Last week was my fifth year at FIB, and since 2005, it has morphed into something of a Cosa-del-Reading festival.
Though I keep going back, each year the changes seem more pronounced; more British, less Spanish, less exciting line-ups, and the increasing expense of the festival itself. This year however, the festival’s ownership being handed over to the Mean Fiddler group was anything but unnoticeable in every element from the lineup to the prices.
I probably sound like a massive hypocrite, but in my defence, I wouldn’t revisit year-in-year out if I was bitter about everything. The Costa del Azahar is an amazing stretch of coast, Benicassim itself is a small but hip little town, and the festival’s 9 day format is incomparable to muddy weekends in Berkshire.
It’s the three pre-music days of camping which give the festival a unique feel, and this year, one of these happened to be my 22nd birthday; this helped amplify the joyous mood of the week. As for the musc itself, most was enjoyable, though partly dampened by bad weather of all things.
Unashamedly, I enjoyed Oasis, though I’ve seen it all before, they do throw a decent show, and unlike some bands, they predictably but comfortably ’play the hits’ . The crowd of thousands of lager drenched, mostly balding and sunburt early-thirtees Brits may have been something of an eye-sore; but it’s always astounding to see so many people brought together by a group who, though admitedly past their sell-by date, are still able to send the masses into a state of natural [possibly beer-aided] euphoria. It seems incredible that 15 year-old chart hits such as ‘Live Forever’ and ‘Cigarettes & Alcohol’ can still light up a crowd despite unfathomable radio play over the past decade.
On the second night, after some pre-festival drinking, myself and my friends, along with thousands of others headed to the arena only to be met with gale force winds which created something of a makeshift-sandstorm in the arena. Saeed gleefully found a Mojito, and we all went home. I was somewhat unflustered at the missed day of music, though conversely many were severely agitated at Kings of Leon cancelling their slot.
By ‘day two proper’ the festival had resumed; Peaches did her, uh, ‘thing’, and 2ManyDJs kept the beat of the weekend going with their granduous bastard-pop mash-up of everything from Justice and Aphex Twin to Michael Jackson and Lips Inc.
Though some unannounced timetable jiggling on the final night meant I missed Calexico and lost my friends, it was watching TV on the Radio’s part-pseudo-jazz, part-psychedelia thing from the front barrier in a near empty crowd as the sun went down which was pure bliss. Many of their songs’ live re-imaginings rendered them unrecognisable from the album arrangements, particularly with closer ‘Staring at the Sun’ which played out more shoegaze than it’s original minimalist electronic form. After this dreamscape of a set, I wandered over to the Escenario Verde to sympathetically watch the Psychedelic Furs, who recieved neither applause nor appraisal from onlookers despite being entertaining to watch.
There was of course, still time for the other gargantuan band of the week, The Killers, who drew everyone to the main stage for another predictable but pallatable hits-ahoy slot, but it was not until after France’s Rinôçérôse pumped out their strange but cohesive melding of guitar rock and ‘phat bass’ that it all ended.
In retrospect, 9 days flies by quicker than expected, but it was an eventful week. My feet are only just healing from all of the shape-throwing, and it was, of course refreshing to leave the smog-ridden English capital for a short while. Suffice to say, while I’ve always loved FIB, after five consecutive years, now may be the time to find another festival, which has yet to be pillaged by the British Isles.
