Original Intro

I've been to five Splashies in the space of nine years, and it was at this one that it hit me: Splashy Fen is about way more than music. It has an appreciation for life, fun and good times that spread well beyond the scope of listening to a few good bands. Accordingly, a simple report on the music heard would be inadequate. The flip side is that when over eight thousand people camp together in a field for more than four days, there are a helluva lot more stories popping up than one could possibly squeeze into this article. For those who were there, maybe this will incite a few memories. For those who weren't, hopefully you'll be inspired to join in next year. After all, where else but a music festival can you have a ballie tapping his foot in appreciation to the cover of an older number while the kid next to him moshes like a man possessed, hearing nothing but power chords, thundering drums and lyrics inciting a revolution?

Intro two

After five Splashy Fens in the space of nine years, I have come to realise that this Annual festival is about a helluva lot more than music. Things happen on this farm in the space of four days that wouldn't happen out in the real world in the space of four years. Considering there are over eight thousand people creating a transient community, there are a lot of opportunities for the incredible to occur. It's the same with the music. The variety is simply too great to give anything like a complete report. The best I can hope to strive for is a fraction of what went down and hopefully it will inspire all you Splashy Virgins to come next year, and bring back a few vague memories for you Splashy Veterans.

Any trip to Splashy starts with the drive. Very few of us, after all, live in Underberg. Packing the car is always a bitch, squeezing way more than you are going to need into a tiny boot, then trying to crush 5 people into a hatchback so you can save on gas. The camaraderie only lasts until someone has their foot mashed once too often and the tension starts to mount because the driver forgot his toothbrush and has just realised he's only packed a single pair of socks. Things may settle down into a sort of stewing monotony, but wait till you hit the dirt road that comprises the final twenty minutes of the trip. You are dangerously overloaded because you've bought last minute supplies, as well as tons of booze and even the smallest bump results in that spine-tingling shudder as you scrape the undercarriage on the ground. But you are almost there.

When you finally find a decent camp spot, you have a celebratory drink, followed by another. A few more and everyone is best buddies again, until you realise that it is almost dark and your tents are still at the bottom of the piles of crap you have in the car. Dammit. A bit of scrambling, some bruised shins and handy expletives and voila: a couple of shoddy looking structures around a fire that's made of more dried grass and cardboard then wood. More drinks and merriment, get to know your neighbours, listen to some of the first notes of Splashy (Thursday night rocked it to some old school stuff. Those bands put hectic pressure on the lead guitarist.) and you have the first night under your belt.

Mornings are always a bit rough, because you probably haven't slept much (I had eleven hours sleep in three days. Do the math.). It's rad though, because the food stalls open early and there is tons of bomb chow to be had, from bacon and egg rolls to veggie health drinks. After breakfast, the best way to start your day is to head down to the river with a few drinks and go for a swim. The weather heats up quick and what better to clean up body and mind then a dip in water that I'm pretty sure thaws out each dawn. If you aren't sure what to do with your time, there are plenty of ways to pass the day. The flea market is sweet, you can watch plenty of stuff on the extra stages, or you can just cruise the campground, make new friends and see people trying to get as far away from reality as possible.

The bands on the blunt main marquee started at three each day, and the Friday night line-up was insane. Most of the guys were hard and fast, and the crowd built up steam starting with Ystervark and ending with Pestroy. The whole line-up absolutely rocked, so it's hard to pick favourites. If you weren't there you missed one of the best nights of music I've seen in a while. By the time the last set was played, the crowd was going insane. Pestroy and Marlowe have both got sick-heavy-intense sounds, you just wanted to throw your body around. Ketamine's new line-up has them sounding very different; I reckon it's an improvement. It was fantastic. When the crowd and the bands get into it, you can't beat live music. Friday night went well into the wee hours, including some damn fool who wandered the entire campground screaming 'HEY YOU GUUUUUYS!' at the top of his lungs for four hours. If I ever meet that ou, he's gonna get beat down.

