THE FIRST FESTIVAL I EVER went to was Glastonbury ’98. It pissed down. Mud everywhere. I had the time of my life.
On the Friday night, me and my starry-eyed teenage pals started in the new bands tent watching Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci then Ian Brown (both stretching the idea of ‘new’), before marching towards the main stage for Primal Scream. Twenty minutes into what seemed a left-field but excellent set, we realised we’d lost our marbles and were watching Portishead.
The rest of the weekend was more of the same. Brilliant but baffling on every level, all spent with the best friends I’d ever met and all soundtracked by the best music. It ended perfectly on the Sunday afternoon as the clouds broke for the first time and Bob Dylan sang ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’.
Festivals are a rite of passage, an experience like no other and the opportunity to expand your mind and discover new music like nowhere else.
Here’s to festival season.