110 Above the Rest

Last weekend, with bags bulging with tent pegs and fluffy socks, my cousin Emily and I (Extended Exploration Duo, as seen with our New York adventure) were dropped off at 110 Above, an intimate festival nestled unbeknownst in Twycross, Leicester. And the first thing my Auntie said: "It is a literal farm!?" - with some alarm. Which is true: sporadic tents in a field were being erected, or their masters contently sitting on tiny unfolding chairs like they had just conquered a mountaineering feat; a compact woodland was adorned with fairy lights; behind this lay the echoing barns and vibrantly-painted caravans that would make up one of the best experiences of my year, if not my life.

The only place to be

Our first mission was to put up our tent, with success within fifteen minutes (high fives all around I believe). But, the first thing any novice camper must take heed: the size of the men they measure for tent sizes must be the actual size of infants, as our 'four man' was snug with two teenage girls and two holdalls. Always upsize. As we lay with our heads out of the tent entrance (a maze in itself: why would you need four zips to open a simple flap-door is anyone's guess) we observed the inevitably labelled 'Lads' opposite, with their impressive hexagon shaped living quarters, and their less unfortunate friends, who took over an hour to hoist up the same sized tent Emily and I had whizzed up. (To put it into perspective, I have never put up a tent before.) After our own, private comedy show ended with our neighbour's tent finally standing on its own, we bumbled towards the farm.
Unlike most suspense-inducing films, I will spoil the whole thing right here: that farm will forever hold fond memories for its electric music, from headline artists we had prepared ourselves to see since purchasing the tickets, to just-emerging musicians, much like the first act on stage that Friday afternoon, Casey Lowry. Not only was his music catchy without being boring (we managed to sing the words to his debut single Trampoline by the end of his set, taking it with us in a melodic hum throughout the day) but it was so refreshing to witness him so genuinely thrilled to be performing, constantly thanking us for turning up and emblazoning a smile on his face. This was the atmosphere for all of those who performed, with a generous stream of pleasant thanks and appreciation for turning up, when really, we wanted to shout back how inspirational they were for us. As well as Casey Lowry, my favourites from Day One were Jasper in the Company of Others, with old-school Mumford & Sons vibes; and Little Comets, who inadvertently created my first mosh pit. (Admittedly as big as a fish flopping in a pond, but it surged an adrenaline rush through the crowd, more like a hippo's cannonball into a swimming pool - imagine.) The animated music only climaxed on Day Two, with my favourite band of the event, the Marsicans, bouncing around the stage with infectious smiles and music. And there I was, in my little emergency bin-bag poncho, resting my hands on the barrier right at the front in the middle of the stage, singing back the songs I had indirectly revised probably much more vividly than some of my A Levels. Even when they left the stage, my face would not let my telling grin go, which I was happily forced to wear for the rest of the day, because this band had made my day. My excitement did not let up, as when the setting sun collapsed to the floor  and the rain had finally subsided, we all shed our waterproofs like a flock of graceful birds throwing off their downy feathers, and crowded around the main stage for Sundara Karma. As soon as their lead singer, Oscar Pollock, stepped into the lights, we all knew this next hour would be one of the highlights of the weekend, as he was not only exuded confidence in his oxblood lace shirt and matching lipstick and eyeshadow, but gave off an air of an eccentric pop star, and we loved it. If I would have lost my voice at any point, I could easily pinpoint it to that hour of yelling She Said, to Loveblood, to (my favourite) Happy Family.

