THE BIG CHILL FESTIVAL 2005 – IN THE PRESS
August 10th, 2005 by rui
[b]DJ MAGAZINE
September 5[/b]
CHILLS, SPILLS & THRILLS
In the summer of 1995 a few hundred friends, hippies and general hangers around gathered in the Black Mountains in Wales for a weekend that has since gone down in clubland legend. Many of them had met the year before at a gig in London’s Union Chapel where the ambient soundtrack melted the heart and knees like an ice-cream which perfectly suited the name The Big Chill. And as they slumped out under the stars around the single stage one of the records that tickled their ears was 76:14 by the then little-known duo of Tom Middleton and Mark Pritchard trading under the name of Global Communication.
Fast-forward ten years and across the border into Herefordshire and the crystalline sounds of ‚76:14‚ are ringing out again. The thing is there’s now only about twenty people around to hear it this time. But that’s not because The Big Chill has dwindled down to a handful of hardened slackers who’ve spent so long horizontal that they’ve actually fossilised. For in the fields all around that original few hundred has expanded into nearly thirty thousand people who are dancing, drinking and dilly-dallying around the nine other stages – and when you’ve got a choice between Alice Russell’s downhome soul and Afincianado’s Balearic beats amongst other choices at the same time then two blokes simply playing a remastered copy of their album have got their competition cut out.
Possibly none of us would be here without 76:14‚ but whilst you’ve got to respect the roots The Big Chill‚ it seems, has grown out of all control.
‘It’s enormous now,’ understates Bruce Bickerton. ‘The first one was so secretive and word of mouth but now they’ve sold out thousands of tickets months in advance. But I think although its got bigger the vibe has stayed pretty similar. It’s not like the music is secondary but the best thing about it is just catching up with old mates.’
A veteran of the first Welsh Mountains gala, Bruce claims The Big Chill has been a life-changing experience with the wide eyes of a born-again believer. And in his case that’s undoubtedly true, for not only did he first ‘make it’ with his future wife there but it also inspired the sound of his own musical project Alucidnation, who recently released the Induction album on Big Chill Recordings.
‘I still love things like The Orb and although myself and The Big Chill have moved on we’ve always been about good horizontal listening music‚’ he explains.
Of course, if there’s one man who knows about that then it’s The Orb’s own head honcho Alex Paterson. The name of his most famous band might crop up in conversations and be emblazoned on T-shirts all around the site but this is actually his first visit to the festival which – as one of the original architects of ambient house – he’s played a pivotal role in building the scene for.
‘I don’t really think of myself as influential but when I hear things like The Blue Room‚ on the radio and see things like this I suppose I am,’ Alex demurs. ‘I don’t touch Glastonbury these days and most other festivals are just full of acid casualties but this is much more my cup of tea.’
And the reception afforded Alex’s new band Transit Kings as they play their first full English gig on the main stage on Saturday shows that he’s just The Big Chill’s cup of fairtrade chai as well. All the elements you loved about the Orb are there in the bubbling synths and cheeky samples but there’s much tougher breakbeats behind tracks like ‘Japanese Cars’ which get the entire field pogoing in celebration. ‘They absolutely loved it!’ enthuses Alex, after the constant cheers for ‘one more!’ are unfortunately cut short by pressures of time. ‘It’s important to prove that we’ve progressed further.’
As has The Big Chill itself since those early days of an ambient-only diet. OK, there’s still plenty of soporific soundscapes‚ undulating over the crowd in the Sanctuary Tent although as people congregate to come down in there when the main stages finish at 2am it’s ironically the least relaxed place on the site after hours as the gnashing teeth of everyone who can’t face bed yet almost forms a beat to the otherwise slo-mo soundtrack. But as the numbers have expanded over the years so has the choice of music, meaning that on Saturday alone DJ Mag gets to hear the Afrobeat of Libyan refugees Tinariwen, Slovakian folktronica from Dlhe Diely and best of all the Kiwi dub of Fat Freddy’s Drop. Undoubtedly the musical highlight of the whole shebang, Fat Freddys work their way through only five tunes in 90 minutes but keep everyone utterly enraptured as tunes like Ernie and Hope swell like a far more pleasant version of the belches DJ mag gets as the bass frequencies disagree with all the organic stew we’ve just shovelled into our stomachs.
