From Your Own Correspondent. Letters from beyond the rave..
Deadbeat 15
The lateness of this piece is due to the exhausting research that Your Intrepid Reporter has been undertaking - Buddhafield, Secret Garden, Big Green, Broadstairs, all have been thoroughly investigated.
Buddhafield was muddy (sigh) but very relaxed and supportive.
Buddhist joke:
A nirvana-seeker goes into the on-site Pizza shop and says 'Make me one with everything' (Geddit? Wait, there's more...).
The counter-jockey boxes up his supper and asks for seven pounds. Our man gives him a tenner, which disappears into the till. After a couple of minutes the customer says 'Excuse me, mate, but where is my change?'
The counter-jockey replies: 'Change comes from within, my son.'
The Secret Garden was lovely, except for a couple of thorough soakings.
The Smallworld PA has been sounding sweet since we upgraded our battery-pack. We are now using ex-Boeing 747 batteries (we use about three-quarters of a ton of them..). They represent a very good buy, as stringent aerospace maintenance schedules mean that they are replaced (and thus available for scrap prices) while still very much in their prime. As they give up their charge very readily (compared with normal leisure cells), they make the bass end of the PA tighter and more involving. And we ran throughout Glastonbury without a sniff of wind or solar input, so Hurrah! All in all, a case of brilliant recycling.
Isn't it ironic, however, that it is second-hand consumables from the most resource-wasteful industry which now power the lightest-treading live venue?
Overheard at the sound-desk 1:
Daft Customer (having just watched the disembowelling, re-soldering and reassembly of one of the main speakers): "Been fixing the speaker then?"
Soundman: "Yes, all done now. We had to blow a new eprom for it using a candle and a magnifying glass - which was a bit tricky, but we got it sorted..."
Customer: 'Oh really? Well I'm not very good on the technicalities, but well done!"
Overheard at the sound-desk 2:
Same sound engineer, but now it's dawn. A duo is in mid set. Astonishingly, the same muntered punter comes back: "Excuse me, but do you have any clingfilm or bubble wrap?"
Soundman: "Sorry mate, we used it all on the speakers."
We were not in our normal ancient tent - It had gone to the Big Green to await us as there was only a three-day turnaround. Instead we set up in a brand new three-pole Rajistani-style marquee. The tent was lighter inside (albeit very red) and a slightly different shape, but the vibe was the same inside. The walls leaked, though.
The most memorable bit of the whole Secret Garden/Big Green fortnight was the mad take down/drive across England (Huntingdon to Cheddar, across the grain of the main roads) /set up and run, all in less than three days. Pony kept referring to it as 'a military operation', and in my normal helpful way I came up with a new military command to assist in such situations.
It goes like this (assume Sergeant Major Voice): Attennnnnnnnnshun (deficit syndrome)! At which point the entire army mills about, rolls spliffs, loses tools, forgets what they were doing and starts to form impromptu musical groupings.
Despite this sort of help, the wonderful Smallworld team pulled it off. Respect.
The highpoint of the Big Green, for me was The Carnival Collective, who are a brilliant thirty-six piece (I think - I lost count) who filled not only the stage but the first third of our tent. The technical problem was to get the vocals heard over a battery of drums which, between them, were many times more powerful than our PA... we asked for absolutely everything the (now dearly-beloved) battery pack had to offer and then we resorted to magic. Worked thougth. The stress on the sound team was noticeable though, as they spent the rest of the festival walking around in a daze going 'Release the mermaids! Nyerr!" (This last being a pathetic attempt to imitate an electro-mechanical lock-release whilst pressing a thumb on an imaginary button).
Broadstairs was marvellous, one damp day failing to dampen the spirits. The music was wonderful - catch Zoox if ever you can - and the Concert Marquee was equipped with the best-sounding PA I've heard. Your Intrepid Reporter investigated this and quizzed Dave (owner, brilliant sound-tech and all-round Good Guy) about the rig. Among many technical details (I feel you yawning, gentle reader..) was the fact that each side of the stage were four tops and two bass speakers. Each of the tops are driven by two amplifiers. Each of those amplifiers are twice as powerfull as the entire Smallworld PA. Makes you think.
Other highlights included Shooglenifty, who arrived at the last minute after thirteen hours on the road (most of them stuck in a traffic-jam round Birmingham) were onstage in ten minutes thanks to the massed Muscle Team and playing within half an hour. They played a blinding set too. Proper professional.
The Hooden horses are an integral part of Broadstairs Folk Week. With origins in morris dancing, they have been officially banned in the town for hundreds of years since one frightened an old woman to death. They consist of a slightly sinister wooden head with a clicking, string-operated jaw, held up on a the end of a piece of four-by-four by an operator hidden under thin gauze cloak. The horses are mischievous and fun, beloved of generations of children, and at the heart of parades, water-fights and impromptu football games. The irony is that, whilst engaged in the high-jinx (which is, after all, their job) the operators often get smacked in the head by the four-by-four post they are holding. These fellows are portraying sheer frolicsome fun on the outside, but inside they are often bruised and bloodied.
Off to Headcorn for Smallworld 2, always a sad presage of the onset of autumn. But the weather is supposed to be good! Sadly however the strawberries are nearly over.
More (not so) later...
Deadbeat
©Deadbeat2006
The views of the deadbeat diarist are independent of the Seven Dials Directory. His rationale, like his identity, is a mystery and the directory therefore can not accept any responsibility for the diary content. Although it is not expected that he will exceed the bounds of common decency. Fingers crossed!