Last August, I was at a festival (hello #bigfeastival, it was awesome,  I filled in your feedback survey, I’m well up for some free tix this year). Late to the party as ever, this was only my second one. I’ll never forget that first time, summer 2021, towards the end of Covid when things were finally easing up. It was a comparatively small festival, but it was magical. I’ve always loved live music, but this was on another level. I mean, there were still signs everywhere telling us to stand 2 metres apart and yet, here we all were, in a big field, enjoying live music for the first time in 18 months. Those were heady days. 

I don’t know what it is about live music, probably the all-encompassing decibels, it could be the energy from the fans, but you feel the beat of the drums taking over the rhythm of your heart.

Your heartstrings are tugged at by the guitar, sometimes just strumming to the rhythm, sometimes let loose in a flamboyant solo, always intertwined with the vocals to echo, emphasise, and enhance the singer’s voice.The singers, their souls laid bare, take you on an emotional roller coaster as each new song has you in its throes. When you were younger, you knew all the words, you’d shout along tunelessly, it was OK, because you were part of something bigger, everyone around you felt it too. 

Now-a-days, you can no longer call yourself a super fan who knows all the words to every single song. You no longer have the spare bandwidth to acquire, let alone hold onto that much unnecessary data, but you will probably manage to add your voice to the chorus  maybe even the first verse. Sometimes you barely even know the artist let alone the lyrics: you’re there because Middle Child  or Only Daughter begged to be taken to their favourite artists’ gigs. But you don’t mind (as long as it has some sort of tune): live music still inspires awe, and being in a sea of proper fans is still spine-tinglingly electrifying. Ok, that was a bit cheesy, a bit like my music taste! I clearly haven’t missed my vocation as a music journalist.

But this year, on that first evening, I found myself in a tent with a plastic tumbler full of student grade (but fully grown up priced) red would-be wine, being jostled by dozens of people either dancing over-energetically or just pushing their way to the front where a DJ was doing a set. Now, full disclosure, this DJ had charisma, mega stage presence and unbelievable energy, and even played some old school stuff that I knew, and yes, the intense bass vibrations did affect my cardiac rhythm, but… loyal reader, I felt old. After an hour (I’d given that red stuff plenty of time to kick in, to no avail) I had to leave. My clubbing years are, and should remain ancient history! 

I did get to capture the festival vibe though. Wandering through those fields with friends that I could converse with now that the background noise was mostly the happy shrieks of people on terrifying fairground rides and the muffled sound of music from various festival venues, I got into the party spirit.

The following evening (after it had rained all day, in true bank holiday tradition) we donned our wellies and aimed for the main stage for the live gig. It was weirdly extraordinary. A full orchestra was playing a whole bunch of 90s dance tracks. They’d kept the drums and the singers but had managed to replace the electronic music component with 20 strings and as many wind  and brass instruments. It did all combine to create an interesting and strangely mesmerising ensemble. But I couldn’t work out if, being the age I am, I liked the proper instruments (vs the electronic replicas I’d grown up with) or if, being as old as I am, I pitied the orchestra players for having to dumb themselves down from playing proper complex classical scores to this rather simpler one. Mostly the former, I think. I kinda like the resurgence of traditional instruments.

Having said that, I’m a sucker for the traditional four or five piece classic rock/pop band with a couple of guitars (at least one bass), maybe a keyboard, an enthusiastic drummer and a singer. This was the setup for the headline act, Snow Patrol, and it was hard to beat. It’s probably just me getting old but there’s no need to reinvent the wheel! Although, talking of old, my ancient legs had plenty to say about my three consecutive evenings spent gallivanting in fields! (I forgive them: they’ve stood the test of time, they’ve been a great support to me, they’ve stood me in good stead…)

If I’m harping on endlessly about my advanced age, it’s because I just changed decade,  always a bit of a doozy… but it’ll be fine! I mean, sure, I have to get my head around where all the years went, and why they disappeared so fast, but they say we get happier after the big five oh, and I think it might be true.  I worry, of course, about  becoming invisible,  but I suspect I’ll adapt and you’ll hear me coming; no filters, no apologies, no holds barred! Nevertheless, I’ve promised myself (and my kids) that I’d remain willfully optimistic and never idealise the good old bad old days. That won’t be too hard – I was always dreadful at map-reading and I kinda depend on the Internet. Optimism and regular injections of live music will keep my inner grumpy old lady in check, as will festivals. I’ll just avoid the cool clubbing tent. I was never cool. At my age, I no longer have to try! Who knows, maybe the wonderful,  family friendly #bigfeastival will need an on-call midwife this year. Yes please,  I’d love to!