Summer you say chief?

It ain’t fucking summer until I’m stooped broken in a field, nursing a six-bone bottle of tepid beer as a biblical storm whiplashes overhead. Garnish this with a smattering of pill-heads and some conflicting bass and you’ve got the true essence of a British summer. Pimms-a-fucking-clock my arse…

Based on the above criteria, the solstice must soon be upon us; with Gatecrasher’s Summer Sound System ushering in the festival season through a gale force storm and dance biased line-up. Given that the UK now has festivals spilling from every geographical orifice, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to differentiate one from another; meaning established brands like Gatecrasher have an immediate advantage. Of sorts. Whilst it no doubt helps to have a known appellation on which to hang your event, it also brings with it a load of preconceptions.

In order to combat their past, this year’s 60,000 capacity Gatecrasher Summer Soundsystem has looked to the likes of Global Gathering for inspiration and peppered their bill with acts designed to pull in a crowd that extends beyond the Van Dyke cabal. Examples? How about Hot Chip? CSS? Mark Ronson? Even within the broader sphere of dance, the likes of Prodigy, Justice and Tiga are by no means a natural fit for the Crasher brand – but through their inclusion the festival vaults its niche and lands in the broader demographic paddock beyond.

Spread over Turweston Aerodrome (near Northampton innit), the Gatecrasher site is a featureless sprawl of tents and fairground rides that doesn’t so much lack atmosphere as piss it in torrents from every outlet available. But Gatecrasher isn’t fucking Bestival or V – people aren’t here to pop a hamper and reminisce. No; people are here to get off their skulls on pills, smoke fags dipped in poppers and rage all night to some quality tunes. On that criteria, a wind swept and featureless airfield is as good a venue as any, salubrious or otherwise.

Over on the main stage CSS were possibly the biggest disappointment of the weekend, gamely hammering their sequined electro to a wispy crowd who soon lost interest. Even the glorious ‘Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above’ couldn’t ignite the brisk and oddly detached atmosphere. Headlining the outdoor stage fell to The Prodigy – veterans of both the festival and dance scene since John Major was Prime Minister. Pantomime without recourse to compromise, The Prodigy have always met the crowd as equals; drawing from their collective energy to ensure the premise of a load of Essex blokes leaping around in silly clothes rests on all involved. Hammering out a series of hits, Liam, Maxim and Keith overcame a shonky sound system and frantic gale to deliver the kind of set which puts them top of the bill. Treating the masses to a couple of promising new cuts, the real highlight came through the sing-a-long nostalgia of Out Of Space – wherein lasers, synths stabs and a closing firework display met in glorious union. Diesel power!

Retreating to the tents, other highlights included Switch’s mutant offspring, Radioclit’s discordant spectrum and the Vicks Vapour frisson of classic Altern-8… And then the heavens opened. Unleashing the kind of downpour that Michael Eavis has under trademark, Gatecrasher was transformed from BPM Serengeti into milky lido as the main stage flooded and all outdoor activities were officially cancelled by the authorities. Now we’re talking!

Confined to the indoor rigs, the crowds on Sunday seemed even more intent on having fun than the previous day – making up for the unsightly weather with a narcotic ingestion that made the sun shine from your ears. Perfectly matching the mood through murky bass and high end melodies, the dubstep tent was packed throughout and saw a muddy tangle of feet shuffling to Benga and Skream before getting yanked back to the surface through DJ Yoda’s Technicolor assemblage. Eschewing the bigger names (Chemical Brothers, Pendulum etc.), the real treats were over at Turbo, wherein Justice, Erol Alkan, Tiga, Chromeo and Brodinski swallowed the day and turned drizzle into steam. Blister packed.

Loud, wet and messy, Gatecrasher launched the festival season with typical British zeal and made a heady promise in the process; there won’t be much sleep to be had until September. We’ll be too busy having a field day.