‘Barmy’ is a word used in northern England to describe someone who is slightly crazy or very foolish.
A Giraffe sized man riding a child sized rocking horse. Someone with a back tattoo of a sheep carrying a speaker. Drinking peach flavored jebel beer from a hand made cow horn. Hitting people in the face with a plastic dildo attached to a fishing rod. This is the sort of barmy behavior that can only be found at beat-herder , A festival that encourages silliness.
Beat-header is a festival that people come back too. What starts as your first time often turns into ‘another time’. Over the weekend I met people in their 60s who were celebrating their 15th year, mothers who were taking their daughters to the festival, a couple who got engaged on stage mid performance, most people I talked to had been their at least 5 times 15 even, there was a guy who jumped the Harris fencing when he was 16 and has come back as a punter ever since. Faithful followers of the heard, 20 years on they return, guided by the Shepard of sound. I was a new addition to the flock. After being in the UK for 2 months I applied to volunteer at the festival on a whim. Coming from the other side of the world (Australia) I had never heard of beat-herder before, but one of the questions on the application was ‘tell us a fun fact’ and from that I could tell that this was a festival with personality.
Two months later I was standing in the working men’s club pouring pints in a bar that made me feel nostalgic for a time I never lived in a place I had only just arrived. In the corner was a dart board and a sign that said “the venga bus is not coming – by order of the committee”, a box tv was playing distorted videos of Margret Thatcher next to a stage that provided a range of entertainment from pub bingo to captain bendys dead mens disco. Despite its ramshackle construction in the middle of a paddock the BH&DWMSC represented something important about the foundations of this festival, the fact that it had been made by working class people for working class people.
Festivals were once a challenge to get as messy as you could with as little resources as possible. Drinking the same warm beers by the third day, living of baked beans and white bread, seeing how many people you could fit in a two-man camping tent. Unfortunately, festivals are becoming co-opted by middle class priorities, representing lifestyle retreats rather than music events. The people who started these festivals are now being priced out of the scene they helped create.
The most pretentious thing about beat-herder was that it had warm showers, but even then, it was a gamble whether there would be any hot water left. Cocktails came in cans and the glamping site was affectionately called ‘posh wankers’. The spirit of making the most with what you have filtered throughout the festival, but it didn’t come across as cheap at all , consideration and care had been taken with every structure on that site. And there were a lot of them, over 16 Stages each with their own personality and charm. The organizers had constructed most of the site themselves with repurposed materials, using plans written on dirty napkins. Bouquets of plastic flowers draped over a garden swing, A secret pool, Telephone boxes with tunnels underneath them, a miniature stone circle and fire pit.
Walking down the main street at night colorful strobes illuminated a town that was familiar but also unlike anything you had ever seen. Saloons that sold little spoons, a parish church where you could repent your sins before you had even committed them. A beat-up garage playing UKG, with shitbox cars for shitfaced people. Entering ‘the beyond’ you could find a psychedelic garden for trance enthusiasts , a laundromat that blew bubbles and a mirror lined room to powder your noise (or check it). It was a silly village built on a wonky hill by even wobblier people. Because of this it is often referred to as the boomtown of the north, some saying it’s even better – nicer people more authenticity.
This what you find in the north, a postindustrial minefield where hardship has caused people to come together. The weekend was invented in Greater Manchester when workers won the right to leisure time on Saturday afternoons, allowing them more time to rest but also recover. Having a weekend meant that you would rock up to Sunday church with a hangover rather than work on Monday. And thus the weekend was born, and continues to be reborn every week. People from the north understand what it means to work and appreciate a good reason to party. I was told that the average day for a lanichesterian looks like waking up at five in the morning, building something, having a sausage butty for breakfast and then grafting all day. Most people work long 70 hour weeks, their only time off is the weekend. And so, they make the most of it. Embracing the lack of responsibility they purse the right to revelry.
At beat-herder unbridled barminess (some of it natural some it induced) was everywhere , creating a culture where you felt comfortable taking whatever you wanted, acting however you felt, knowing that no one would give a shit . From this comes a comradery unlike any festival I have ever been too. Here you are greeted with neighborly love from the moment you arrive at your campsite. Welcomed into your suburban block of field with hugs and handshakes. It is inevitable that you run into your neighbor again, many times over the weekend. At a stage , on the dancefloor, queing for the loos, walking home. They give you some filters one day, you give them a beer the next. This is the power of neighborly love ,a feeling beat herder has purposefully curated.
In 2006 it started as a free party in a paddock for a few friends. The same people are still behind beat herder today. You can tell by walking into the crew area which is about twice the size of most festivals and occupies a hillside of its own . They had to reduce the amount of crew tickets a few years ago because too many people were getting in on the backs of their friends or through friends of friends. In many ways this is the beauty of beat herder , they want to make it accessible to as many people as possible so everyone and their mates can join in on the revelry….but they also need to cover costs , something that is becoming increasingly difficult in the current festival climate.
Temperatures are at an all-time high, small independent festivals are feeling the burn. Trying to find some relief many are having to pander to the whims of parasitical companies ( *cough cough* live nation) .
“There’s massive festival giants out there, owned by big companies, but we are six lads, mates from school.” …..“We massively value that independence – we are not some humongous company that doesn’t care. It is about people rocking up, having a rip-roaring party and wanting to come back again.”
In order to keep the ruckus up and the costs low, organizers of beat herder have had to made some difficult decisions. They decreased their capacity from 25-15 thousands, made the festivals boundaries smaller and told live nation to get lost. To this day they remain free and independent, defiantly holding onto their grassroots. The field that they have created is beautiful and I was happy to graze on it all weekend.
On the final night of the festival I partook in the scared English tradition of finding sound once all the music had finished. Following the flock I passed through the beyond where people had congregated around the campfire. Some had speakers, guitars, others were just dancing to the tune of their own conversations. In the smoky tentacles tent, a crowd has gathered. Some people were sitting down others were waiting. For what I wasn’t sure, until I found myself sitting on the floor using a wooden coffee table as a drum. Other people had already pulled out bongos, someone was banging on a garbage can. People had gathered to dance , crazy wild dancing. I could not tell if they were dancing to the sounds we were making or we were making sound in time with their dancing. I don’t know if it was the vape I hit (not nicotine) or my elevated feeling from a weekend well spent but at one point I felt like I was floating. After listening to electronic music all night, it was nice to be reminded of where it came from – people banging shit together in many ways that is what the weekend had been. A reminder of where it all came from, what this sacred gathering started as, which was listening to music and getting as messy as possible with your friends in a field.