In fact, as night falls, it’s the big rather than the chilled aspect of the festival that takes over as everyone who has spent the afternoon supine in the sunshine suddenly snaps awake. Whereas previously the club tent was pretty much empty during the day as everyone chose to relax in the open air this year the decision to only open it at 8pm means its packed with people up for it from the very start. Which works especially well for Underground Resistance on Friday. Rather than cruising through the dull terrain of most techno the Detroit figureheads climb up ever-steeper peaks of intensity – which admittedly makes it an uphill struggle for some. Not that there’s much respite to be found at either Idjut Boys‚ or Different Drummer’s sets elsewhere that evening as the former drop everything from The Rolling Stones to Van Halen amidst their disco staples and the latter seriously endanger the structural stability of the Strongbow tent with their deep house and weighty dub.
Come Sunday in fact and it’s going to take a pretty irresistible beat to shake DJ mag out of the stupor brought on by two days of too much dancing, not enough sleep and having our heads scrambled by conversations with the random but all unfailingly well-meaning loons we seem to have attracted as the festival wears on. Luckily that beat is exactly what Gilles Peterson provides as he spins an energetic set of old favourites like ‘A Message To You, Rudy’ crossed with fresh and fearsome dancefloor tracks and enlivened with Earl Zinger’s patter. Then it’s a choice between his protégé Benji B proving that he’s not just Gilles junior with a toughly funky house and broken beats set in the cocktail bar and neo-soul group The Rebirth on the main stage. Benji wins out largely because of great tracks like ‘The Journey In’ and The Rebirth’s on-stage proclamations makes them sound like they’ve been beamed in direct from The God Channel. Which finds us sipping our cocktails, gazing out at the sun sinking over the hills and wondering whether we’ve got a good case for Trade Descriptions here. After all, how can a festival billed as The Big Chill leave us feeling this knackered?
PAUL CLARKE
[b]BLUES & SOUL
Sept 13[/b]
Among the cacophony that has become the festival circuit, the Big Chill still stands in a hilly field of its own. Friday and the couples in his’n’hers deck chairs come out to welcome Rob da Bank who glides from Joan Jett to The Doors to Barrington Levy like it’s the most naturl sonic progression on God’s green earth. Alucidnation’s Family Favourites meanwhile brings some S Express tot he proceedings. That’s bad? No, that’s goood!
London Elektricity end their jazzy jungle set with the rather-aptly titled “Spread Love’” and continuing the gentle drum & bass theme, Brazil and Bristol get physical in the shape of Patife and Dynamite MC. The Puppetmastaz come on like George and Zippy at a hip hop rave in the Club tent so we retreat to the art trail to watch a 50s pin up girl shave her legs. Makes sense at the time.
Saturday starts with Big Chill stalwart DJ Derek’s reggae, ska and rock’n'roll megabix. Then a procession comes into view holding banners that read “Boycott The Insect Circus” and “Bugs Feelings Too”. Is it art? Is it a protest march? We’re not sure. The Trojan Soundsystem takes over the Open Air stage for three glorious hours. Classic Jamaican riddims fill the air as vocalists Superfour and General Slater warm up for Tippa Irie. The original raggamuffin gets everyone singing along to “Hello Darling’” like its 1986.
The Nextmen hit the shuffle button over at Fat Tuesday with “Let’s Dance’” getting a rewind, “Another One Bites The Dust” getting an ovation and “Sexual Healing’” getting a mash up with “Ghost Town”.
Andy Smith keeps us reeling with his special breed of Creole soul and NY hip hop and in the Club tent Bonobo’s Balearic set rockets “Black Betty”, “Seven Nation Army” and “My Baby Just Cares For Me’” into a house orbit. 11.30pm? lt must be burlesque o’clock in the Mediamix tent. If we didn’t know how to titillate to “Hey Big Spender’” before, we do now.
