With a brain-goggling lineup and threatening dark clouds above us, the next 12 hours would definitely separate the fluffy boots from the steel minded. And how cute they all are! Wearing hotpants the size of my entrance ticket, the dance puppies sketchily scramble through security and disperse relieved into the vast and dotty expanse that it Creamfields 2006.
Just in time to watch the start of The Zutons, the crowd is still thin around the edges. It’s a good atmosphere for an early start, however. Lads dressed as bin men throw each other in a mud bath to 'You Will You Won't' The band sound extremely punchy for an early slot. But for a crowd who were restless, and probably not due to ADHD, the easy going pace did not seem to be overly tickling their interest. McCabe has decided that it’s time to turn this into a Pheonix Club shout out:
“Give us a shout for St Helens!”
Dave shut up when three people yelped back at him. Onwards with 'Valerie'- cue air waving and some comment about his ginger mate, which no doubt pissed off a small percentage of the super- groomed crowd.
Due to the last minute pull out of Gnarls Barkley, things are shoved forward and theres much confusion about what’s going on with the bands. I meet disgruntled young man who is watching a break beat guy and thought he was Mylo. It seems everyone is looking for Mylo and he’s nowhere to be seen. Back to main stage for Goldfrapp.
She’s looking divine is Allison. It’s as clean and synthetic as a town apartment, but it is an impressive carnivalesque show for a festival stage , with a bizarre array of backing dancers in PVC, silver horse heads and sari clad seductresses. Throughout their repertoire of the ‘Supernature’ album, it's clear that Goldfrapp have maintained their crystalline aura and appeal to the urban loafer. For the crowd here, it hits the spot for visual purposes, though the dancing is flat as brewers droop.
On route again to catch a glimpse of the elusive Mylo, we are spun round again for a blinding flash of light and the start of the Prodigy. There’s a minor stampede whilst confused people wrestle with their programmes round their necks and sans beer, we head back into the thick of it.
The epitome of hilarious raving is infront of us. With enough glow rings to classify himself as a Masai tribesman, we are treated to hugs from him as a thunderous ‘Spitfire’ that shakes the ground. The tune is perfect to revive a flagging crowd, and in the now dark field, the night is revived.
Short on words but full of attitude, one song rolls to the next, belting out all of their dance classics such as ‘Smack My Bitch Up’. Their change in style over the years is notable through their performance. Their energy and passion for the newer rock driven offerings seem to move them more than the older stuff. The reverse pleases the crowds however, with incredible roaring, bouncing and spacey jigglings for their parting track, ‘Out of Space’.
Cue a mass quandary as people shine their phones on each others programme card to find the best thing to do now. Many, including us, head for Strongbow Rooms to bounce around in cider fuelled merriness- a tent that is always a welcome place in any type of madness. And mental it is. We are instructed by a young man that “we will die” if we do not go and see Eddie Halliwell in the Cream tent. After a marathon walk (it is set out to challenge Himalayan trekkers it seems), we make it there to see him molesting the crowd in his true style. It is fantastic to see a DJ interacting with the dancing, seeming like he wants to be part of the madness.
It's getting light now and like cows in a field, people sit down under ponchos and reams of foil as the rain begins. It’s a bit of a deflating sight, but it does seem that some of the wind was kicked out of the belly of Creamfields this year. Whether it is because it lacked the cheeky Liverpool charm of the usual airfield, we’re not sure.
