Three festivals every week for a year. MARK GRAHAMgets vibed at Knockanstockan
I’VE never done it, but I’ve met people who have and they swear they had much more fun than usual. Some people would get stroppy if they found out about it because they wouldn’t dream of doing it themselves. It probably happened the first time due to drink or maybe even drugs, but I’ve found that those who’ve tried it once usually do it again. Would you go to a music festival and stay in the campsite? You probably know people who have; and they more than likely had a ball. Do the bands playing at a festival determine how good it is? It’s part of it, but it’s nowhere near the whole scéal.
Last weekend I was taken by the atmosphere at Knockanstockan, at Blessington Lakes, Co Wicklow. I could try and tell you what band played when, what they were wearing, what their influences are, how many songs they played and if the crowd approved or not, but that doesn’t cover everything a festival is about (and I don’t know much of that stuff anyway). What I can tell you is that there was a healthier than usual sprinkling of dogs and dreadlocks at the gig. Not so many as to make you think you were at a Damien Marley gig at Crufts, but an above average sprinkling of Rastas and retrievers. Standing next to a damp crusty who smells like a smoked rasher in a packet of brown hula-hoops while a muddy terrier rides your leg is not ideal while watching a band, but their presence points to something important. It probably means that the organisers are pretty chilled about the standard rules and regulations. I would be willing to bet that if you can bring in a basset hound, you’re probably going to be allowed bring in your own beer too.
The Rasta fraternity could beat bloodhounds when it comes to sniffing out serious sessions. The greater their number the more likely the gig is to be less commercial, have a more earthy ethos, have less mainstream and more edgy entertainment and possibly a more efficacious range of procurable intoxicants than your average fling in a field. After I heard a bark and caught a glimpse of matted mane or two, I had a Ronnie Whelan that Knockanstockan would produce the goods.
The crowd you’re with and the like-minded loo-laas you rub shoulders with are what really set off a festival. Certain bands, the selection of sideshows and the vibe all attract a certain type of crowd. Those who get stuck in the campsite all weekend have a scream because they’re amongst friends and they probably meet similar simians stumbling through the guy-ropes who turn out to be soul-mates.
I really enjoyed Forbidden Fruit earlier in the summer in Kilmainham; the music was top-shelf and the crowd was uber-hip. Unfortunately, elements of the uber-hip rarely enjoy themselves with the unselfconscious, feckless abandon and whole-hearted honesty that was on display at Knockanstockan last weekend. Whatever your preference for a party in a páirc, we’re lucky enough to have a ridiculous range of them to suit every taste. I suggest a balanced diet of high-fibre choons combined with aerobics in the mud.
This weekend I’m getting that familiar FOMO feeling. Castlepalooza, Liss Ard and Indiependence are all offering a different twist on the festival experience. Higher, middle and middle to low-brow bashes (I’ll let you sort them into order yourself). I can’t choose between them, so I’m going to all three. I’ll be playing at Indiependence late on Sunday night with King Kong Company, so if I’ve been mean about your favourite band or festival, this is your chance to throw abuse and putrid plums. I’m also going to be a judge at the Irish Scarecrow Championships in Durrow. Guess which one I’m most excited about.
Safe travels, don’t die.
* ayearoffestivalsinireland. com