Sunday belongs to Norman Jay and Norman Jay’s well-worn disco set belongs to Big Chill. Will Nichol spins some seven inch soul as we lie nonchalantly next to the croquet lawn. And then Son of Sam wakes us up with his one-man honky tonk band. Armed with only a min, harmonica and a croaky voice, the ageing beatboxer looks like Tom Waits’ dad and sounds like a hillbilly Killa Kela.
Aficionado heralds their arrival with a hail of red Indians, cow bells and whistles and the crowd swells with men dressed up as policemen, red Indians, sailors and cowboys. It’s a distinct Village People vibe so we saunter over to the Open Air stage to find Daddy G in selectah mode. Rodney P’s “Nice Up” teases us for his planned set tonight while “Unfinished Sympathy’” meeting the sunshine is one of those official Big Chill moments. It’s almost over so we go watch the late night movie “It’s All Gone Pete Tong”. Far from it, mate.
HELEN JENNINGS
[b]THE TIMES
August 9, 2005 [/b]
The Big Chill. Eastnor Castle Deer Park, Herefordshire ****
There’s a reason why it never rains at the Big Chill -the crowd would pack up their gazebos and go home. At Glastonbury, they’ll roll around in the mud, but Big Chillers are different. The ultimate over-30s festival is a mess-free affair for reformed clubbers to relive their carefree weekends of over a decade ago. Now though, they bring their kids and instead of spending money on drugs, they buy bubble machines and space hoppers.
It’s easy to be cynical about the Big Chill, but if you fit the profile, it’s hard to imagine a more perfect event. Set in lush countryside with a lake behind the main stage, it’s large enough to ensure that you rarely encounter a crowd, but not so big that you have to hike from one side to the other.
A lot of the entertainment goes on unannounced. This year, fairy wrestling proved hugely popular. The idea was to dress as a fairy, cover yourself in sun oil and throw your opponent down in a swimming pool filled with glitter. On the Village Green, a folk band called Whapweasel hosted a boisterous barn dance that had people grabbing strangers for partners and the crowd included men in orange astronaut suits, a couple of colourful ostriches and a woman in a padded fly costume pushing an old-fashioned pram with no baby in it.
By far the best tent -although it was more of a bar with a DJ booth -was Fat Tuesday, which was packed all weekend. Saturday’s hip-hop line-up had the superb Skitz and Bugz in the Attic, while rapper Rodney P and Terry Hall joined the Dub Pistols Sound System. On the main stage, A Certain Ratio provided some timely nostalgia, One Self were among the best newcomers, and former Moloko front woman Roisin Murphy, wearing a wonderfully weird dress, began by sampling the sound of an old alarm clock, banged a tambourine on her backside and set her sassy vocals to a blend of brass, electronica, funk and jazz.
Robert Fripp opened the festival and appeared on all three days, but his
impact was minimal. Fifteen minutes into his Saturday set, folk were asking when he was starting. Fripp’s feet were busy at effects pedals making wishy-washy ambient sounds, but his guitar was practically unplayed and anyone waiting for a tune was out of luck.
Far better was the Earlies’ psychedelic country-rock. The Dallas band had clearly caught festival fever -their tiny cello player was in a white, curly wig and their guitarist wore bunny ears. It sounds silly now, but at the time, it made perfect sense.
LISA VERRICO
[b]MORNING STAR
Sun and Cocktails[/b]
DANIEL COYSH overcomes the inconveniences of the real world at a chilled out music festival with a wicked sense of humour.
A RED-COATED cavalryman walks past, struggling with a huge wasp on a lead. I think little of it – after all, l am on antibiotics – and walk on, only to be confronted by a human-sized fly nursing a baby by a Victorian pram. It’s only Friday lunchtime at the Big Chill and things are already getting strange.
Bigger and better than ever, yet still just as chilled, the extended family of organizers have still kept the spirit of the first small party held in August 1995. The Big Chill. languishing as it is in the ludicrously picturesque Malvern Hills, feels like a festival crossed with a holiday – it’s a festival without the pain and the mud, as well as being a holiday without the inconvenience of real life going on all around you.
