Should anyone have been meticulously following these
blogs (as if!) they will think they’ve caught me out! The last reflection was
number 3 so what happened to 4 and 5?
Well, No 6 was the title of the festival that I’ve just attended in the
grounds of Portmerion Village North Wales. Number 6 as everyone must surely
know was the number allocated to the Patrick McGoohan character in the 1960s
cult TV series ‘The Prisoner’ set in the village (more of that later).
As mentioned in the last blog, I prepared for this
festival with a degree of ambivalence, reflecting upon national and international
events, a refugee crisis and terrorism threat (which has got even worse - as I
write this on the morning we learned about a drone attack in Syria which killed
two British citizens- turned ISIS fighters). However my subject is my subject.
Popular culture shouldn’t be separated from wider issues of the world. Indeed
at various points these situations were brought home to me – in the experience of
being a stranger amongst so many Welsh speakers, in the (very minor) irritation
of coping with a damp tent and in keeping abreast of the news. There were also
collecting points for those in need throughout the festival. So on we go….
ABOUT FESTIVAL NUMBER SIX. /WORLDVIEW
Now in its fourth year, it claims to be ‘A festival
unique, unlike any other; in a place like any other.’ True! The ‘boutique’
nature of No6 limits the size to around 15,000. Like Latitude and Greenbelt, it
bills itself as an arts festival. There are live music and DJ stages scattered
throughout the village and surrounding areas but also poetry reading, comedy,
talks, films, discussions, street theatre and all sorts of unexpected
happenings! Children are catered for in their own area and many came with parents
to the various activities. There were fewer school age children, this being the
first week of school for many. Whilst the bands generally were not from the TUPF
(Topping Up their Pension Fund) bracket, quite a large number of festival goers were from the SUPF (Spending Up the Pension
Fund) bracket)! So I didn’t feel out place!
This is the blurb from the festival website which sums it
up better than I can:
Welcome to a
festival like no other, in the most stunning festival setting in the world.
The picturesque
Italiante village of Portmeirion is our home, and was the original
inspiration behind our desire to create a new type of festival. Arriving
in Portmeirion for the first time it’s easy to feel overwhelmed… surrounded by
sub-tropical vegetation and surreal Mediterranean architecture, there is a
distinct sense of being somewhere serene, spiritual and very, very special. (Note the use of ‘spiritual’)
Headline acts tended to eschew the big crowd-pleasers (I
had wondered if this was to do with money….) in favour of the quirky, so we had
Metronomy (electro-pop). Belle; and Sebastian (blending electro-glide baroque
balladry with giant sized European-hooks - unique and unpredictable; and Grace Jones (multi-sensory assault of
disco, pop and punk and everything in between). I’m quoting the programme here
of course; even I couldn’t be that pretentious!
There were plenty of other acts to enjoy; a real eclectic
mix from string quartet to hip-hop; male voice choir to disco; folk to techno and everything between
and beyond. One of the sheer delights
was just walking around the site, through the village and into the woods and
experiencing different musical genres at every point; often finding them
merging into one wall of sound. For eclectic music lovers (a group into which I
dare to place myself) it was quite magical (yes! I use that word with care).
MY No.6
As suggested above, I had a listen to most things. I
counted up 20 bands and 12 other performances. Highlights included James
Bay, Belle and Sebastian, Gaz Coomes, Rae
Morris, Slow Club, Ghostpoet and the Gypsies of Bohemia (look them up!) and the
stunning spectacle of 60 strong Brythonaid Welsh Male Voice Choir singing
traditional Welsh anthems as well as songs by New Order, Happy Mondays and Elbow
(see later for a spiritual note). Street parades and entertainers were also
captivating. And for the first time, in
my 60th year I went clubbing! That deserves a blog of its own.
Probably my least enjoyable camping experience, on a
slope, noisy field and poor sanitation but as I mentioned above NOTHING compare
with what many are enduring day after day.
A word about food. No 6 prides itself on the range of cuisine
on site. There are Michelin star long-table banquets as well as permanent Portmeirion
hotel restaurants. I stuck with the equally appealing range of street food on
offer. All the festivals I have attended have had really good, varied world
cuisine available for reasonable prices. There must be a whole industry out
there supplying such events with cuisine from Mexico, France, USA, Vietnam, Spain,
Italy, Thailand, India and of course UK….. The list goes on.
Another unexpected feature of No6 is the space. It was
quite possible to escape the crowds and go for a walk in the woods or on the
beach and see no one else. I was thus able to go for a prayerful walk through
the woods on Sunday afternoon.
A few other reflections: this was very much a Welsh
festival. Forgive my English chauvinism but I hadn’t really appreciated just
how important the Welsh language is. I have driven through the country and seen
bi-lingual signs without really giving second thought. However No6 deliberately
sets out to showcase Welsh acts and attract local people and many of them are
Welsh speakers. So often I was surrounded groups of people speaking a language I
couldn’t understand. As mentioned this made me reflect on being a stranger and
sojourner. There was also a contingent of Scots, equally proud of their flag
and heritage. The English flag is sadly often seen as a symbol of narrow-minded
nationalism. I felt a pang of envy; it’s hard to imagine how ‘Englishness’ can
be turned into a positive ethnic identity.
