Dear summer festival attendees,
As an avid and long-time music festival-goer, I have, in recent times noticed a shift in the clientele frequenting music festivals. Music festivals used to be not just great value for money, but a whole experience, a getaway, an opportunity to be immersed in brilliant music with friends, nature and your choice of substance. A chilled out environment that people from Australia and around the world would flock to inhabit. A cohesive headspace, where everyone has the same goal and true infatuation: great music. After my latest stint at Falls Festival in Lorne and cemented by the 2013 Big Day Out, I fear that this has died.
Long gone are the chill vibes of Falls. It has been infested by the most insufferable of vermin. The festival dickhead.
The festival dickhead has become an epidemic. It was only a matter of time given the nauseating over saturation of music festivals in Australia. In the same way mosquitoes flourish in monsoon season, a monsoon of sweltering cesspools of loud sounds, overpriced canned alcohol, unregistered food trucks and dirt have created the optimal environment for these creatures to congregate.
How does one spot the festival dickhead? Unfortunately, the persistent animals are difficult to avoid. Festival dickheads are often identifiable by a certain level of intoxication. They have bleary eyes that uncannily focus at the mention of Flume or Macklemore. The most common male coat is the wifebeater with faded short shorts rolled at the cuff. They may be found in fluorescent clothing, argyle knits, or khaki, and be very wary of trucker hats. Not to be mistaken for the hipster, these ‘dickhead’ creatures adopt articles of hipster attire in order to blend into their surroundings.
The female adopts a more flamboyant plumage. You can spot them by their somewhat offensive native American Cheiftan headdresses, glowing flower crowns or felt granny hats, filled with the zombie girl spirit of Lana Del Rey. They dance in a daze, like they’re directing traffic underwater. They congregate in tiny, sparkly clusters, worming their way through the tight crowd and shirking off people’s annoyance with the occasional giggle.
I attended Bombay Bicycle Club’s set at Falls, unaware that I might encounter the pest. Amidst what anyone might assume to be a relaxed crowd, I was attacked, bowled into by an incredibly tall, intoxicated ‘dickhead’ who looked astoundingly like the stoner meme guy. He had a sweaty friend. The two of them worked in tandem to piss everyone off as much as humanly (or animally) possible. They pushed and shoved until the sea of spectators bowed like dominoes, tried to climb on shoulders, including those of little 5”5 me, and continually gassed me with UDL soaked breath.
This summer festival season, and in the wake of the latest Hottest 100, something strange has happened to the alternative music scene. We’ve just toppled over the precipice. This shit went properly mainstream. Everyone wants a piece of festival action now, and people will pour into the once unheard-of Laneway Festival in thongs and chinos to watch a 19 year old play with his MacBook.
Festivals have always been about the combination of music, people and atmosphere. To all those currently poisoning that atmosphere with their ignorant and obnoxious smog, please cease before you kill the delicate ecosystem that is the music festival.
Sincerely,
The festival believer.
