Last week, probably during a period where I should have had more sleep, I took to wondering what kind of music would make people want toasties. Narrative then very kindly obliged, in a manner that seems almost a little contrived, and provided me with an answer. We were at Supersonic Festival this weekend, a festival where people from all over the country come to experience some of the most passionate, adventurous and downright strange music on the scene, and to eat toasties.
It would appear that this music forms the perfect soundtrack for artisan toastie consumption. We sold out on Saturday, then brought more on Sunday and sold out again. Selling out of toasties underneath a dripping viaduct in the middle of the night with a base line so heavy the van feels like it’s going to crumble to dust was a feeling that I don’t think I’ll be able to describe properly, ever, but I’m never going to forget it. As an added bonus selling out meant that once we closed the hatch for the night we got to wander round the festival marvelling at the sights and sounds of the oddness that is Supersonic.
I confess that I am about as musically aware as a straw hat. I listen to radio 1 in the mornings because it’s a nice loud noise and you can be pretty sure nothing educational will ambush you on the drive to work. Other than that my music collection is whatever Barny left in the stereo, so this weekend was a little like fine dining after a lifetime of MacDonalds: The finest of cuisine is not necessarily just stupidly delicious; some of it is complex, confusing and almost hard work. This was pretty similar. There were times when I couldn’t help thinking that it just sounded like noise. Which I then kept thinking is what the older generation always say about the kids these days.
Only the people of Supersonic are not kids. Quite the opposite, pretty much all ages were represented, with the possible exception of the 16-19 age group that I now find myself referring to as kids. Many were seasoned visitors to the festival, in fact I don’t think we met anyone who had not been at least once before, and all were wolfing down toasties like the fine, excellent people we knew them to be.
Technically in this case it was possibly not so much the music that directly caused consumption of toasties, but that the music appeals to people who happen to also know excellent street food when they see it. They said nice things about the toasties and loads of them stopped for a chat, which greatly increased my musical education over the weekend, and has left us tired, happy and the Jabberwocky with funds enough to see him safely through the winter.
I hope that we will be able to make Supersonic a regular feature on the Wocky calendar, because apart from the mind-bendingly good sales the people were some of the nicest, most civilized festival-goers I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Nothing beats a festival where you sleep in a proper bed, no one pees on your tent and the music played is the mystical sound of the toastie.