As Glastonbury increasingly turns into an endurance test and others succumb to the marketing juggernauts of lager and mobile phones, the Big Chill cheerfully delivers on its promise of heaps of relaxation, murkiness and eclecticism.
My original intention was to highlight a strange quality of the festival – its nurturing of romance. I know of at least two couples who met at the Big Chill, two newly-weds even played a DI set last year and this year’s festival promised speed dating which must have been hilarious after a day of sunstroke and cocktails.
Sadly, I arrived at the Big Chill recovering from a hideous ear infection -hence the antibiotics – and spent much of day one focusing on survival.
Traditionally, it rains dismally on the Thursday night before the festival begins – just to create a feeling of foreboding – before the Chill’s pet druids go to work and ensure three days of sunshine.
Huge clouds occasionally rumble overhead on Friday, but, after a storming main stage set from Radio One favourite Rob da Bank and a mug or two of ginger chai, the Big Chill’s trademark sensation of hazy well-being flowered within me again – as did sunburnt knees.
The ever-excellent range of genuinely good food available also hastened my recovery – at what other festival can you get French sausage casserole and potato gratin? Fantastic.
By day, people stroll and sunbathe, some in fancy dress, hence the fly – it was really there, honest – and get nicely squiffy on rum cocktails.
By night, people go searching for dancing opportunities – but my ear still wasn’t up to the sort of funky house emanating from the Fat Tuesday tent.
A lucky break though, as romance returned at the beautifully located Chill stage.
New folk sensation Kate Rusby lifted the spirits, followed by the lush urban soul of Neon Lights. Another genius of this festival is its organisers’ ability to book relatively ”obscure” acts which turn out to be just what was missing from your life.
Saturday is a scorcher and appropriately enough seems to be given over to all things reggae and dub.
As the Trojan Sound System takes over the main stage for the afternoon, it is impossible to do anything other than guzzle more of the disturbingly addictive white rum cocktails being berated in the friendliest way by Master MC Tipa Irie.
As night fell, more dub science descended on the Chill stage, with the amazing Mad Professor doing strange and wonderful things to perfectly innocent pieces of vinyl. Nice.
After the acts are finished for the night, there is still plenty to do.
This year’s Art Trail took full advantage of its gorgeous country location. Trees bedecked with lights pour water, while luminous jellyfish sway in fields and well-intentioned exhortations such as ”Unfuck The World” light up the darkness. The most impressive installation is a sort of enormous strobe-lit footrope, built on an old playground roundabout and fitted with a series of eerie white plaster casts of a swimming figure.
When a bicycle wheel rotates the contraption, the swimmer becomes fully animated, which has the effect of being wondrous and sinister at the same time.
After that, it is very hard to drag yourself away to the less than wondrous interior of-your tent.
Sunday lunchtime again belongs to funkmeister DI Norman Jay (above), who traditionally brings scorching sun and a hell of a good time to the Chill.
Again, he does not disappoint, leaving the main field a sea of gyrating revellers.
On the Chill stage, he is ably matched by the bizarre but apposite combination of the Single Singers’ masters of the cheesy classic record Guilty Pleasures and the redoubtable Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain – who seem to have become an unmissable festival texture in an incredibly short length of time.
Mind you, I defy anyone to hear their eight-song medley and deny that they deserve to be.
Suiting the vague melancholy of Sunday night -with Monday morning reality beginning to seriously loom over the whole Big Chill utopia – was Nitin Sawnhey on the main stage, bringing with him some astonishing guest vocalists and incredible orchestration, in a kind of Later With Jools Holland sort of way.
Most bizarrely of all, over in the Media Mix Tent, we are treated to a brilliantly sardonic acoustic set from ex-strangler Hugh Cornwell, followed by the ranting Mancunian punk poetry of Thick Richard and an hour of excellent stand-up from angry Guardian reader extraordinary Marcus Brigstocke – a firm favourite of both myself and Radio Four’s Now Show, who gave us some very enlightening invective concerning his recent TV “partenership” with Ann Robinson.
But this barely scratches the surface of an incredibly full weekend, which left such profane things as ear infections a mere memory.
