Fit For Purpose?

It was 1975 when I last attended a summer music festival so, aware that the format has evolved considerably since those days, I decided that the time was right to catch up. I persuaded my partner (whose experience in the field was zilch) that we should buy weekend passes for Festival No. 6, located in the grounds of the wonderfully picturesque faux village of Portmeirion at the head of Afon Dwyryd estuary, North Wales. It was an easy sell, given the lovely location and the promise of “something for everyone” – poets, comedians and authors, as well as the usual eclectic mix of musicians – and we looked forward to a weekend of leisurely picnics on the grassy banks of the estuary, spiced with wafted music and interspersed with forays into the performance venues.

The weather forecast, unfortunately, proved accurate and the rain fell solidly as we drew into the park-and-ride site. We were directed on to a muddy field (later described by a local as "an officially designated flood-plain") and that was when we began to doubt the infrastructural integrity of the event. Nevertheless, true to our credo that weather conditions should not be allowed to dictate our mood, we boarded the shuttle bus with a positive mind-set and in eager anticipation of the (expensive) smorgasbord of cultural events about to be spread before us. Ultimately, however, we had to admit that it would have been more fun if it had not rained all day: food and drink were taken uncomfortably standing under whatever shelter could be found – any venue that had a roof on it being perpetually rammed full, regardless of suitability or desirability.

Outdoor festivals are, of course, inevitably vulnerable to the elements, though I maintain that more pre-emptive action could have been taken – for example in the form of duck-boards along walkways which were obviously prone to water-logging – and, having learned that the numbers attending were far greater than in the previous year, I suspect that the site was stressed beyond its naturally comfortable capacity. Do I detect a whiff of rampant capitalist greed coming from the direction of the organisers, or is it my 1960’s idealism fogging realistic expectations? It may be a little of each. But my hackles were certainly raised by the blatant and shameless propagation of social elitism as evidenced in the way that accommodation on site was segregated according to means. It's a good idea to provide pre-erected tents for hire, but I would have preferred to see an egalitarian system rather than a mirror of Britain’s appalling housing policy. Whereas the “council” tents were set cheek-by-jowl on a hillside, where sleep must have been impossible without the deployment of velcro-bottomed sleeping bags, the luxurious bell-tents were erected on a spacious, level field. There was even a super-posh campground – the equivalent of a gated community – where security guards checked for possession of the requisite gold wristbands before allowing entry.

Such elitism is anathema to the flower-power generation but, of course, the organisers of No.6 come from a different angle. Whereas festivals based on the Woodstock model have a homogeneous appeal – young people, popular music – and are easily organised to cater for such uncomplicated expectations, multi-discipline events are aimed at audiences of all ages, means and proclivities and must, therefore, provide accordingly. This is not an easy feat to pull off. As any craftsman will attest, a multi-purpose tool will never deliver excellence: to do something well requires specialist knowledge and attention to detail.  And so the next time I feel the urge to go to a festival it will be one dedicated specifically to beer, or jazz, or poetry, or apples. The all-purpose jamboree might just be a trip too far, man.