Unlike the poster suggested there were no flying flags atop circus tents with rides and ferris wheels in the background. Creamfields was particularly vacant. With a maximum capacity of approximately 6000, perhaps only a third of this attended. What has widely been known as Creamfields (in festival terms, we are talking 50,000 punters at one of the worlds first and foremost Dance music festivals) embarrassingly became Cream Sheds at Claremont Showgrounds.
Despite the fact that Creamfields ended up being a peculiarly blue light disco-esque Cream Sheds, one has to mention an admission of defeat in one respect: the acts did play 100%. Crowd, or no crowd.
Highlights included Green Velvet and I must say I enjoyed my dabble with the Parisian new wave electronica of Lifelike. But it was the ware-house warming grooves that Joris Voorn brought that seriously gave this cold autumnal day a few rays of sunshine.
Weaving through English rugby tackles and lost souls, deflecting the near misses of awkward pick up lines from distorted minds, averting eyes from fake breasted fillies who had fallen in mud: tits out and shorts wedgied up endless cracklines…time thankfully passes and the night begins to pick up again with the fancy-pants trance of Ferry Corsten.
Sunday curfews came soon enough and warp woop! what’s that? The Bloody Beetroots played their set, everyone was happy and we could all go home. A local shout out goes to Aarin F for a mighty minimal set, a great mood and a zing in his grin in the face of drunken larrikins ‘warp’ wooping in his face.
Impatient as people may have been for Creamfields to tour Australia, the impatience soon gave way to a resigned awareness of the fact that this was the worst festival to tour this ‘season’. Perhaps if it did play at City Farm it may have been a cosier rave than the echoing pavilions of Claremont. But when all is said and done, when 90 percent of people who stayed for the headlining acts saw what they came to see, they made the best of it.