The heart, soul and mind are a precious commodity in this great arena of life. Times we spend here and there leave jaded track marks on our memory banks for different reasons. Fun and good times are what we try to refer to in the great library of thoughts that is our dear old head. So, as I sit here, avoiding doing any work on what should be a treacherous night shift where my nerves are frayed and my soul aches for a return to the festival scenario that has been played out the country over… All I can do is sit here and smile to myself. The reason for this extraordinary feat? Two words, Boys and Girls… Big Chill.
After taking in the hedonistic and hectic marathon session of wrongness that is Glastonbury and blowing club dance floors to smithereens the country over, it was time for me to take a rest from domestic partying duties and pitch my one man pop-up tent with the platoon of party people that I have become accustomed to getting my festival vibe on with and descend in a convoy of natural pleasures and chemical highs to the plains of Malvern for this years Big Chill festival.
As far as journeys go, this was most comfortable. Not being crammed in the back of a windowless transit van, foggy with the fumes of countless joints and the early morning smell of Stella Artois ala’ Glastonbury, really did my pre festival health the world of good. Instead, a car with space and the sweet mantras being served up by the glorious pre-prepared play list of ipod fodder had me blissed out and together with pre-festival banter, by the time we hit the festival and unloaded life’s bare necessities for the next few days I found myself in rather fine mood.
As I joined the small queue waiting for the gates to a kingdom of fun and good times to open, I noted to myself through the heavy rich tint of my trusty shades that the clouds were a non-existent entity. All that remained was to get in, get set up and have it large, all the time my mind lamenting the eclectic and beautiful line up that I couldn’t wait for my eardrums to gorge on.
After minimal fuss at the gates and some stealthy stashing of required party aides, I was in amongst the gorgeous blend of characters and styles that festivals throw together, as if to create a big jazzy stew of personalities and colours ready to be served up to the disciples of freedom and fun to feast upon. All thoughts of nine to five routines and mundane tasks fade away as the day passes off in a haze of smiles and narcotic induced anticipations, centred on the opportunities the next few days are going to throw up.
Being a people person, a social chameleon and a pilgrim of discovery I relish the chances that are around every corner, to strike up conversations with people we would never come into contact with normally, to push boundaries and to search out exciting times. Life isn’t a boring gig is it? My mind starts to run away in a vapour trail of thought as I drift off into other worlds. Time to lay off the chemicals and get my Supergas into the arena…
By the time I come around, the central area, the focal point for all the fun that is going to be the bread and butter of this fantasy life come-true for four days is a place brooding with the atmosphere that makes festivals such an attractive place for those who want a little more sugar in their bowl from the everyday hardships that we endure in this majestic game that we call everyday life. I’ve certainly got a sweet tooth, believe!
Music pours from every possible vector but I’m strangely drawn to the ‘igloo’ where the music being served up is a rather gorgeous fusion of Disco and Chicago House. I trace this domed temple for that indescribable rush of festival joy as I look and relate to the faces that portray the love and fun, it’s like looking into a room of mirrors and before long my trusty Penfield 60/40 has been dispatched and I’m into it… Right there with everyone else, moving.
No body told me that I was about to meet someone rather spectacular right there in that little temple of hedonistic overthrows but as light sure as follows night and in that magical aurora that festivals conjure… I did indeed meet a rather gorgeous person. I’m sure my moves helped the situation along nicely, but still, As day one of the festival gently rolled into the breaking dawn of day two, my life had already been made that little bit better with the stirling new company I had acquired.
After Thursdays dynamic and explosively good opening, for more reasons than one, Friday was a day that saw two heavyweight contenders for moment of the festival for me. After generally meandering around the area of the Starburst stage awaiting Bristol boys Futureboogie, taking in a set from New York’s Phenomenal Handclap Band in the revellers tent, they finally arrived with Joe 90 and El Harvo serving up the standard sets I have come to love from Bristol’s finest night. As I found my footing and forged a valuable place right there in the centre of the universe, I grooved away, awaiting what was to become one of the best sets I have possibly heard, ever.
Man of the moment and generally cool customer, Tensnake, cut an exceptional figure hovering like a phantom behind the Futureboogie crew, awaiting the savoured position behind the instruments of joy that were the Pioneer 1000 CDJs and Technic 1210s, preparing to send me, along with the rest of the disciples of funked out and electrified Disco into true, galactic heaven. As if the festival gods looked upon this mystical view with pride themselves, every record that Tensake dropped seemed to levitate my soul a few feet more, until I finally peaked and had to call the Fire Service to come and safely get me down from where I found myself dancing, cloud fucking nine.
As if this wasn’t enough, as if the records that were spilling into the vicinity weren’t actually enough then the most appropriate and beautifully timed rainbow came to fruition right then and there, over the horizon. Surely a moment that will live on in all those present during those sixty golden minutes, where nothing else seemed relevant apart from the people who were sharing those mind melting moments with me. A truly epic event, in everyway shape and form.
After all that fun, it was time to rest my body and take a stroll around the rolling fields, packed full of festival sentiments and the smell of exotic Goat curries and Jerk Chicken, the food tenders selling their tantalizing offerings. Along with my new found festival compadrae of igloo fame, an extremely smile and soul tingling set shared with the magnificent Mystery Jets was to become another personal highlight for me. Played out to a backdrop of gorgeous lighting effects and a lake so clear it could have been painted in pure crystal, I couldn’t help but concede that this was quite possibly the most happiest I had been in a long time. All worries and woes seemed a million miles away as a genuinely superb set of tunes selected from the seminal album ‘twenty one’ along with some new material set the Friday night off in spectacular fashion. The Mystery Jets have got it going on. That is all that needs to be said about that!
