22 July - Festival & Old timers
Gosh, that time of year… a festival on the beach. I may have missed Sonar in Barcelona but never too late for Benicassim in Valencia. It seems to attract a more gorgeous type of festival goer from Glastonbury. Clearly they are mostly Spanish, hence, attractive. Plus no need for wellies which only look good on Kate Moss and even then only if she makes sure to wear very little else with them. However, Glasto it isn’t despite the descriptions I’ve read in the Guardian and NME. I should know that everything gets spinned but it’s easy to fall for the spin. I’m struggling to find the vibe of the place (the town itself is v. ugly though clean and stretching for miles, in fact it’s not a town, it’s just a Med beach. Mol is very pleased we’ve got the nearest hotel to the festival site thus saving on the traipsing to and fro, but this becomes a nightmare when we realise how well sound travels and I’m awake on night #1 hearing the Scissors Sisters set at 3am. Yep, I kind of knew bands went on late but not really given it any thought.
The next day we join in and there’s the famed backstage swimming pool. We think it’s fine for Pete Docherty and Chantelle but not for us ladies, especially as later on in the night Anneka spots floating condoms in it. Anneka is six months' pregnant and keeping up wiht us splendidly. What a picture of health! Though she's straining at the leash to have a sneaky fag. Tremendous good example to us all. Shame she can't sleep with the air con on and thus I feel like a pizza going into an oven everytime I go to bed. Wonder if the vapours will feel this way? At this age in a ladiee’s life, it becomes also increasingly difficult to leave the sanctuary of backstage and TV screens to actually go and be bothered to watch the performances from the audience. In fact, any foray I make, I last ten minutes and I return. It gets even worse as thanks to various associates and friends of, we watch some of the headliners from the safe confines of side of stage. Which is fun for a while, darn, wish it was me that the 30,000 are cheering but it’s Alex Kaprano instead. Backstage one can also indulge in collecting gossip – it was not that interesting after a while, surely everybody knows that Dave Gahan and Fletch in Depeche Mode hate each other or that DG has two buddies to whisk him away after a show and before he gets tempted by a drink? Or that Moby is a prima donna arsehole? Thought so. Backstage is also where you don’t really have to go fetch anything. There seems to be an officially sanctioned drug peddler woman, v. attractive, and considering the lateness we are required to prop our eyeballs open until, it so happens that one accepts what’s on offer. And lives to regret it. Mostly a case of ‘didn’t read the label officer’. Did we have fun? NO. Did we dance for hours? NO. Did we get into incredibly interesting conversations with new people? NO. We practically appeared to be two doughnuts lieying on fake grass and staring at the sky (not that different from usual sky). For toooooo long. The following day, many many hours into an ordeal of sleeplessness (as you know for every hour awake at 3am, sleep then doesn’t come when you wish for it at f kking 8am!!!) we get told a) ‘You put how much into your bottle of water? What ??????? half a bag? You’re mad! It’s meant to be something you dab at’ - and b) everybody knows that chemicals in Spain are so much stronger than in the UK’ THANKS! Where were you? As it happens a small amount of sensibleness has been acquired to reach 42.5 years (yes, not had a b’day since this blog started, have you noticed?) and I refrained from adding the remaining half bag when at 2am I thought this shit is not working, let’s add some more. No, something made me stop. Possibly enjoying the 2Many DJ’s set too much.
Anyway, the following evening as I plan to exchange the remains of the evil crystals for … I don’t know? A veggie kebab perhaps? I can no longer find it in my small festival handbag. This is tragic as it’s here somewhere and if I forget about it, customs will find it. Plus, I now have several musicians monsters totally unfazed by my ordeal, wanting to get their mitts on said sub. No, can’t find it, and so one has to be bored through a Placebo set in order to get to the wonderful dEUS's one enjoyed in the company of Mr CP and his handsome sidekick Dirk (I spend all night trying to come up with another Dirk apart from that actor and the guy in Adam Ant's song. The following day the baggie will be found lying in full view on the bedside table but then again, the Spanish chambermaids must know that this is the latest botox or something.
All I can say is tk god for the hotel shaded gardens and excellent pool. Made recovery a more pleasant experience than a field somewhere in Dorset.
Reasons to be grateful you go out with someone of a similar age… during Depeche’s gig Toph and I trade lyrics back and forth. ‘All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms’. To which he replies ‘Words are very unnecessary’. Aahh, poetry.
And during Echo & the Bunnymen’s set, I text him to remind me ''How does Villiers Terrace go?'(possibly not the title? At some point I knew them all) and he comes back with the opening lines. Sweet. On day #4, the 19 year old girlfriend of the 20 year old son of one of Madness maintains she has never heard of Depeche Mode. Naturally. I am however reminded of the fact that some of my fastest friendships date back to the days where I met these 4 girls who had travelled to London to go stalk DM in fact. All the way to Basildon camped outside the bands’ mum’s homes. I was of course scornful, preferring more sophisticated (at least verbally) songwriters, such as The Pop Group or Scritti Politti. None of that matters now, the friendships remain, though some are lapsed to communicating once a year as I truly have nothing much in common anymore with one who lives in a small town, has kids and is not working and is married to a garage mechanic. A fair cry from her first choice, the bass player in Simple Minds I think, but happier probably. What was his name??? Can sort of picture his dyed blond hair... Derek something? Am trying not to resort to internet.
