In the blissful titular single from his 1970 album ‘All Things Must Pass’, George Harrison – newly-unshackled former Beatle – invoked the mystical wisdom of philosopher Lao Tzu. Calm as a Hindu cow, he sang,
Sunrise doesn’t last all morning
A cloudburst doesn’t last all day
Seems my love is up and has left you with no warning
It’s not always gonna be this grey.
Personally, the kind lysergic hippie detachment found in ‘All Things Must Pass’ never quite resonated – sorry George. I just think adjusting to the inevitable impermanence and mortality of all great things is a lot easier said than done. But at what I thought was the final ever Field Maneuvers – as the last acid riff fizzled out of Sputnik, the Funktion One F124 subs hissed into the night and the closing DJs withdrew their USBs from the decks like a gribbly Arthur extracting excalibur from that stone – I finally got it.
—
Image: Sputnik. Credit: Courteney Frisby
—
As I set off on the short waddle back to my campsite, head held high in the knowledge that I was there, I counted myself lucky to be among the intrepid punters of the final ever Field Manuevers, safe in the knowledge that the final swan song of one of the most loved DIY festivals was truly, perfectly, magnificent.
Like many others, I reluctantly accepted that all good things must come to an end and that the sweet confusion of FM riding out into the sunset forever more would at least cement its place in the canon of legendary raves. Perhaps it would become the subject of Simon Reynolds’ next book, or revered in the same breath as FWD, Frankie Knuckles and The Loft, destined to be eulogised into 10-minute Resident Advisor video essays replete with snappy editing and talking heads while weathered over 40s in smoking areas lectured their antecedents for years to come. The older we get, the better it was… Just like The Beatles, FM had ducked out at just the right moment.
The end.
Or was it?
Thursday the 12th of September was just like any other day. I woke up, I went to work, I came home. I picked up my phone. I put it down. I picked it up again. A post appeared on my timeline. It was Field Maneuvers; ‘in many ways, to call it quits after our most successful party would be a very FM move… But it just doesn’t make sense.’ Like Jordan Belfort at the midpoint of The Wolf of Wall Street, they’d quite impulsively decided they weren’t actually going anywhere. The show would go on.
Bowing out at the height of your powers is a pretty bold move. But, while it’s all well and good being written about in the history books, there’s also a leaf to be taken out of the Rolling Stones’ book; the geriatric rockers still getting defrosted from their cryo chambers and wheeled out on stage every summer to bring music to the people.
Admittedly a long way off from that point, Leon, Ele and Henry – the masterminds behind FM – all work full time jobs. They aren’t the descendants of landed gentry and they don’t have a pecunious corporate sponsor. They organise Field Maneuvers for the love of it and it shows because they cannot get enough.
—
Image: Very serious people. Credit: Courteney Frisby
—
At risk of sounding a bit passé, there’s something about the trifecta of the best sound systems, ridiculously good DJs, and the most up for it punters that elevates the experience of FM to a level unmatched by other festivals. For example, one steward politely informed me that the hay bales surrounding Sputnik aren’t a conveniently designated wee zone but actually to reduce sound bleed, minimising the risk of noise complaints.
On the Saturday, Tom Unlikely’s decision to slip Robbie Williams’ titanic hit ‘Feel’ into the mix could’ve been a joke at another festival, but here it just felt right – nominative determinism at its finest. Their set was characterised by a series of seamless left turns. From 130bpm wonk, to Robbie to hard dance, it was all perfectly timed and proportioned with seamless sharp angles. Like a Le Corbusier building, but without the fascism.
Then there’s the crowd. You won’t find many people at FM who have never been to a festival before. Everyone seems to understand how to share that space with conviviality and silliness at its core. Fundamentally, they know what a good party should feel like. It’s mixed. A space made up of equal parts queer and ally, where lawyers and journalists share the floor with bar staff and activists. I don’t remember much from the weekend, but I do remember on Saturday night recognising two young guys who had served me at the bar a few hours before. They’d just finished their shifts and were having it to Elena Colombi and Upsammy. Apparently, they got the jobs last minute through Indeed and didn’t know anything about FM before arriving. I think it’s safe to say they struck gold.
—
Image: Elena Colombi b2b Upsammy. Credit: Celine Antal @celineantal
—
It seems like the team behind FM recognise that, at the severe risk of sounding like Eckhart Tolle, the power of now always outweighs the past. That point was well articulated back in 1998, in Rainaild Goetz’s deranged masterpiece Rave. A fragmentary novel that is arguably the most mimetic attempt at translating the embodied experience of raving, in his case through Berlin and Ibiza in the 1990s, into literary fiction. In one line, he encapsulated the immediacy of the arresting, propulsive joy of dance music and club culture, ‘And the back in the day always vanished every time the bass hit.’ No one’s at FM to be remembered in annals of rave lore, they’re in attendance because it’s fun, now.
As for a comprehensive review of the DJs replete with intricate golden yarns describing in granular detail every characteristic of the music, I’ll spare you. Instead here’s a quote from McKenzie Wark, ‘if you can remember the nineties, you weren’t there.’ Vis a vis FM, if you can remember Field Maneuvers you weren’t there. But hey, there’s always next year.
—
Image: Field Maneuvers Tent. Credit: Celine Antal @celineantal
—
Cameron Christie is a freelance writer and promoter, he works in the producing team at Southbank Centre and runs @pareidolia.club. You can follow him on Instagram @cam__christie_
—
