gemma short writings

I made a big commitment with attending my first festival, by driving for hours to a city I’d never been to before just for BBC Radio 1’s Big Weekend. A ludicrous idea, considering that Neighbourhood Weekender was going on at the same time in the town in which I grew up, but there’s always next year. Although this was the notion that got me to Sunderland in the first place: I had missed out on Big Weekend when it was practically on my doorstep last year.

Something snapped in me last summer. I was suddenly fed up of the amount of times I had momentarily considered going to an event like a music festival before forgetting all about it and therefore completely neglecting to make any big plans. As the summer came to an end, I was determined to get tickets for a festival for this summer, and I certainly wasn’t disappointed.

This is where I have to pause and explain that I used to be bad with crowds. Terrible. I’m a rather claustrophobic person who gets overwhelmed too easily, and who before last year could count on one hand how many gigs I’ve attended (I still can only count on two hands). I would cling on to whoever I was there with on the outskirts of the room, having evacuated from the centre or even from the front few rows. As I got older and the curiosity for experiencing more of life began to override the fear of the crowds, this became more manageable, but only on the condition that I had a pint or two beforehand.

I had no choice but to be sober for Big Weekend. I had driven myself and my friend to Newcastle where we were staying, and was responsible for getting us back safely the next day; plus, the easiest and cheapest way to travel between the hotel and the festival was to park nearby. The funny thing about it was that it no longer seemed like a massive ordeal. I had accepted that I was the type to get feelings of anxiety in big crowds, but had also learned to trust myself to stay grounded during these moments.

Surely enough, there were a few moments of overwhelm. For example, every time I had to navigate passing through the long lines for the food vendors and the countless groups of people sat on the grass to get to and from the New Music Tent I could feel myself tense up. For some (but not all) of the artists we went to see, I got a good glimpse into what my friends mean when they complain about the lack of concert etiquette nowadays. There would be a constant barrage of people trying to force their way to the front, only to soon barge past you again as they realised there was no space. There was often no allowance for me to move the slightest bit even just to readjust so that I could see the stage because someone would be an inch away, close enough to either block me from even being able to see the screens or to be scarily close to my arse. Despite all of that, I understood that it was just part of the schtick, and would just patiently wait for the anxious feeling to fade.

The fortunate parts were that 1) there was plenty of time to breathe between some of the sets and 2) there was plenty of space to avoid the worst of the crowds. (The latter could be a double-edged sword because it had me wondering why on Earth thousands of people would be practically on each other’s toes and up each other’s arses when there was plenty of space just a few yards behind them, but I’ll let that irritation wash away.) The unexpected highlights for me lay in the liminal spaces, after we had seen Rachel Chinouriri and were gearing up to enjoy Zara Larsson headlining. The sun had started to hide behind the clouds as we sat down on the grass to eat, far enough away from the Main Stage to avoid the crowds but just about close enough to hear the music. I welcomed the breeze despite being underdressed. I got to spend time quietly processing everything around me while eating chips and catching up with my friend who I hadn’t seen recently.

We wandered around to warm ourselves up. Eventually we stopped to watch Lola Young from the outskirts of the Main Stage. One song, and then another, and before we knew it we stayed put for the majority of her set. A nervous performer, but compelling. I found myself enjoying the performance and being in awe of her vocals despite knowing very few of her songs. It caught me off guard seeing just how good our view was despite being so far away. I had a better view of her from the outside than I did of most other artists when I’m in the middle of the crowd. There was a peace in watching a performance that I hadn’t expected to watch in the glow of the early evening. My friend pointed out to me the absurdity of how close we had actually gotten to the stage earlier in the day to see Louis Tomlinson.

Oh, the nostalgia of getting to see a member of a band that had such a big impact on my childhood and adolescence. He had always been my favourite. It had been surreal being in that crowd in the middle of the afternoon (why was he so early in the day?), and realising how much my music tastes had changed. I enjoyed hearing the hits I were vaguely familiar with from hearing them on the radio (“Lemonade” and “Imposter” from his newest album come to mind), but there was a melancholy from no longer connecting with his music the way that I did with his debut solo album.

It was as though he had read my mind, because mid-set I was struck by the familiar hum of the opening notes to “Night Changes”. I hadn’t accounted for this! I had spent the past two weeks joking claiming ‘I hope he plays “No Control”‘! But my dramatic self found it poignant that I got to hear “Night Changes” live during a rather unstable and uncertain time in my life, now that I’m finally graduating for the last time and I’m in-between jobs. Standing in a field with hundreds of other women my age singing a song of our childhoods was indeed sorely needed.

The day unfortunately wasn’t all cathartic and enjoyable. The reality was that I spent so much of the afternoon and evening in horrendous pain; having left my prescriptions in the hotel room out of fear of them being questioned when I were to get my bag checked upon entry, I had to grin and bear the unexpected cramps and spend hours questioning if it would be worth just going back to the hotel early. The pain along with the fear of a sudden period, as well as the heat and the claustrophobia I was experiencing had me stuck in my own head too much. When we did leave (only a third of the way into Larsson headlining), I was crushed with the guilt of having ruined my friend’s night with my constant back and forth about what I can withstand.

Before we left during Larsson’s set, I really did try to stick it out. We had joined the crowd long before she graced the stage, where I thought would be safe enough to see glimpses of the stage without entering the pits of hell. My friend was cautious but I was too stubborn; if I had already spent the time exhausting myself with crowds and cramps, then I would be determined to stick it out a bit longer. But alas, she was right, and we moved a lot further back to where there was no chance of seeing the stage but there was at least a perfect view of the screens. Despite my body screaming at me to leave and make the long walk back to the car, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen; I hadn’t been prepared for Larsson’s stage presence and her gorgeous vocals.

Being there for the headlining performance despite being so far back served as the reminder I needed that sometimes there is no harm in experiencing from the side lines. In fact, the side lines are sometimes what you need in order to see the full picture. There, at the end, I could see that I would be better for it if I sacrificed some of the perfectionism and the need to get the absolute most out of an experience in order to just feel comfortable.