Concert memories (8) Rock Werchter, 3 July 1988
After our final exam, we decided that we had to go to a festival. The best line up was in Belgium, so we took the train to Leuven and took a bus to near Werchter, the day before the festival. We pitched our tents on a bit of wasteland, saved us a lot of money, had a few drinks in the local pub and went to sleep early, tired from travelling, anticipating a long day the next day.
There were nine of us, but when entering we already lost each other. We ended up in three little groups, unable to find the others. The very first band we saw 10.000 maniacs surprised me. Not exactly what you would expect at a big festival, with 50.000 people watching. But what a voice did that lady have. After that the rain started. Mud, something I will for the rest of my life associate with festivals. Our little group (Bart and me) were there to see the last artist of the day, Sting, due to perform at 10.30 p.m. Only 11 hours to go and plenty of music to listen to. Carmel was disappointing, Inxs predictable, John Hiatt the highlight of the day, Los lobos not really our style, but fun enough to watch. By the time it got dark, we were tired, not a dry spot on our bodies, the mud was ankle deep and we had run out of cash, not realising that at festivals you always get overcharged.
We found a small dry spot in a little tent on the side. We sat in the grass and sang some Police-songs, anticipating the Sting concert. Our singing wasn't very good, but at least it got us some space, very limited at this moment of the day, well in demand, when tens of thousands try to find a shelter with the 16th shower of the day torturing the crowd.
We spent our last money on a soft drink and some bad food and decided to get to the front. Bryan Adams was the act to perform in the twilight. His music is perfect for festivals, with only one disadvantage: I cannot stand it. So the two of us decided to annoy the biggest fans by asking them who this band was in-between songs. Stunned people explained to us that Bryan Adams was performing to which our reply was "Adams, never heard of him. Jolly nice tune though." Probably not very funny when you were not there, for us it was a pass-time.
By the time Sting jumped on stage, we had used our elbows well enough to be near the stage. He performed several songs from his debut album, but we were most impressed with his band. Kenny Kirkland, Branford Marsalis, all the great musicians who performed on his very first solo album and tour, were there. And we loved it. As if it had to be that way, the rain stopped. Sting was great, he played some Police songs, but deliberately not the big hits, disappointing a few, but thrilling the real fans. The show lasted about an hour and a half, in which we completely forgot how soaked we were. How much mud had been inside our shoes, our food and our drinks. We forgot that we hadn't seen the seven others for the whole day, there was just Sting, his musicians who played as if they were at a jam session in a jazz-cafe and us.
On return in the middle of the night, I found my tent occupied by a couple who decided they needed a lovesha(g)ck, leaving me with no place to sleep. In the end I slept on the floor in between two others, suffering a cold night. The next day we must have looked weird in the train. Nine mud monsters travelling together, though not communicating. Our friendships took a little dip, though recovered soon. However, I had seen Sting!
There were nine of us, but when entering we already lost each other. We ended up in three little groups, unable to find the others. The very first band we saw 10.000 maniacs surprised me. Not exactly what you would expect at a big festival, with 50.000 people watching. But what a voice did that lady have. After that the rain started. Mud, something I will for the rest of my life associate with festivals. Our little group (Bart and me) were there to see the last artist of the day, Sting, due to perform at 10.30 p.m. Only 11 hours to go and plenty of music to listen to. Carmel was disappointing, Inxs predictable, John Hiatt the highlight of the day, Los lobos not really our style, but fun enough to watch. By the time it got dark, we were tired, not a dry spot on our bodies, the mud was ankle deep and we had run out of cash, not realising that at festivals you always get overcharged.
We found a small dry spot in a little tent on the side. We sat in the grass and sang some Police-songs, anticipating the Sting concert. Our singing wasn't very good, but at least it got us some space, very limited at this moment of the day, well in demand, when tens of thousands try to find a shelter with the 16th shower of the day torturing the crowd.
We spent our last money on a soft drink and some bad food and decided to get to the front. Bryan Adams was the act to perform in the twilight. His music is perfect for festivals, with only one disadvantage: I cannot stand it. So the two of us decided to annoy the biggest fans by asking them who this band was in-between songs. Stunned people explained to us that Bryan Adams was performing to which our reply was "Adams, never heard of him. Jolly nice tune though." Probably not very funny when you were not there, for us it was a pass-time.
By the time Sting jumped on stage, we had used our elbows well enough to be near the stage. He performed several songs from his debut album, but we were most impressed with his band. Kenny Kirkland, Branford Marsalis, all the great musicians who performed on his very first solo album and tour, were there. And we loved it. As if it had to be that way, the rain stopped. Sting was great, he played some Police songs, but deliberately not the big hits, disappointing a few, but thrilling the real fans. The show lasted about an hour and a half, in which we completely forgot how soaked we were. How much mud had been inside our shoes, our food and our drinks. We forgot that we hadn't seen the seven others for the whole day, there was just Sting, his musicians who played as if they were at a jam session in a jazz-cafe and us.
On return in the middle of the night, I found my tent occupied by a couple who decided they needed a lovesha(g)ck, leaving me with no place to sleep. In the end I slept on the floor in between two others, suffering a cold night. The next day we must have looked weird in the train. Nine mud monsters travelling together, though not communicating. Our friendships took a little dip, though recovered soon. However, I had seen Sting!