Benicassim Day Three // All Surf, No Turf

By Saturday, the Benicàssim barbecue was a sea of pink bodies, strewn across campground and festival tarmac, like superfluous prawns at a two-day old buffet. Rising from some sleep*, Noize hit the best-shower-ever TM (ice cold), donned the Converse and were first in the festival ground like eager beavers on speed. 

In the shimmering evening heat, Barcelona outfit Cuchillo spun their psychedelic fare of droning bass and sitar samples, before a swift transition to the main stage and Noize were back in the summertime of 96’, catching blissful Britpop by an ageless Ash. 

Main course memory lane fare next from The Specials, their ska and rocksteady beat whirling the crowd into a frenzy before the monkey-man himself, Ian Brown, swaggered back and forth on the stage, as if attached to an invisible bungee rope, imbueing his set with plenty of Stone Roses nostalgia. 

Surely the steadfast Captain of a fishing trawler in a previous life, Bigott was the resounding highlight of Saturday’s festival. The folky-calypso-krooner from Zaragoza providing the perfect accompaniment to the throbbing night heat. 

Expresso substitutes The Prodigy were next up and despite sound problems, managed to wake everyone from their early morning stupour with Keith, the demonic and spry conductor, orchestrating a complete rinsing out of the largely British crowd. 

Excluding their first song, Lights And Music, Cut Copy were relatively ineffective in keeping people away from Klaxons on the main stage, who, despite the premature fizzle of now old new rave, provided more than enough pop for those who made it through to the end of the night. Turning off the gas, it was finally time for more sleep**. Tomorrow is Sunday. We think.

*Lying prone with eyes closed in a boil-in-the-bag rice-like tent

**Same, but with an even hotter bag

Words by Neill Higgins

Photos by Melanie Manneville

Cut Copy show what they think as the crowd leaves to watch Klaxons.

New Rave, no Old, no New, no Old, oh I give up.