherwise congested artery road that leads into the city. With a wide variety of music on offer from rock'n'roll, folk, hip hop, beat boxing, reggae, soca to 30s swing. The vibe was friendly, with a multicultural and inclusive flavour, lingering at each stage, cafe, sound system I happily soaked up the atmosphere, people watching can be so much fun.

from Brunswick with love...

Yes I'm back, two months m.i.a, I've missed you guys, after my six week tour of China and a three week settling in period, I am warming to the idea of documenting Melbourne life.

Terrible internet (dongle? Don't ever get one, waste of time) was the main protagonist for my Australian absence, that and my wallowing (ever-so-slightly) from fear of having something useful to write. Yet all is well in sunny Melbourne - modest 27 degrees today. I was up until late last night constructing a rather grandiose return to the web, a sprawling synopsis of my adventures in China. Halfway into the piece I became so overwhelmed by the task I panicked and froze. Perhaps a more lighter palatable return is best, baby steps, bit of reading - Fear of Flying, Two Novels of Mexico & Wild Swans - remind myself how to spell, get into the routine. So forgive me if my contributions fall to the fluffier, lighter side of the track, I am merely reminding myself of the process.

This is my new home I share it with two Australian men, here I can explore the nuances in the species, how/if they differ from the English variety. There are two hot next door neighbours, on first encounter one appeared in a fetching pair of short shorts (that was it), I like Melbourne.


Despite all my efforts I have failed to secure a job as yet perhaps my interview on Monday will prove fruitful. I have however received press accreditation for Golden Plains (Meredith) this year, I heart Australia.


My clothes finally arrive on Tuesday after six weeks of living out of backpack full of winter clothes I shall finally be free to wear flimsy summer garments. Fortunately 40 degrees with a great selection of jumpers has lead me to actively dispel the internal myth that anything fashionable vintage wise is hard to come by. With an excellent charity shop next door, clothes being left in piles on the street and garage sales appearing weekly I have been fastidiously stockpiling awaiting the right pair of shoes or cycling shorts to complete the look. I love Brunswick.

Boom Town for Crack Magazine

Friday night and I’m sat outside Milton Keynes train station, it rains as I watch as festival goers arrive and leave, I pick them out easily amongst the sea of trackies and 90’s emo kids. Concrete and glass surrounds, two and a half hours pass and finally a transit van comes hurtling around into the car park and into the bus lane. My suitcase is thrown in the back; a rum and ginger (heavy on the rum) is thrust in my hand and we’re off.


The festival; Boomtown Fair, the location; a field in the grounds of a classical show house built in the 1600’s, now home to Stowe School and a garden centre. We enter through an impressively long drive and there’s an obelisk in the distance. We’re ushered into park behind the Lion’s Den (reggae tent). In the van behind are Tom and Luke from Wales soon to be our wingmen for the weekend. Already a culture has been established, we trade cider for mushrooms and water for, well, other stuff. It’s a good trade and seals our friendship.

We are led into the night, I adopt the customary Friday night policy of getting totally obliterated sans supper, after my losing my mind in a dance tent post The Wurzels, I spend daybreak dry retching in the woods. Wide-eyed and belly aching we head back into town to explore the realities of daylight; failing to recover the brand new coat gifted to Lucy a day ago, she winces.

You can read more of my write up for Crack magazine by clicking here.

Blow the cobwebs away

Our visit to Bath was thwarted by Jane Austin enthusiasts, which had over run the whole town in a once yearly weekend celebration. Poor timing or a subliminal call to visit my second home, after missing our train, purchasing a new single and incurring a hefty taxi charge in the process we finally boarded the train. We sensed the weekend might not necessarily be on the right track, pulling up at a green light, in time for it to turn red. However the moment we hit Temple Meads the sun comes out to greet us, we've left the dreary weather behind. Our first stop St Nick's market, Lucy's flower stall, then over to Arnolfini to catch up with Jess.


I delight myself with the cycle merry go round, easily pleased, all part of Bristol cycle festival.

