A different age, a different setting, and for a different kind of troubadour a distinctly European muster gathers once a year. One town called Werchter (its in Belgium). Two stages. Four unrelentingly sunny days (repeat its in Belgium not the UK). A festival of candour in a chaotic summer schedule.
After arrival and territorial acquisition, like gold rush pioneers, the desirous throngs gathered slowly to the softening light of evening and ebullient beats of French DJ Laurent Garnier. On the Main stage, Oasis’ bombastic larrikins unfurled revered classics, while Liam blustered away. Don’t look back Anger Noel asked of the crowd. No anger, just a wistful longing for the return of the days before more recent paucity. As expectancy rose, headliners and middle-aged mentalists, the Prodigy, lit the proverbial pyre, triggering feverish scenes amongst the exuberant deluge.

Some day later

Next day crowds rose from their island-havens where tents were pitched amongst a coveted canopy of European Pine. Self-contained campsites, complete with all manner of amenity, including giant beer tepee, scene of the endless late night one-for-the-road. Queue-less bars prescribed Hoegarden Rose, that bountiful nectar of recovery. Almost worth, perhaps, the familiar buy-a-ticket-to-buy-a drinks system again present, three types of tickets this time, non-transferable between sites, of course.

The sanguine masses sat appreciatively for Elbow, before climbing into the enthused and grateful palms of Bloc Party. The Killers regaled with stories of Jenny and Mr Brightside, before a closing reminder, in the setting sun, of a time before we were old. In the midsummer night, Coldplay, delivered a rousing sing-a-long, Billy Jean tribute included, before time ran out with Clocks and thousands of paper butterflies fell over the crowd.

Day One a distant memory

Top-less or bikini-ed masses busied themselves like tired ants. A multitude of hats constructed from the growing detritus of beer holders, the latest festival fashion. The avian inspired and lavishly attired Karen O, of the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s, stared out across a sea of sun kissed revellers, from behind a shock of blue war paint. Franz Ferdinand crooned to the chilled masses, relaxing in the grass or gathering for refuge by tiny Oasis (water filled paddling pools not a midget Manchester tribute band). Perennial festival-ers Kings of Leon trooped out sex on fire and Somebody, looking every bit in need of a rest. Finally Belgium’s finest, 2ManyDJs, delivered an spellbinding set including a magical remix of MGMT’s kids, steering the unbridled crowd to its wanton climax, and leaving this little corner of Belgium in peace for another year.

Everyone suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on--on--and out of sight.

“Everyone Sang” by Siegfried Sassoon, 1919











By Simon Owen
Photography by Isabell Schneider