Live Report: Meadows In The Mountains – Bulgaria, 2015

Bulgarian festival continues to beguile...

If the last festival you went to didn’t have telephone receivers bobbing precariously from trees, way more feathery shoulder pads than is necessary, ‘lazer wedding dresses’ and a band with a Storm Trooper sitting under a parasol, you probably went to the wrong festival. If, however, all those things sound familiar, congratulations: you were (hopefully) at Meadows In The Mountains, a tiny festival set way out in the Rhodope mountains in Bulgaria, very probably featuring more fun than you’ve had in the last 12 months.

As the name suggests, the festival is indeed on top of a mountain, meaning you have to do a hike, of sorts, to get to the site. And don’t even think about moaning, as it’s 100% worth it, not least for – let’s get this out of the way now – the obscenely beautiful views, topped-off with basically the only sunrise you’ll ever need to see.

As a bonus, the mountain offered more than just life-affirming aesthetics; there was all manner of weird and brilliant shit going down over the weekend, plus a packed timetable of music over three days and nights. For the record, don’t go to Meadows if you’re after big-name bands. Or glamping. Or overpriced bars selling rubbish beer. Or not being able to get anywhere near a stage. Do go if you’re up for hearing a lot of smaller, lesser-known acts across a range of genres with a few established names thrown in. And if you like rolling around in a field in the sun.

As we made it to the top of the mountain on Friday evening, members of The Turbans collective were thrashing out energetic gypsy folk with a distinct Balkan flavour, all of which went down very well with the crowd. After nostalgic synth-pop from Brussels Pony Club, a lot of roaming around the site and definitely no tumbling down slopes in the dark and spilling rum, it was time for a sunrise DJ set from tropical-tinged producer Quantic. It was a belter, full of soulful house, a few bangers and lusher textures to accompany that sunrise.

After trundling down the mountain to our charming little cottage in the nearby village and grabbing nowhere near enough sleep, it was time to head back up again, this time in the blazing sunshine. Various local craft beers (yes, even on a mountain in rural Bulgaria, you can still buy craft beer) helped the day pass very pleasantly, as did the luscious violin melodies of musician, singer and producer Marques Toliver.

Also of note was a chap named Mop Mop: silly name, serious xylophone skills and ability to craft groove-laden, jazzy rave vibes. Imagine a samba band given a Berlin hipster makeover. In a good way. Saturday night brought with it a new ‘cocktail’ (grapefruit beer mixed with huge measures of gin – the first two things seen behind the bar), more craft beer and hazy memories of dancing around a fire and spending too much time on a swing, somewhere in a forest.

Thankfully, Sunday’s fug was made bearable by one of the most bizarre and enjoyable live music experiences at the festival – an experimental alt noise-ish outfit featuring a man in a Storm Trooper mask sitting under a parasol, plus various other members sitting, singing, dancing, screaming and mucking about with sequencers. They were apparently called Dream Machine, though they had to consult each other before announcing their name, so who knows. Maybe it was the heady atmosphere of the festival warping perceptions, maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the gin and grapefruit beer, maybe it was the altitude and eye-popping scenery, but their sonic mish-mash sounded pretty brilliant at the time.

Soulful hip hop innovator Mo Kolours eased punters into the night-time mood with a downtempo but funky set, before things stepped up a gear over at the sunrise stage (i.e. the one that wasn’t the main stage), with Al Dobson Jr relaying jazz-dusted house. To clarify: yes, there are just two stages, one primarily for daytime music and one for nocturnal beats. It may sound limiting, but it really is all you need at a festival this intimate, plus it eliminates the frustration of having to run between stages and probably miss who you wanted to see anyway. One act we were never going to miss was Croydon crew DNR Vinyl, who relayed some delightfully dirty garage and glitchy, bassy 2-step – exactly what we were hoping for.

Big shout-out to Detroit-based DJ JOill, who won ‘absolute bloody trooper’ of Meadows in the Mountains by playing five sets over the course of the whole event and nailing every one. A festival highlight was hearing him hoof out acid bangers in a yoga tent that had been converted into a mini rave-palace as the sun rose on Monday morning.

After the festival had finished, those who wanted to keep the party going made their way to a remote spa hotel for a pool party and more delightful chaos. The vast hotel housed a small club, featuring huge letters emblazoned across the wall that declared: ‘120 Days. No excuses.’ God knows what it meant, but it seemed to sum up something that many people were feeling at the time after three nights of sunrise partying.

Then there was a hand-painted/scrawled sign at the festival itself. ‘Until further notice, celebrate everything’ it suggested. Plenty of people obeyed unquestioningly, but then Meadows in the Mountains provides a hell of a lot of reasons to celebrate.

Words: Floyd Connolly

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