The beautiful Natalie post pizza, smiles all round

Glen showing us how to roll on a boat, horizontal is good


After polenta chips and delicious pizza in the gallery cafe we began our loop round the harbor, it was a perfect autumn day, we stop off at the Cottage Inn and bask in the sun as we watch the sailing competition. Glen joins us at the Pump House before heading back to the centre via a ferry, being on a boat was the ultimate a holiday vibe, complete with good-looking ticket vendor. Back on the mainland we headed up to Castle Park, stopping off at Boulangerie to stock up on the best vegetarian sausage rolls I know. On a slope near the main walkway we observe a young couple dry humping in plain view, I was confused by chosen the location for said humping, right next to a children's playground, in between a major car park and the centre of town. We sat for a while and observed various reactions of passersby, two elderly ladies, a middle class man, and a family with a little girl, bizarre. Next stop Portland Square for the Bristol Do an excellent little circus themed festival event. Thoroughly entertaining for all ages, we sat on the lawn in St Paul's park as watched two rather talents rope based performances. Heading out of the cozy family festival we hit the frontline of St Paul's, all buzzed up we saw two boys playing with a spade on some common land, we joked, are you doing some gardening? "Nope were burying our pigeon", you couldn't make it up. The Duke was next on the agenda for a cheeky game of pool, alas upstairs had been taken over by a hoe down, a live music session, there were four guitars all going at it, we soaked up some of the sound and headed into the garden for smoking.




Sunday followed on from Saturday night, hung-over, awoken by my phone ringing energetically, we ushered each other into the car and off to Cheddar car boot. Arriving in time to walk to the lake and an take in a sea of stacked up boot tables, we were a tad too late and consoled ourselves with a full english at the Olive Tree. Contented we headed up to the gorge via a steep and rocky path, once at the top my three comrades and I marveled in the view. I miss my walks in the country, it was fantastic to have such a sense of space, with the wind blowing from every direction.


We stood out against the usual walker attire, which isn't necessarily a bad thing

Dimly lit LED

"It ain't the party, it's what you make of it", was certainly a phrase suited to LED, on paper the line-up looked OK, yet it failed to really amount to much. Fortunately I hadn't scraped together the £70 required for a weekend ticket, if I had, I would have been more miffed. I sense the festival was trying to be too many things to too many people and not really hitting the mark, a melting pot of dance sounds does have the potential to work however in this case it didn't. The crowd was a mixed bag of agenda's that clashed in interpretation, nothing seemed to capture my interest, it was low format, easy to the point of basic, save a choice few. Catchphrases aside, the acts which delivered were Aphex Twin (who shone out amongst the rest, Die Antwoord even got in on the act appearing on stage with a microphone) and quite possibly Leftfield - if it wasn't for the leery 40 year olds who felt the only way to show appreciation to the music was to dance with their elbows at right angles to their bodies knocking everything in there path. My female friends weren't able to withstand the bruising and retired to a safe distance (we were already at a perceived safe distance). We did however have an excellent weekend courtesy of the extra help of a house conveniently adjacent to Victoria Park and an amazing host. The post festival parties of which there were many provided the release we had sought all day. I failed to return home all weekend as the vibe was that inclusive. I made my escape late Sunday with the knowledge that my bed’s owner was on route back from Shambala. With a heavy heart I bid goodbye to my fellow temporary housemates and wobbled away on my bicycle.


A blurry picture of Aphex Twin and Die Antwoord, we were dancing collectively at this point, creating a circle of power to ward off the haters.


Friday night's Soulwax, they were meh, down to the sound on the mainstage being SHOCKINGLY poor, that and the fact that their new stuff sounds like their old stuff.


This was also Friday, in fact the first thing we saw, I was mesmerised in by the contrast in height of the two men on stage.


Annie Mac, it started to rain, so went inside, I was surprise by how many people listened to Radio 1, perhaps that was where the problem lay.


Radio 1 listener?


Leftfield, padded protection advised.


Whilst we were in the ridiculously long guestlist queue this girl decided to take off all her clothes (unaware that there were at least a 100 people watching) and take a pee, it brightened our day up somewhat.


Team.


A party we escaped to, the theme was hidden faces.

