Music Story

08 January 2009 06:40 BST

The Big Chill review

We went to the Big Chill Festival last weekend and, as it's impressively middle class in an 'I live in Stoke Newington with my children Gabriel and Dante' kind of way, we learnt a lot of things.

We also saw some bands and some comedy. But before that, these are things we learnt over the weekend

1. Radio 1 on a Friday evening is literally the worst thing in the world – two hours of it in the car from Bath to Eastnor is not what you want to listen to as you prepare to be all relaxed and trendy.

2. The Big Chill is so relaxed no one even bothers to signpost it, which is fine as long as you have someone who can read directions – we didn't and so were very late but did get to see a lot of very pretty countryside.

3. Setting up a tent in the pouring rain is also a terrible way to get in the festival spirit – especially when everyone else has the most organised camping arrangements in the world.

4. A bin bag really does make a very effective coat – but it's very sweaty. Very sweaty indeed

5. Deck shoes are not suitable footwear for a muddy festival that boasts a number of very steep hills. Unless you think having a muddy bottom is a fashion statement.

6. It is possible to organise a very successful festival around a handful of underground acts, one aging singer songwriter with a gravely voice and a pair of very big name comedians.

After proving we learnt some things from our weekend on the Welsh borders we can talk about the festival some more. Never before has a weekend of music been more aptly named. The whole affair – held in a fetching valley – is laid back to the point of being catatonic.

There are none of the pissed-up emo teens of Reading; none of the faintly desperate and aging hippies of Glastonbury trying to recapture their youth by taking too many drugs and playing bongos; and none of the gurning men in short-sleeved white shirts that pollute the likes of Global Gathering and Creamfields.

What there is, however, is an overriding air of smugness emanating from everyone about just how relaxed and not up-tight they are. The wafts of self-satisfaction seem to fill the air of the whole festival - along with the shouts of children with names like Tristram and Rossetti.

Despite this, it's basically impossible not to have a fairly nice time at Big Chill. Even in the rain of Friday night (we got there too late to see the likes of Natty, Johnny Flynn and Martha Wainwright – by all accounts they were very good), people were gently swaying to the danceable coffee table stylings of ex-Moloko lady Roisin Murphy and the actually-a-little-bit-boring electro dub of The orb.

The Rizla area also appeared to be kicking off in an exciting way but as they were operating a door policy stricter than a Russian nightclub, we don't know why. The Club Tent had been invaded by Ninja Tunes, so you got the predictably leftfield and fun-ish, but not amazing, Roots Manuva, Vadim and Krush. It was all like an advert for marijuana if it was ever legalised.

Then midnight rolled around and everything got much more interesting – Luke Vibert puts most DJ/producers to shame by being basically amazing and I've never seen a more dapper DJ than Daedelus. Anyone who can play glitchy electro while wearing a three-piece suit is OK in my book.

In that amazing way that only happens at festivals, no one seemed in the least bit hungover come Saturday morning. Which meant there was plenty of time to wonder down to catch the end of poet John Hegley performing a charming set for all the kids at the event. We were actually a bit sad to have missed the start as it sounded amazing, but we'd been distracted while walking into the festival by a group of boy using a very large catapult to hurl water bombs at the security guards. Unlike at any other festival in the world, the burly blokes in hi-viz jackets didn't try and throw the lads out. Instead they laughed and tried to catch the falling projectiles. That's how chilled everyone was.

After Hegley finished with a triumphant work about how much he likes glasses, we strolled over to the Mixed Media Tent to watch Eddie Izzard in the slightly s**t big screen remake of Five Children and It. Halfway through, we noticed crowds gathering at the Under Belly across the way and meandered over to investigate. It turned out everyone was already gathering for Bill Bailey, despite the fact the bearded Buzzcocks star wasn't due on stage for another two hours.

Not wanting to miss out, we joined the throng and, as we bought some beers, noticed a copy of the board game Go for Broke behind the bar. A quick chat with the staff and we'd become the most popular people in the tent. Everyone wanted to be our mates and play the game. Literally, board games are the best things you could ever take to a festival. Losing a million quid proved surprising difficult and took us until just before Bill took to the stage. Mixing old and new material, a protest song about a chip shop in a Billy Bragg style and some jibes about the Mighty Boosh was pretty much guaranteed to get the crowd roar with mirth - which they did.

Rolling out into mid-afternoon sun and drizzle we headed towards the Open Air stage for some Hot 8 Brass Band action but, as is the way with the Big Chill, got distracted and pottered over the Disco Shed - where a small but surprisingly competitive table football tournament was taking place while DJs played sunny dance and reggae tunes.

By the time I'd come second - beaten by a wonder goal in the final moments don't you know - it was time for the Mighty Boosh to take over the main stage, which they did with great aplomb. The mixing of songs and comedy was surprising effective, helped no doubt by the fact everyone knew every line and were willing the duo to be funny from the start. After Howard and Vince left the stage, the sun was setting and it was time for dancing. Everything kicked off with a set of Summer of Love Classics from Tom Middleton - perfect for the post 30s crowd even if the dance purist might have sniffed that many of the songs were actually from the 90s.

After popping over to the Castle Stage to see a far too serious African Tribute to James Brown, it was back to the Club Tent for German technoers Ame and then back again (you don't half clock up the miles at these festival things) to the main stage for some increasingly tough stuff from Plaid, Leggo Beast and finally Trentmoller - who showed everyone why he should be much more famous in the UK than he is.

After most of the music shut down and we realised we'd missed Mr Scruff - although it's never hard to image what his sets were like. There was probably some northern soul, a bit of D 'n' B and some images of pies and tea - we headed back to the trusty Disco Shed to find one half of Hexstatic were doing an unscheduled but utterly amazing DJ set. As the crowd chanted 'last year's headline set, this year's disco shed' we wondered off to bed and watched the dawn break.

Again waking hangover free, we noticed with despair that everything good scheduled for Sunday - Leonard Cohen, Robin Ince, Adam Buxton, Caspa & Rusko et al - were all on so late we'd have to miss our train home to see them. In a fit of anger about not having the foresight to book Monday off work, we watched Norman Jay OBE perform his amazing and Big Chill must-see set of feel-good dance and left, stopping on route to have Sunday lunch at mum's. The roast pork was nice but reports about how absolutely wonderfully incredibly good LC was made the train home far more sour than it should have been when returning from the most relaxed festival this side the ketamine appreciation club's annual free for all.

James Cooper