REVIEW: SECRET GARDEN PARTY 2011
It’s really not that secret anymore, calling it a garden would be a gross understatement and as parties go it’s a pretty big one. If you know your Meatloaf (and god knows you’d better) then you’ll be aware that “Two out of three ain’t bad”, but when it came to epitomising their name Secret Garden Party 2011 couldn’t even fulfil this meagre metric…So, the charming folks behind the festival aren’t that fantastic at nomenclature; what can they do? They can throw a bloody good four day festival in Cambridge with considerable aplomb, which is luckily all that is really required of them.
Since its humble inception in 2004 where 1000 people bumbled around a field, to the 25,000+ who now bumble around a collection of fields bordering a lake, SGP has always had a rep as being a bit special. Trite effusive ramblings of it ‘not being about the music’ have dogged a lot of the column inches written in those last seven years about Huntingdon’s number one event, so I’ll try and steer well clear of that. It’s not just about the music. The rep for all those little extras that make a festival special is richly deserved. Touches like post boxes where you can write a message and a person’s vague description, knowing a team of postmen will try their damnedest to deliver it into the greasy hands of your fated love (possibly). Secret stages hidden through Berlin style photoautomats vie for space with fake graves where you can stage your own funeral. And floating stages in the middle of the lake, accessible only by borrowing (and often capsizing) little rowing boats, add a sprinkling of nautical peril to the proceedings.
We arrived sadly a day late (screw you real world), the rain holding off just long enough to squeeze a tent into a field with no green left visible at all. Plenty of people were playing the classic game of ‘pitch your tent in front of the door of someone else’s tent so they can no longer get in or out’ with much hilarity/fury ensuing.
First stop was the ubiquitous Chai Wallah tent to see UK hiphop stalwarts Rodney P and Skitz, who sucked. Whether it was sound problems or being too blasted to do anything we will never know, but they managed about three half songs in thirty minutes. That is better stats, however, than their special guest Chester P who deigned to do about a minutes shit freestyle in a twenty minute slot.
Rob Da Bank managed to warm the spirits with some eclectic dance music that made dancing in the rain on a floating platform seems just fine. When the following act announced itself as a “wedding DJ” it wasn’t a good sign, and surprisingly White Wedding were pretty shockingly bad. Off we trotted to catch a few minutes of Audio Bullys (middling to fair with a light westerly breeze), before the night became a blur of stage hopping, rain dodging and dark rum mixed with cider.
Saturday’s weather was mercifully dry, if not exactly sweltering, permitting the first proper reccy of the full festival site. It’s great. The lake and woods, while incorporating stages in the own right, break up the area so it never feels too mammoth, yet there is always something new to discover. The healing area, where you can get a naked sauna, is tranquil and inviting, except for when you walk past a laughter yoga workshop while not feeling tip-top. What the fuck are they all laughing at? Me? What’s on my face? TELL ME WHAT’S ON MY FACE! Nothing was on my face, so we moseyed on to the Great Stage (the main one) which is furnished with a raised bank, allowing those less able bodied to sit down and enjoy the ‘fun’ in the form of The Correspondents. One guy ‘playing’ backing tracks and another guy singing and dancing does not a good band make, but the boy sure could dance. He’d even stolen OK GO’s treadmill.
Mylo’s set was fun, if a little indiscriminate from a CD left on between acts (we were quite far away), but it was a nice warm up for Debbie Harry and co. Definitely the first time I have seen a 66 year old woman take to the stage and shout “What’s up motherfuckers?” Despite the palpable groan from the crowd every time she announced “This is one from our new album”, the aging rockers soon launched into their big hits and the crowd were loving it. Could have been a bit louder, though.
The centre piece of the festival, a giant sculpture of a dragonfly that had floated serenely in the centre of the lake for three days hence, was obviously causing some aggro so it was high time to blow it up. Preceded by a launching of thousands of LED balloons and succeeded by a firework display, this pyrotechnical offering had everyone in attendance enthralled, before headliners Leftfield embarked on a brilliant hour and a bit set.
Sunday dawned, and the need for some vitamins led us to drinking smoothies/pond water in the One Taste tent. Here we were lucky to stumble across unsigned Franky and the Jacks, a four piece swing quartet from LDN. Tight playing, great tunes and a harmonica player who looks like Toadfish from Neighbours was exactly what the we were looking for, and evidently so was everybody else as the band were called back for more than one encore. Back to the Great stage for a bit of reggae with David Rodigan in the now blistering sunshine; Rodigan is great fun, but I am sure half of his success is predicated on how much fun ‘Rodigan’ is to say. Go on, try it. Good ey?
As a house music aficionado, Sunday night’s line up of Richy Ahmed & Robert James followed by Jamie Jones & Lee Foss on the Pagoda was what I had been looking forward to, and with the evenings sun it felt like a Miami beach party (sans beach). Giving up the packed floating platform we danced under a nearby willow tree for some four hours while the Hot Creations crew kept things rocking. Absolutely brilliant. Packing ourselves back off to the main stage we caught motown originals Martha Reeves & the Vandellas for the final big act of the weekend, and there soulful grooves were the perfect counterpoint to the gallery of 125bpm we’d just shaken our stuff too.
There was plenty more that happened at SGP 2011 (you haven’t even heard how the Jamaican bobsled team won the dance off!), but alas time grows short. One thing I will say: it’s not just about the music, and some of the bands weren’t even that good. It’s more about four days of the best fun you can have at a brilliantly programmed festival with your mates. I will most definitely be returning.
Words: George Rowe
Photos: George Rowe, Charlie Draycott and Emma Teublar