The next day we join in and there’s the famed backstage swimming pool. We think it’s fine for Pete Docherty and Chantelle but not for us ladies, especially as later on in the night Anneka spots floating condoms in it. Anneka is six months' pregnant and keeping up wiht us splendidly. What a picture of health! Though she's straining at the leash to have a sneaky fag. Tremendous good example to us all. Shame she can't sleep with the air con on and thus I feel like a pizza going into an oven everytime I go to bed. Wonder if the vapours will feel this way? At this age in a ladiee’s life, it becomes also increasingly difficult to leave the sanctuary of backstage and TV screens to actually go and be bothered to watch the performances from the audience. In fact, any foray I make, I last ten minutes and I return. It gets even worse as thanks to various associates and friends of, we watch some of the headliners from the safe confines of side of stage. Which is fun for a while, darn, wish it was me that the 30,000 are cheering but it’s Alex Kaprano instead. Backstage one can also indulge in collecting gossip – it was not that interesting after a while, surely everybody knows that Dave Gahan and Fletch in Depeche Mode hate each other or that DG has two buddies to whisk him away after a show and before he gets tempted by a drink? Or that Moby is a prima donna arsehole? Thought so. Backstage is also where you don’t really have to go fetch anything. There seems to be an officially sanctioned drug peddler woman, v. attractive, and considering the lateness we are required to prop our eyeballs open until, it so happens that one accepts what’s on offer. And lives to regret it. Mostly a case of ‘didn’t read the label officer’. Did we have fun? NO. Did we dance for hours? NO. Did we get into incredibly interesting conversations with new people? NO. We practically appeared to be two doughnuts lieying on fake grass and staring at the sky (not that different from usual sky). For toooooo long. The following day, many many hours into an ordeal of sleeplessness (as you know for every hour awake at 3am, sleep then doesn’t come when you wish for it at f kking 8am!!!) we get told a) ‘You put how much into your bottle of water? What ??????? half a bag? You’re mad! It’s meant to be something you dab at’ - and b) everybody knows that chemicals in Spain are so much stronger than in the UK’ THANKS! Where were you? As it happens a small amount of sensibleness has been acquired to reach 42.5 years (yes, not had a b’day since this blog started, have you noticed?) and I refrained from adding the remaining half bag when at 2am I thought this shit is not working, let’s add some more. No, something made me stop. Possibly enjoying the 2Many DJ’s set too much.
Anyway, the following evening as I plan to exchange the remains of the evil crystals for … I don’t know? A veggie kebab perhaps? I can no longer find it in my small festival handbag. This is tragic as it’s here somewhere and if I forget about it, customs will find it. Plus, I now have several musicians monsters totally unfazed by my ordeal, wanting to get their mitts on said sub. No, can’t find it, and so one has to be bored through a Placebo set in order to get to the wonderful dEUS's one enjoyed in the company of Mr CP and his handsome sidekick Dirk (I spend all night trying to come up with another Dirk apart from that actor and the guy in Adam Ant's song. The following day the baggie will be found lying in full view on the bedside table but then again, the Spanish chambermaids must know that this is the latest botox or something.
All I can say is tk god for the hotel shaded gardens and excellent pool. Made recovery a more pleasant experience than a field somewhere in Dorset.
Reasons to be grateful you go out with someone of a similar age… during Depeche’s gig Toph and I trade lyrics back and forth. ‘All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms’. To which he replies ‘Words are very unnecessary’. Aahh, poetry.
And during Echo & the Bunnymen’s set, I text him to remind me ''How does Villiers Terrace go?'(possibly not the title? At some point I knew them all) and he comes back with the opening lines. Sweet. On day #4, the 19 year old girlfriend of the 20 year old son of one of Madness maintains she has never heard of Depeche Mode. Naturally. I am however reminded of the fact that some of my fastest friendships date back to the days where I met these 4 girls who had travelled to London to go stalk DM in fact. All the way to Basildon camped outside the bands’ mum’s homes. I was of course scornful, preferring more sophisticated (at least verbally) songwriters, such as The Pop Group or Scritti Politti. None of that matters now, the friendships remain, though some are lapsed to communicating once a year as I truly have nothing much in common anymore with one who lives in a small town, has kids and is not working and is married to a garage mechanic. A fair cry from her first choice, the bass player in Simple Minds I think, but happier probably. What was his name??? Can sort of picture his dyed blond hair... Derek something? Am trying not to resort to internet.
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 6:10 AM
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