I really don’t know how the Big Chill do it – for a festival that leaves you feeling like you’re just spent a week being pampered at a spa, they manage to lay before you an incredible and ever-growing amour: of new music, new experiences and a real sense of discovery. Please don’t let it ever change.
DANIEL COYSH
[b]THE DAILY TELEGRAPH
August 09, 2005, Tuesday
[/b]
Polite society warms to the Big Chill’s variety
By Joe Muggs
THE Big Chill is an uncommonly civilised festival. Not only are the surroundings – the grounds of Eastnor Castle in the Malvern hills – almost impossibly picturesque, but the crowds, all 30,000 of them, are impeccably behaved.
That is not to say that it is not a rampantly hedonistic event; when you see a man in a silver angel outfit wandering past, sipping a two-pint jug of vodka cocktail through a straw, you know that good times are being had.
Nevertheless, the gathered festival-goers are the most polite bunch you could hope to be stuck with in a rural valley for three days. The site was big enough and thoughtfully enough laid out so that there are never the cattle-herding crushes of many festivals, and the “leave no trace” non-littering policy is generally adhered to, meaning that barely a cigarette butt was visible on the ground through most of the site.
The music this year – the Big Chill’s tenth – was gloriously varied. The emphasis, as ever, was on cheerily danceable sounds, epitomised by legendary DJ Derek, whose reggae and soul records old and new, infectiously dirty laugh and between-song banter delivered in the thickest of Bristolian accents provided a cheery start to Saturday’s proceedings.
However, there was plenty of contrast: experimental “post-rock” band Rothko played a staggeringly lovely set, with Scottish folkster Catherine Ross adding vocals and flute; legendary Detroit producer Carl Craig whipped up a late-night storm with his pummelling techno tunes; and masters of English whimsy Saint Etienne had the crowd swooning.
The clichd image of the Big Chill is of the acid house generation growing up, but, though there were certainly plenty of thirtysomething dance fiends pushing high-tech baby buggies, and greying hair and middle-aged bellies were far from uncommon, the crowd was actually massively diverse in age, race and class.
Still, the enthusiastic ethos of the rave is still strong and the sight of a sea of hands unselfconsciously waving in the air when beardy disco DJs the Idjut Boys played Van Halen’s Jump or when veteran party DJ Norman Jay spun David Bowie’s sentimental Kooks was something to behold.
Quirky acts such as Son of Dave, who combined human beatbox and harmonica, or the self-explanatory Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain simply added colour. The feeling throughout the weekend was of a slightly crazed yet trouble-free party in the sunshine. Whoever imagined politeness could be such fun?
[b]Financial Times
August 9, 2005 Tuesday[/b]
The Big Chill Eastnor Castle Herefordshire
THE CRITICS By PHIN FOSTER
If Richard Curtis was looking to feature a festival in his latest rom-com, the Big Chill would tick most of the boxes: picture-perfect English countryside, attractive white thirty-somethings and plenty of occasions for witty repartee, even a spot of romancing. The scene at Eastnor is more Hampstead Heath than Homelands: hordes of trendy young urbanites push buggies that resemble small SUVs past massage tents and organic juice bars. This group, in marketing spiel, represents the “Big Chill Generation” – “Guardian-reading, cocktail- swilling, organic food- munching, middle-class media creatives”, as this year’s programme, which disputes the category, puts it – but with speed-dating, croquet and sushi on offer, the tag is not without justification.
Yet for more than a decade the Big Chill has been showcasing some of the most innovative and diverse sounds around. Many of those mothers and fathers, struggling with their pushchairs across the Malvern Hills, were present at the birth, an event that catered for only a few hundred revellers. It is their continued participation that has enabled the Big Chill to retain its ideals of intimacy and integrity over a period of growth that has seen its numbers swell to 30,000.
To list just a few highlights of the weekend demonstrates just how broad a church this festival can be. There was the Fatback Band, which has carried its fusion of funk, rhythm and blues and rap through almost 40 albums over 35 years and told the crowd it was looking for “the party people who like to get down”. (By the close of their fantastic set, one had to conclude that the band’s quest could only be at an end.) There was the Ninja Tune Solid Steel Special, which took over the club tent on Saturday night and offered an audio/visual extravaganza, a retrospect of a decade’s worth of experimentation, with a particularly thrilling contribution from the ever-eccentric DJ Food.
