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We reached the Wickerman festival late one Thursday evening, getting sniffed and checked for drugs, in which we had none. What we did have was ten tonnes of baggage, a whole load of rum and a ridiculous pink pop-up tent, with a handle that assumed you were ten-feet tall with bear paws and an eagle's grip to carry the damn thing. We got lost in Kirkcudbright, after weaving in and out of unassuming pedestrians, to find there wasn't a bus. We cursed the Gods, called a relatively cheap taxi service that politely drove us to the location.
Wickerman festival is situated in a small, almost dead corner of South West Scotland, the nearest place being a small village called Dundrennan, which the taxi driver noted had a run-down closed-up pub that hadn't been used for several years. I wondered what ominous past-times the locals did without the demon drink to blur their minds. I raised my eyebrows and wished the driver to step on it, as surely we were in dangerous territory. Cannibalism, I thought. I shuddered.
Suddenly, after weaving through trees and lush green land, over hills and down them, we came across fellow travellers. Grass quickly turned into dust as we were turned into the pick-up point by Stewards in flourescent yellow jackets. I thought about what I was going to do with the time. My only intention with this was for the free tickets alone, and the premise of getting as gassed as I could over the period of 3 days. I wondered what horrors I would come across.
Wickerman prides itself as a family orientated festival. There are risks made by putting thousands of people in a compound designed for fun; drugs will inevitably appear, some people will lose it under alcohol and fights will break out. However there was a high security presence, many helpful stewards and a few police officers to keep the small potential threat of anything breaking out under wraps. I felt strangely fine. It didn't dampen the mood - it made you reassured that there was always help when you needed it.
When we passed the entrance and the check, we headed to a tent in the distance to sign up to press. There was a moment of raw tension as a man went over the press list at least ten times until he found our names. And then we were in. Hired freaks. We headed to the press area like Kings.
We tented in the 'loud & late' camping area, surrounded by large groups of guitar wielding veterans to young teenage girls and boys camping out at their first festival. Glass is banned at the Wickerman, so all drinks must be in plastic bottles or pouches. My photographer had vodka in a bag. I never knew that existed. People drank around, very rarely weirdos were walking around looking for pills, or weed, but it still happened. Most kids seemed oblivious to this, but there's a designated 'quiet camping area' up near the top of the hill. It's recommended; the Loud & Late area was a blast, and pretty safe, though unfortunately there is always the chance that people can take it too far.
Over the course of the weekend, the camping area got busier with new people arriving, and harder to maintain in regards to toilet facilities and litter... I found that there was at least one clean toilet available, and they did get cleaned quite often. Some were disgusting.
The camping areas were separate from the main arena, where everything happens, and I was always checked before entering. The main arena had the Summerisle stage (the main stage), the Scooter tent (like a big circus top), traders, amusements and a big bar. It also had acoustic village, with a children's area beside that, and what I like to call the 'club' tents and Axis Sound system.
Depending on the time, security was sometimes quite lax getting into the main arena - I would get patted down before entering the main arena, and other times I would just have the guy touch my bag lightly and let me through. It's kind of silly not being able to bring bottled alcohol into the main arena, since you can buy it inside with tokens that cost a bomb. Bring your own food and alcohol, since festival prices are always expensive, and this one is no different.
The carnival rides always seem to have some brave souls on them, for whatever insane reasons I'll never understand. And the various stalls were each inviting, with always friendly people working behind them. They sold everything from novelty masks to socks and underpants, with a few charities like the Red Cross tented up.
The Axis Sound System tent was an invaluable addition to the festival, as were the packed dance tents. The Axis Sound System tent was used by hula-hoop girls at one point, which was probably the best thing at the festival, if not ever. At night the place was always packed, and the bass could still be heard reverberating in my head at 5am when I was trying to get to sleep. I couldn't imagine the place without that tent. They had a range of DJ's that worked on a rotated basis, notably DJ Huxtable, who I believe was on a 14 hour shift with breaks every few hours.
On Friday we went to check out a few of the acts on the Summerisle stage, in between checking out the arena. Sound of Guns were good, they had swagger. Yasmin seemed a bit damp, and The Noisettes were really popular and a lot better than I thought they would be.
The Hoosiers had a great set, playing just before Echo and the Bunnymen. A lot of people turned up for them. There was no shortage of hits, and plenty of spoken banter with the crowd between songs. Teenage girls seemed to be prevalent at the front, and the weather was still holding up to be a beautiful sunny evening. The sound was clear and pristine, and sounded as perfect as it could get. People sat on picnic blankets, sometimes drinking, sometimes playing with kids. The Hoosiers really left a mark on me as being one of the better family-friendly acts there, and while they kept it light-hearted and fun, they made sure they played with expertise and came over as a strong act.
James headlined the Friday night. I'd never heard of them before, but I noticed at the front that the place was lined with a huge audience right to the back of the field. The first rain had started and it was really beginning to pour. It didn't affect the turn-out. James was really popular, and earned their headline stripes. They came on and played with great sound - we managed to get our shots and get out of there, the place was crazy. It was mission accomplished with that. People seemed to love the band.
We were walking down to the back to recharge batteries when the sound suddenly began to mess up. Fragments of vocals, guitar and bass cut out almost every few seconds. The rain must have affected one of the speakers, and James continued through the set as far as I can remember like this. They played 'Out of Frustration', which was ironic, considering how frustrating it was to listen to. I don't know whether they could have stopped for five minutes for some technical wizardry, or whether it couldn't be helped; but James continued as it was - whether it was a case of 'the show must go on' or 'I just want to go back to my hotel' I really don't know. We decided to leave with a few others but the majority stayed put and apparently had a great night regardless of the sound problems.
