Glade 2008

As I sit here thinking about what exactly occurred just under a month ago in a field near reading, I keep returning to the same problem: how to explain what was essentially and indescribable experience in a way that can be comprehended.

I could list the Djs I saw, but that wouldn’t do justice to the experience. I could reel off the recreational ’activities’ that took place, but that, too, can only go so far. For all the sense it made, I thought that perhaps a series of random noises and smells would sum it up best.

However, I am feeling intrepid so I will try my best. It is at first worth clarifying that my memory of it is fairly hazy. I took a disposable camera but when I returned home only nine photos were of anything. The rest were blank. This pretty much says it all.

Glade is, ostensibly, a dance music festival tailored to the psy-trance audience. This description undermines the presence of Jeff Mills, who blew us all away with an astounding two hour set, Dubfire, and Vitalic. Although, Vitalic didn’t show up, which only reiterated my belief that he is an incredibly unreliable DJ. I love OK Cowboy, but having seen him play a pretty ropey set in Brighton, charging the customer £12 for an hour long set, I was bitterly disappointed by his absence. The love affair has well and truly ended.

Well, that’s all the music I can remember. This isn’t going very well. I’m not sure its possible to continue in any meaningful way. To hell with convention. I’m just going to list five or so memories of glade, in no particular order. Perhaps that is the best way to represent Glade festival in words; erratic, incomprehensible and utterly confusing.

1. The food was excellent. I had falafel and it was delicious.
2. There were only 8000 or so attendees. It was incredibly intimate.
3. Imagine that you’re in a children’s nursery rhyme. Then combine this with the sense that you, and everyone around you, are on a quest, charged by some unknown force to walk around, dance, and talk complete shit. That’s Glade.
4. By the morning, I could only describe all music as thus: it sounded like the smell of glue.

I cant continue. I’m really trying but it really isn’t working. Everything was just so surreal. Perhaps its best if I leave you with a brief story.

The setting: Sunday night, the music had finished, and myself and my friend Luke (who had married a stranger in the inflatable chapel earlier in the day) went to the only place open: Granny’s Gaff.
This was a café that sold brandy coffee, whisky tea etc etc. There were deckchairs laid out, and films being projected on a big screen. A giant chessboard on the ground next to me, everyone wearing silver foil heat sheets, like the ones they give to marathon runners.

I spent my time either in the porch of the café, convinced I was on a boat, or sitting on the deckchair, admiring the films being played.

Oh, I almost forgot. Everyone who worked at the café was dressed up like a granny, complete with wig and long dress, and spoke with a croaky and extremely high pitched voice. Hours passed. A Charlie Chaplin silent film was being played. The security arrived, and took all the projection equipment due to excessive noise levels. From a silent film. The volume increased substantially by our protests. A cry was heard. ‘You can suck my balls’. The grannies come deranged partygoers argued with the security guards, maintaining at all times their granny routine. Luke and I left soon after. We found a man playing classical music on an out of tune piano, accompanied by a man banging out a drum ‘n’ bass rhythm using an empty tin of beans and a chair. Some more time passed. A woman sidled over to the drummer and handed him his much deserved crystal meth.

I left, feeling like I had died inside. Oh the humanity.

Well worth going again next year. Maybe I wont lose my mind quite so much next time.

Words: Giles Skerry.