Festival Diaries
Sunday 24 June
"Go on, I can't go on, I'll go on." - Samuel Beckett
Trevor Lord
Trevor puts some tubes up his nose
18:00 - Trevor Takes a Break
I’ve drunk too much coffee, I'm feeling anxious and having palpitations. And that 'reverse drugs and drink' thing is happening. I don't drink or take drugs, but with so much going on around me, I feel like I'm the one who's out of his head. Le freak, c'est moi.
Sleep? Four low quality hours, not enough by a long way. I need a break. Away from loud music for a while. I head out to the outer fringes of the festival.
Past the Hare Krishna tent, this – as predicted – is much busier than a few days ago. There’s a man in there who's chanted Hare Krishna every day for 35 years, and he looks well very well on it. Great...
Then there’s the Jewish tent, where a Rabbi is speaking in ten minutes. My Great Grandad Fink was Jewish, though he never went to synagogue. I think I’ll pass. The Sonic Forest? It’s not restful – just odd. And gets me thinking about The Singin' Ringin’ Tree. I don’t want to think about that.
I’m really not at all sure about the Cabaret tent. There's a man on stage wearing no shoes, singing about General Pinochet and Marc Bolan – I think he’s claiming they’re the same person. He’s accompanied by someone playing a Theremin. This is getting worse.
You can’t become addicted to oxygen, can you? I don’t want to become an O2 junkie.
Eventually, I stumble into the Lost Vagueness area. This is as far away from the centre as I can go – and I’m not sure if I like the look of it. But at least there are not many people about. I walk in and the first thing I come across is an O2 bar ... could this be the answer? Could a good whack of pure oxygen cheer me up?
You can’t become addicted to oxygen, can you? I don’t want to become an O2 junkie. Selling my body to ambulance drivers just to get anther bottle. Gazing at pictures of its molecular structure; dreaming of my next hit.
I decide I’m being silly. So I hand over my money and stick some rubber tubing up my nose for 5 minutes. And, much to my surprise, I feel a little better. Like I’ve had a couple of hours extra sleep.
I wander back towards the centre, looking forward to seeing Shirley Bassey, maybe with a bit of Dub on the side.
Fat Freddy's Drop
22:00 Rub-a-dub soldier
Shirley Bassey, she’s such a pro – and we love her for it. We roar when she sings ‘Hey Big Spender’, so she sings it twice, ‘cos the tickets are so expensive. A little touch of Las Vegas glamour among the mud, it’s just what we needed.
And I’m feeling a bit 'We'. When Shirley finishes all I want to do is walk, and walk. Listening to the mud, being a face among the many. I don't feel like a zombie any more. Though it’s more than possible that I look like one.
I can’t really settle on music, my ears are tired. Everything sounds too harsh. The Go Team – too harsh. Foreign Beggars – too harsh. Vitalic – much, much, much too harsh (nothing new there then).
Our feet are stuck to the ground. So we just wiggle our arses and throw shapes in the air.
I go to the Jazz World stage, hoping that Amp Fiddler's neo-soul grooves will satisfy. Even that’s too much, the drumming sounding discordant and unrelenting (he’s not, it’s just me).
Face it Trevor – you're knackered. Not unhappy, but spaced on fresh air and lack of sleep. I sit down for an hour, and talk to random people, and don’t worry about what I’m going to write later.
Then I get my wish, some sweet and soulful Dub from New Zealand’s finest, Fat Freddy’s Drop. The audience all seem as ready as I am for something spacious and rich, with horns, and bass and open vocals. Dancing is a little difficult; our feet are stuck to the ground. So we just wiggle our arses and throw shapes in the air, and – for a while – everything is good in the world. And that'll pass, and that's all right, because that's what things do.
Trevor sleeps
01:00 Last One
There’s something clever I want to say. Something to do with how music represents bits of your life and how hearing lots of different bits of music puts you in touch with your past, and ...
And something about faces, about how you carry around lots of faces in your head, of people you’ve loved, or hated, or barely noticed. And when you see lots of faces together you ...
I want to say something about these things. But – to be honest – I’m just too tired to work out what it is. Maybe tomorrow. Good night!