We went from being drunk with cameras to just getting more drunk. My photographer friend had bagged all the shots he needed for the night, while I was just constantly half-gassed, like a professional journalist should be to report on these events.
We checked out the bass camp, consisting of the Em-It tent and the Skiddle tent, which were both packed full of fellow crazy arm-wavers by this time of night, before going outside for a breather and accidentally pushing over a heavy wooden board on three people to cries of rage.
There were plenty of nice looking girls about, but I was still hurting from a recent break-up. I'm not a 'sex in a tent' kind of guy. For a single male though, there was no drought of poon. The ambiguity of who was 'of age' was a bit bizarre, and I could hear this sinister Yorkshire man that looked like David Baddiel offer a 14-year old idiot girl drugs. I wanted to punch him. Then I semi-fell in love with a photographer's girlfriend, who turned out to be 17. I felt so dirty. I asked if she smoked ganja to freak her out for a laugh, I felt like a right bastard. Those poor innocent bambi eyes.
On Saturday we did the same thing of walking around, sitting out drinking in the Sun, and it felt good. I lived on burgers that were surprisingly nice from a food van next to the main arena entrance. The Sun was blazing down, and everything that got soaked from the last night's downpour was already dry by noon. I had to put on Sunscreen - like many people, I ended up getting Sun burnt, because half of the sunscreen ended up in my eyes.
One of the stand-out acts during the day that I was impressed with while I was half-blind were More Than Jim, a ska band from Annan that were playing in the Scooter tent. They should have been playing out in the Sun, as that was the kind of Summer-y music you would expect to hear outside. Kids especially liked 'Monkey Man' and the brass sound and the band's impressive energy. It felt strange that they were in a tent in the dark, when it was so bright outside. I'd personally have put them outside on the sunny main stage during the day.
A sound guy on stage checking cables before the Pigeon Detectives came on asked us if it was true that the singer Amy Winehouse was dead. It was. News about her death spread around the area and it felt a bit strange. News also spread about the Norway disaster, which was a whole load worse. I couldn't believe it; I tried to forget about it, but it was on my mind for a while. What a deeply sad situation that was in the midst of all the fun we were having.
The Pigeon Detectives made sure the photographers at the front got soaked in plenty of beer as the lead singer Matt Bowman sprayed a bottle of water into the crowd, getting a retaliation strike of about a thousand litres of booze, what I hope was beer.. a tonne of people showed up for them, and the Pigeon Detectives were a success. There was plenty of mic swinging and ridiculous amounts of sprayed liquid and that seemed to work, as well as catchy beats and Summery indie vibes.
Next up was the Coral. The one thing I noticed about The Coral when they got on stage was that they meant business. They came on with grim, clever faces, stood still through-out most of their set but brought out the most professional sound. They came across as master craftsmen, giving us the feeling we were in good hands. Much to my joy they covered a Beatles song, which I knew all the words to at the time, but stupidly can't recall. Because most of the acts were either old or a bit obscure, it was good to have a more commercial act to give the festival an edge. They were excellent.
Feeder was the only band that I really wanted to see, and they came on to the theme of 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' to a huge cheer. The lights dimmed - blue, yellow and purple flashed, followed a wave of overwhelming sound as the band did their thing. I went nuts - so did a lot of others, including the old couple beside us. There were no sound problems like the previous night with James, and the night sky was clear. The Wickerman stood proudly illuminated in the distance, in the far beyond, protected by a ring of stewards. When Feeder played 'Buck Rogers' and finished off with 'Just a Day', I think I almost creamed my pants. They were a heavy act, and felt fully deserving of headliner status.
When Feeder bowed out to rapturous applause, we made our way to the far back to watch the burning. We managed to squeeze our way to the front for photos as the place was completely packed as we arrived. There was a short bagpipe interlude, signifying the tenth anniversary of the festival. Everyone was waiting on it.
The Wickerman has come a long way from such humble beginnings. For so many people to travel to such an obscure part of the country is an impressive act in itself. It felt like a special occasion; even though the Festival doesn't have a set-list to match the likes of T in the Park and Glastonbury, it is evident that the festival is well loved by those that are new and those that have returned every year since it first begun.
The massive 'stag' that was this years Wicker man slowly went up in flames. Silver sparks sprayed from the 'antlers', and giant rockets boomed above, sprinkling the sky in gold. I turned round to see illuminated faces. A man next to me exclaimed that it was the best burning yet, and he was right: the Wickerman festival spared no expense with the pyrotechnics. There was a sense of accomplishment with the entire thing. It was a huge project after all. And that was it. I laughed at the Stewards getting showered in hot embers.
Afterwards we went back to the tent; Craig Charles Funk & Soul Club went on the main stage. AHRITE WICKERMAN, he yelled over the mic. We left.
On Sunday morning we packed up to go. It was sad to say goodbye, but it was also good to go home and get a wash. I had sun burnt lips. The site was due a big clean-up. I was glad I wasn't sticking around for that.
The Wickerman festival provided a fantastic weekend. There were more big names than ever before, and less trouble broke out than I thought there would be - in fact, barely any at all. For a first festival I was highly impressed; and I didn't even have to take any wellies.
The festival may have the power to bring in bigger acts now, but the festival organisers haven't forgotten about the many acts that are virtually unknown, offering then a great opportunity to build a reputation. That, and also the eclectic mix of artists and amusements, coupled with the party atmosphere on the site is what makes it the Wickerman so endurable. As long as people intend to have fun, then there's nothing holding back with what they can do.
Published on 25 July 2011 by HMS420
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