Over on the main stage there was the Malian group Tinariwen, whose fusion of African percussion, electric guitar and soaring vocal harmonies was captivating and transcendent. Also excellent were The Bays, for whom “the performance is the product”: no records have ever been released, no two sets are ever the same. Their vast soundscapes and driving percussion were like a faultless set of the greatest dance tunes you’d never heard.
The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain were equally triumphant. A large crowd arrived intrigued but left enchanted: this is a group that knows how to work an audience. Taking to the stage in tuxedos, the troupe delivered a set genre- busting in its content and beautiful in its execution.
Away from the music, the Art Trail offered video and art installations as well as performance but the quality was rather hit and miss. If it was different you were after, however, there was only ever one place to head. In the Punchdrunk tent, The Persecution and Assassination of Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Clarenton under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade boasted a cast of fairground masters, jazz singers, doctors and ballroom dancers. They performed for up to seven hours each night, providing a piece of interactive theatre that was at once bewitching and bewildering. It proved a major talking point of the weekend.
At a festival of such breadth one will always stumble on acts that seem either too left-field or simply incomprehensible. But by the same token there are some real treasures as well. Emiliana Torrini, Eva Abraham, Efterklang and Xploding Plastix were personal highlights. It is in promoting and celebrating such artists that that this festival’s vitality and importance lie.
[b]The Independent
August 8, 2005, Monday[/b]
30,000 WARM TO THE HOT SOUNDS OF THE BIG CHILL
BY ALASDAIR LEES
The great weather, evergreen surroundings and super-cheerful vibe at the Big Chill are hardly inimical to a good time.
It’s very tempting here just to kick back, eat some nice food, and check out ever-popular Big Chill staples such as Norman Jay and Nitin Sawhney, or a marquee name such as Roisin Murphy. But if you want to catch some white-hot new talent or see something to challenge your expectations at this festival in the heart of the Malvern hills , you can do that, too.
With ticket sales up 3,000 from last year, the brainchild of promoters Pete Lawrence and Katrina Larkin is growing year on year. This Big Chill also offered what has to be the best line-up in its history so far.
Where else can you finish listening to the likes of the balladeer Kate Rusby ” one of the highlights of this year’s Cambridge Folk Festival ” and move on to enjoy a thrilling set of robotic future-funk from the Detroit techno DJ Carl Craig? Incongruities such as this, on the opening night, are what make this festival a rare delight.
Yes, the London bombs meant that the kitsch Parisian covers band Nouvelle Vague did not appear at this year’s Big Chill festival. But they were the last thing on the minds of the 30,000 happy customers who pitched up for three days to soak up the rays, play with their children and enjoy a fantastically eclectic bill.
Keren Ann ” tipped by some as the next Norah Jones ” opened the festival’s main stage on Friday with her languid updating of Sixties French pop. On the same stage on Saturday, the Malian Touareg band Tinariwen beguiled the crowd with some wonderfully svelte Saharan funk.
Over on the Chill Stage, you could nod off on the grass to a pristine guitar soundscape orchestrated by Robert Fripp, before Australian post- jazz trio The Necks provided one of the two great improvisational sets of the day. They ratcheted up their minimal aesthetic with a pulsating groove, with pianist Chris Abrahams hitting the piano with his fists and drummer Tony Buck furiously competing with a crying toddler at the front.
The improvisational baton was taken up later in the evening with a powerhouse set from The Bays, whose performance-only ethic threw up gripping collisions of acid house and drum and bass.
On Sunday, we were back on firmer ground with appearances by a host of the usual Big Chill big names, but there were surprises, including an evocative set from the Icelandic-Italian folk singer Emiliana Torrini and fascinating DJ set from the Chicago acid-house pioneer Larry Heard. St Etienne suffered in an erroneously judged late slot on the main stage on Saturday, but I doubt if many people cared. Like me, they probably just went somewhere else.
