Consumer Fen 2007
DemonSpawn
Date:
10/04/2007
Oh my word, did I have the strangest experience this weekend... As per tradition (we'll deal with that later) our little family unit, consisting of close friends and their close friends and other people who also used to all frequent the same club, including Coolmac and I, packed our camping gear and set off for our local music festival, Splashy Fen. Now, in '95 when I first went, it was sort-of getting popular, and was still being managed by the owner of the farm. It attracted just under 2000 people, most of whom were aging crusties and younger metalheads looking for some peace and quiet and that good ole mile high experience.
This year, being managed by a 'corporate' and sponsored by a whole plethora of other 'corporates', it attracted close on 10000 people, most of whom were your typical can-afford-the-gadgets types, who enjoy their coke, not the liquid variety, and like to make an impression when out with their friends, in the incongruous neanderthal-ish manner that most drunk, IQ 100-or-so jocks like to do, that being with loud drunken drivel and pack fighting. 12 on one is a good evening, especially if the one is a small helplessly pathetic EMO kid.
Anyway, when the corporates took over and decided to make lots of money out of our beloved music festival, they changed the date, which was normally over the May Day holiday weekend, and set it over the Easter weekend, so more people would come along. They of course conveniently ignored the fact that during early April, it's still raining almost every afternoon, for hours, and the evenings are also rarely dry. So for the last few years, we've had wet, miserable Splashy Fens, instead of dry, pleasantly cold Splashy Fens. This weekend was the worst. I think from Thursday to Monday, we had about 24 hours total dry weather, and the rest of the time, people were bitching about leaky tents, the Big Event Prick, Pedro, and many other small irritations, such as...
The stages were censored during the day. No swearing allowed. This was for the families. Although, at night, when the families were supposedly in their tents, sleeping or even actually listening to the bands, the brilliantly clear accoustics of the valley carried the sounds of "Let's have a fuckin' party, yeah!" all the way across the campsites and into the little childrens' ears, no doubt scarring them for life as they lay awake wondering when the noise would stop.
One muso friend of mine was told before they went on stage not to scare 'their people' away, since the band was heavy, 'their people' being the Celine Dion-loving losers who insisted on bringing their entire estate along with them so they wouldn't have to endure the discomfort of actually having to (gasp) camp in the (gasp) wilderness. Another muso friend of mine also has a fairly heavy band, and they were informed at half past eight in the morning that their set was at nine - half an hour later. The guys were hung as hell, still half-asleep - one guy played in his PJ's - and my connection, the drummer, had to dive for the side of the stage to hurl halfway through the set. He came back and finished off without - pardon the pun - missing a beat, but this is an example of how the festival organ-holders, I mean, organisers were blatantly trying to discourage the metal bands from playing Splashy.
There were a whole bunch of other, interesting little touches that the corporates put out this year, for their intended target market - the fratboys and barbie girls with cash to spend. There was even a tent B&B, at over R1000 per night. You got a tent - erected for you, so you don't have to deal with all those messy and confusing guyropes and pegs and stuff - and a toilet and shower, and breakfast. There was a foofie slide - a really 'exciting' ride. I'm sure the pitch was about 5 degrees and you had to strap in and wear a helmet. Dangerous, oh yes! Spare me! There were a few other arbitrary amusements that rich kids rely on when without their ritelin and PS2 games, and of course, the horse rides. Don't get me started on the state of the horses, or the ethics of their caretakers regarding safety. Suffice it to say that where the foofie slide was idiot-proofed and it was a 30-second experience, the horse-riding was an hour's worth of multiple tragedies waiting to happen. Somehow, nothing did go badly wrong - for the riders at least - but it's generally only a matter of time.
Sadly, the most ironic feature of the weekend was the organisers' announcement that there will henceforth be no more heavy bands booked for the festival, after some trendy chick jumped into a moshpit with a dozen drunk jocks and got her ribs broken. They pulled a lot of the heavy bands' slots there and then, relenting later to re-book certain bands, among others, oh yes, you'll like this, the Christian metal band. Gotta love the double standards, especially when there is fuck-all anyone else can do about it. And the reason they got angry at the metalheads? Of course, some idiot fratboy motherfuckers had to try and be hardcore when all they'll ever be is a bunch of cowards.
I cannot justify going back to Splashy Fen next year to support what the corporate money-grubbers are doing. Our traditions are important. They keep us rooted and remind us where we came from. But when tradition starts becoming a tool for control and oppression, in any way, it's time to abandon it and find a new tradition that reminds us why we are individual, thinking people, and not sheep like the consumers that have taken over Splashy Fen. The event organisers do not want our kind at the festival, that much is clear. They have censored the stage and censored the music, and thus they have censored us.
So we will be organising our own event to coincide with Splashy Fen next year. We will book metal bands and whoever else wants to play, and yes, it may be small, but it'll be friends and family, and the need to make money will take a second place to the enjoyment of music and the good ole mile high. Fuck the corporates, fuck the consumers, fuck the fratboys, and fuck censorship.
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