Booming Marvellous

Last weekend I was in Buckinghamshire, on the grounds of the rather fancy Stowe School attending a ska, reggae and rockabilly festival. Once upon at time it was called Recydrate the West, unfortunately cancelled in 2008 and reborn last year as Boom Town. The boys at Crack magazine very kindly sorted me out with press passes in exchange for wordage, full festival review can be found in the upcoming issue. It was my first time sleeping in a van at a festival a completely different experience. The comfort, space and convenience of being able to chuck anything you want into a vehicle at just rock up holds no bounds. We had three duvets a mattress, four pillows and several parties. We did however fail to stock up on anything other than water and alcohol; save toilet roll and a pot of luminous candy floss (?). Thus spending the weekend trading with fellow van’ners for staples such as bananas and chocolate, this proved to be a great ice-breaker. My friends also managed to both lose their phones, which I managed to recover, making new friends along the way. It was the perfect size to wander around totally at ease in the knowledge that you’re likely to bump into someone you want to hang with, or get picked up by someone from Trojan (and run away).

The Not So Secret Garden Party

Fortunately the lake was still in place, as was the pagoda although this time seriously oversubscribed with a massive wait to get onto (we commando style climbed over the fence one night as the queue was so severe). The events capacity had increased into another large camping field, which had a knock on effect as to the amount of people trying to get into more popular areas - which remained the same size. There were however a growth in tents to counteract this, yet some remained fairly unpopulated throughout. 

The camping crew - Jess, Matt & (new girl) Indi.
Jess calls me at Friday at 9pm, 'I'm inside where are you?' Weeks ago there was talk of her coming, but not a snitch since, needless to say her surpise arrival caused a massive boost in the already positive moral.
Swimming in the lake was monitored this year and was a civilised affair, the weeds ruled the water and had a definite touch of Ophelia about them - although this picture suggests a more comedic element.

Taken about 9am on the Sunday morning, we'd been scaling the den for hours and decided to retire to the comfort of the lawn and the distraction of the impressively loud mobile sound system. Glancing up we note a boy, he's wielding a giant sheep and surreptitiously launches it off the citadel, glorious.

For those unfamiliar the suicide Olympics it's a series of games set around a hill it's aim - to get down the hill quickly and in one piece. My favourite was the use of plastic sheeting, water and fairy liquid creating a giant albeit dangerous slide. We winced as we watched Matt going down in a wheelchair, it's 10am, he's wearing no bottom's and hasn't slept for two days.
A journey into the psychedelic and an daytime passed, we board a rather beautiful 1950's Ferris Wheel.  It's just the three of us, we squeeze into the carriage and the ride begins. This moment suspended in the air high on life, looking out at the world is easily the most paradisiacal of the entire festival. Thank you Secret Garden Party.

Bounce On Over...!

Now that the weariness of three days non-stop mischief in a sunny field of stimulation has diminished slightly; it is time to look forward to the weekend ahead and the joyous events in store. Watch this space for a quick commentary on Secret Garden Party 10 and an even smaller but choice photo edit (I was having TOO much fun to contemplate documenting the occasion).



Saturday brings a very novel experience, my first Jamaican/Nigerian wedding; I wait with baited breath for the visual feast in store. A glimpse into a culture of pattern and colour - the brighter, more flamboyant, the better. Whether the traditional costume or a more modern European influence will play president I do not know. One element I’m more certain about is the foods will undoubtedly represent a rich diversity of continents; the tradition is for many people to arrive with food for the feast.



Although the Wedding will be the main focus of my day it also clashes with two friends birthdays and a friend’s performance, fortunately all three will take place at the same location, Victoria Park, Field Day. The line-up is phenomenal - in fact it will be impossible to see even a fraction of acts that have caught my interest. I guess as with all festivals I will have to go with the flow… Sparks are flying for Mount Kimbie, The Fall, Egyptian Hip Hop and of course the infamous Boom Boom Club and the delightful Kitty Bang Bang.



By now my head is spinning, alas the day ain’t over yet, Arthur and Albert magazine which I’m involved in are holding an incognito fundraiser with live music, free daytime BBQ and post Field Day rave up. Bounce promises to be an extra special event with two nights coming together to deliver a hybrid of party sounds. Further information can also be found here. If you are interested in coming along drop me an email and I can put you on a cheap list.