Saturday was the halfway mark of Splashy. People had got into a party routine though, and when you're in a place where reality doesn't generally dare tread, weird things start to happen. A couple guys built a dirt jump into the river and were launching on a mountain bike. Nudity raised its head on a regular basis, and the Air Guitar competition began. The Faerie People started to appear. Whether you saw them or they saw you or they were real or you were freaking depended on which one of you took the most acid. For my part, I didn't take any, but I saw some very chilled looking dudes, with some crazy garmentation and they looked like they were having a better time than anyone. Hippies are the best.

Saturday had a cleaner flavour of tunes, but rocked the crowd just as hard. The day started with some crazy hip-hop from Durban act Juvenile 031, but launched straight into power rock for the rest of the night. Esjay put on a good show, considering it was her first live performance ever, and US group Seven 13 did some weird stuff, albeit with some impressive guitar and drum accompaniment. The lead singer had some odd props, and there was this big chick with angel wings pouring molten wax on the guy's body? everyone else saw this, right? Good. Sons of Trout were epic, though I think they were in the wrong spot in the line-up. Their vibes are chillin and relaxin, though they have some up-tempo beats that got the crowd moving. Tree 63 is the tightest, most professional sounding band in the country. They did seven sterling covers, had the crowds going nuts, and were tight as hell performance wise. A lot of the other bands could stand to learn a thing or to from how these guys play live. You may not like their music, but you have to admire their professionalism.

The night finished off with more Hip Hop from the Cheap Lazy Maggots in the Black Label Tent, and the guys rocked it. Bass pumping everywhere, you had no option but to go: you couldn't sleep through it. Red Bull had everyone revving, and I found every and any excuse to borrow their quad bike. Those things are the tits, they are so fun. I thought Saturday night was over by about 3AM, but low and behold, squatters invaded our campsite. Several times through the night, people wandered into tents that didn't belong to them. I had to explain to a couple that this was not, in fact, Cameron's tent and they had to leave. They were polite and apologetic, and fairly drunk. The guy my friend Brendan had to throw out of his tent was not quite as co-operative. From the stories I've heard, there was plenty of tent-hopping going on, some of it welcomed with open arms. Plenty of considerate sleeping bag sharing, I believe.

Most of the crowd left Sunday, which was a disappointment. For them, because they missed the Air Guitar Finals. Classic stuff and the guy who won was sick, jumping around like with so much aggro, he probably would have destroyed any real equipment he was holding. The festival seemed to wind down prematurely, but I think most people were unaware that there was one more night to party. Those of us who stayed had the pleasure of sitting back and mellowing while we watched all the faders scurry about, packing up their tents and belongings. They claimed they were looking forward to hot showers and comfy beds, but the sorrow in their eyes was plain for all to see. The final line-up on Sunday was as good as either of the previous nights. The mid-section was particularly strong, with the AK Massive and their performing monkeys, Siamese and Even Flow putting together a solid three hours of blasting sound. They definitely deserved bigger support, and I wish the crowd presence could have shown them the true value of their music, because they deserved more people. Damn the faders. Rhutz finished the night off and they were the biggest surprise of Splashy for me. I was sceptical, but they have an intense and impressive stage presence. Their music stands out, and they had the few remaining fans going nuts. Props to all the guys who played Sunday, you guys definitely deserved bigger crowds.

Sunday night was the last party night before the return to reality, and most people took advantage. Our campsite turned into a war zone, with a freakin enormous camp blaze ('fire' doesn't do it justice) and people getting raucous. Elsewhere, folk so mind-blown on whatever wandered around, too stoned to communicate with anyone. Some friends had three guys cruise into their site, one of them naked. They named them Bob 1, 2 and 3 because they were so fried they couldn't speak. Apparently Bob 3 kept insisting that his name was really Bruce and they were actually in HIS camp. Some people can't handle their narcotics very well.

Monday morning was rough. Three days of non-stop partying had created a lasting exhaustion that not even a triple vodka and Red Bull could even dent. The blunt crew had got there early and stayed to the last, but the festival had taken its toll. Everything stank of smoke, was covered in mud, and I had lost at least half of my clothing. Damn Groupies. (HAHAHA, just kidding. I wish). After our final goodbyes and one last greasy breakfast, it was onto the road for a bumpy trip along a crappy road in a somewhat lighter car, accompanied by the fuzzy memories of the past weekend, and a promise to return next year. It's the 10th Anniversary of my first visit, and I'm gonna catch me a fen, in a fen.