Camp Bestival @ Lulworth Castle, Dorset (18/20.07.08)

Words: Ewan McIntyre

Every once in a while, even the good folk at NARC. need to get away from the sunny North East and see what’s going in ‘down south’. So, this year, in a Cliff style, I packed up my Tesco tent, jumped aboard the NARC. double decker, and headed off to Dorset to sample the joys of warm lager and music at Camp Bestival. 

Like her big brother, Camp Bestival is a boutique festival put together by Rob da Bank. Situated within the idyllic surroundings of Castle Lulworth, it promises to be a different class of festival: family friendly, truly eclectic and not at all like the corporate behemoths that have come to dominate the UK’s overcrowded festival circuit.  

You’d have thought that after organising Bestival over the years, the guys behind CB would be well versed in the art of getting thousands of people on site without too much fuss. But Friday is chaotic. Early arrivals have to wait for hours to get into the car parks and set-up camp; whilst those that arrive later have to settle for camping outside the perimeter fence, without easy access to any facilities. In fact facilities are rather poor; clean enough, but few and far between. And it would be easier to gain access to Belarus than it was to find out how to get a press pass.  

But all that aside, once you get into the venue, you realise that inadequate facilities and a bit of a wait are immaterial. Camp Bestival really is quite special and unique; taking boutique festivals up several levels. From the dressing-up tent to the knitting tent to the large Hi De Hi written in fifteen foot letters in the middle of a field. This is a festival that has been put together with love: a love of music, and of people, and of fun. And this is reflected in the large number of families with kids of all ages. However, if this is a holiday camp, it’s more Centre Parcs than Butlins, given the demographic of the audience – firmly in their thirties, many of whom with their kids in tow.  

Like most people, the first act I caught on Friday was Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip, struggling to keep to the family friendly no swearing policy. They play a great festival set, taking in a cover of Prince’s Cream, with highlight being Letter From God To Man, the Radiohead sample hitting the right chord with an audience either old enough to have bought the Planet Telex first time round, or young enough to have not been born when it came out.  

Friday’s headliner, Chuck Berry looked dapper at a youthful 81. It’s a little strange to see a living legend playing at a UK festival, and not an altogether pleasing experience. His set cut short by the 23:00 curfew on the main Castle Stage, and peppered with the odd bum note, and a heavy reliance on his band.  

Saturday was the strongest day in terms of line-up. And in anticipation, about half the audience has made the effort by coming in an array of impressive fancy dress. However, things don’t kick-off well with Gideon Conn’s childlike funk. But DJ Barry Peters kept things suitably risqué for the family audience with his record bag of eighties atrocities and inappropriately named dancers. But it’s all great fun. 

I’d been really looking forward to King Creosote, but his mid afternoon set misses the mark. Gone are the acoustic stylings of his more intimate shows, giving way to set that, at times, verges on the kind of grown-up folk rock that I thought the whole Fence Collective struggled against.

There’s not a great deal you can really say about Billy Bragg’s set. He’s become such a fixture on the festival circuit now that surely everyone has now seen his crowd pleasing greatest hits set.  

Black Kids are something of a disappointment. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly why, but they come across as reid-thin. I can’t help but think that a year from now, we will be wondering what the fuss was all about. Very mediocre.  

Over at the Insect Stage, the strange fun continues with maypole and barn dancing, getting us ready for the tonight’s headliner’s Flaming Lips. And the anticipation builds nicely as sun begins to set over Lulworth Castle; it feels like we’re in for something very special. And it’s towards the castle that all eyes are focussed, as Wayne Coyne descends down the castle steps in his zorb and is rolled towards the stage. Once free of the zorb, the band kicks straight into Race For The Prize and it seems like we’re in for a classic Lips’ set. And true enough, all the trappings are there: the dancers in boiler suits, the crowd interaction, the giant balloon. But the needless covers and the faffing between songs means that their set is prematurely cut short at the curfew, with the crowd left wanting more. 

So if it’s more that you want, the Balearic Bollywood bar is the place to be, for a cracking DJ set from Kevin Rowland. Sadly the warm lager had got to me by the end of the day, and I retreated to one of the campfires, missing DJ Yoda’s set. 

On the face of it, Sunday seems at best ‘eclectic’. Starting things off at the Insect Stage, the Insect Circus provides a suitably twisted and surreal family turn, and the large crowd of families love it. The Melodica The Melody And Me may look like a local youth club outing, but they provide the perfect soundtrack to a lazy sunny afternoon, with their ramshackle and charming set. 

Back to the Castle Stage, The Hat is a little hit and miss, but the sun if forgiving. Ladyhawke gave a solid performance to a half empty field, most of the punters confused by changes in the schedule. Shame really, as they may have been the best turn on today.  

Beardyman makes a couple of appearances with his unbelievable beatboxing, but the appeal wears thin after a little while. Joe Lean And The Jing Jang Jong are the token ITV indie act of the festival; all hair and tight jeans. But their set is as tight as their jeans, and they acquit themselves well.  

I don’t quite get the joke of The Wurzels. I didn’t get it when they were in the charts all those years ago, and I don’t get them now. Perhaps this northern lad is too far away from home: I don’t drink cider, and have never owned a combine harvester.  

Similarly, I’ve never got on well with Suzanne Vega. I can appreciate that she’s a great songwriter, but her set washes over me. Perhaps the sun and the wind is getting the better of me. Over to the boutique camping field to Listen from afar to another turn from Billy Bragg, this time with Imagined Village. Sadly this isn’t the last we’ll hear from Dorset resident Bragg by the end of the festival. 

I could quite happily go through life never hearing Kate Nash again. If you haven’t heard Adam and Joe’s pastiche of Nash, I strongly recommend you check it out, as it sums up beautifully why we’ll soon be scratching our heads and asking how she’s managed to eke out whatever small talent she has to headline a festival of any size. Her set is literally painful. I’ve been a fan of Billy Bragg for twenty years now, but a bit of my love for him died when I witnessed the horror of a Bragg/Nash duet on a truly awful cover of New England. A terrible end to proceedings on the main stage. 

Overall the idea behind Camp Bestival is really lovely: a festival that is so inclusive and so much fun. There are a million things that I didn’t get the time to do. It almost seemed as if the music was secondary to the fun that could be had. In some instances, I wish I would have been dressing up, or knitting or watching the jousting instead of listening to The Wurzels and Kate Nash. I’m sure that holding a festival on the same weekend as the equally brilliant Latitude will have restricted both the bands, and the audience.  

I hope there’s another Camp Bestival next year. I hope that the camping and the toilets and the music are more consistent. But I would hate that to be at the expense of the fun. Hi de hi!