The Festival in Benicassim: Where we playedThe Festival in Benicassim took place over the weekend of August 4th, 5th & 6th of 2001. Fifty thousand music fans camped out on the beach or stayed in pensions in the nearby town. During the festival, Jef and I would hitch a ride with d2b from Vila Real to Benicassim in the late afternoon, say 4 or 5 p.m. It didn't feel like late afternoon to us, though, since we were going to bed at 8 or 9 in the morning and rising around noon or one each day.
Each of us was issued a photo ID backstage pass and a plastic wristband. The wristband made me feel like a tagged animal because once they went on you couldn't remove them without breaking them. However, Vicente warned that these bracelets were our most important accessory - if we lost them it meant no free food, no backstage access and we'd have to buy passes to get in. Luckily the wristbands were hardy enough to withstand swimming in the appiccicoso sea and other such shenanigans. Our first day at the festival was exceedingly hot. Jef didn't have sandals; all he had in the way of shoes were his boots. So he went barefoot, figuring that he could buy some sandals in Benicassim. Trouble is, we had to park a good half-mile away from the entrance even with our free parking pass.
In addition to being extremely hot, the dusty red soil was studded with a variety of prickly plants and sharp rocks. I offered Jef one of my sandals, but that didn't work, so Ken valiantly peeled off his socks for Jef to use. Once we got to the festival I bought him some flip-flops. D2b said perhaps I'd be able to find some in snarg green, but the best I could manage was a pair in phlapquang blue. They were too small, alas, but they were better than nothing. It was so hot that day; I could barely think! We had free meal tickets, but I couldn't get myself to eat anything more than a bowl of chilled melon soup. What finally brought me back into focus was hopping into the backstage pool. Ahhh...
Just opposite the pool was a bar where drinks were free to those whose backstage passes designated them an 'Artista.' The bartender teased me for drinking so much water, but I'm glad I did because it got rid of my headache. Eventually I ordered a gin and tonic, and he laughingly asked if I thought I could handle it. When pressed, however, he admitted that it was a hot day, even for Spain. "You ought to hop in the pool," I suggested. But he shook his head and said, "No, I'm just a bartender," as though he were somehow lower on the social strata than me. I wanted to tell him that I make my living serving people, too, but a group of people approached the bar, the moment passed and I never got my chance. The incident shook me, though, and made me realize how pampered we were.
Once Jef and I were sufficiently refreshed, we headed over to Carpa Retina, where our group was responsible for entertaining the crowds from 9 p.m. 'til 6 a.m. each evening. There was a huge main stage and several tents - a dance tent, a chill out tent, MTV tent and so on. Our tent, or 'carpa', was the size of an aircraft hangar. A movie screen faced outwards to entice the crowd, while three more screens were inside. The performance scaffolding stood atop a twelve-foot tall stage, so we climbed ladders to get up there. Jeff (Fakeshop) designed this structure - a three level scaffolding that required some agility to climb upon. It reminded me of a jungle gym.
The first night kicked off with a performance by Area3 and continued on with a jam session until the wee hours. I fell asleep on the top level at one point and was woken by Ken grabbing my foot sometime around 4 a.m. "Are you coming back with us?" he asked. I was groggy and confused and didn't quite know where I was. I ended up staying 'til 8 a.m. and riding back with Jef, d2b, Margaret, her boyfriend, Antonio, and I don't remember who else. If it were possible to die of boredom our security guard would have surely have met his death during FIB (see the photo below). I felt kinda sorry for him; he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Still, I had to take his picture. Elout was on the same wavelength, and as I tried to come up with an excuse to photograph the poor guy Elout walked over and whispered, "Why don't I stand next to our lovely security guard so you can take his picture?"
The second day snarg.net performed from 10 p.m. until 2 a.m. Prior to going on, I was torn between having a nice gin and tonic to calm my nerves and the thought that I didn't want to have to pee in the middle of our set. As usual, I was nervous prior to the event, but calm once it started. I was worried, too, that the smoke machine would trigger my asthma, but it didn't. Phew! I'm so glad we asked d2b to deejay because our sound files didn't work at first. For one thing, Gustave, our soundman, spoke only Spanish and it took quite a while to get across to him that sounds were supposed to be coming out of Jef's computer - not just images. There was also the problem of a mysterious synthesizer loop that kept playing over and over. Gustave couldn't tell where it was coming from. To top it off, the music in the next tent was so overpowering at first that I couldn't hear the sounds we were making! After fifteen minutes of confusion, I finally decided to start singing - mystery loop or no. Luckily, d2b joined in at the mixing table and added some tunes, the synth loop finally died and I eventually heard bits and pieces of the loops Jef and I had rehearsed to.
