- "Are you still alive?"
Photo credit: Emma Gutteridge
When I eventually regained full use of my fingers, eyes and liver sometime on Tuesday and got to grips with my mobile, this was the first message I found. We'd just returned from the Bang Face Weekender, the three day and night blowout celebrating all things hard and ravey. Like a radioactive glow stick, the festival retains this sort of unholy aura where relatives (if you dare tell them what you're up to) and pals (who fully know the score) are worried about your ability to survive the weekend with everything intact.
While physically set by the seaside at Pontins in Camber Sands, Bang Face's mindset is located at the coal face of the rave. It's gnarly, grimy and difficult to navigate without the aid of a flashlight. It attracts a full gauntlet of electronic adventurers incorporating a mixture of fresh new blood (Numbers' Jackmaster and Night Slugs' Bok Bok played on the Friday) and elder statesmen of acid, jungle, techno and children's entertainment. Dave Benson Philips was down this year, apparently spending much of Friday evening gunging festival goers.
The location helps add to the effect. The chalets are run down to the point of semi-disintegration, while the number of leisure activities available provides a sharp contrast to the sledgehammer hardness of the line-up. Bouncy castles rub shoulders with go-karts, grabbers and the swimming pool.
Photo credit: Emma Gutteridge
When we arrived after getting revved up on the train journey, the place seemed relatively calm and sedate. Apart from the odd blast of breakcore from the chalets, and the occasional vacant-eyed dancer staggering about, the party didn't appear all that unhinged. Until we caught a viewing of the pool party on Bang Face television in the chalets, that is. The cameras appeared glued to the various cracks and crevices of the minority of females in the pool while male swimmers thrashed around to the savage jump up soundtrack on offer. Host and BF resident DJ Normski screamed for valium throughout the show.
From that point in, Saturday night rapidly descended. We ventured into the main body of the arena to take in the sights at sunrise. The "Juracid" theme meant that much of the crowd was dolled up as dinosaurs complete with masses of signs: "Hungry and chalet less - spare 10 pence for meow," "Need money to buy Stephen Hawking-style computer."
Out of the line up on the Saturday, we had a wide range of heavy musical business to get our teeth into. Older party boys Altern8 proved they still had it in the main room with an abrasive volley of broken dance, while Matthew Herbert took a massive detour from the wispy electronica of One One and opted for snarling Berghain-style techno. The boffin's sound of funk, big lazers and general messiness belied his meticulous mixing and smart attire.
Photo credit: Emma Gutteridge
Dubstep poster boy Joker stood up to the plate next and slayed the main room with a crunching dose of purple, large enough to demolish a stadium. A remix of Rihanna's "Rude Girl" knocked the venue sideways, while his own rerubs and productions did similar levels of damage. I've never seen a DJ do that to a room yet remain so nonchalant behind the wheels. Sheffield's Squire of Gothos mopped up the second room for the final slot at 5 AM and got a suitably ridiculous murk on for the occasion. The visually peculiar pairing—one gigantic of stature, the other much shorter—provided relief to their own bassline boom boom via Mariah Carey's "Honey," Seal's "Kissed by a Rose," and Livin' Joy's "Dreamer." It was a suitably bizarre climax to a deeply bizarre eve.
Sunday was more about the fun and games after the hard crew had calmed down. Despite the massive amount of sleep deprivation, we even ventured out to the Camber Sands beach for a brief spot of sunbathing before continuing with the party. 1Xtra's Tim Westwood proved to be the star turn on the Sunday, dropping a lorry load of hip-hop bangers from behind a laptop and egging the BF crew onto a higher plain. Elsewhere, The Countryside Alliance (featuring the brilliantly named Farmer Giles Peterson) did damage and The Orb got all floaty for the finale. By this stage mindlessness was beginning to set in and we ended the evening raving in the Bang Face TV room while the likes of Midnight Star & Usher's "Touch That Midas Girl" were laid down to those still stupid enough to be up.
We managed to avoid sleep for the most part of Sunday, then headed off at a respectable time to meet the cold shower of reality. Despite only being on site for less than 48 hours, it felt like we'd been residing at BF for weeks. We'd bummed fags from strangers who 16 hours later were our best mates, sat in chalets chatting total rubbish with men in bright headgear and generally lost the plot in a mind-melting fashion. If you like your rave, hard, stupid and wearing big bovver mates made out of bass, then Bang Face is most definitely the place for you.