Then costumes. No6 makes a big thing about getting people
to dress up. Many had glitter face paints but quite a number of festival goers
donned complete outfits – everything from animal onesies to Red Indian chiefs,
harlequins to matadors. There were at times resonances of an exuberant Gay
Pride march.
And movement. At all the festival music events without
exception there is constant movement. This initiaqlly took me by surprise.
People are coming and going, edging farther toward the front; sometimes a
snake-like procession of dancers holding hands weaves itself through
ever-decreasing spaces to get closer to the front; there is often conversation
and beer-drinking going on all around; people vote with their feet if a
particular act doesn’t appeal, knowing that there is a different experience to
be had on the other side of the field. How different from the experience
offered in most church services! (Maybe that’s an unfair comparison; you
wouldn’t expect such behaviour at classical concerts, theatre or lectures.)
Then of course there was ‘The Prisoner’ I have been an
avid watcher of the series whenever it has appeared on TV. It’s the story of an
unnamed secret agent who resigns his commission, returns home and prepares to
leave the country, falls asleep then wakes up in his bedroom that has been mysteriously
transported to a strange Village. The agent is given number and warned that the
village authorities want to extract information from him. The series which
becomes ever more surreal as it goes on, shows the various attempts made by the
village authorities -embodied in its constantly changing leader, number 2- to
extract information and no6’s various foiled
attempts to escape. He strives to express his individualism amidst the cloying
niceness of village residents who all seem content with their numerical lots in
life. His trademark slogans ‘I am not a number I am a free man’ and ‘ I will
not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, debriefed, or numbered. My life is my
own!’ say much to 21st century Cameron-land about the quest for
identity and individualism. I’ll ponder on that a bit more when I reflect on my
clubbing experience.
There were two performances of a Prisoner ‘3D Immersive’
with actors, music and various reinactments from the TV show. Great fun and
some serious messages. I was captivated (excuse the pun!) to be spending time
in No6’s very own Village. (Yes, I admit to being sad!)
GOD AT NUMBER 6
A reminder that the festival itself claims: there
is a distinct sense of being somewhere serene, spiritual. There was a
Spiritual thread with ‘Yoga, Sacred Female Space, Earth, dance, windflow and
Cacao ceremonies’ on offer. (No I didn’t)
Interestingly the architect of the Portmeirion Clough Williams-Ellis
made a point of excluding a religious building. Although the village included a
cupola and he was asked by various denominations to have the church
consecrated, he refused. Having asked Bertrand Russell to lay the foundation
stone, he felt this would be hypocritical! So Portmeirion is essentially a secular
domain.
There were no Street Pastors or Samaritans present this
time.
However God can be found where God is sought and I did
experience God’s presence at various points:
*As mentioned in the solitary prayerful walk, enjoying
the beauty of the woods, sea and mountains.
*In conversations. I found this was one of the friendliest
festivals I had attended. A couple of conversations backed up the ‘Spiritual
dimension’ because people recognise that the music, the atmosphere, surroundings
and village itself merge to give one a sense of ‘something beyond’
*In life affirming song lyrics.
*Specifically when the Male Voice Choir sung ‘Amen/This little light’ to rapturous applause and cheering. Immediately afterwards, a woman from the crowd asked the conductor to announce that she had received a proposal of marriage (during this song?)
* In a flier handed out to all festival goers by a
DJ/rave/dance collective which included ‘A universal prayer’ with a direct
quote from Genesis 1
* When standing in the middle of the arena with three
different styles of music being played, people enjoying the experience, lights,
costumes and celebration. Incarnation!
FINALLY
Yes, this is my final festival. So much to think about. I
estimate that something in the order of at least 500.000 people must attend festivals each year
in the UK then there are thousands of staff. I have glimpsed something of what
draws them. I think I can learn from the experience as can the church. I am sure
we know a God who loves Festivals – the Bible is full of them; occasions when
people gather and enjoy one another’s company, rediscover themselves, give thanks, eat and drink
together and celebrate the presence of the Divine in their midst. More thinking
and reflecting to be done… (More research and writing????)
During my Sabbatical I have had to be reminded that this
is primarily a gift to equip me as a follower of Jesus Christ which may in turn
help my ministry. The temptation so often is to reflect on where the church is
now and what needs to be done and then so often to feel powerless to make any changes. However
as I draw these festival reflections to a close I must record something that I
read whilst at No6 and it chimed with me although coming from a very unexpected
place and from someone who I would never normally wish to quote or be openly in
agreement with. However in an article about the Queen’s 63 year reign in The
Independent on Sunday (sorry I don’t have the writer’s details) David Cameron
(no less) is quoted – he has written a preface to a book about this long reign:
In the 1950s, it
might be hard to imagine, but the UK has become a country where a woman can
become Prime Minister; where gay people can get married […] In just 60 years we
have made huge progress in building a multi-racial, multi-faith democracy.’
That’s the world in which today’s UK church exists. This
is our context. Those festival goers with their quest for shared experience and identity, their pick and mix approach and
openness to something intangibly spiritual, symbolise the world of popular
culture which is so often outside the walls of our churches; however they are
the people that God loves as much as regular pew-sitters. The challenge is for
us to wake up to the reality of that permanent change, to celebrate it and
express God’s love within it.
I’ll leave the last word to a woman in the 7.00 am Monday morning queue
for the bus to get back to the car park. As her friend was wiping away the last
traces of glitter facepaint, she sighed ‘Ah well, back to normal now’
Or is it?
