Tom Dunne: Oh the joys of being out and about at festivals again
Tom Dunne of Something Happens at Feile 1990 in Thurles. Picture: Eddie O’Hare
I was about to play my third festival in a week before the broader picture dawned on me. Something Happens had played Galway Arts and Boyle Arts but now, preparing for the Forest Festival in Emo Court the penny started to drop. And a woman with blue hair wanted a hug.
You can get lost in the details sometimes: Rehearsal, set length, could you get away with playing Parachute twice? And today I was very lost. I’d managed to drive, with no passes, right into the audience area. The car was abandoned now and I could see back stage but not get to it.
The woman with blue hair was very excited. “I was supposed to come with my daughter,” she’d told me, “but she’s off somewhere.” We exchanged a knowing look, I have daughters too. “So I’m here on my own. Nothing was stopping me. You and The Stunning, on the same bill!” She opened her arms.
We hugged and it felt like the first hug I’d ever had. I suddenly ‘noticed’ the festival: people chatting, laughing, getting beer, queuing for food, the music of Cathy Davey floating in the air, a man asking his friends if they’d ever taken Viagra!
“Jaysus,” I suddenly realised, “we’re out!” My blue-haired friend seemed to be still coming to terms with just being here. “I’ve followed you and The Stunning since day one.” She closed her eyes momentarily, as if to savour the moment. I suddenly felt so glad that we are able to play. We hugged once more and parted.
I had to go because my pre-gig ritual has gone awry. I managed to talk my way in, confusing people as I went, but I am now inside the public area with neither pass nor ticket. It was like Feile ’90 all over again.
A man in a yellow vest realised my predicament. “I don’t know how you got this far, but you really have to go to Production.” He gave me directions. I met The Stunning on the way and asked if I could join their band as they seemed better organised that us. In Production three girls chimed, in unison, “The meal vouchers will be here soon!”
I finally made my way to the side of the stage but my travails were not over. Onstage Cathy Davey was being magnificent but I had nowhere to change. I realised Cathy was separated from backstage by a curtain so I stripped off behind it. One strong wind and I’d have made the evening news.
I felt nervous for the first time. I realised the crowd would probably be about 5,000-strong when we went on. I tried to recall how you deal with festival crowds – big gestures, speak slowly, no new songs - something like that. But first and foremost try and enjoy it.
During the first song I became aware that the audience was cheering wildly. I opened my eyes to see Alan kick a beach ball into the crowd. A ten-year-old girl called Emily, possibly on the suggestion of her dad Sean, had brought it. Beach balls were big at Féile.
I realised that the beach ball had done all the work that needed to be done with the audience. It had broken the ice, got them cheering and onside. The sun peeped out. We sang. They sang. This emotion bottled, this joy, this happiness, would be priceless.
The singer’s mind wandered, as it does in the spaces between the lyrics, to the gig the night before in Boyle. It was in a club as opposed to outdoor, but it was the same vibe, a joy from beginning to end. Afterwards I had talked to as many people as I could, and we all told the same story: so happy to be out, amongst people.
At some point it came to me. This is it ending. This is the real end of what we’ve been through these last two years. We don’t even want to give it a name. We are here now, with friends, laughing, talking, singing, cheering every time someone kicks the beach ball.
When I mentioned, during Parachute, how nice it was to be there, with them, in a field, there was a huge cheer. But we leave it at that. No need to spell it out. No need to remind ourselves.
We’ve lived through something huge. But just look at us now: having the craic and hugging people with blue hair.