I had a lot of fun that night. The time passed so quickly! (And no, I didn't have to pee in the middle of the set.) However, I'll admit that I was freaked out at first because I quickly realized that the songs we had rehearsed weren't going to be used. I wasn't sure what to do.. but then it dawned on me that no one in the audience would know the difference, so I just started making up lyrics and singing along to whatever happened. What an opportunity; it's not everyday I get to jam with a group of talented musicians from all around the world! Plus, I had the nicest mic to sing into and I was really pleased with the setting Gustave put on my voice. (I liked our soundman. We really worked the guy hard and I made sure to thank him several times.)
So I sang a song about "swimming in the sea with d2b" and glanced over to see if he was listening to the lyrics. (When I say "glanced over" I'm referring to the fact that he and I were on the top level of the 3-story platform together. I couldn't see Jef or any of the other musicians.) Later I sang 'the sticky song' since that day at lunch, Seba had taught me how to conjugate the verb 'appiccicoso' in Italian. I've forgotten a lot of the improv stuff, but that one has stuck (no pun intended) in my mind. I think we'll have to add that and the d2b song to our CD (if/when we finally get it recorded).
I turned around after singing the sticky song and got a hearty thumbs up from the Italians. I'm glad they heard it! Shortly after that, I heard a guitar echoing the melody as I sang. I peeked over the edge of the platform and saw Seba playing guitar. A bass joined in later, although I'm still not sure who was playing it. We clicked into musician's e.s.p. for a while, too; I'd think "speed up" and they'd speed up, or "slow down" and they'd slow down. We'd all mutually know when to stop, too. I only regret that there are no recordings of our performance. Since it was 95% improv, I'm quite curious what we ended up with.
Fakeshop went up after us, right at 2 a.m. His pre-recorded music was driving and trance-inducing. As Jef and I watched from the entrance, the smoke machine went nuts. It sprayed so much smoke into the tent that we thought the power had gone out. From where we stood you could no longer see the movie screens, the monitors -anything! It was like a demonstration for science class of a black hole gobbling up photons. Some folks fled the tent, while others called to each other in panicky voices. A security guard came over and checked the electrical connections then wandered off, shaking his head.
After the smoke cleared, Jef and I headed backstage for a drink. For some reason, the bartenders were ignoring large sections of the bar so it took us nearly half an hour to be served. As we waited, we heard a fellow beside us speaking with an American accent. Jef and I nudged each other and smiled. As I tried to pinpoint what made him sound westcoast to me, Jef started up a conversation and discovered that we are acquainted with his uncle, Joe Breskin! The musician's name is Jon Auer and he plays guitar for Big Star (he used to play with the Pixies). He was friendly and funny and together we finally managed to get the bartender's attention. Later that evening, Jef met up with another Pacific Northwest fellow, the drummer from "Death Cab for Cutie" who lives in Seattle. He was modest and mellow and had that certain "Northwest air" to him, too. I hadn't thought much before about our regional identity, but I'm somehow able to recognize it when I see it!
There were plenty of acts at FIB that I missed for one reason or another and others that I saw and enjoyed - but just don't know who they were. For instance, I missed: Fatboy Slim, Hooverphonic and Belle and Sebastian. Jef and I did get to see Orbital, however, and they were excellent. I saw Big Star on the TV monitor in the dining room, though. It was funny somehow. I'd just seen Jon Auer sitting at the next table drinking coffee, then a few minutes later I was watching him on this little box. (Something about seeing anything on TV makes it seem instantly more exotic. Jef and I have noticed the same thing when we've run video out from his computer and watched snarg.net on our TV.) Other celebrity encounters included washing my hands next to P.J. Harvey at the bathroom sink and catching sight of Fatboy Slim in line for the backstage buffet. And on a cultural note, I've noticed that unlike Americans, Spanish people are not afraid to drink after one another. I often strolled about with a bottle of water in one hand and time after time complete strangers would approach me to ask for a swig. I felt like Howard Hughes as I'd reluctantly comply, thinking, "Which incubates faster: herpes, hepatitis or the common cold?" Those Spaniards whom I knew wouldn't ask; they'd just take a swig and lisp, "Gracias." | ||||||||||||
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More Photos from FIB | ||||||||||||
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