[b]Western Daily Press
August 2, 2005[/b]
Town’s warm welcome for Big Chill gig
It’s best known for its genteel, picture postcard image – but this weekend the historic town of Ledbury will host what is now becoming one of the coolest events on the festival calendar. For the Herefordshire market town has become the unlikely home for the rapidly growing Big Chill.
This weekend, locals in Ledbury are preparing to welcome more than 27,000 people for what is growing into Herefordshire’s biggest event.
Traditionally, tourists come to Ledbury to see the historic 17th-century black and white timbered buildings, such as the market house and the famous Feathers Hotel.
But ever since the Big Chill arrived at Eastnor Castle in 2002, locals have been putting the welcome mat out for the kind of visitor who prefers to the look to the future rather than the past.
Organisers of the Big Chill, which relies on word of mouth rather than advertising, say it is one of the foremost gathering of creative types in the country.
According to them, it is much more than an annual music festival, it is a movement “dedicated to transforming the spirit of our times”.
Some reviewers say that since coming to the fairytale home of the Hervey-Bathurst family, it has grown into the premier festival for alternative music and cutting-edge visuals in this country.
This week a small army of workers are filling the tranquil Eastnor Castle deer park and 5,000 acres of parkland with music stages, dance areas and marquees.
It’s a long way from the humble beginning. The Big Chill started out as a one-day event in a London club, with just 700 attending the first outdoor festival at the foot of the Black Mountains, near Birmingham.
After several years at Larmer Tree Gardens and a 2001 festival at Lulworth Castle, both in Dorset, the Big Chill started to look for a new home.
Now the founders have opened an award-winning London bar, their own record label and a Big Chill touring company which travels all over the world.
This weekend acts at the sell-out festival range from top dance DJs such as Bristol’s DJ Derek and Mixmaster Morris to the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain.
“Everything is going really well and hopefully the weather will be fine,” said a spokesman for the promoters.
“Eastnor is a beautiful setting and because it is slightly further north than Dorset, it’s easier for people to get to from all over the country.”
[b]THE DAILY TELEGRAPH
August 10, 2005, Wednesday[/b]
Glastonbury Lite for the middle-youthers
By Lesley Thomas
I’ve just come back from the Big Chill, a marvellous three-day music festival for 30,000 people in the glorious setting of the Malvern Hills.
It’s a kind of Glastonbury Lite, where middle-class thirtysomethings wave their hands in the air to the music we listened to before we had kids and mortgages. Off-road buggies and baby slings are the ideal accessories and upwardly mobile people pay pounds 112 a head to camp out and queue for Portaloos.
Slumming it is part of the fun: I overheard one well-spoken lady, wearing top-of-the-range yellow Hunter wellies, complain that the toilets were too clean. She might also have objected to the array of food available, including gourmet pies, splendid sushi and a stall selling every type of tea you can imagine.
There was face-painting and Punch and Judy for the children, but adult playtime was far better catered for. The “dressing-up tent” was full of vintage ball-gowns and wedding dresses to try on and there was a little shop selling adult-sized frothy tutus.
Middle-youthers, kiddults or whatever is the latest advertising agency buzz word for the generation that refuses to grow up, are having it all. Despite our birth dates, middle age need never come calling.
A dominant cultural force in our youth was the rave scene, which began in 1988 with what was called the Second Summer of Love. Its main advantage over its 1960s’ forerunner was that you didn’t have to drop out to take part. Hundreds of thousands took ecstasy at the weekends, living blameless lives and holding down careers during the week. On Sunday afternoon, as we waited for DJ Norman Jay to start his Big Chill set, many read with interest and enthusiasm that ecstasy had been found to reverse the effects of Parkinson’s disease.
Our party seems unstoppable. When we hit our thirties, they were declared the new twenties and there was no pressure to settle down or procreate. As we head for 40 – many only just starting families – we can adjust our age clocks again and call it the new 30. Thanks to the trend for downshifting, it’s perfectly acceptable to leave the rat-race not long after the starter gun has been fired.
