After the Oxjam: An experience of festival volunteering

    I went to Leeds Festival this year. This wasn’t because I felt like I ought to try the whole festival experience (though I did), nor because a lot of my favourite bands were going to be there (though they were). No, I went because, if I went with Oxfam, I got to go for the outstanding price of 0, in whichever currency you’d like. Zip. Nada. Free. More pressingly, I didn’t have to find anyone to go with me, as is oft the struggle when all your university friends are strewn across the kingdom and your girlfriend is somewhere up a pike near Windermere. Oxfam provided the entertainment, the food, the electricity, the lodging (assuming you’d brought a tent), and the company. All we had to do was work a six hour shift each day and assist with opening and closing; the rest of the day was free for us to do as we wished. The one thing they didn’t provide us with, unfortunately, was the weather.

    It rained like a Leeds summer. Which is epistemologically what it was. It should have been expected. Apparently, rain comes to Leeds almost every year (except 2015, when Everything Everything were playing and I decided I’d rather spend a week in Sussex with my mother). Usually, it’s not a question of whether it’ll rain, but simply when and how hard (no innuendo intended). Naturally, the annoyance this would have normally provoked levelled up to this kind of vexing, all consuming grief when it was brought to light that I had no wellies, only walking boots. Savage mistake as this may have been, it gave me enough space in my backpack for an entire Swedish chocolate brownie, or mud pie, if you will. Ironies aside, I came back mostly unmudded. However, my denim jacket was quickly ruined upon discovery that the waterproof I’d borrowed from the Oxfam shop was more like a water-cloth. Also my shorts. My umbrella, which could have prevented this disaster, didn’t get into the arena, and, adding insult to injury, I lost it on the way home.

    However, I would argue endlessly that I, and the rest of the Oxfam team, were getting a far better deal than anyone else on site. Although we weren’t getting paid, our shifts were short and agreeable. We were treated with respect and bonhomie. We got free hot water and electricity. We got meal vouchers. All this, without delving into our wallets. The average punter would have to pay for all of these luxuries, especially the respect and bonhomie. This is Leeds, remember. It’s not exactly Latitude. I have no idea why a single person in their right mind would spend upwards of two hundred pounds for two days in the wet and mud with no hot water, no electricity, and no mattress to sleep on. Solve these niggles with alcohol you may, but you’ll be paying an awful lot for that if you buy it in the arena. You’ll leave out of pocket and, most likely, out of possessions as well. The sheer scale of tents left at Leeds this year was despicable. Their original market cost could have been upwards of thousands of pounds. Those that could be salvaged would be sent to the homeless abroad, but those that could not be carried by a minutia of volunteers would be taking a slightly more mundane holiday to the rubbish dump.

    Festivals, in their most modern designation, came to prominence during the ‘hippie’ period of the seventies. They were small, relaxed affairs mirroring the low-fi designation of free love and good times that the era stood for. At one point, Glastonbury was a festival admitting 1500 people and charging £1 a ticket (£15 in today’s money). This is what festivals stood for, and it speaks a lot more to their older definition than the commercialised, overtly grand, conglomerate-owned festivals we have today. I wonder what those counter-culture kids from the 70s would think, seeing the once sombre Worthy Farm expanded into a countryside metropolis of tents and marquees. The smaller festival stages of today, with equally small acts, show what every festival once was: an audience of a few hundred, at least some of whom have never heard the artist on stage, and a majority who would simply rather be there for the experience.

    As a festival novice, my opinion is worth little ‘in the field’ - pun intended. However, I would forever vouch for the fact that if you want to see a big band live, go to a concert (preferably a small one with little to no moshing, unless you are eight feet tall). You’ll just have a better time. Festivals, then, should be the haven of the up-and-comers. They should cater to the artists and listeners trying to find their sound. Festivals should be cheap, cheerful, and far more low-key than the flamboyant, unstoppable force they have become. Make them the refuge of the musically intrigued, not the middle class yobbo. Everyone, bar the corporations that make huge profits from the largest festivals in the United Kingdom, would praise such a prospect. Also, the beer might be a bit cheaper. It remains to be seen.