What Can a Gabber Party in a Holiday Camp Teach Us About Post-Brexit Festivals

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What Can a Gabber Party in a Holiday Camp Teach Us About Post-Brexit Festivals

Southport's BangFace Weekender was a reminder of the power of the egalitarian festival.

I've been hooked on festivals ever since I attended my first Glastonbury aged 12. Thankfully that maiden voyage into the land of unlimited hedonism wasn't my first foray into class A inebriation—that came later. Instead it planted a different seed in my impressionable young mind. I had never seen so many different types of people in one space—I was completely mesmerised. As soon as I was old enough to enjoy festival spoils without a guardian, I started going to a fuckload. Like many growing up in Blairite Britain, I treated them as initiation ceremonies, signposts marking significant life events. I celebrated my G.C.S.E. results at Leeds and commiserated getting dumped at Parklife. Even an untimely allergic reaction that had me simultaneously spewing and shitting inside a portaloo with five days of action behind it didn't put me off, because going to festivals was one of the few enjoyable ways of being young, liberal and curious in the UK.

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I thought those days were behind me. For a start, what possible events were left to celebrate now that I'm a fully grown adult with wrinkles and responsibilities? Does one buy a Field Day ticket after successfully unblocking a dodgy sink? Is a luxury package for Eastern Electrics an apposite response to switching to own brand granola? Besides, the torrential downpour I experienced at Heaton Park last summer still makes me shudder every time I think about it. However, when a DJ friend asked me to join her at BangFace, I was quickly swayed to change my mind, not least because despite being a northerner, I had never made the pilgrimage to Southport.

I went to BangFace with few expectations. I certainly didn't think I would leave with a renewed love for festivals and a belief in their revolutionary potential, but much to my own surprise this is exactly what happened. Although the gathering seemed to confirm that the alleged acid drought that's seen the country devoid of terrifying 12 hour trips is pretty much a conspiracy, I arrived at my conclusions relatively sober. Now don't get me wrong, despite throwing parties and its flagship weekenders since 2003, BangFace still has some way to go—more female DJs wouldn't go amiss—but in comparison to what's going on elsewhere in the industry at the present, it's one of the more progressive festivals on the circuit.

Before the epiphany, a portrait. Taking place at Pontins, the chalets, with their single beds and whitewashed walls, reminded me of Soviet-era holiday homes in my native Poland. Then there was the gabber, the karaoke and the weather. What made the festival so enjoyable was the mix of people partying and working there. From the young Brits in multicoloured Lycra to the super serious Scandinavian music nerds and the Eastern European catering staff, it felt multicultural and inclusive. This atmosphere was fostered by the way the event was organised. There was no VIP area meaning the DJs were assigned chalets just like everyone else and there was a noticeable absence of artisan food and drink vendors meaning that even if they wanted to, no one had the opportunity to signal their apparent sophistication. Of course some of it was a bit naff, but it was also really fun. The festival's playing field was a level one.

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Perhaps the reason this atmosphere felt so special is because there are ever fewer spaces where different demographics are actively encouraged to co-exist. When it comes to the arena of entertainment we are increasingly segregated according to race, class and wealth. Certain groups are pretty much not allowed to enjoy themselves at all. As has been widely reported recently, Form 696 is still shutting down urban music events even though there is no concrete evidence as to its effectiveness in preventing crime and violence. Earlier this year Notting Hill carnival was unfavourably scrutinised by London assembly with the Met recommending that the answer to overcrowding is scaling down, rather than matching demand with extra security.

Within the realm of electronic music things are going the same way. According to a Guardian article published last week, festival promoters are making bold moves to cleanse their events from "certain kinds of punter," seeking an alleged "upmarket" client base. This year will see some opt for invitation-only ticketing policies while others "have decided to avoid well-known headliners altogether, in a bid to deter the shallower type of festivalgoer who turns up only to see the big names." Adam Saville, deputy editor of DJ Mag is quoted as saying, "Exclusivity does help promote a kind of unity—everyone there is into the same thing and there is less opportunity for a clash of cultures".

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This thinking stinks of the cultural elitism that has been sweeping across Europe, the kind of populism which landed Americans with Trump and us Brits with Brexit. Paradoxically, it is because of Brexit that festival organisers are taking the measures in the first place, afraid of an influx of "lads with their shirts off" who can no longer afford to decamp to the Dalmatian coast for their fix this summer. But it is precisely that segregation that fosters a fear of outsiders, which leads to people becoming so homogenised in their views and tastes that they become the "lads with their shirts off". By excluding them from festivals, promoters are intensifying this cultural dead-zone that some young people are falling pray to.

To the best of my knowledge, to date there hasn't been any probing into the psychological and cultural effects of the accelerating gentrification and segregation of festivals. If anything, it is being presented as a solution to a perceived problem. But what we do know is the devastating effects such cleansing has on the lives and psyches of residents in places such as Brixton and although attending festivals is a different situation, it shows just how pervasive certain power structures are.

It is vital we encourage diverse and accessible music festivals in the UK. During soviet-era Eastern Europe, music festivals were cherished sites of otherwise illicit cultural exchange with the west. Although I didn't live through that era, the excitement of meeting new people, and tasting the forbidden fruits of western music has been recounted to me by family members and lives on in the collective consciousness of Eastern Europeans.

Here in Britain we are used to being exposed to a rich array of musical styles, artists and events, but if promoters carry on as they are doing, the days of exchanging experience and knowledge might be numbered.

Kamila is on Twitter

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