Shambala 2008

United Kingdom | | 29 August 2008

August Bank holiday often leaves you spoilt for choice but for the last couple of years the only sensible option for me has been Shambala festival. More than Glastonbury, this festival has become a Mecca for me and my friends to come together, get suitably intoxicated, have memorable and lasting experiences, and massive amounts of fun.

It fits that the rest of my review shouldn’t be a generic band shuffle - but rather a holistic, personal and mashed up set of dispatches from the festival field.

Landing

We land in the car park. Ushered into our space by a team of the most efficient and friendly parking attendants I’ve ever experienced. We walk in fully laden to the check-in desk which is, literally, a check-in desk, run by Shamair. Air Hostesses check our tickets, give us a drink and sell us a programme. We’re slightly freaked out when they ask us to run our baggage through the X-Ray machine, as we’ve already stocked up in duty free. But we needn’t have worried, Roses (our new neighbour who offers us a hot toddy as we set up camp), says it’s really funny. She’s meeting her friend at the gate to make sure she gets X-Ray’d too.

Friends

Shambala makes you feel like everyone is connected; and I don’t mean this in a far out hippy manner. Emerging in 1999, the festival has grown from a group of five friends and word has very much travelled by mouth ever since. Okay so the internet has obviously helped but the best recommendation still comes from your mates. This doesn’t mean Shambala is any way elitist - any suggestion of a closed circle is negated by complete strangers’ friendliness.

Kids

As my new friend Brett points out on Sunday night “Kids run this place.” I reckon he’s right. They almost definitely seem to equal, if not outnumber, the adults. And actually they’re the ones hurtling around absorbing the atmosphere, whilst their parents are onto their third hash cake. For the most part it’s a delight; the advantage of a kids friendly festival is you look at everything with their wonder. Just one small gripe is when that energy becomes exhausted. The Sunday morning tantrum was a new experience for me, parents at close quarters had to tell Reuben off for hitting Agnathea. And Toby was just “bored.”

Woodland Wilderness

My abiding memory is of a star shape sculpture hanging from the trees, extending from each of its five digits (which eerily resemble skeleton fingers) are ropes which you pull and it makes an otherworldly noise and sets off a series of flashing lights. We’re all standing by tugging away at the ropes when a girl comes along and puts her entire body weight into the sculpture and snaps it. She runs off and the lights stop working.

Music

Shambala isn’t a music festival, in fact in many ways I don’t care for bands these days. There’s too many of them, and chances are by the time it gets to August I’ve seen who I’ve wanted to see - and a fair few I don’t care for, too many times (Roisin Murphy robot walks to mind). So Friday’s musical entertainment was provided by a reassuringly retro knees-up from The Beat. But it’s more about making a party than snuggling up to old favourites. Half the crowd cheers when they ask who’s from Birmingham. Half the crowd cheers when nine piece Bristol band Substatic ask the same with regards to their city. There are plenty of great DJs in the smaller tents including Birmingham’s Boogie Dave and Different Drummer’s Adam Regan with Bristol’s Jon Kennard and even Smith And Mighty in the Dome. One slight complaint with S&M is that it descends into Bassline House, to which DJ Rubbish and Cassette Boy are also guilty. It seems that some DJs want to prove themselves to the kids. One sound which is also ubiquitous but much more welcome is that of world music – from the Israeli funk of The Apples, the newly African infused Nizlopi to the catchy Ghanian rhythms of Hélélé to the sweet vocals of Jamaica’s Horace Andy. Closing act Smerin’s Anti-social Club are actually anything but anti-social and they seem to cover a bit of everything and invite some friends who performed throughout the weekend to see us off.

Art

On Saturday morning we wander over to see the commissioned graffiti. Bristol’s Sickboy has made a massive 3D version of one of his signature mushrooms. Birmingham’s Beat 13 and Glen Anderson’s piece are suitably psychedelic. And South Africa’s Faith 47 pulls up a thought provoking message.

Rebel Soul

By the Rebel Soul tent I’m reading a board on British atrocities throughout the decades when I fall into a conversation with a pleasant chap. We chat the usual “Bush is a wanker” and slowly fit the conversation to our own lives. He finishes with “I always love Shambala you always go home and think life can actually be better.”

The Moment

It’s Saturday night. We’ve found a café, a solid structure that resembles a Victorian restaurant with a sense of festival. Upstairs a covered area over-looks a good stretch of the site and on the hill in the distance psychedelic lights are being projected off the stately home which overlooks the festival. In front of house is a lake with people relaxing on a man made beach. In front of us people are huddled around small tree trunks a carpenter has carved so they burn from the inside. The café doesn’t sell booze except with a meal but we’ve managed to buy a liquor hot chocolate. We hear a round of applause and look down to see about 30 fire lanterns being released to the stars.

by Dan Davies