By Day Three, my under-eye bags had tripled in volume and gave the appearance of being puffed up by an air bed pump - which I wished we had brought, instead of just mats and sleeping bags - but they were blasted back into my skull with the chill beats of Cassia, mimicking music associated with beaches on holiday islands, and Island themselves, with lead singer's Rollo Doherty (already a musician with a name like that) powerful voice. I also got to see one of my favourite musicians (since year nine I have been badly dancing to and from school to his tunes), Lewis Watson, for the third time (fourth in September!). With only a few minutes until he was due to grace the stage, Emily and I managed to politely weave our way to the front, when Lewis humbly stepped up to the microphone, with just his guitar. He explained that he could not afford a band at the moment, but I can honestly say that his 110 Above performance was the most emotionally powerful I have witnessed, with insights raw and intricate about the songs mum and I have been blasting in the car for month now. (She was very jealous that she did not get to see him - we still have September mum!) With a sombre yet content daze, Emily and I then bopped to upcoming hits by Will Joseph Cook (he says he does not cook by the way) and then danced to our last band, Eliza and the Bear. Not only were we screaming lyrics like we willed our voices to be croaky the next morning, but lead singer James Kellegher made us all giggle with spontaneous jokes and the infamous inflatable flamingo, which flew up onto the stage roof just as their song ended in the most perfect timing. And, with that, Emily and I mournfully trudged back to our tent to pack it up and go home; while we walked back, I asked if we could go back again - after we had been in our own beds for a night anyway.

Lewis Watson, performing songs from his aptly-named album 'Midnight'

Aside from the music I adored so much (can you tell, because I feel like I was very subtle), 110 Above itself was run as if it had been eclipsing for many, many years: volunteers speckled the grounds with high-vis neon, whether picking up litter or cleaning the toilets (forever grateful); food stalls offered sunny smiles relentlessly against even Saturday's wet day (thank you to the man who served me too many hot chocolates to be considered acceptable, each time with a joke); the two bands who unfortunately could not turn up were swiftly replaced with equally eloquent musicians (so great to jam to Ten Tonnes again, after seeing him support Lewis Watson all the way back in April last year).

I did learn a few tricks while there (always learning, learning, learning), especially as this was my first camping holiday – the last time I went camping was when I was about 10. The first, as mentioned before, was always bring more layers than you think you will need when camping in a tent! I soon realised I really needed thermals under my leggings, a balaclava over my face that got so cold it woke me up in the night, a blanket the width of a polar bear, a blow up air bed and ear plugs - I have come to the conclusion that the parties camping around us did not sleep, as they were still talking at 4 in the morning, and when I was awoken by them at 7. But, as Bob Marley said, 'you can't have sunshine without a little rain' and the festival more than made up for my restless 4 hours of sleep for two nights.

Also, emergency ponchos and cagoules may be one of the ugliest items that could breech your wardrobe, but heck, they may even outshine the musicians in festivals: buy a funky one, with neon strips and polka dots. And finally: long hair is in fashion for men, and I obviously missed the memo about fishnets because it was like an underwater ocean of those things.
Overall, as we stood in the dark on Sunday night, with our clothes mangled in holdalls and the tent haphazardly flung into its absurdly teeny bag, waiting for Emily's mum/my Auntie to pick us up, I realised that I wanted to hurl myself back through the farm gates and beg to see it all again. I recommend 110 Above to anyone and everyone: we lined up with gaggles of young children lining up for face painting (we got glitter tattoos, because we are cool 18 year olds), while small babies in pushchairs in families of a plethora of ages eating brownies on benches next to us, then shouted tunes with teens like ourselves, chatted to twenty-somethings, and boogied with a couple who were in their late 60s, with the husband wearing a red fedora with yellow sunglasses and a blazer, and the wife pulling out of her bag a green sequinned bomber jacket (E.G. the people I want to be when I am older). Anyone who likes indie, pop or just wants to experience well-written music would adore this festival as much as I have.

And finally, if I have to prove to you any more about how special this festival is, Martin Luke Brown’s performance radiates its magic in a simple coincidence (or not), for as he was playing his cover of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, Emily tapped me on the shoulder and pointed left, and there it was: a brilliantly-bright rainbow. And, as the song faded out, so did the rainbow in the sky.

Somewhere over the rainbow...

I am already planning on going next year.

Thank you 110 Above.