It’s great to be part of a generation that won’t have to get old before it dies. Give or take the all-too-regular sight of grey-haired men in hoodies and long shorts – just like the ones in the boys’ section of Baby Gap – there seem to be few downsides.
[b]The Guardian
August 9, 2005[/b]
The Big Chill
By Carrie O’Grady
The Church of Chill is a broad one. What began as an electro-lounge hybrid today encompasses everything from cello duets to Turkish knees-ups to drum’n'bass. The Big Chill festival, now in its 10th year, aims to please everyone all of the time, and offers all the above. This makes for some jarring juxtapositions: the old-school funk of the Fatback Band, for instance, followed by the Asian breakbeats of Bobby Friction and Nihal.
The weekend was more conducive to chatting and sunbathing than serious musical appreciation. The polished, breezy pop of St Etienne and Roisin Murphy was well received, but new material had less of a buzz than old favourites. The same was true of DJ Gilles Peterson, who played an excellent set of complex, intelligent multicultural mash-ups on the main stage, but it was when he played the Specials’ A Message to You, Rudy that the crowd roared. The ambient noodlings of acts like Lunz and the Necks also got lost in the shuffle.
Similarly, one of the most intriguing-sounding acts played to an almost empty field. Transit Kings brought together the KLF’s Jimmy Cauty and the Orb’s Alex Paterson, backed by Pink Floyd session musician Guy Pratt and soundtrack man Dom Beken. Their four-laptop collaboration produced a rich wash of surprisingly melodic electro, punctuated by Paterson’s trademark echoey samples and even the occasional chord change. But it was the wrong place, wrong time. More popular was the tuxedo-clad Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain, who brought the house (field, rather) down the following afternoon with their medley of I Will Survive, Autumn Leaves, Fly Me to the Moon and Hotel California.
DJ Sean Rowley hit the button with his oldies-drenched set, and he wasn’t the only one: I must have heard John Paul Young’s 1978 hit Love Is in the Air at least three times in as many days. But Rowley couldn’t match the peerless Rob da Bank, warming up for his own Bestival next month with a lively set, and masters of kitsch, Hexstatic. Their closing dedication – “Richard Whiteley: 1943-2005″ – touched a chord with a nostalgic crowd.
AND OTHER QUOTES FROM EASTNOR 2005
[b]Brighton Argus
Aug 12[/b]
It’s obvious why so many of us fall in love with the Big Chill [because it] centres on pleasure and indulgence. This is a festival for [those] who still want to party – but in a little more style. It is also a festival obsessed with food and well-being’
[b]Western Daily Press
Aug 11[/b]
‘It’s all about de-stressing, kicking back and soaking up a smorgasbord of music from experimental electronica to funk, reggae and acoustic troubadours – as well as sipping rum cocktails, worshipping the sun, having therapeutic massages and fresh fruit skewered on kebab sticks for your breakfast’
[b]Straight No Chaser
Autumn 2005[/b]
‘Sa rays, a trademark Chill vibe, and solid organisation guaranteed copious smiles’
[b]Clash Magazine
Sep[/b]
The original ethos of the Big Chill – you know, an outlet for creativity, unity and harmony – remains intact, what with the Body Soul area offering a large range of therapeutic treatments… And the Art Trail, always an entertaining nightime experience with its displays and light installations. During the day-time you could enjoy human snail-racing, a Butlins holiday camp, croquet, fancy dress parade, hula-hooping, barn-dancing or even man-sized nest-making’
[b]Guardian Guide
Aug[/b]
‘So what’s the best festival of the summer? Best of all is The Big Chill… an enchanting little escape in the foothills of the striking Eastnor Castle where kindred souls converge for some sunshine, conversation [and] chilled beats’
[b]Q Magazine
Aug[/b]
‘This is a place for music fans who don’t believe the hype, but do believe their ears. Sometimes you’re mad for it. Sometimes though you need to relax, and that, ultimately, is The Big Chill all over’
[b]Knowledge Magazine
Sep[/b]
‘It’s an event where you can listen to the music you love, the music you’ve thought about loving and things you can’t even pronounce but find yourself falling head over heels for’
Press contact: Sam Pow – 020 7684 2013 / sam@bigchill.net