As another night of ace times fought valiantly to keep the impending daylight at bay, where the present good times turned to fresh inputs of quality memories to be readily added to that big library I wrote so fondly about earlier, Saturday promised to be another feast of music that would tease my feet until I exploded in a plethora of movement, a scene that has become an evident fixture to those that know me and those that don’t. But of course, this is me; this is what I’m about… These are the times that I live for and love. Know that I mean? If you’re an avid reader of Sinister Delicious then you’ll know what tip I’m on.
Saturday soon appeared and feeling a little grimy but amazingly elated at how my Big Chill was panning out, I hit the Arena with high hopes. Catching glimpses of Greg Wilson, spinning his usual journey of soul filled edits and electro funk, Paradiso tent played host to Daniel Wang. I was a little confused at first by his homosexual and overly camp pita-patta on the microphone between spinning original rare disco and other vinyl gems, but he surprisingly added to the light hearted, jovial and smile filled atmosphere that was building inside the tent. His final record was Madonna’s ‘Lucky Star’ which has never sounded so good, fuelling the swelling ranks awaiting Maurice Fulton with glee.
I’ve never seen Maurice Fulton before, but aside from some sketchy mixing early on, his set was another that blew me away. The thing I’ve always found about this sound that I adore so much is that it’s sexy as fuck, deep and forbidding. A perfect soundtrack to get your vibe on too with the right person, something that I was lucky enough to be privileged to of course, in the form of the beauty that had been accompanying me for the past few days. So here’s to you Mr. Fulton, the set you played was perfect, the air was certainly electric that night…Make no mistake.
I am a man of diversity, open mindedness and am always open to new things. However, I was still surprised to find myself at the main stage catching Dub Step dark horse Plastician deliver a late night set of raw, dirty sounds and skeleton rattling bass lines. Although not my preferred choice of sound, I found myself enjoying it, adding to what was becoming the greatest festival I have ever had the privilege of attending.
The thing is with Big Chill is that there is no attitude (apart from the sparse troops of drug dealers that may as well of had luminous puffer jackets on with Narcotics for sale displayed across the back in foot high letters such was their inconspicuousness) But apart from the odd growler or moody teenager trying to act wide to impress his ‘Effy’ Esq. style love conquest, I didn’t encounter any worries or woes for the days I was a temporary resident in the Big Chill town.
Saturday nights ending couldn’t have been written better by Walt Disney himself in my book. After crashing for a break from the dancing and rushing, in the middle of the field, watching life’s precious creatures take to the world their celebrations and performances of glee and togetherness that festivals serve up with readily available seconds, A walk that originally transpired to get some food found its way to a small outside cabin where ‘Team Love’ aka Crazy P and Futureboogie played out the remainder of the night to a crowd worthy of a bigger platform. The records served up were immense and of the highest quality, no need for temporary refuelling just yet, another hours dancing until the first signs of daylight started to cut through the clouds and it was back to the tent for conversations about varied and widened subjects. Big Chill certainly exercises the body and mind in all ways possible, a healthy experience, in all the ways it should be!
If you’re still with me, in what has been a most enjoyable recap of a remarkable and superb time spent with some amazing people, music that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and generally the feeling that I’ve been part of something really, really good… Sunday was a day of relaxation as far as hammering it was concerned.
Without a sip of alcohol passing my lips, I made do with what I knew and ended the festival on a remarkable high, taking in the luscious and soul cleansing lyrics and vocal delights of Alice Russell followed by Jamie Jones and Seth Troxler going at it over the decks with great aplomb like two great soul warriors, making the earth move when dropping Arman Van Heldens, ‘you don’t know me’ with such panache, mid set.
Catching the end of Bonobos’ set was a nice addition to an already unforgettable 4 days and when Zero 7 played the Todd Terje Edit of Chic’s ‘I want your Love’ in what was a varied and eclectic set, I knew I had witnessed a festival that I would pick over Glastonbury any day. I mentioned this to a mate of mine earlier and he said that that was an extremely bold statement to make. However, with the comparisons very much clear in my mind and the overall feeling I have now I know that I fully endorse it.
Glastonbury may have the history but Big Chill has my heart. Along with the memories that I made while sharing four very special days and times with the people that I adore and the new, gorgeous and amazing people that I have met.
Don’t take me back there just yet, I’ll savour the memories... until next year, when those awe inspiring Malvern Hills, come rolling into view once again.
Saul Wilks.
If you look through your respective wardrobes, however vast or small they may be, you will probably see the instantly recognisable Gortex patch adorning one of your prized pieces of outwear, or the oily feel finish of a treasured Waxed Barbour or Filson. However, your eyes should most definitely gaze upon one insignia, attached to an unmistakable material that's synonymous with a host of quality labels.
Whether it's the infamous Albam fisherman's cagoule or the timeless Heritage Research longline parka, British Millerain has been the pallet upon which these magnificent creations have been painted.
'Men who worked at sea a hundred years ago were at the mercy of the rain, wind and waves and often their fragile craft offered little protection from the elements.
These garments, which were usually made from the remains of wind torn sails, were rubbed with linseed oil. They found that when the oil had penetrated the cloth it kept the biting winds and harsh sprays from reaching their skin. This idea of applying finishes to a base fabric was the beginning of generations of waterproof and water resistant fabrics.
A blinding piece of kit for when the weather threatened to turn you into a rather dapper snowman, hopefully the Penfield effort will go towards replacing a quite frankly, un-replaceable bit of clobber and live up to my exceeding expectations.
